The London Central Mosque and Me (The Street, vol. 4)

I was a little intimidated at first, walking into the London Central Mosque. Being white and obviously a tourist, an outsider, the differences were immediately obvious. But my discomfort derived more from a sense of intruding spectatorship. Here was a cultural center, sure, but more importantly, here was a place of worship, and I am watching others in a most personal, holy experience, having little conception of what exactly was going on. Just watching. Entering in a large group made matters worse, as Sarah pointed out in class. I wanted to be exposed and to learn - and what better way than do jump right into that situation which makes you uncomfortable? - but I could not help at first but feel that we were a distraction. I thought about how I would feel if I were praying in a Christian church, only to look back over my shoulder and see a gallery of foreigners watching curiously but cluelessly.

I wandered around a bit, aimlessly, trying to get my bearings and some sense of what I was here for, to set goals for myself, double and triple checking my cellphone to make sure it was off. A man directed us to the library, and up there I flipped through a book on Persian poets and another book called The Meaning of the Qu'ran. The library closed during the afternoon prayer, so I went downstairs and watched some more.

As Sara pointed out in class, the act of watching necessitates and solidifies a separation between I and The Other, and my guilty feelings of intrusion would've prevented me from watching had I not been entreated by various people to watch, learn. And so I did. It is uncomfortable at first, but I think one has to swallow that, ignore that or view it as necessary, for the sake of knowledge and experience. It is a difficult dialogue that, for the greater good, need occur. It is better to be uncomfortable than ignorant.

In America, most of the knowledge one receives about Islam is filtered and distorted by the media. The only times (until Wednesday) that I'd heard the phrase "Allahu Akbar" were on news reports of suicide bombers in the Middle East. You hear from our news anchors and our President how diametrically opposed American values and the Islamic faith are, and while I always viewed this as sensationalist, I had little counter knowledge. I knew Islam wasn't this, but then, what was it?

I was helped with this question by a man named Faisel, who, walking through the foyer after prayer and, seeing a group of us standing around, invited us into the prayer room for a little discussion/tour. I took off my shoes and, in a small way, what I once viewed as a barrier was made permeable. We sat in a tight circle in the prayer room, and Faisel discussed the Five Pillars of Islam, some of the meaning and history of the Qu'ran, the core tenets of the faith, the history of the London Central Mosque, and other things. He was very helpful and engaging, and was clearly interested in sending us off more knowledgeable than before. One thing he said that I found particularly interesting was the fact that there is only one version of the Qu'ran, and it has remained unchanged. He made clear the delineation between God and man; that God has no personal relations with man, unlike the beliefs of Christian religions; and that is why the Qu'ran must remain untainted by man. He said that there are thousands of scholars who have committed the entire book to memory, which I found amazing. I know no one who knows the Bible cover to cover.

I left the mosque feeling much more comfortable than when I'd arrived. An entire religion which is usually portrayed in binary terms in American popular culture had been illuminated, if only for 30 minutes, if only bits and pieces of it, if only by a few people. But the void between myself and the otherness which was so foreign to me just hours earlier - a void so impeded and clouded that the object on the other side wafted nebulously, would not come into focus - had, in some small way, been narrowed.