My daughter (feisty, fifteen, and wicked-smart) got into it the other day with a beloved family friend. He identifies as “very conservative,” as far as politics are concerned, and she, well, does not. Ahem.

Being brought up to believe my job is to keep the peace at all costs (white supremacy, I see you1), I mostly withered in the other room and focused on deep breathing. Actually, pleaser tendencies aside, I consciously let the conversation roll on without me. She’ll be on her own soon enough, and needs to experience all kinds of interactions now while she’s still safe in my nest. (Strong parenting move, I told myself.)

So, I busied myself with household tasks and forced myself not to diffuse the tension and suggest we all play Ransom Notes.2

But then the subject of Islam arose, and I couldn’t stay silent. Not that my daughter can’t hold her own, but she doesn’t have much in the way of religious studies under her belt, and was only able to repeat a few facts she’d learned.

Our friend, speaking of a certain politician who happens to be Muslim, was making some extremely unfavorable remarks about the entire population of followers of Islam. Of course, he’s been given a divisive narrative and hasn’t had an opportunity to challenge it in the context of conversation and relationship with actual Muslims, and so he brought forward the all-too-common concern we’ve all heard: Muslims are instructed to kill everyone who isn’t Muslim. It’s right there in their book.

I mean, there was a time I agreed. Years ago, I got sucked into the cult of Christian-Americans-need-to-outbreed-those-Muslims and believed the rhetoric I was told. I had exactly zero Muslim friends or even acquaintances, so it was easy to swallow the lie that the Christian Nationalist movement had prepared for me: within a generation or two, we will be outnumbered by people who want us to convert or die, so our best option is to have more Christian babies.3

So, back to the conversation in my kitchen. I took a deep breath, tried to summon all the love in my heart, and said something like, “Actually, that is a horrible mistranslation.”

Our friend looked suspicious. I took that as an invitation.

“Did you know many Muslims believe in Jesus, whom they know as Isa? Some call Him the Messiah, and the story of the virgin birth is right there in the Qur’an. Lots of Muslims believe Isa will come again and bring about the restoration of all things.”

This didn’t compute. Clearly it didn’t fit the narrative, and the cognitive dissonance was deafening.

I went on. “That text you’re referencing, like I said, it’s a terrible rendering of the original scripture, and it’s been misapplied and twisted. But it’s not at all the heart of Islam—which by the way, means peace and submission to God. And I would ask you to think of all the horrible texts within the Hebrew and Christian scriptures that call for bloodshed, and recognize that’s not actually the heart of our God either.”4

Wish I could say that statement created the aha! moment I was hoping for, but we all know it rarely works that way.5 However, I did mention that I was going to record a conversation with a real-live-Muslim woman named Shabs the following morning, and hoped it would be helpful for further consideration.

It’s not terribly likely that my friend will hear the episode with Shabs or read this blog,6 but I do hope the conversation will be uplifting and helpful to anyone who comes across it.

OK, now can I tell you a little about Shabs?

I first met Shabnam Naz Ansari in a theology class zoom led by Bradley Jersak, and the minute she started talking, I was hooked. She speaks from such a place of deep wisdom and compassion, I just couldn’t help but want to get to know her more. Not only that, but her story is one of the most inspiring and compelling accounts of personal-and-then-collective liberation I’ve ever heard. I won’t give you much by way of a teaser because I hope you’ll listen to her tell it, but her narrative includes fighting in Pakistani courts for the right to leave her abusive marriage, having to leave the country and her children, rebuilding herself and her faith, and now living in the years of reclamation and restoration. Today she heads up a beautiful Canadian charity called The Volunteer Well, is the main researcher for Worldwide Qur’an Thinkers, and runs a successful insurance brokerage. But much more importantly, she has reunited with her children and is harvesting the fruits of her spiritual awakening and reclaiming of her faith. She is leading the way for Muslims and other people of faith to deeply embody the principles of love at the heart of their ethos.

Part of why I want to share this with you at this particular moment in time is because I think Shabs knows something that can really help us move through the horror of right now. Not that she has easy solutions or strategies for maneuvering under oppression (but seriously, I’m here to take notes if she ever puts out a memoir and shares how she studied law to free herself from her abusive marriage and leave the country), but that she sees the thing so many of us need to remember right now:

WE.

ARE.

ALL.

THE.

SAME.

We’re all made of the same stuff. The same divine essence. Every single one of us.

And really, we all want the same thing, although we have very different ideas about how to get there. But no one truly wants a future full of violence and scarcity for their children and grandchildren. At least we can all agree we want peace and security.7

Shabs sees this from within her Muslim faith.

I see it from my Christian one (though, lately when people ask if I’m a Christian, I have a few questions first about what they mean by that word).

Lots of folks in other traditions see it, too.

What about my “very conservative” friend? Time will tell. I’m holding out hope. Maybe this conversation will help us get there.

Give a listen and let me know your thoughts.

Sending love, my friends. Be safe.

And for the love of ALL THAT IS GOOD, call your reps.

~Anni