Adam’s Grief

Hearing that they were Muslims did not concern me. The year was 2001, and as far as I knew, I had never met a Muslim, nor did I know much about what Muslims believed. Even as I looked forward to meeting them and learning about them, I thought perhaps through our welcoming them and telling them about the gospel, they might even want to become Christians.

A few days later, along with Kelly from World Relief, we met them at the Seattle-Tacoma Airport. They were attractive and polite, and having traveled so far, very tired. I was relieved to hear them speak to us in English. Each of them came with a suitcase, filled with all of their belongings. Kelly came with them to our home, to help ease the settling-in process. I was grateful for her presence. She had explained to me that they would not be familiar with our Western bathrooms, and when using the toilet, they would want to clean themselves, not with toilet paper, but using a pitcher of water. This was pretty strange to me. Kelly led them into our bathroom and gave them instructions as to how to use all of the fixtures. I was glad when she handed them a towel and said to them, “Americans like to keep their floors dry.” “That’s for sure,” I thought, wondering what other surprises there might be in the coming weeks.

Their names were Ali and Ubah, and we got along fine. Ali was energetic and social. Ubah wore lovely scarves, and spoke with a soft, musical voice. They kept the bathroom floor dry. The first Sunday, we invited them to go to church with us. Ubah declined, but Ali went, and seemed to enjoy himself. I asked Ali about their religion, Islam. He explained to me that he really didn’t know much of anything about Islam, because the Quran is written in Arabic, and he doesn’t speak Arabic, so he has never read it. Nevertheless, he considers himself to be a Muslim.

At first this shocked me. But as I pondered it, I realized that most likely there are, and have been over the centuries, many Christians who really know little or nothing of what’s in the Bible. Having grown up in evangelical churches, where so much emphasis is placed on biblical teaching, this was an interesting thing for me to think about. Do you need to know the Bible in order to be a Christian?

Ali had a little book with many phone numbers, and he spent quite a bit of time making contact with friends. One day, a Somali couple came to our home to visit them. All of their conversation was in Somali. I sensed that the Somali visitors were not very warm towards us, and perhaps were even warning Ali and Ubah not to be overly friendly with us. After that visit, it seemed to me Ali and Ubah were just a little more guarded. The following Sunday they were no longer willing to go to church with us. Even though they continued to be polite, it seemed as if they were just a bit more distant with us.

When the time came to move them into their apartment, it was somewhat of a relief. Not that we didn’t like them, not that we didn’t want to see them again, but the time was right. We knew how eager they were to have their own place. World Relief had found them an apartment close to the Seattle-Tacoma airport because Ali said his friends had told him he could easily find a job working in security at the airport.

One week after we moved them into their apartment, I woke up to the news on the radio that a hijacked airplane had crashed into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. I ran and turned on the television, and watched with shock as a second plane hit the second tower, a third plane hit the Pentagon, and a fourth plane crashed to the ground in Pennsylvania. I’m pretty sure if you’re old enough to remember September 11, 2001, you remember exactly how you learned about this terrifying moment in our history.

No experience in my lifetime had been anything like this. Like every other American, I watched these events unfold on the screen in total disbelief and horror. The tragedy was monumental. In the days and weeks that followed, like every other American, I asked “Why? Who are these people who committed these heinous acts? Why would anyone want to do such a thing?” And over and over I asked, “Why do they hate us so much? Why, in fact, would they hate us enough to give their lives?”

In the days following the attacks, we learned that the perpetrators were Muslims. I realized that the sum of my knowledge about Muslims would easily fit on an index card. In my mind, Muslims and Arabs and Middle Easterners were synonymous. I had long ago given up trying to understand Arab political issues. I remember seeing Arabs on newscasts with what looked to me like dishtowels on their heads. How could they possibly expect to be taken seriously dressing that way? Don’t they realize people don’t dress that way anymore? And, I am not proud to say, I pretty much concluded that if “those people” in the Middle East wanted to continually blow one another up, that was their problem, not mine.

But now. Things had changed. To begin with, I was party to bringing a Muslim couple into our country, and I really knew very little about them. Now, it was important for me to know who Muslims really were, what they believed, and why they had launched this horrific attack on the United States. Our nation had been attacked. Blindsided by an attack, not on a battlefield, but an attack against innocent civilians. Children, fire-fighters, office workers, travelers, all killed by a terrorist attack. This time, the “why” questions refused to leave me alone.