Countering Islamophobia with community: A Lebanese woman's spiritual retreat in France

Zainab Chamoun on the Bridge of the Lake of Silence in Taizé. Photo credit to Zainab Chamoun.

(TRAVEL) This time two years ago, I traveled all the way from Beirut to a small village in France to spend one month as a volunteer at Taizé Community.

Taizé is a small, rural village popular for the presence of an ecumenical Christian monastic fraternity. It’s a community of Christian brothers and sisters, bringing together young individuals from all over the world to experience a personal spiritual journey in a multinational context.

So what could a veiled Muslim woman from the Middle East like myself be doing there?

My trip was motivated by Adyan Foundation—a non-governmental organization in Lebanon that promotes diversity, solidarity and human dignity. I was selected by the foundation to represent my country and Muslim faith in front of a predominantly Western, non-Muslim community.

Many Western communities are passively accepting the fears and false sentiments about Muslims and Islam spread through hate speech and religious extremism. The Christian community at Taizé engages Muslims in their activities and events as an attempt to bridge the existing gaps between our worlds, to find common grounds for dialogue and knowledge.

The village of Taizé. Photo credit to Zainab Chamoun.

When I landed in France, I had a mixed emotions about what this experience would bring—a little bit of enthusiasm and a lot of anguish. I didn’t know what to expect as a veiled Muslim woman in a devout, Christian community. How would they perceive me? What would they ask me about? Would I make any friends? Would I spend the whole month alone regretting my choice to come?

Although I’m familiar with living in the midst of diversity—Lebanon is a very religiously diverse country—coexistence in Taizé would be going to another level.

Within just a few hours of my arrival, I was welcomed by the sisters and a group of young women with whom I shared living space, the N’Toumi, in the housing provided for volunteers.  We gathered in a common room every night to engage in intriguing conversations and play games. Despite all the differences we had, the time I spent there created a sense of belonging to a community defined by neither faith, nationality nor ethnicity. Our belonging was defined by a  feeling of social solidarity and human tolerance.

I’m inclined to think of myself as a hybrid human—living, sleeping, eating meals, praying and creating awareness in both multinational and religiously diverse gatherings. Back then, this was a new and big thing for me.

Jean-Jacques, a brother in the village, sent Chamoun a letter of peace and solidarity when she wasn’t feeling well during her stay. Photo credit to Zainab Chamoun.

My identity there was always very visible; I was under the spotlight every day. I received a lot of questions daily, such as “How do you pray?”

That was the hardest one to answer. How do I pray? I did not believe that translating verses from the Quran or showing them prayer gestures would be the right way to answer. Instead, I explained that every day, five times a day, I open up to God in the midst of my busy day by expressing gratitude and asking for much-needed strength to continue. It is very similar to how others in the Taizé community prayed as well.

Other questions came up. Some members of the community wondered why I wore the veil, and if I had hair. I remember being asked this question so many times. In another setting, I would have felt humiliated; of course I do have hair!

But as I recognized the motive behind their question, I felt at ease. These people just wanted to learn about the “other.” They wanted to learn something more than the negative propaganda that some mainstream media was spewing about Muslims. These kinds of discussions remind me how important it is to have the social responsibility to learn more about the different people with whom we share this planet, as distant as they seem to be.

Their unexpected questions were genuine, but arose from a lack of knowledge and interaction with people of other faiths. And although it’s not my job as a Muslim woman to explain my beliefs when being abused by others or misinterpreted due to ignorance, it certainly is my job to open up a safe space for conversation.

As part of the daily routine, we would visit the church three times per day. The best thing about Taizé prayers are the songs they chant in different languages and the 10-minute silence time. The best talks I had happened on the way to church, either with the Taizé brothers and sisters or with my fellow volunteer women.

Chamoun pictured with other residents of Taizé during her stay. Photo credit to Zainab Chamoun.

On my last day, I walked to the church with Meeho, a Buddhist girl who was searching for her spiritual truth while exploring a different belief system.

She asked (back to the unexpected questions), “Does God in your religion love you?” 

I laughed. But seeing the curiosity in her eyes made me aware that she was really looking for an answer. I told her to put religion aside when measuring God’s love to humans and that God loves us more than our own parents do.

We had a long inspiring talk about God and love, only love, and then we went to the evening prayer together. Both of us are non-Christians, but we were able to practice our spirituality and individuality in the church, speak to God in our own language and enjoy the charming rhythms.

Having my faith questioned by people coming from different cultural backgrounds and regions put me in a continuous state of self-reflection. No one owns the ultimate truth, no one can claim following the one true faith and no community should undermine the belief of another. We, as human beings, are in a continuous search for the truth. Our own system of belief, whatever it is, might grant us 80 percent of it, but the remaining 20 percent should be found within the other. I know this might sound utopic, but this is what I see when I reflect on my experience there.

Taizé for me—and for many others—is one of the safest and healthiest places to explore one’s beliefs and diversity. I received so many smiles from strangers just walking through the small, charming village, smiles that encouraged me to open up and embrace myself and others.

I know that not every place in the world is like Taizé, and I cannot live in Taizé forever. I know that I will not receive as many smiles in a different city in the West—or even in my own country. I know that I might not be allowed to enter some places because of my visible Muslim identity. I know that exclusionary politics are still much stronger than any collective initiatives to embrace and celebrate diversity. I am aware that what I lived in Taizé as a Muslim is very different from what other Muslims are living in non-Muslim communities. I know that in many scenarios, our differences sometimes put us in emotionally and physically threatening situations.

But I also know that the least we can do is be curious about the “other” rather than remaining frightened by our differences. I can reflect continuously on the feelings I had there and relive them in my country. In Taize, I lived one whole month meeting people from the West and the Middle East who follow different systems of beliefs, and at times do not follow any—and yet we still made beautiful memories and built lifelong friendships.

As I look back on those four weeks now, I see a Muslim woman who can have lifelong friendships and make good memories within a non-Muslim community. In Taizé, I met and parted from a lot of people for the love of the other, and for the love of God.

So, what really happens when a Muslim woman spends one month in a French Christian community? Nothing happens but love.

This article was written in collaboration with Egab, a network of journalists in the Middle East.

Zainab Chamoun is a Beirut-based journalist with a master’s from the American University of Beirut. She works with Adyan, a Lebanese foundation for diversity, solidarity and human dignity and focuses on marginalized communities. Follow her on Twitter @ChamounZainab.