But mom always said not to play with your food...

A friend sent me a text today to invite me to break today's fast with him at a local mosque. It's a mosque I've been to quite a few times since I've been in London and I truly LOVE the Imam there. I had other tentative plans tonight but this was worth cancelling. If nothing else I would get to see this guy that makes me smile. So I met up with two friends tonight (both white, American followers of Jesus) and we set out for the mosque.

We are always treated like such kings when we are there. Tonight we were escorted to a room with blue tarps covering the floor, masses of fruit, plates if rice with lamb, and pink milk (yes, pink milk...infused with rose hip). We were shown a place to sit on the floor in this long row of men and we waited. We weren't sure what we were waiting for or if we would recognize it when it happened.

Men around us stared at one another. Some prayed. Few spoke. Then, with little warning the men began taking fruit and eating. Pouring the milk. Scooping rice up with the tips of their fingers and eating. So what else was there to do but join in. We all expected more conversation. We expected more community. But it was more like cattle at a trough. Each to himself making room for another to squeeze in. Shortly after beginning most began clearing up the rubbish and leaving the space. Within fifteen minutes of sitting down we were up again. The room was quickly cleared of the tarps and food. Then the call to prayer began.

As men hurriedly finished cleaning the dulsimer tones of our friend's voice rang over the speakers as he recited the evening prayers - half speaking and half singing. Rows of men formed, bowing in unison, kneeling together, mumbling prayers. And then it was finished. We found ourselves once again greeted by friendly faces curious as to why we had come but more than happy that we had.

We were invited to have a cup of tea and were then set down with plates of food, sweet and savory, cokes, and that pink milk. We gave a few brief introductions and a small crowd of ten or so men gathered around. Then an interesting thing happened. Even just come from the experience I can't remember how it all started but we found ourselves in deep, meaningful conversation about Jesus. Three Christians with fifteen or so Muslim men in a mosque during the heart of Ramadan. The most surprising bit? There was rarely a tinge of animosity or discord. Even when we heard or felt a hint of antagonism tongues were admitedly tamed. And so we went on for what must have been an hour and a half asking questions, listening, being asked questions, and speaking boldly and clearly about the hope that is found in Jesus, the Messiah, God in the flesh.

As I write this blog I'm listening to a track by David Crowder that holds so much truth in light of tonight's experience.

And the problem is this, we were bought with a kiss , but the cheek still turned even when it wasn't hit. And I don't know what to do with a love like that. And I don't know how to be a love like that. When all the love in the world is right here among us, and hatred too, so we must choose what our hands will do. Where there is pain let there be grace. Where there is suffering bring serenity. For those afraid help them be brave. Where there is missery bring expectancy. And surely we can change, surely we can change something.

And the problem it seems is with you and me, not the love who came to repair everything. And I don't know what to do with a love like that. And I don't know how to be a love like that. When all the love in the world is right among us and hatred too so we must choose what our hands will do. Where there is pain let us bring grace. Where there is suffering bring serenity. For those afraid let us be brave. Where there is missery let us bring them relief. And surely we can change, surely we can change, surely we can change something.