Tag Archives: experience

Making Peace With the Religion of Peace (My Trip to the Islamic Center of the Triad)

13 Tuesday Feb 2018

Posted by in Islam

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Friday prayers, Jumu’ah Khutbah, are communal prayers within Islam. At the Islamic Center of the Triad (ICT), over 250 men and women come to pray together each week. I made arrangements to attend this past Friday through Badi Ali, the president of the ICT.

As I drove towards the road that the Masjed is on (Masjed means the place of prayer, Badi told me), a police car with blue lights flashing sat at the intersection. I immediate worried that the road was blocked off, but, to my relief, he was only directing traffic along with other volunteers from the center. I turned away from the ICT and parked a good walking distance away. There was a constant flux of men walking towards the center, so I added myself to their number. One of the men directing traffic greeted me with “As-Salaam Alaikum,” to which I only smiled. I didn’t quite catch what he said, but after hearing it dozens of times, I picked it up. It is the way Muslims greet one another – “peace be upon you” – and reflects the positive use of language as Allah gave to man.

I was actually a little confused about the location because the website showed an image of the mosque that the center was raising funds to complete construction on. What I saw was a large warehouse building with a roll-up garage door in the center, wide open to those coming in. I stepped in and noticed men in the distant corner already sitting, but many more were coming in and out of a bathroom to my left where ritual washing, wudu, was taking place. Wudu involves three washings of the hands, arms, face and head, mouth, nose, and feet. I stepped over to the right and placed my shoes on one of the large wooden shelves, as I suspected I would need to do before I arrived. I spotted a young man who entered when I did and so I crossed my fingers that he spoke English, which he did good enough. I explained what I was there for and that I needed to find Badi. He asked me to sit while he did his wudu and then he went to get Badi for me.

As I sat facing the entrance, I watched many men enter and shake hands with as many other men as they encountered. Behind me was a large poster of the mosque they were funding to build. It said “Whoever builds a mosque for Allah, then Allah will build for him a house like it in Paradise.” To my left, at the entrance to the main prayer room (I was in the overflow area), was a large box with openings for giving to ICT. I was struck by a large box on top of a room to my far left. The closer I looked, it appeared to be shaped like a coffin and had “GAZA” painted on it. As I continued to look around the room, wondering how out of place I was, in walked Badi.

He shook my hand and I walked with him to the shoe rack. While he was taking his shoes off, he told me if I prayed, I could sit with him. I told him I didn’t know how to do it correctly, but he simply said that I could just follow him. We walked into the prayer room and I finally understood why the men were sitting the way they were. The carpet had distinctive lines, about six or more inches wide, that point towards Mecca. I sat down next to Badi on one of these lines. The young man who helped find Badi for me was immediately in front of me. Badi pulled out his phone and opened his Quran app and told me that the readings were from Surah Al-Kahf that day. But barely a few seconds had passed and he said that he must be quiet now. If fact, the quiet, reverent attitude is what stood out to me the most. I had never been in such a large crowd and experienced such a silence.

A man in the crowd stood up and gave a call to prayer. As he did so, an African man came to the front and took his place to read from the Quran, I cannot remember what country Badi said he originated from. That is the second thing that struck me. There were so many different countries and races represented in that room together. It was a beautiful site to see so much diversity joined together. Arabic filled the air as the man began reading. It felt like it went on for a long time, but it may have just been my legs getting uncomfortable. We were all sitting cross-legged and adjusted as we needed to. Inside, I was feeling quite timid. I did not want to do anything that may viewed as offensive, so I tried to stay still. When that man finished reading, a young Middle Eastern man stood up and gave a brief message in English on generosity.  Then there was more reading by the former man in Arabic.

Then came the moment I was most nervous about – the bowing. Everyone stood up and my heart began to race. I am a middle-class, white, American, Christian-raised male. There were certain misconceptions I knew about and tried to push from my mind, but I was afraid I would mess up and offend someone. There was a calling out in Arabic and a response. I wasn’t sure what was just said, but I tried to imitate the sound. Another call in Arabic and everyone reached down and put their hands on their knees, this is called ruku. As we held our position, silence rang out. There was a call again and we stood erect. I wondered if the women on the other side of the wall were doing the same thing we were. Another call and everyone shifted to the floor into the sujud bowing position. Silence again. Then another call and we all stood up. This was repeated; the silence during the prayer was only broken once by an interrupting phone, promptly silenced. Then, the service was over with some concluding announcements.

Badi told me he wanted to introduce me to some people. “Some” is the wrong word. He introduced me to so many people, I thought I was in a political campaign. There were men from Saudi Arabia, Iran, Pakistan, and several other countries and they all greeted each other with smiles, laughter, and occasional hugs. I then rode with Badi to a nearby Dunkin Donuts where he bought me a coffee and doughnut. We sat with two men from ICT we happened to meet there and discussed a variety of topics. The most intriguing to me was the discussion of Jannah, heaven. Two more men joined us as we talked. After nearly an hour, it was time to leave. Badi drove me back to my car at the Center. On the way we discussed the administration of ICT, the safety concerns Badi had for his people (thus, the police that stayed on site), and the message he will be bringing this coming Friday on the use of bad language.

