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My
name is Dellie Spencer
Jr.; my Islamic name is Abdul Wadoud. I
have been a Muslim for nine years. I am soft spoken and try my
best to be kind to all those I come in contact with. When
people discover that I am Muslim, especially after September
11th, they invariably ask, “Why are you a Moose-lum you seem
like a rational person?” My reply is always, "I am a
rational person, and that is why."
Islam
is not the dreaded religion of the sword "forced"
upon the masses. Contrary to current belief among the majority
of Muslims, the Shari`a (Sacred Law) is not something used to
scare or force people into proper conduct. Islam is a religion
for people who think - who contemplate nature and the world
around them and know that there is no chance or coincidence in
a world ruled by law and an obvious divine order. This, then,
is story of how and why a “rational person” would become a
Muslim.
I
was born in Cleveland, Ohio, and brought up in the church. I
along with my two sisters attended East Mt. Zion Church Sunday
school every Sunday, and at least twice per month we were told
to stay for the church service. I think this was to give my
parents some time to be alone together, although I could never
prove it. I was active in the church. I was in the annual
Easter and Christmas pageants each year, and folks that I
didn’t know would call me by name.
Most
of the time we would put the quarter my mom gave us into the
collection plate, but just as often, we would keep the money
and go to the movies or give fifteen cents and keep a dime and
then walk to my grandfather’s house, pick up some loose
change, and eat pie and listen to records while he ran his
business in the back. There was always excitement at Isaac
Morgan’s house – sometimes the police would raid the place
and we would have to wait there until he got bailed out. Other
times one of the gamblers would complain of bad cards and bad
luck… but that's a tale for another time.
I
continued to attend church until one fateful Sunday when the
preacher stood up in the pulpit and said, “You know, the
largest gathering of Baptist ministers will be held next week
in Houston Texas, so I want all of you to give like never
before. Want you to reach way down and give from the heart,
this is not the week to be stingy. My wife and I are going to
be among some of the most important people in the Church and
you don’t want us to look like orphans. So give so we can go
looking and smelling good, give so we can make a lasting
impression on those folks and show them that East Mt. Zion
loves its church heads." People were clapping and saying
amen all around me, and I wondered if I was the only one that
actually heard what he said. This had nothing to do with
salvation, this was a hustle. That was the last time I went to
East Mt. Zion. It was not, however, the last time I would
witness someone trying to sell God. I told my mother that I
was old enough not to be forced to go to church if I didn’t
want to go, especially since neither she nor my dad went.
Strangely enough, she didn’t object.
For
the next few years, I never thought about religion. I still
considered myself to be a Christian, although I saw no need to
attend church. I read the Bible and liked a lot of what I
read, but I saw no need for group practice of religion. During
my last years of high school and my four years of college,
spirituality became of more interest to me. I read books by
people like Carlos Castaneda and others, took various
mind-altering drugs, and began to look at nature and the world
around me differently. I could see the unity behind all things
and how it all tied together. Everything you did affects
something or someone else, like throwing a rock into a still
pond.
I
began to see and understand my self and my place in nature. I
understood why Native Americans see life and nature as a big
circle, such that each sphere of nature performs a job within
this circle. I saw that when left to it’s own devices,
nature was always in balance. Only when man tried to interfere
or control nature contrary to its natural course, did things
go wrong. This was also a time of heightened racial awareness
and understanding of the different ways in which the races
looked at nature. People of color typically saw nature as
something to live with, while those without color saw nature
as something to be conquered.
It
was during this period that I began to consider myself as
something other than a Christian. For a while I was an
atheist, then I was a Buddhist. I read about the Tao. I
attended some services in a Catholic church and got involved
with the Holy Rollers. Eventually, I just decided that I
believed in God but not in any of his religions. Something was
missing in all of them, and if God were to be thought of as
perfect, then His religion should be perfect, i.e. without
change or the need to change. But at the same time, there was
a need to belong, and since I was then in the company of a lot
of people that were into the church, I found myself slowly
drifting back into Christianity.
However,
this time it was different. This time, I not only read the
Bible, I studied it. I studied how it came into being, how it
was formulated, and by whom. I read the works of religious
scholars who tried to explain the Trinity, and other questions
such as why we followed the ten commandments but not the rest
of the law. The more I read, the more inconsistencies I saw in
the book and in the teachings. I came to see that Christians
as a complete group only held one common belief – that God
exists. Some believed Christ to be the son of God, others held
that he was God Himself or part of the Trinity of personages,
each with his own area of providence. Some believe this same
Christ was crucified on Friday and rose again on Saturday
night or early Sunday morning. Although he was proclaimed to
be divine with no father, two of the gospels give a lineage
for him and they differ in their accounts. I found that the
Catholic Bible is larger by a few books than the non-Catholic
Bible. There was nothing to unify the faith except a basic
belief in God. This is the same thing I believed as an
agnostic. I was still unsatisfied.
From
two extremely different directions, a light began to shine on
me. I was preparing to take my black belt test in New Orleans.
My instructor, while not a member of the Nation of Islam, was
a believer in its concepts and precepts. After the exam, he
mentioned something about Jesus. I asked him why he said that,
and he replied that Muslims believed in Jesus too. Up until
then, I had not heard anything of any logic from this group,
but I liked my instructor's comment.
