Visiting the Jerrahi Mosque: A Christian's Impression

The first thought I had as I was removing my shoes was if I put them on the lower shelf against the wall, I could find them in the mass exodus that would be forthcoming as we as a group packed up late this night of discovery. In my searching for religious and spiritual understandings I have taken many what I had perceived as "side trips" but have come to think of the steps as simply a chance to discover a new truth for myself. As a person who identifies themselves as Christian I have been asked why would I look at other religions, didn't I find the other faiths as confusing to my spiritual understanding given by Jesus the Christ? I always answer from my heart a resounding NO. I have taken parts of many religious traditions to strengthen my Christianity. I was sure I would find a connection to Islam this night.

My second impression as I entered the Mosque was how very simple the interior was, how "ski lodge"! With all of the beautiful wood in its natural state giving a point of view of simplicity, a quality I have often found to be a sure way to hear God. As my group gathered I found a kneeling bench and thought it was more comfortable than I would have thought, an hour later I changed my mind! I began to notice the "art work" that was around the space, realizing it had to be writing, or rather incredible calligraphy. The words were as pictures delicately saying something, yet I had no idea what the meanings were. They just felt "Holy" in their structure and placement. The eastern wall had beautiful tile work, as did several other interior walls, a definite feeling of the Middle East. As a person who has laid tiles I was intrigued with the patterns and colors.

The next few hours were spent in study, questions, answers, and learning about the Sufi tradition. Learning about holidays, beliefs, and customs. Learning how women have an important part, and always have had, in the Islamic faith. There were many western ideas about Islam that would be left at the door this day. I would learn that this is very much a faith from the Heart and in every heart. As we prepared for the evening observances of ritual, I watched as the men and the women separated with the men in the center and the women taking stations up one step surrounding the men from the sides and rear. My idea of women being equal in the service of God raised its judging head, but only briefly. This was simply a difference to be celebrated, not a difference to bring about a wall. I quietly watched as men and women said their personal and corporate prayers to Allah, the God of Islam. While I had no idea what the specific Arabic words meant I could understand the emotions and feelings behind them. As phrases were chanted over and over, my concepts that prayer should be spontaneous and unplanned had to be released. I have watched many Christians recite our written prayers, with their well thought out long phrases, with a look of boredom on their faces. Here I saw the fervor of passion and belief as short to the point phrases were recited over and over, not from the mind but the heart.

As the service ended and we moved into a lavish feast of traditional foods and conversation, I continued to notice the importance of the heart. As people greeted each other with hands on hearts and love in their faces I felt a warmth surrounding the room. It was clear that God by whatever name was in this place and for that I was grateful. We entered into a time of storytelling by Shaykh Tosun Bayrak, as he answered our questions with examples woven with pictures not just the words of a sermon. Though my legs were in total pain from sitting on the floor all day and now the evening, I couldn't imagine moving away from this man. With simple words, hiding deeper thoughts, he sought to give us an insight into Islam. He was both gracious and profound in his speaking.

As the evening moved into its final transition we prepared for the evening prayers and the Dhikr, the Sufi ceremony of remembrance. This time I decided to stand in the back of the room, knowing I could not sit on the floor, the steps, or even a chair. The energy in the room was transformed into the fire that a Christian might call the Holy Spirit. There was no mistaking the feeling of the space. I shut my eyes so I could concentrate on the sounds and emotion that thickly filled the room, and my body began to sway slowly at first and then rather pronounced. The chanting could have been by Buddhist Monks, the drums by Native Americans. I abruptly opened my eyes hoping I was not about to knock into the people standing around me, what I saw confirmed what I was feeling. My swaying was in perfect sync with those saying the prayers. The emotion, the Spirit was transcending culture, religion, and language and I was fully participating in the service. While I would remain a Christian I would also have a part of Islam in my soul, a part I would cherish.