that blessed moment
\nIn which the burden of the mystery
\nIn which the heavy and the weary weight
\nOf all this unintelligible world
\nIs lightened.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
And when I turned the others were looking at me, as if expecting some pronouncement.<\/p>\n
We walked down again past the ruins of homes destroyed by bombs and returned to Sayeed’s house where I wrote up my diary. I had learned to excuse myself expertly for this ritual and although a courteous hush spread through the room for the duration of my scrawling, the more curious men would draw in at close range, kneeling, their faces locked in perplexed delight at the odd shapes flowing from my pen.<\/p>\n
“And he reads and writes Persian too,” said Sayeed, with a touch of pride. At this I was handed a children’s schoolbook and invited to read; it was the story of Joseph.<\/p>\n
“And what about your Prophet?” asked one of the men after I had read.<\/p>\n
“That would be Jesus,” muttered another.<\/p>\n
“Yes, Jesus – is he alive or dead?” asked a third, and the room fell unexpectedly silent at the crucial question.<\/p>\n
It is hard to imagine unlettered European villagers enquiring of a Moslem visitor as to the significance of the Prophet Mohammed’s mission. Yet here in a tiny and remote Afghan village was evidence of a sincere concern for a guest’s interpretation of what to Moslem minds is a vital event.<\/p>\n
Few non-Moslems are aware of the profound reverence throughout the Islamic world for Jesus, or of the high esteem in which Maryam Mary, is held by practicing Moslems. There is no historical equivalent, in the reverse sense, to the centuries of derogation in the West of Islam as a system of faith, or the calumny heaped upon its Prophet. And whereas Christianity has distanced itself from Islam, there remains in the Islamic world a deep consciousness of the intertwining roots of both religions, which one flourished on the same soils.<\/p>\n
Moslem admiration for Christianity founders on two crucial objections. These are doctrinal rather than historical: both are considered inimical to the vigorous monotheism of orthodox Islam. One is the putative confusion between jesus and God, which is seen as confusion between the Messenger for its Source. The other is the symbolism of the Trinity, which smacks heavily of polytheism — to the Moslem mind perhaps the greatest of metaphysical heresies.<\/p>\n
Inevitably the trouble trickles down to such problematic events as the Crucifixion. As any sensible Moslem knows, Jesus did not die on the cross: someone else must have, or else He did not die. The belief that a man could die and return to life strikes Moslems as bafflingly misguided.<\/p>\n
They have a point. If removing the cornerstone of the resurrection from the Christian edifice is troublesome for Christianity, Islam does not find itself obliged to square metaphysical circles when a simple answer suffices. There is no humanization of the Absolute in Islam. No danger, either, of having the baby of religion itself thrown out with the bathwater of anthropomorphic symbolism. Consequently it suffers from none of the insecurities that arise from the headier mysteries built into Christianity; of the terrible dichotomies between God and Man, earthly and heavenly worlds, flesh and spirit.<\/p>\n
In Islam there is no confusion as to which is really which and who is who: no sane reason why dead men should live and three should equal one and vice versa; no conflict between spiritual and worldly endeavour; no need, therefore, for an entire class of men (and now even women) to pretend at interceding between the Divine and his servants — confusions that smack of polytheism, mystification, of a religion gone astray; metaphysical mouthfuls indeed, to Moslems weaned on a powerfully single-flavoured religion, but which Christians are conditioned to swallow whole without thinking.<\/p>\n
Even the most modern and sophisticated of Moslems finds the Christian version of things unnecessarily complicated and, whether he admits it or not, misguided. At the heart of Islam, conversely, lies something which, to the Christian or at least Western mind, appears disturbingly — disappointly, almost — straightforward: something altogether too uncompromisingly, if not oppressively, inflexible. This is the shahada<\/i>, or profession of faith, the proclamation of belief so potent as to be contained within a few syllables; the adamantine nexus around which orbits the religion of a billion souls:<\/p>\n
La illaha ill ‘allah<\/i>
\n(There is no God but God himself)<\/p>\n
The room was silent, and the shadows from the lantern rippled over the men’s faces as they leaned forward to hear my reply. But the prospect of venturing into such problematic territory, equipped only with my crippled Persian, seemed overly ambitious.<\/p>\n
I said: “Just as a man’s spirit lives on in his children, so too is Jesus alive in his followers.” For a few minutes they discussed the answer among themselves and seemed content. I was off the hook.<\/p>\n
“And where is God then?” came a voice.<\/p>\n
It was the same man who had begun this troublesome line of enquirty.<\/p>\n
“Here,” I said, and put my hand over my heart. He looked suddenly serious, fell silent, and a moment later left the room.<\/p>\n
![\"14584094.JPG\"](\"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/14584094.JPG\")
Next book on the shelf is An Unexpected Light: Travels in Afghanistan<\/a>![\"\"](\"http:\/\/www.assoc-amazon.com\/e\/ir?t=thesheivari-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0312288468\")
<\/i>, by Jason Elliot.<\/p>\n