At Jumah earlier today (2/16/2018) right after everyone said the final salam, a younger dad two rows in front of me turned around and grabbed ahold of his 1½ or maybe 2-year old son, held the boy’s squeezable little face in his palms, smiled at him, then gave him a hug. The dad then looked over to an older salt-and-pepper “uncle” roughly in his 60s who was in the row directly in front of me. The two leaned closer to each other smiled, exchanged some words that I could not hear even though I was not more than 3 feet away. Then they smiled again and each went their separate ways.
With me so far?
Here’s the scene PRECEDING all the above, which pretty much overtook anything I was supposed to be focused on during prayer. There was a pair of prescription eyeglasses on the carpet. One of the lenses had “fallen” out. Pan out just a tad and you can actually see that right next to the lone lens brazenly stood the perpetrator’s insanely adorable set of little baby feet… which were attached to that same ridiculously adorable 1½ or 2-year-old little boy (mashallah).
At this point the frames were just slightly twisted. Yet their owner chose not to pick them up off the carpet. Having worn glasses myself for a good 4 decades, I could tell it was one of those stylish higher end frames where the bottom half of the lens is held to the frame by what looks like fishing line.
Then, with this intoxicating measure of calmness + curiousity, that boy’s pudgy little fingers swooped down and picked up those glasses. With one hand, the boy turned the glasses in one direction and stared. Then he examined them from every possible angle. Then he paused, and then grabbed the glasses with both pudgy little hands and pretty much forced them onto is cute little face. Then he paused –and yet the owner of those glasses still chose not to make a move. The boy then took off the glasses again, flipped them upside down and again, wedged them back onto his face. Then, he took them off and stared at them –and with both hands proceeded to… well, let’s call it “reconfigure” what remained of those poor glasses. And then he reconfigured them again. And again. And again until finally was interrupted by, “sami’allahu liman hamada.”
I didn’t know whether to explode with anger or die laughing. “Rabbana walaka alhamd”
Let me put it this way: The insanely extreme extent of this little infant’s cuteness (mashallah) was the only thing comparable to the extent of how insanely mangled those pathetic glasses had become. And THAT that is coming from me, glasses-wearing-father of my own three-little-monkeys!
Remember now, that dad has seen none of this because he’s one row ahead while his son has been conducting this circus right behind and out-of-sight of his father.
Honestly, I felt no mercy for the uncle, owner of the glasses --because what kind of a knucklehead leaves their glasses on the carpet during THE weekly congregational prayer routinely attended by children of all ages. Like, yo uncle, are you new here?? Ah, but my main focus was still on that little boy because my inner papa-bear kept wondering, what if the dad turns around and spanks this boy, what if he yells at the boy or even does that slow-mo, low-pitch harsh-talk thing that we’ve all done with our kids? Papa-bear was poised and ready to take down the inexperienced dad clearly at least 15-20 years younger than me.
“Attahiyyatu lillahi wassalawatu wattayyibat…”
My plan was that if dad behaved, then my fury would be unleashed at the uncle if he remotely dared to berate that young father for bringing his son to Jumah. I was pretty much ready to all but punch that old man in the face if he even looked crossly in the direction of the adorable little boy. I was locked, loaded and ready for battle, I waited and watched. And then I left Jumah in tears.
[Go back and re-read the first paragraph above if you need a refresher.]
In that sacred space, in the span of less than a minute, the intensity of mercy exchanged between those three individuals—literally three generations, was nothing less than majestic: Smiles. Eye contact. A few soft spoken words. And more smiles. That was it. Now blink. Yes, we know and believe and agree that Jumah is important, and even required. We know that we are supposed to listen to the khutbah and focus on God during prayer. And yet clearly, there is vastly more to Jumah than what is said at the pulpit or within the mihraab during Friday prayers.
I don’t know why the older man never reached down and picked up his glasses, or what he heard from or said to the young father. I also think it is entirely pointless to philosophize over what level of education or religious training or life experience or anything else that shaped this young father and this older man --because what mattered most is what they DID. The ACTIONS of those two men spoke plenty for all of us. Their actions spoke right THROUGH to all the self-proclaimed “activist” Muslims who yak our ears off that “Islam is the religion of peace… Islam is the religion of mercy” – yet all their energy and "knowledge" still leaves them clueless on HOW to actually LIVE those values.
YEAH, but all of that was at the expense of my khushu or focus during prayer – or was it?
I have no clue who those three individuals are, but if I were you, I would look for “them” at your local mosque. Okay, try not to lose focus while in prayer, but more importantly stay focused on why you are praying in the first place. And if you get it right, you could also win front-row seats at the circus!
Lord of all creation, Most Generous, Most Merciful, and Source of all mercy -- you know exactly who those three individuals are, so please keep them embraced in Your boundless mercy, protect and guide their hearts and their actions, and do the same for their families and everyone they encounter— including me.
With me so far?
Here’s the scene PRECEDING all the above, which pretty much overtook anything I was supposed to be focused on during prayer. There was a pair of prescription eyeglasses on the carpet. One of the lenses had “fallen” out. Pan out just a tad and you can actually see that right next to the lone lens brazenly stood the perpetrator’s insanely adorable set of little baby feet… which were attached to that same ridiculously adorable 1½ or 2-year-old little boy (mashallah).