I cannot say that everyone I met made me feel comfortable (some looked rich and powerful), but the majority did. I now understand why Muslims say Islam is a religion of peace. I am thankful for the experience and look forward to visiting Badi again when they inaugurate their new mosque.

Three Is A Magic Number (My Buddhist Temple Experience)

31 Wednesday Jan 2018

Posted by in Buddhism, Philosophy, Religion

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Three is a magic number – at least that is what School House Rock and Jack Johnson taught me growing up. Perhaps “magic” is the wrong word, but my visit to Chùa Quan Âm revealed to me just how important the number three is within Buddhism.

“Do you know why there are three doors? Think about it.” I was caught off guard when my liaison, Kim, asked me this, so I told her I was not sure. She said that the three doors stood for the past, the present and the future. Even more so, they stood for the Buddha, the Dharma (the teachings), and the Sangha (the community). From reading so my Thich Nhat Hanh, I was shocked that I actually could not recall this answer. Chùa Quan Âm is of the Mahāyāna branch of Buddhism and more specifically, it is of the Pure Land school.

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During the cold months, the temple keeps the front doors open, so Kim led me around to the side where an assistant monk stood in an ochre colored robe. Kim exchanged a work of greeting with him and led me into a common area with tables for the lunch later that day. To our right were shoe racks with stairs leading up into the back of the temple. As I slipped my shoes off and stepped into the back foyer, the scent of incense overwhelmed me. It was not pungent, just enough to fill the area. I followed Kim down the left side of the prayer hall and sat at the back where I sat on a step and crossed my legs on a thin saffron zafu.

The prayer hall was nearly filled when the monks came in with the Venerable Master, Thích Đạo Chơn. Suddenly, an enormous bell rang out on my right and a large drum rumbled on my left. Everyone stood up and folded their hands high upon their chests. The monks faced the three large statues of Amitāba Buddha and two bhodisattvas and began chanting. Kim explained that they offered several items in celebration of life and remembrance of the impermanence of life: flowers for the beauty of life; fresh fruit, the goodness of life; water, essential and cleansing; grain, a basic staple needed to sustain life; incense, permeates the air as good deeds should permeate one’s life; and light, which extinguishes darkness as wisdom expels ignorance.

Then a bell or a bowl was sounded and everyone sat down and opened their prayer book. It was in Vietnamese and Kim wanted me to follow along. I laughed to myself a bit because I could not see that being a possibility. However, as the chanting began, I found it fairly easy to follow when everyone was going slow. But the chanting frequently changed pace and ended with three bows by everyone in the congregation – one each for the Buddha, the Dharma and the Sangha.

The aroma of the incense and flowers, the booming of the voices, the ringing of the bells, the rigid stance and folding of hands, and the rhythmic chanting  – all of these made for an atmosphere where the senses were completely overwhelmed. Even the mere space of the room felt intoxicatingly mystical. After the chants, the Venerable Master then turned and stood just behind the laughing Buddha statue. He was a rather young man, in my opinion, and he spoke light heartedly. Kim told me that it was the anniversary of the Buddha’s awakening and we were giving celebration. Normally, the message would have waited while five to ten minutes were dedicated to silent meditation.

When the Venerable Master finished, everyone stood and recited chants from memory, bowing after each recitation – again, three times. I was caught off guard again by such an abrupt ending, but I suppose when you are used to it, the ending would not seem abrupt. Most everyone in the assembly went back to the dining area and slipped on their shoes back on, a few others stayed behind for a remembrance memorial. A teenager from the temple had committed suicide the week before because of school bullying.

Kim explained all this to me as we sat down for a Q&A session that lasted for over an hour. We naturally discussed how Buddhists understand tragedy and death, especially in those so young. Reincarnation and karma were at the forefront of this. The Buddha had taught that perhaps a soul only needed to live a short amount of time before completing its tasks from another life. Alternatively, though, there could have been bad karma from either parent.

We also discussed intellectual and social aspects of Buddhism like five precepts (Refain from killing, adultery, lying, speaking ill of others, and drinking), the purpose of bowing, the meaning of the colors in the Buddhist flag, and the eight-fold path. I was most intrigued by the eight-fold path because each aspect was needed together and could be used to strengthen the other aspects. These are: right understanding, right thought, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right diligence, right mindfulness, and right meditation. It was quite a noisy conversation as the children and teens were in a Vietnamese language class in the next room, but it was a delightful experience in itself.

As I was about to leave, lunch was being served. I think I was offered four different bowls as I was walking out. In the end, I left with a plate of sticky rice with peanuts and a green, spongy cake slice of Bánh Bò Nướng. Kim walked me out and told me that if I understood one statue in the front yard, I would understand all of Buddhism. We made our way around front as the rain picked up, but we ignored it. We stopped in front of a statue of a very fat laughing Buddha. He had five children playing on him. She said that the children were the five sense and yet they were innocent. The Buddha learned to love and protect his senses. And as for that bulging belly that seemed to suggest indulgence; it was full of compassion, not food.

I thanked Kim and we bid each other goodbye, but before I left I had to take a picture of the outside. In the top picture you see three words: Từ Bi, Chùa Quan Âm, and Trí Tuệ. The middle is the name of the temple, but the first word is Vietnamese for compassion and the second is wisdom. These three words hang above three doors. In front of the doors are three statues of different aspect of the Buddha. Is “three” magical? Depends on what you mean by magic, I suppose.