This article was first published at Christianity Today, on June 22, 2017.
For most American Christians, Ramadan is a novelty; something heard of, but rarely seen. For Middle Eastern Christians, it is everywhere.
For some, it is an annoyance. The month-long fast from sunrise to sunset can make for a cranky Muslim neighbor. Productivity tends to slow. Religiosity tends to rise.
But for other believers, it is an opportunity.
“The Evangelical Church of Maadi wishes all Egyptians a generous Ramadan,” proclaimed the flowery banner hung in the southern Cairo suburb. Such signage is not uncommon (and Muslims also display Merry Christmas wishes for Christians). But saluting “all Egyptians” is a statement.
“I want our brother Muslims to feel that we are one [as Egyptians], and it will make him happy in his heart,” said pastor Naseem Fadi. “We both celebrate Ramadan.”
Beside the need to have good relations with Muslims, Fadi also emphasized his biblical obligations. “Our faith tells us to love everyone,” he said. “And when we reach out to others, we teach them about ourselves.”
Across the Middle East, Christians join in the festive spirit—often by hosting an iftar, the traditional fast-breaking dinner…
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This article was first published in the April print edition of Christianity Today.
The deadliest incident faced by the persecuted church last Christmas wasn’t radical Islamists. It was alcohol.
Liquor mixed with aftershave killed about 50 people at Christmas parties in a Pakistani village, and sickened about 100 more.
In Pakistan, as in many Muslim-majority nations where Shari‘ah law forbids drinking, alcohol is closely identified with Christianity. The nation’s primary alcohol producer, for example, riffs on the Bible in advertisements. Founded in 1860 by the British, Murree Brewery’s slogan, “Eat, drink, and be Murree,” echoes the repeated biblical idiom for short-term pleasures.
Perhaps as surprising as the existence of a Pakistani brewery is the fact that 12 Muslims were among the victims of the fatal Christmas parties. But in 2007, then–Murree CEO Minnoo Bhandara told The Telegraph that 99 percent of his customers are Muslims. And in the Middle East, alcohol sales increased 72 percent from 2001 to 2011, according to market research.
Still, in most Muslim countries only Christians may buy or consume alcohol. But not all do. Wilson Chowdhry, chairman of the British Pakistani Christian Association, estimates that about half of Pakistani Christian men drink. Roman Catholics are slightly more inclined; Protestants less so. But the women of both branches of Christianity, he says, are fully opposed.
Chowdhry, an evangelical, believes alcohol is licit for the Christian; but in deference to his wife, he does not drink. Common arguments in Pakistan will feel familiar to Americans…
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In traditional Islamic terminology the caliph is known as amir al-mu’mineen, or, the prince of the believers. In this new music video, Shaban Abdel Rahim adjusts the Arabic slightly to call him amir al-mugrimeen, the prince of criminals.
The video blasts the Islamic State for its conduct, and declares Islam to be innocent of their crimes. But there is political commentary also. Baghdadi is asked how much money he is receiving from Qatar, and the world is asked why Egypt is being left to fight its local terrorism alone.
These concerns are not unique to Egypt but certainly reflect much popular sentiment about the group. The video also hails the Egyptian army for its role in fighting terrorism in Sinai, where Ansar Bait al-Maqdis (Supporters of Jerusalem) has pledged its allegiance to ISIS. Egypt, however, has committed no troops to the coalition effort in Syria or Iraq.
In my opinion neither the song nor the satire is all that good, but the message is not missed by Baghdadi. According to Paul Attallah, to whom thanks are given for sharing the video and adding English subtitles, Abdel Rahim has already received death threats for his mocking.
Here is another humorous offering, from the Lebanese band, the Great Departed. It is called ‘The moulid of Sidi Baghdadi’, using phrases that laud him as a Sufi saint, an interpretation of Islam he vigorously opposes. The crowd laughs in delight.
Thanks to Arabist for this link, as well as a partial translation:
The song starts out showering traditional blessings and titles on Baghdadi, but quickly takes a turn into mockery. It has lines like this:
(In Arabic it rhymes. My awkward translation is “Because Islam is merciful… we’ll butcher and hand out meat/To make it less crowded/We’ll blow folks up/Because there’s no compulsion in religion/we’ll kill unbelievers..and Shia and Sunnis and Christians, what a loss!”)
Arabist makes an interesting point. There is no doubting the cruelty of the group and its desire to be feared. Perhaps the best remedy, therefore, is not to take it seriously. Deny ISIS the strength it seeks.
Surely there are other more practical responses, but the response of humor to crisis is a particularly characteristic Egyptian trait. Military and religious efforts have their place, perhaps, but the cultural struggle may be paramount. It is here these two videos offer their contribution.
If you’d like a look at me in action, a friend found this video from a few months ago. I simply stand, and mouth the words to the Nicene Creed along with the rest of the Syrian Orthodox congregation.
The occasion was the installment of Pope Tawadros; representatives of this sister Oriental Orthodox Church were in attendance. Before traveling back to their own countries in Syria, Lebanon, and Iraq, they had a joint service together in downtown Cairo.
