Friday, June 23rd:
Today was my group’s London Day. This meant that we traipsed out to London (I always love going into London!) with 3 destinations on order: the British Museum, The British Library, and the London Central Mosque. We had assignments for the Museum and the Library, and were just supposed to experience the mosque.

For the Museum, we were supposed to look at a few particular artifacts, such as the Rosetta Stone, an obelisk that depicts Zedekiah (the last king of Judah?) bowing to the Assyrian rulers, and a Philistinian relief showing evidence of Dagon, the fish god, among other things. The point of this visit was to take advantage of the opportunity to see real artifacts of the Ancient Near East that support the stories told in the Bible. The existence of these items definitely support the veracity of the Bible, I have to say. And yet, it is still a loaded subject. But more on that shortly.

Like wise, the point of the visit to the British Library was to specifically look at the Bible Collection they have there. There were many Bibles that we looked at, but we were especially supposed to see the Codex Sinaiticus, one of the earliest manuscripts of the complete New Testament and parts of the Old Testament, among others.

The point in this, aside from the obvious personal enrichment of going to see an historical collection, was to see evidence of proof that the Bible we use today is the same as the Bible early Christians used. This is particularly important in debates and discussions with Muslims, since many/most claim or have been taught that the Bible of Christians and Jews is corrupted and thus not reliable. Therefore, they won’t read it or listen to any reasoning based on it.

However, the Koranic Book (or Surah) of Jonah tells the devoted Muslim to consult with Jews and Christians for wisdom: “[10.94] But if you are in doubt as to what We have revealed to you, ask those who read the Book before you; certainly the truth has come to you from your Lord, therefore you should not be of the disputers.” Thus, according to Muslim hermeneutics, what is written in the Koran is Allah’s word and trustworthy (much like in Christianity).

Now if you ask a Muslim to tell you when the Bible was corrupted, they usually don’t have an answer. But if pressed, given the option “before or after Mohammed,” (the only designation that matters) they will pick one, and then they are stuck. Because if it is before Mohammed, then you ask why a trustworthy Allah would tell Muslims to consult an already corrupted book; and if they pick “after Mohammed”, then you direct them to the British Library. Because in the British Library is proof that the Bibles in use before Mohammed are word-for-word identical to the texts in use after Mohammed and identical to the texts from which our current Bibles are translated. Which means that they still aren’t corrupted.

So the Library was lovely. As was the Museum. However, my classmate, Dean, and I had a long conversation about how the Museum was/is a dangerous place to send people to prove the Bible’s veracity. It’s nothing to do with there being evidence of Biblical truth. The problem comes in the meta-message that the very museum carries with it: Blatant Imperialism. Room after room is proof and evidence that the British went into other lands and countries and blatantly took (we commonly call it “stealing”) artifacts for display in Britain. And Britain refuses to give them back (“Finders Keepers” and all).

Now don’t mistake me. If Americans had been there first, I’m sure we would have done the same (I’m sure we have, too, sadly). And I think most any other country would, were it in the same position. But to parade Imperialism to people with a difficult and subjugated past history with Britain as proof of Christianity is potentially damaging to the relationship-building and conversion process, ya know? It was fascinating and sad all at the same time.

So on to the Mosque.

Friday is the prayer day, in which more people attend mosque than any other day of the week. There is also a “sermon” of sorts, in addition to prayer. Thus, more women attend than on other days of the week. We had been warned that the group to go on Friday would have a different experience than any of the other groups because of this. Now, mind you, two of the groups to go before us had had a lovely time. However, one group had encountered a Muslim worshipper who, in his conversation with them, had begun to speak of how he no longer forgives, and how the West can never repay or atone for what they had done in the Middle East, and that he, personally, would see to vengeance, even if it meant the deaths of 100 people, 1,000 people, 100,000 or 1 million people. Needless to say, that group did not get to receive Korans, or have time to talk to a real mosque rep. They just politely excused themselves and got out as fast as they could.

So this was on our minds as we walked to the mosque. Lisa and I were the only women in the group of seven, and we were prepared with scarves to cover our hair for entrance (required). Once inside the gates, there was a man directing Lisa and I to the women’s entrance and prayer room (the red path in my diagram), off to the side, while the guys went forward (noted in my diagram with a yellow circle). The place was packed, with a wide open courtyard, also filled with lines and lines of kneeling men.