At this point the frames were just slightly twisted. Yet their owner chose not to pick them up off the carpet. Having worn glasses myself for a good 4 decades, I could tell it was one of those stylish higher end frames where the bottom half of the lens is held to the frame by what looks like fishing line.
Then, with this intoxicating measure of calmness + curiousity, that boy’s pudgy little fingers swooped down and picked up those glasses. With one hand, the boy turned the glasses in one direction and stared. Then he examined them from every possible angle. Then he paused, and then grabbed the glasses with both pudgy little hands and pretty much forced them onto is cute little face. Then he paused –and yet the owner of those glasses still chose not to make a move. The boy then took off the glasses again, flipped them upside down and again, wedged them back onto his face. Then, he took them off and stared at them –and with both hands proceeded to… well, let’s call it “reconfigure” what remained of those poor glasses. And then he reconfigured them again. And again. And again until finally was interrupted by, “sami’allahu liman hamada.”
I didn’t know whether to explode with anger or die laughing. “Rabbana walaka alhamd”
Let me put it this way: The insanely extreme extent of this little infant’s cuteness (mashallah) was the only thing comparable to the extent of how insanely mangled those pathetic glasses had become. And THAT that is coming from me, glasses-wearing-father of my own three-little-monkeys!
Remember now, that dad has seen none of this because he’s one row ahead while his son has been conducting this circus right behind and out-of-sight of his father.
Honestly, I felt no mercy for the uncle, owner of the glasses --because what kind of a knucklehead leaves their glasses on the carpet during THE weekly congregational prayer routinely attended by children of all ages. Like, yo uncle, are you new here?? Ah, but my main focus was still on that little boy because my inner papa-bear kept wondering, what if the dad turns around and spanks this boy, what if he yells at the boy or even does that slow-mo, low-pitch harsh-talk thing that we’ve all done with our kids? Papa-bear was poised and ready to take down the inexperienced dad clearly at least 15-20 years younger than me.
“Attahiyyatu lillahi wassalawatu wattayyibat…”
My plan was that if dad behaved, then my fury would be unleashed at the uncle if he remotely dared to berate that young father for bringing his son to Jumah. I was pretty much ready to all but punch that old man in the face if he even looked crossly in the direction of the adorable little boy. I was locked, loaded and ready for battle, I waited and watched. And then I left Jumah in tears.
[Go back and re-read the first paragraph above if you need a refresher.]
In that sacred space, in the span of less than a minute, the intensity of mercy exchanged between those three individuals—literally three generations, was nothing less than majestic: Smiles. Eye contact. A few soft spoken words. And more smiles. That was it. Now blink. Yes, we know and believe and agree that Jumah is important, and even required. We know that we are supposed to listen to the khutbah and focus on God during prayer. And yet clearly, there is vastly more to Jumah than what is said at the pulpit or within the mihraab during Friday prayers.
I don’t know why the older man never reached down and picked up his glasses, or what he heard from or said to the young father. I also think it is entirely pointless to philosophize over what level of education or religious training or life experience or anything else that shaped this young father and this older man --because what mattered most is what they DID. The ACTIONS of those two men spoke plenty for all of us. Their actions spoke right THROUGH to all the self-proclaimed “activist” Muslims who yak our ears off that “Islam is the religion of peace… Islam is the religion of mercy” – yet all their energy and "knowledge" still leaves them clueless on HOW to actually LIVE those values.
The older man's actions spoke to all those allegedly-sincere yet scathingly harsh uncles and aunties who shun and shame young parents, rather than embracing and uplifting them.
His actions spoke for that infant, who alongside every bugger-picking, rambunctious Muslim kid out there retains unalienable claim to every inch of every mosque from the Prophet’s in Medina pbuh right down to the one on your street.
His actions called to account those same harsh uncles and aunties whose persistent antics drove away far too many of our community’s best and brightest children AND adults. And today, this kind man’s mercy now calls us all back.
The young father’s actions infused the missing ingredient uniquely capable of authentically linking our generations. His poise and smile put mercy into action, not his self-righteousness or ego, or fear, or shame or all of the crazed emotions we’ve all experienced in similar situations.
Finally, it is clear that when mercy is expressed from one person to another, the giver benefits and obviously so does the receiver. Yet, what I had not logically expected is that even as a bystander, the unmistakably majestic embrace of that generous mercy included me.
YEAH, but all of that was at the expense of my khushu or focus during prayer – or was it?
I have no clue who those three individuals are, but if I were you, I would look for “them” at your local mosque. Okay, try not to lose focus while in prayer, but more importantly stay focused on why you are praying in the first place. And if you get it right, you could also win front-row seats at the circus!
Lord of all creation, Most Generous, Most Merciful, and Source of all mercy -- you know exactly who those three individuals are, so please keep them embraced in Your boundless mercy, protect and guide their hearts and their actions, and do the same for their families and everyone they encounter— including me.
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