Today was an interesting day. This is by no means the most pleasant of topics, but to cut a long story short I required a urology visit today, and the procedure I underwent was… well, let’s just say it’s not something I wish to do again in a hurry.
The specialist I spoke to, Yusuf, was quite an interesting man. I cannot remember exactly where he told me he was from, but I vaguely recall it was in the region of Afghanistan and the Indian borders. In fact, being in his late sixties, he even happened to see Gandhi in person at one point, which I found incredibly surreal. While we were talking about the divisions which arose between Hindus and Muslims, I happened to ask him what his own faith was, to which he responded “I am everything.”
He expounded, of course, saying that he did not believe one religion to be the “right” one, and, like many people do, incorporated wisdom from several faith traditions. Having come from a Muslim background, he has a deep reverence for the Quran, and yet also told me he attends a chapel (on which he is also the caretaker). I imagine many Christians would balk at what might be perceived as spiritual dilution, but I always find it a joy to meet such people. Our spiritual directions might not always be the same, but it’s nonetheless highly interesting to see where they converge. Not least of all, Yusuf mentioned to me that He believed Jesus to be the Son of God (although he did not go into detail about how he viewed this), and only disbelieved in the Triune understanding of the relationship between God and Jesus. With a smile he told me “I cannot fathom it, but I haven’t given up hope.”
Sometimes laughing, sometimes pausing for though, we spent the next few hours happily chatting away about various issues, and mostly about the dialogue which is so needed between different faith traditions. Quite arguably, we spend so much time quarreling over our differences that we often forget to celebrate our common ground. We might not be able to get away from the fact that the Quran and the Bible hold different views on the person of Jesus, but why are we so willing to forget that Jews, Christians, and Muslims all come from the same region of the world?
After sharing a couple of more amusingly insightful stories with me, Yusuf was gracious enough to allow me to pray with him. He noted that my referring to God as “Father” signifies a very intimate relationship, which is very easy to take for granted when we pray. I too must learn to regain my appreciation and reverence for God as my Father. The word Jesus used was “Abba,” an Aramaic term which, in our English equivalent, would be “Daddy.”
Today, I have been reminded, as I often am, of why prayer is such an important component of the Christian faith (as well as others). Yusuf may not call himself a Christian by name nor believe exactly the same things I do, but in those few moments of prayer, we enjoyed fellowship in the presence of God. I told him during the course of our conversation that as Jesus gave himself as ransom for all, so He in turn expected His disciples to become servants of all people, in a way that true greatness comes from becoming the least (Mark 10:35-45). I am as much Yusuf’s servant (the proper term is probably “slave”) as I am that of anyone else on the planet. If such is the case, I can only hazard that the divine function of any other Christian is to serve me even as I am serving them. Cosmic unity, driven by Christ.
This is at the heart of the radical love of which Jesus spoke, of that self-sacrificial empathy which drives a person to love not just their family, not just their friends, but even the whole of humankind, all beings made in God’s image. And if Christ is the agent by which people are no longer separated from one another but rather brought together in unity, then prayer is that mysterious power by which we engage in that event. Prayer is the fellowship which exists between people, and between a person and God. When we come together and pray corporately, the power is a mysterious one, and we often cannot see its effects, but the act itself holds something deeply mystical about it.
Later in the evening, while I was working at St. George’s Crypt, a homeless young man named Stephen asked to speak to me. He suffers from an unspecified disability which impairs his walking movements and his speech, and it was a little difficult to understand him in places. What I gathered, however, was that he feels completely and utterly shunned by the people he thought cared about him, and is unable to get past the pain of his parents’ death. As he opened up, it was quite clear that he was planning to commit suicide. Upon attempting to reassure Stephen of his potential and the hope that lies in his life, he seemed unable to grasp the concept that I might love him. Understandably so, it was difficult for him to see how anyone might care anymore, let alone a man he’d just met that evening.
Lord God, I pray that Stephen sees the hope you offer, and that he would not surrender to the pain that overwhelms him.
He allowed me to lay hands on him and pray over him. Again, the mysterious divine fellowship which connects us in God’s power. Now will it stop him from committing suicide? Will he gain a glimpse of God’s love for him? I honestly don’t know. I can only keep hoping, and praying. To ask whether or not prayer “works” in these instances is a hopelessly flawed paradigm, since the mystical can only ever engage us as much as we choose to engage it ourselves. Moreover, God’s compassion is never limited by the failings of man, however we might act. In tragedy and pain, there is always room for healing.
Later in the evening, tired and haunted by my experiences, I sat and asked God why He remains silent in times when we seek Him. Responding to my doubt, He says “I am not a silent God. You are finding me among the poor, the destitute, and the despairing. Whenever you confront the least of these, you are confronting me. Go out, then, and find me.”
I find God not only among the despairing of this world, but also among individuals like Yusuf, who genuinely seek to understand the mysteries of our Creator. After all, God’s Kingdom finds its growth among the marginalised of society, but at the same time it must begin with the mustard seed of faith. When we find fellowship, when we act, and when we keep praying, that is perhaps when we will see the Kingdom come.