The women’s area was small and seemed more like just “the side of the building”. There were some women milling about in the grass/yard there, watching small children. I was internally indignant at first, until I saw the entrance to the women’s prayer room. It was up some stairs, and was already packed. (shown in my diagram, outlined by light blue. It was on the second floor, overlooking the “sanctuary” of the men’s area). Lisa and I made our way up, taking our shoes off, to kneel/sit in the hallway outside of the prayer room with other women who couldn’t fit into the prayer room. Even though Lisa and I had our heads covered, we still stood out, due to our clothes. The other women were well covered with flowing fabrics in long sleeves, dresses, tunics, and trousers. Lisa and I were both wearing jeans or khakis and short-sleeved shirts (sleeveless shirts were strictly forbidden). There were other white women there, presumably British, but they, too, were dressed like the other women. An older Somali woman got us a copy of the “sermon” in English, with verses in English and Arabic. It was about the Sincerity of Works.

The problem with this sermon copy, for me, came in the fact that there were Arabic verses from the Koran on it. Personally, it would have meant little to nothing to me. However, to a Muslim, the Arabic verses are holy and to put them on the ground or throw them away would be desecration and sacrilege. So I couldn’t put it down or crumple it or throw it away within the mosque. It was virtually impossible for me to put my shoes on later and tie them while clutching this piece of paper. While keeping my headcovering on. Very tough. But Lisa and I made it. We were shoo-ed out when the imam stopped talking and the women stood to pray. I’m not sure if it was because we couldn’t be there, or if the woman just knew that we wouldn’t be praying, but she shoo-ed us out and down to put our shoes on.

After prayer was over, the entire place vacated in about 20 minutes. Lisa and I began to look for the guys from our group. We retraced our steps to the point where we had been separated from them (the green line). But we weren’t sure where we, as women, were allowed to go. So we got to that point and then discussed, “Can we go into the covered walkway? Oooh! There’s a woman on the covered walkway. Let’s go!” (the pink line). Then, “Can we go into the courtyard? Oooh! There’s a woman on the courtyard. Let’s go!” (the purple line). Then Lisa reminded me not to meet the eyes of any man. Shoot! Eyes down! Where are those guys?!?!?!

Then we discussed whether we were allowed inside the Mosque building proper. “Can we go in there? Oooh! There’s a woman coming out. Let’s go!” (the reddish-brown line). No guys. Where are they?? We saw a sign for the library on the second floor, and thought, “Can we go up to the library? Oooh! There’s a woman coming down from the library. Let’s go!” (the peach line).

Once up there, we saw the guys, sitting, gathered around a Muslim man, in a auditorium-like setting. I felt free to just go up to them, but Lisa stopped me, “I don’t think we can approach them while he is talking.” Dang it! So I approached a woman up there, and she said, “yes, sure!” So we approached, and the man got up and pulled out chairs for us (the light yellow line). Another man approached and handed out Korans to each of us. I wanted to only take one, but he held out 2 Korans, telling me to take one for a friend. I tried not to take it. I politely protested. He just stood silently with the books extended to me. And waited. Until I took them. We all took multiple Korans. That time killed me. The man speaking with us was nice and congenial, but it was awful, as a woman. Lisa and I just sat there silently, not looking anyone in the eye. Our feet flat on the ground (showing the sole of your foot is very disrespectful). Tugging at our headcoverings to make sure they were covering our hair. Hands crossed, resting on the Koran (anxious I’ll drop it – setting it on the ground – sacrilege!). Stiff posture. Definitely not liking being there. The man finished talking (I have no idea what he said. Too busy tugging on my headcovering) and shook hands with the men (touching someone of the opposite sex who is not related or married to you is haram (forbidden)), wishing us well.

We followed him downstairs, and he showed us a picture of Mecca, resplendent with pilgrims, millions of them. As he led some of the other guys into the “sanctuary,” Bill cracks a joke to me, under his breath, “What is that? Wembley Stadium?” I almost died. I turned to Bill, and asked him to “Stop. Please, just stop. For me.” “I don’t think anyone else heard me–” “Bill, for me. Please. You have no idea what I’m going through. You are in the majority [as a man]. I am not. Please. For me.” He agreed and stopped, but I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I’d say that it was definitely beyond “out of my comfort zone.” Yikes. I bee-lined it out of there, and took my headcovering off as soon as possible. Icky. All of it.

We made it back to S in time to attend the Urdu homegroup that is associated with the team in S. The group is made up of Urdu-speaking Christians (Urdu is commonly spoken in Pakistan, and most of these people were Pakistani Christians before immigrating to the UK). The group gets 30-100 people every week. It was pretty swell to be there with them. There was worship in the beginning, with traditional (I think) songs/hymns sung in both English and Urdu. They shared praises and prayer requests, and then had a friendly group quiz/competition on a passage they were studying. A special guest, an Anglican priest originally from Pakistan, gave the sermon, and then we all shared an Asian meal together (again, “Asian” denotes Indian, Pakistani, or Bangledeshi, and not Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Thai, etc). Very lovely.