My appearance is at about the 7:00 minute mark. It is worth a few minutes of your time, just to enjoy the different and vibrant color schemes of each church. In attendance with me was the former head of the Middle East Council of Churches, who I’m sure could explain the differences.
I remember at the time thinking I would write about the experience, but other projects placed it on the back burner until it was forgotten. But now I recall the fun, the boredom, the familiarity, and the small differences between these ancient adherents of the faith and their Coptic brothers I have come to know.
On the one hand, they seem utterly irrelevant. They are small, declining churches surrounded by violence and conflict. They have funny hats and peculiar beards. They did have a good time together, as did the small congregation of a hundred or so worshipers.
But of what value are these churches, these dresses, these colors, to the people of Syria, Lebanon, and Iraq? What difference does this faith make to those suffering, to societies in collapse, the remaining faithful?
Perhaps the question can be what good is this faith anywhere? Does it transform, does it serve, does it save? There is no peculiarity to the Arab world.
But this faith is ancient, and those privileged to existentially wonder about it from the comforts of Western experience would do well to learn. I only wish I knew what the lesson is.
Is that the point? There are Christians in this world in the lap of luxury, and others in the deepest poverty. There are some who preside over the greatest military power in history, and others who are stomped upon by the weapons of war.
The world has made it possible for these worlds to connect, only adding to the complication. But for centuries it was such, and each slice of the Christian world had only slight knowledge of the extended family.
So what good does it do Syria to have a Christian costume party in Cairo? What good does it do America to have a Christian rock concert in a movie theater? What good does it do you to see a transplanted American in their mix, who assaults you with these questions?? What good does it do them that I was there at all?
Of course, each of these questions presupposes the ‘good’ of Christianity is for this world. It is, right? I would so like it to be.
But the Oriental Orthodox churches remind amid their colors and pomp and circumstance that worship probably has very little relevance to what good this world needs. More poignantly for me and probably most readers here, what I as an individual need.
But with God you cannot say it is what he needs, either. So what is the point?
Still, I have no lesson. Can faith and humility be ok with this? They must, lest you throw it all away.
Here, there is no certainty, there is no peculiarity, there is no victory. God can grant them each at other times if he wishes.
Instead, we wonder, we reflect, we appreciate. If all is well, we share, we worship.
If we like, we wear funny colors, or do interpretive dance.
And if he leads, we welcome marauding militias, or sign petitions against hovering drones.
And if he leads, we fight against oppressive regimes, or lobby against oppressive taxes.
But in the end, together, we mouth the Nicene Creed.
Egypt is not Lebanon. Though the political transition leads increasingly to polarization and bouts of violence, almost no one seriously warns of a fate resembling Lebanon in the 1970-80s. Lebanon is a conglomeration of religious sects concentrated in distinct geographical areas and topographical terrain. Egypt is one people, with Muslims and Christians interspersed everywhere along the flatbed of the Nile.
Even so, former combatants from Lebanon’s civil war – now reconciled – are very concerned.
Muhi al-Din Shihab was a leader in one of the Sunni militias, while Assaad Chaftari was the number two man in the Falange, a Christian militia.
“We wanted to kill the Lebanese ‘other’, which was primarily the Christian,” he [Shihab] said. “But as the war went on we discovered more and more ‘others’ we had to fight – Israel, multinational forces, and various Islamic sects.”
…
“I went to see the Christian quarters and saw the results of the violence,” he said. “I had seen them as the enemy, as conspirers with Israel and sons of the Crusaders.
“But I was surprised to see how ignorant I was. Most of them were opposed to Israel. They were not wealthier than we were; they were not semi-French. They were Arabs just like we were.
“I thought I was engaged in jihad,” he said, “but who else was responsible for this bloodshed?”
Chaftari also tells his story:
“Our civil war was built on the prejudicial thoughts each one had toward the other,” Shaftarī said. “We thought Lebanon was ours because the French gave it to us, while they thought of Lebanon only as a transitory country until the Muslim ummah is established.
“We viewed Muslims as our guests. We called them our brothers, but accepted them as lesser brothers.”
…
“Eventually I looked in the mirror and stopped seeing myself as good and perfect.
“Instead, I saw the ‘other’ in the mirror. He had a name, a life, and a family. Like me, he loved Lebanon.”
But the most insightful comment concerning Egypt was a confession by Chaftari:
“I deliberately created spins and lies, especially filtering the data about our enemies,” he said. “I disregarded what did not help my cause and accepted, amplified, and spread data that confirmed my political vision of the others. I did this because I believed it was necessary to create fear of the other.
“Then I would turn fear into hate, and use hate to turn people in fighting machines.”
The article then briefly considers the contradictory narratives when Muslim Brotherhood members and opposition protestors clashed at the presidential palace in December:
Obviously, someone is lying. It is not the point here to determine the guiltiest party – there is testimony and video evidence aplenty on the internet. But like in Lebanon, locked in desperate political struggle, parties play fast and loose with the truth to support their objectives. It is an all too common human characteristic.
May God bring all guilty parties to account, but then, as in Lebanon with Shihab and Chaftari, to reconciliation. Lebanon has yet to fully recover, and Egypt is yet nowhere near its example.
The parallel, however, is worrisome.
Please click here to read the full article on Arab West Report.
Jayson Casper 