FATHER FRANK’S RANTS - The Atheist’s Tale

Rant Number 348 5 May 2009

God granted a singular favour to the Prophet Muhammad, Islamic lore narrates. It is a story set out in the fascinating Book of the Ladder, a popular and detailed account of the Al Miraj, Muhammad’s night journey to Heaven. An episode alluded to in a well-known verse of the Quran (XVII,1). It seems that at first the Lord intended Muslims to pray fifty times a day. Rather burdensome, I suppose. However, at the Prophet’s intercession, He condescended to reducing the number to five. An altogether cheering illustration of the Divine Mercy. It did not, alas, cheer a certain Muslim atheist…

His name was Kurt. A short, stocky German, with large, piercing China-blue eyes. We met two weeks ago in the Rock Café, in Cairo’s posh Mohandisin district. Both of us smoked the shisha. ‘You must be a foreigner’ the German observed. ‘I won’t deny it’, I smiled. Kurt pulled his chair close to mine. ‘Do you want to hear my story?’ he asked, like a character in a book. Too irresistible to turn down, I felt.

Kurt, a mechanical engineer, hailed from former East Germany. ‘In Berlin I met a nice Egyptian girl. We married. Her religion impressed me. Brought up godless, I embraced Islam. Later I got a job in Cairo. We moved here. Like all Egyptians, my wife comes from a large family. Plunged in a warm, vast network of relations and friends, I was happy. Of course, I went to the mosque regularly and prayed devoutly. Until…’ The loud call to prayer from a nearby mosque made him pause. God is great…

‘Until that’, he resumed, hesitantly. ‘I no longer believe in God. Because of that.’

‘I don’t understand’, I said. He resumed: ‘Initially, I enjoyed the adhan, the prayer call. It felt reassuring…telling me, everybody, so often that there is a God…that life has a meaning. The Stimmung of God… It was fine. Then, gradually, it all changed.’

‘Tell me more’, I asked, genuinely bemused. He cast a nervous look about, lowered his voice: ‘It…it’s difficult to explain. A voice inside me seemed to be wondering: if God exists, why blare it out five times a day? I mean, it is a lot, isn’t it? One time should be enough…why does it have to be boomed out from the minarets five times? Three by day and two by night? It’s too much.’

Finding myself cast in the unlikely role of apologist for Islam, I suggested: ‘Well, it’s all about remembering the Creator, isn’t it? Don’t you call dhikr? The rememoration of God. Other religions too have similar practices. Christians remember Christ and Buddhists recall Siddhartha Gautama…’ He took a deep draught of smoke from his shisha. ‘Yes, yes, I know what you are saying. I have read books. But other religions do not broadcast ‘God is great’ aloud, to all and sundry, five times a day, do they? Not that it matters. My point is about summoning people to prayer so relentlessly, every day, day in, day out, all the blessed day of the year…well, it gradually haunted me. It was like an obsession. Why? Why do they have to go on repeating it? Do they perhaps doubt there is a God after all? Is it because they are afraid people might forget it? To brainwash these wretched Egyptian people into belief? It’s almost like the Communist Party in East Germany. They had to drill it into our skulls that Marx was God and Lenin his true prophet. They kept at it a lot. But at least they didn’t broadcast it aloud five times a day. No, to me it means the skies are empty. There is no God up there – or indeed anywhere else.’

I could have told Kurt that there is currently a petition to silence the bells of St Mary Abbots, my former Kensington church. Does being summoned by bells similarly annoy British atheists? But that wasn’t Kurt’s beef. His point of view was unusual but I could understand it. I thought of giving natural theology a go: ‘There are of course plenty of rational arguments for God. Proofs of God’s existence…’ He waved my words aside: ‘Min fadlaq! Please! I know that stuff. Muslims have their own versions. Can’t really see how any sane person would ever care for those. Atheists have their counter-proofs, I am sure you know. But, again, that’s irrelevant to me. It has nothing to do with proofs. It’s what I feel inside here…’ And he thumped his breast so vigorously, I thought he’d break his rib cage.

‘There is a tradition God originally had decreed 50 prayers a day. The Prophet got them down to five…’ I imagined he’d like that. Well, he didn’t. He just shrugged his shoulders: ‘I have heard of it. Five are still too many. One a day would suffice…but it makes no odds to me. It’s all nonsense.’

‘You are a tough one’, I decided. ‘What do you do then? Have you told you family?’

He shook his head. ‘They wouldn’t understand. They are simple people. Atheism is incomprehensible to Muslims, anyway. The brainwashing has worked well. They would think I am possessed by a jinn, an evil spirit or something like that. Their superstition is staggering. It wouldn’t do any good.’ ‘Do you still go to the mosque?’ ‘Only on Fridays…I do it because otherwise my friends and colleagues at work would wonder…get upset. So I go through the motions and mouth the words. It’s easy. Their prayers are so standardised…every gesture is carefully prescribed…like a drill…again, it’s all a form of brainwashing, believe you me.’

I had this mental image of Kurt bowing, praying alongside hundreds of other Muslims. Saying the words whilst believing nothing. Praying to an empty, desolate, bleak Heaven. Sad, I thought. But that was that. After his ‘confession’ we both felt a little uneasy. Conversation dried up. I paid my bill and left.

A strange story. And a paradox. Faith killed by faith. Weird. It got me musing. Can one really remember God too much? Some good things can be damaged by exaggerating them, sure. But love? Faith? Hope? Can you hope too much, love too much? Is that possible?

It also posed a dilemma. Should I, a Christian priest, pray for Kurt? That he should get back his lost Muslim faith? Huh!

Kurt’s soul is infinitely valuable, that I know. May God’s will be done for him.

Revd Frank Julian Gelli

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