I
decided to learn more about the Nation of Islam and the
Muslims. I bought some books by Elijah Muhammad and was very
disappointed. The one good thing, however, was his repeated
reference to “The Glorious Qu’ran.” I had heard of this
book and in fact had picked it up to read on more than one
occasion, but initially it had made no sense to me. At the
same time I was living with a lady who tired to fast a few
days during Ramadan, and who had in her possession a book that
taught the Muslim prayer. At the time, I had met someone of
almost every belief, but I had never to my knowledge met a
Muslim. This would later prove to be a very good thing.
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This
time when I read the book, it spoke to me. I told a friend
this and he bought a copy but stopped reading it because it
frightened him. It scared me too, but it also gave me comfort.
It was as if Allah was talking directly to me like a gentle
and caring parent who loved me but would, if I needed it,
punish me. There was nothing in it that didn’t make sense,
rather it brought certain things that were long out of focus
into crystal clarity. Here was a unified religion worshiping
one God and only one God – no mention of partners or sons.
Everything in existence owes its existence to Allah. Here was
real unity of faith: the five pillars of Islam assure that
regardless of how many sect Muslims may foolishly divide
themselves into, the pillars will always unite them and define
the faith.
I
was still wary. I had heard nice words before but where were
the people to back them up? Nevertheless, I began to teach
myself to pray and began to make my prayers on a regular
basis. I bought more and more books on Islam and began to
study in earnest. I bought the books of Hadith (prophetic
Traditions) of Bukhari and Muslim and read the works of the
great scholars of Islam. I wrote a letter to the local mosque
requesting information. I took Shahada (declaration of faith)
in my home, took the ritual shower, and began to live at least
my private life as a Muslim.
During
this time, I was a radio director and announcer. I wanted
everyone to know that there was a difference between what the
Nation of Islam believed and taught and what Muslims believed.
I began to read Sufi tales on the radio, and during Ramadan, I
explained the significance of the month and counted the days
on the air.
At
the same time, I wanted to be more open with my faith and
wanted to attend the mosque. I was afraid to go, however,
because I had experienced racism throughout my life, even in
religious organizations, and while Islam preached true
equality, this was still America. How would I feel if I went
to the mosque and someone refused to offer his hand or stand
next to me in the prayer row? What would this do to my faith
in this beautiful religion? So, I waited and would drive by
the mosque almost daily, too afraid to go in. But this would
all change through a chance encounter.
One
day, I was driving down the alley behind the mosque when I
passed an old man wearing a long Islamic shirt, a waistcloth,
and a kufi (skullcap). I too was wearing a kufi and when I
passed, he looked up and gave me a smile that I felt in my
toes and said “As-Salaam `aleikum!” (peace be on you). I
didn’t stop but made up my mind to go in the next time.
As
fate would have it, the next time I passed the mosque and
finally went in, the only person there was the same old man.
His name was Abdul Hameed. He recognized me from the alley and
listened intently to my story of coming to Islam. When I had
finished he said, "Welcome to the Truth." He told me
that he would always be pleased to stand next to me during the
prayer. He was the first Muslim I ever met, and to this date,
he is one of the few I can say who practices Islam to the best
of his ability every day. He is not perfect – far from it,
but he makes effort each day to be better than the day before.
He is not harsh, and he does not judge or condemn. He leaves
that to the One who will judge us all.
He
told me two things that he said I must always remember: the
first is that Islam’s biggest threat comes not from the
non-believers but from the Muslims themselves. He said that I
would see and hear of Muslims doing and saying things that had
nothing to do with Islam. Thus, it is my duty to learn as much
of the religion as I could. Second, I must try, to the best of
my abilities, to be the best Muslim possible each and every
day. Some days would be better than others, but I must always
try to be the best possible everyday that I wake up.
He
told me a story of a pious man who was addressing an audience
in England. He spoke of the truth of Islam, and what it stood
for. He talked of the equality preached by the faith, and how
Islam gave rights to women over a thousand years before those
same rights would be given to women by other faiths. He spoke
of the charity and compassion felt for other believers. He
spoke of the character of the Prophet (peace and blessings be
upon him) and his Companions and of their behavior.
Traditionally, when a single Muslim woman had her rights
violated, the ruler would organize an army to go and protect
her. After the talk, a man approached the speaker and said
that if he could tell him of one place where the people
practiced the religion in the way that he described, he would
become a Muslim that same day. The speaker began to weep and
said, “I cannot. All I can do is be the best Muslim I can be
and present a good example."
I
would be lying if I didn’t say that I have found few Muslims
who truly practice Islam. Most simply go through the motions.
I have even encountered some racist attitudes that rival those
of the deep south in 1960’s America. I realized that while
the faith is perfect, the faithful are not. There have been
times when I was very discouraged by the actions of some of
the Muslims, but in the end, I always remember the words of
Abdul Hameed.
There
is another factor that keeps me centered. That is the Hajj I
made in 1994 and the experience of being a part of something
bigger than anything in the world. To see millions of Muslims
sharing food and sleeping quarters, together with the
sacrifices that are a part of this experience, changes a
person internally forever. It is the experience of seeing the
religion practiced as it is supposed to be that lets you know
it can be done if we want to do it. One comes back different
than when he left and he'll always desire to return.
These
are the reasons on the rational plane for why I choose Islam.
But as a wise man once told me, no one chooses Islam – Allah
chooses whoever He wants for His Way.
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