Rising above unspeakable tragedy with faith

While filling the pulpit for a few months in a Cape Girardeau church as a pastoral retiree a few years back, I was invited to join an intrepid group of folks who came together occasionally to talk about interfaith understanding.

One of my better evenings as a clergyman occurred at Christ Episcopal Church, where directed conversation happened over a meal, a repast with a dizzying variety of food from all over the world.

I was honored to be discussion leader at my table.

Seated with me were older adults and college students.

I don't remember any of the Q&A because I've slept since then, and my mind retains less and less.

I do recall one person vividly.

A delightful young woman, a then-student at Southeast, revealed herself as a great conversationalist and as a non-theist, what the public usually calls atheist.

The two hours we spent together exploded for me stereotypes of those holding no faith at all, which something called the General Social Survey says is the fastest growing "religious" grouping in the U.S.

The so-called "nones" account for 23.1 percent of the general population, which ties non-theists with Catholicism in terms of adherents, according to the 2019 poll, the latest available.

Polls can be, and often are, filled with faulty methodology and diminished by having surveyed too few people.

Still, it seems safe to assume the following: our churches overall are getting smaller, the world continues to be ever more religiously pluralistic and non-theists are rising in number.

The young woman at the dinner, who sat across from me that Friday evening in 2017, was engaging and thoughtful, exhibiting not a whiff of the odious dismissiveness of the late Madelyn Murray O'Hair, perhaps the best-known non-theist in U.S. history.

If we shouldn't paint atheists with a broad brush, perhaps it is also time to start engaging with people of different religious faiths on a one-on-one basis and not as a group.

Stereotypes fall apart when you get to know someone personally.

My university colleague, Tahsin Khalid, teaches education at Southeast and is leader of Interfaith Center of Cape Girardeau.

You may have read in this publication about an arsonist who is said to have deliberately set fire to Cape's mosque on April 24.

The accused, Nicholas Proffitt, reportedly made his second attempt to damage the Interfaith Center in 11 years, this time succeeding in turning the mosque into a total loss.

To add insult to injury, the blaze was set just as the monthlong observance of Ramadan began.

A hate crime is not the kind of worldwide publicity the local chamber of commerce hopes to receive.

Dr. Khalid, to his credit, is not blaming the community.

It's not Cape's fault, he said.

"There are some crazy people in the world," said Khalid, who along with his wife Naghma became U.S. citizens eight years ago.

The native Pakistani characterizes the local support for the mosque as "overwhelming," calling the outpouring of love and care by non-Muslims "surprising."

In an interview with this newspaper, Khalid mentioned flowers, cards and cookies left in the rubble by well-wishers.

"Dr. (Carlos) Vargas reached out to us, as did many university colleagues, some of whom I don't know," said Khalid.

The professor, whose 18-year old American-born daughter and soon-to-be Cape Central graduate begins fulltime schooling at SEMO this fall, is astonished at the online effort to raise money to rebuild.

"The GoFundMe page was started by someone outside our mosque," said Khalid.

As of 9:00 p.m. Wednesday, the fund had generated approximately $130,000 in donations from 1,700 contributors.

In the midst of our own anxieties about people different than us, sometimes, if we look for it, a light comes shining through.

Tahsin Khalid is not the light, but he reflects it well, and I'm humbled to be numbered among his friends.

"It's a good feeling," Khalid said, "that we are part of this community."

Wow! What an amazing thing to say.