A row of candles and roses at the Madina Institute dinner.
(Credit: Ali Khan)

The night was cold and dark in Little Rock, Arkansas, but the warmth and light inside the Madina Institute Center for Nonviolence & Peace filled my heart with love and my soul with hope. My good friend, Dr. Ali Khan, invited community members to a dinner hosted by the mosque and its members. Missy and I happened to be in town, so we were delighted and honored to attend.

Imam Mohammed Nawaz and the Mosque Board Chair, Sophia Said, offered a warm greeting, making us feel welcome and accepted into the community. Two long rows of tables were draped with deep red tablecloths, as immaculate red roses and shiny place settings rested before each chair.  

At the end of the tables centered between them, a vegetarian spread was set out for guests to enjoy the delicacies of culture and friendship. Cheese tortellini, accompanied by a variety of vegetables and breads, tempted each guest to pile on a little more than they could consume.

I don’t mind sharing; I gave in to that temptation.

As we ate, conversation flowed naturally, with new bonds and friendships forming throughout the night. As the night came to a close, desserts filled with chocolate and vanilla custard entered the room, tempting everyone with a sweet tooth.

Again, I did not want to be rude. 

As I left that evening, walking into the frigid night, my pace quickened as I reflected on the hospitality I had experienced. While there are distinct differences between my friends’ faith and my own, the commonality between the two supersedes them all.  

The author of Proverbs penned the inspirational words, “A friend loves at all times, but kinfolk are born to share adversity” (17:17).

After an evening in the mosque with old and new friends, I knew a Rubicon had been crossed. In them, my faith in God is strengthened. In them, my hope for humanity grows bolder. In them, I find the spirit of Jesus.

Indeed, they are friends, but they are so much more—they are kinfolk. As my dear friend, Oklahoma City Imam Imad Enchassi likes to tease, we are brothers and sisters from different mothers. As spiritual descendants of Abraham, I find solace and peace knowing my kinfolk walk beside me in this world and are at the ready if I need them.

The story of Ishmael and Isaac is filled with scandal, betrayal, and heartbreak. Greed and animosity derail the narrative, establishing division and mistrust between the two brothers and their descendants.

However, I stopped focusing on the divisions within that story long ago. Now, I read the story in its entirety, discovering hope within heartbreak.

When their father, Abraham, dies, word is sent to Ishmael, who was living in exile. Isaac did not have to send word; Ishmael could have ignored the invitation. However, the brothers acted with dignity, honor, and respect. 

In other words, love prevailed over animosity.  

Genesis 24 records the reunification of the two descendants of Abraham: “Abraham breathed his last and died in a good old age, old and full of years, and was gathered to his people. His sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah, in the field of Ephron son of Zohar the Hittite, east of Mamre, the field that Abraham purchased from the Hittites.”

Later in the story, Isaac’s son, Esau, marries Ishmael’s daughter, fusing the bloodline of the great patriarch (Genesis 28:6-9). The Quran never mentions a reconciliation between the brothers, but Islamic tradition portrays them not as rivals but as united in their faith and families.  

During this holiday season, when Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus, I find great joy and happiness knowing that divine hands are still at work in this world. It’s easy to feel the darkness and despair cover the globe right now, but within the rumble and divisiveness of sinful behavior, hope leaks through the cracks.  

My prayer for everyone this week is that you find hope in a most unusual place. Maybe it’s in the kindness of a stranger or in the beauty of a marvelous sunset. Perhaps it’s watching a child marvel at the wonder of the season or as in my case, it’s at a dinner inside a mosque.  

Wherever you find yourself this week, I hope you find Jesus—the Jesus that welcomes, loves, and hopes for a better tomorrow.