A Priestly Collar, a Mosque, a Friendship

The priest had been agonizing about what he could do to help, so many miles from the smoking epicenter of the World Trade Center. There had been services on the night of the tragedy and parishioners to minister to. Blood, donations, of course. But, he kept telling himself there must be something more.

It came to him as he was driving down Exposition Boulevard near Vermont Avenue; the minaret of the Islamic center beckoned to him, as it had on many occasions. “I’d always been meaning to stop in there and just see the mosque, introduce myself as a fellow cleric,” said Father James Lee Walker of Los Angeles’ Christ the Good Shepherd Episcopal Church. “And it was always, ‘I’m busy now. I’ll go next time.”’ Next time, of course, hadn’t yet rolled around.

But driving toward the mosque, Walker made a decision and pulled into the Islamic center’s parking lot. In the building, he was greeted (rather cautiously, he thought) by two young men. “I realized I didn’t have a real clear idea why I was there, other than I wanted to come and say hello.” He asked to speak with the person in charge.

“The director of the center, or the imam?” the young men inquired.

“Whoever’s available,” Walker replied.

Neither was. They were at a meeting across town, where Muslim clerics were trying to figure out how to deal with the inevitable backlash that would descend upon their community in the wake of the terrible events of Sept. 11.

The priest asked for and was given a tour of the mosque and admired its sunlit, soaring space, still and deserted for the moment. He imagined what it must feel like filled with the faithful, barefoot and on their knees, facing Mecca. He said his farewells to the young men in the reception area.

“May I ask you a favor?” one asked. “Is it all right if we take a photo of you?”

“A photo?” he wondered. “Of me? Why?”

Then it struck him: “Here I am, some guy they’ve never seen before, walking in here with a [minister’s] collar asking to see their head guy and to look at their space--they must want to take a photo of me in case somebody tries to blow this place up, so they can give it to the police!” Walker was astounded at his own naivete, concerned that his impromptu visit had caused such anxiety. “Sure,” he replied. “Where do you want me, up against this wall?”

“Actually, I have one more favor to ask. Would you mind if I stood in the photo with you?”

The priest must have looked as confused as he felt, because the young man laughed, then explained: “Since Tuesday, my mother has been calling and calling, crying to me to come home.” He told the priest,”She tells me, ‘Walk to Mexico if you have to, but get on a plane and come home to Morocco! Soon all the Christians in the United States will rise up and slay every Muslim they can find! I want you safe!”’

Walker shook his head in dismay and said, “That’s not going to happen here.” “I know,” his new friend countered. “But when my mother sees me next to a priest, she will believe I’m safe.”

So they stood together, arms around each other’s shoulders, the young Moroccan who prays to Allah and the middle-aged Texan who celebrates Christ’s resurrection at mass, and looked into the camera to allay the fears of a mother far away.

“Say peace,” said the photographer, before he snapped the shot. They did.

There are 6 million Muslims living and working in the U.S. and supporting its official policy of religious tolerance. Many were born here, many have adopted this country as their own. The overwhelming majority are as sickened by what happened Sept. 11 as their counterparts in other religions and reject Osama bin Laden’s jihad against Americans.

If you’re wondering what else you can do (after you’ve sent money, given blood and said prayers), know that there is one other thing you can do: Say peace to the Muslims in our midst. And mean it.