I’ve never been to a Mosque before. Today was the first time. I didn’t quite know what to expect: Christians and Muslims, after all, have historically not gotten along, and even today, with the religion-fueled violence that regrettably pervades much of the Middle East, one could say there is some tension in the air between Western culture (and, by extension, Christianity as I’ve experienced it) and Islam. What I’m about to say is not intended to detract from these issues. You know what I mean: almost since the day I was born, the violence and inhumanity of some radical Muslims has captured our headlines. I certainly feel disgust at much of what happens (and continues to happen) in the name of Islam. Instead, I confess how easy it is to miss the bigger picture in light of such tragedies, and remark upon how one good man or woman can shatter your preconceptions. For me, that man was one Imam at the Centro Islamico Culturale in Rome.

I’ll confess, I was expecting a sort of coldness and non-understanding when I found myself at that Mosque today, but perhaps it was I that was cold. Instead, I encountered a man that was intensely knowledgeable about his faith, and understanding of mine. Much of my tour was put into language that I would relate to as a Catholic. Hijabs, for instance, were explained in relation to Mary as a model for women (not unheard of in Catholicism), and even in speaking of the orientation one has in prayer, while it is done facing Mecca, the Imam celebrated the fact that at this particular Mosque, it could be done facing Jerusalem at the same time: a common home for our Abrahamic faiths.

That is, after all, a man who Islam, Christianity, and Judaism relate to. It’s no surprise that he’s referred to as the Father of Faith. This is the way in which he spoke to us: as siblings, children of one God, descendants of Abraham. At the end of it all, he told us that this is a place open to all, and that it is always a home for us. I don’t believe this was meant in a proselytising way. Rather, as any man of God would, he extended his hand. More so than many Christians, he imitated Christ as when he spoke to the Samaritan woman at the well.

His last thought that he left us with was, in fact, almost apologetic: he explained that the reason he spoke at such length was because, he said, so many people do not know or understand any of Islam, and see only the headlines. This left me broken-hearted, to be honest. And I think that speaks to the benefit of encountering other people, and how, in doing so, we will find many more than our own relations who are of good will. I’m not Muslim, have no intention of becoming Muslim, and have serious reservations about Islam. But this wasn’t a sales pitch: it was an introduction of the representative of one group to the representatives of another, who, historically, have never bothered to know one another. And in the end, he left us by saying that we’d always have a home there, at that Mosque.