Concerning the notion that Muslims are compelled to venerate a single individual:
As you know, to venerate an individual is to hold them in deep respect; to honour their exemplary qualities.
Permit me to tell you a little of my paternal grandfather:
Born and raised in the Rhondda Valley, South Wales, he was taken out of school at the age of ten, and set to work in the coal-mines (unlawful in his day, but who cared?).
Using the local Miners’ Institute – centres of learning at that time (and being a book-worm) – he studied (among many other things) both Hebrew and Greek. His second great passion – Faith and Family together being his first – was music. Able to play both violin and piano – and to transpose written music into tonic-solfa for those who could not read music – he was appointed Musical Director of the local Amateur Operatic Society. His favourite work was Handel’s Messiah. I can see him now, dressed in his black evening suit, white shirt, black dickie-bow, conducting a full chorus and orchestra, with his white baton; with every word, every note engraved in his heart. I have his baton, but none of his talent!
In the 1920’s, a number of Italian families moved into Glamorgan, and set up shops and cafes. One of these families (the Bassini’s) settled in Tynewydd (my home town).
When Italy declared war, and allied with Germany, the UK government issued an internment order against those it deemed to be ‘enemy civilians’. This included the Bassini’s. The husband (I knew him as Jack) was taken away, but his wife and children were allowed to remain in their home.
One day, my grandfather – returning from work – discovered a mob hurling abuse (and stones) at the Bassini’s and their home; at people they had once called friends. My grandfather stood between the mob and their victims, and told them to stop, and to leave. This they did.
Many years later, the family’s eldest daughter (Maria) was accepted as a Carmelite nun; and my grandfather and grandmother were invited to attend the ceremony. A great honour.
My grandfather was a Chapel Elder. The Elders employed the Minister.
When I was a teenager, one Minister visited my grandfather’s house, and was treated like royalty. My grandfather called him ‘Sir’. Later, I asked my grandfather why he had called this man ‘Sir’ after all, he was the Minister’s boss!
My grandfather smiled, and said: ‘I’m just an Elder. The Minister speaks the Word!’
When my grandfather died, several hundred men – of all ages – attended his funeral (women did not attend funerals in those days). The mourners filled the cemetery chapel, and many were weeping openly.
My grandfather was able to calm an angry mob – and move the hearts of many – not because of any legal authority (he had none), but because of his character; because of the person he was. He lived his Faith as it was meant to be lived. A Christian would say that he reflected the love of Jesus; and that it was this that made him a shining beacon to others. I would say that he reflected the love of God. He led by example rather than by argument.
He is, by far, the finest man I ever knew. I venerate his memory, and justifiably so.
Continued:
As you know, to venerate an individual is to hold them in deep respect; to honour their exemplary qualities.
Permit me to tell you a little of my paternal grandfather:
Born and raised in the Rhondda Valley, South Wales, he was taken out of school at the age of ten, and set to work in the coal-mines (unlawful in his day, but who cared?).
Using the local Miners’ Institute – centres of learning at that time (and being a book-worm) – he studied (among many other things) both Hebrew and Greek. His second great passion – Faith and Family together being his first – was music. Able to play both violin and piano – and to transpose written music into tonic-solfa for those who could not read music – he was appointed Musical Director of the local Amateur Operatic Society. His favourite work was Handel’s Messiah. I can see him now, dressed in his black evening suit, white shirt, black dickie-bow, conducting a full chorus and orchestra, with his white baton; with every word, every note engraved in his heart. I have his baton, but none of his talent!
In the 1920’s, a number of Italian families moved into Glamorgan, and set up shops and cafes. One of these families (the Bassini’s) settled in Tynewydd (my home town).
When Italy declared war, and allied with Germany, the UK government issued an internment order against those it deemed to be ‘enemy civilians’. This included the Bassini’s. The husband (I knew him as Jack) was taken away, but his wife and children were allowed to remain in their home.
One day, my grandfather – returning from work – discovered a mob hurling abuse (and stones) at the Bassini’s and their home; at people they had once called friends. My grandfather stood between the mob and their victims, and told them to stop, and to leave. This they did.
Many years later, the family’s eldest daughter (Maria) was accepted as a Carmelite nun; and my grandfather and grandmother were invited to attend the ceremony. A great honour.
My grandfather was a Chapel Elder. The Elders employed the Minister.
When I was a teenager, one Minister visited my grandfather’s house, and was treated like royalty. My grandfather called him ‘Sir’. Later, I asked my grandfather why he had called this man ‘Sir’ after all, he was the Minister’s boss!
My grandfather smiled, and said: ‘I’m just an Elder. The Minister speaks the Word!’
When my grandfather died, several hundred men – of all ages – attended his funeral (women did not attend funerals in those days). The mourners filled the cemetery chapel, and many were weeping openly.
My grandfather was able to calm an angry mob – and move the hearts of many – not because of any legal authority (he had none), but because of his character; because of the person he was. He lived his Faith as it was meant to be lived. A Christian would say that he reflected the love of Jesus; and that it was this that made him a shining beacon to others. I would say that he reflected the love of God. He led by example rather than by argument.
He is, by far, the finest man I ever knew. I venerate his memory, and justifiably so.
Continued:
'Sometimes, silence is the best answer for a fool.'(Alī ibn Abī Tālib)
