Will The Real Christians Please Stand Up?

By Sally Bishai

I WOULD say that this week has been a difficult one for the Middle East, the Arab world and the Muslim world. But. That would be a bit redundant, seeing how almost every week is a difficult one for those who can translate the Arabic word “Salaam,” even if they don’t live it. (For the record, it means “peace.”)

Since it’s been “that kind of week,” I’ve come across dozens of articles that have recapped the problems; Afghanistan’s control-freak “you can’t diss Islam!” issues, Egypt’s “you can’t diss Islam in a blog or build a church!” issues, and everyone else’s “you can’t wear anything but a black tent, lassie!” issues.

So. While I’ve read several articles dealing with (and debating on) what Islam actually believes, and whether conversion is or isn’t allowed (some “secular Muslims” would have us believe that one actually CAN leave the religion…and live to tell about it), it got me wondering the same thing about Christianity.

See, I was recently speaking with a young lady I’ll call Marge.

Marge belongs to one of the biggest denominations in America. She’s proud to be a virgin, goes to church every Sunday and is more involved in youth group than anyone I’ve ever met.

Unfortunately, that’s not all she’s involved with.

See, the 19-year-old is fond of going to clubs, drinking the occasional beer, and wearing tight, revealing clothing. She’s kissed a few boys, too.

On the surface, a person (a very snarky one) might wonder why such a stylish and popular girl bothered with church. (I was talking to another lady recently, and she confessed to thinking that, in her mind, anyway, being a devoted Christian equated with being a nerd. All I had to say to that was “Honey, you’d best check yourself before you wreck yourself. Or before someone else does!”)

This goes back to the whole “thing where people feel attracted to those who play hard-to-get,” and the thing that has nice girls attracted to “bad boys.”

Simply put, we always want what we can’t have. Or what we shouldn’t have.

Back to Marge, however, I am sad to report that, as close a relationship as she perceives she has with Jesus—and I obviously am NOT the Grand Arbiter of Jesus-Relationships—she really does live a life that made me very surprised to learn that she was even a Christian, much less a “strong” one.

I know what you’re thinking.
“SALLY, the Bible doesn’t say you can’t drink! Only that you shouldn’t get drunk!” and “I didn’t REALIZE, Grand Bishai, that nightclubs were forbidden in the Scriptures!”

Well, I have two answers for that.

The first is that the Bible does NOT go around naming the actual manifestations of every single thing it discourages, only the sin behind it; meaning that it may not say “Thou shalt not pick up an AK-47 to settle a dispute with your math teacher,” but it DOES warn against anger, several times, and say “A soft answer turns away wrath,” and “Thou shalt not murder.”

It also mentions that we’re to avoid the appearance of evil, and slithering about in a backless top with a micro-skirt that wouldn’t cover my entire hand is the farthest thing from “angelic.” Or, at least, it may inspire a drunken club-goer (male or female!) to force his (her!?) attentions on Aunty Slither. (This refers to the whole “stumbling block” thing.)

Furthermore, we’re told to be modest, avoid immorality, and while the Bible says nothing about wearing a black tent (thanks be to God), Clingwrap clothing doesn’t automatically scream “Christian” to me.

The purpose of today’s article isn’t to outline all the “sin-ettes” that people think they can sneak under the wire.

Rather, I am concerned with the fact that people don’t CONSIDER them to BE sin-ettes!

(For the record, the Bible very clearly states that sins are a matter of black and white—there is no big sin and small sin. There ARE moral absolutes! To God, all sins are the same in beastliness, and all good works are “as filthy rags, lest any man should boast.” Meaning that your financing a church in Swaziland will get you the same number of brownie points as would giving a glass of water to a person you just had a fight with. Or any person, really.)

For example, I recently spoke with a girl who spent 14 hours telling me about how great God was, and how she went to church 3 times a week.

Then, she proceeded to tell me that she lived with her fiancé.

Hello? It’s called “wrong” !

You may be asking “Why?” and I’ll tell you; the Bible considers any sex outside of marriage—whether adulterous or just pre-marital—to be a sin. The very thought (or thoughts, strung together like a movie) of engaging in this “illegal” sex is considered to be just as bad as actually doing it. (The sin of lust and all that..)

And dressing in clothes made for the Keebler Elves can stoke the flames of desire, which will either lead to Sins A or B, if not both.

“But what if I dress that way for my husband, Sally? Did you ever think of that? HMMMM?”

Well, I did, actually.

If you’re in your house, that’s fine. But. It’s when you go out that you could entice others to sin, even if it’s just “their” sin, and “just” the sin of lust.

Thinking “Oh, I don’t care about the sins of the man on the street!” isn’t the best, either, since we are SUPPOSED to care about our brethren, Christian or not. Furthermore, even though THEY sinned, the inciter of said sin is not off-the-hook!

So dressing like a hoochie mama is, for the most part, a bad idea all around. If you feel like claiming that you’re a Christian, anyway.

You may be wondering if my focusing on the skimpy clothes bit has to do with the fact that I’m Egyptian, but the truth is that 1- I’m also ‘American,’ and 2- the new breed of Egyptian girls—whether here or there—isn’t as scandalized by short/tight/revealing togs as I would like them to be.

You know, in light of the fact that all good deeds are nothing, and all bad deeds weigh the same, I can understand how some might think that they can get some drinking and clubbing in on the sly, without incurring the fires of hell.

And, while I can’t comment on whether it WILL be ok to pull these stunts, in the final analysis, I CAN say that, based on my reading of the Bible, God is not mocked, AND He won’t be so quick to forgive you of a sin you’re planning to do, whether it’s killing your roommate or sneaking an extra cookie (or six) after dinner (the whole gluttony thing…and that IS a sin!).

Anyway, time for me to go; I have a date with the garbage collector to throw out the stash of Doritos and Oreos that are hiding under the sink!

(PS- Just in case you’re interested in what the Bible considers “sinful,” have a quick glance over this laundry list:

Fornicators, idolaters, adulterers, homosexuals, sodomites, thieves, covetous, drunkards, revilers, extortion, sexually immoral, malicious, envious, murderers, whisperers, backbiters, haters of God, violent, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents, undiscerning, untrustworthy, unloving, unforgiving, unmerciful lewd, unclean, contentious, jealous, selfish, dissentious, revelrous, angry, foolish, disobedient, deceived, hateful, lawless, offensive, insubordinate, unholy, kidnappers, liars, perjurers, lovers of themselves, lovers of money, blasphemers, unthankful, slanderers, without self-control, brutal, despisers of good, traitors, headstrong, haughty, lovers of pleasure, cowards, unbelieving, sorcerers, those who practice witchcraft, soothsayers, whoever interprets omens, conjures spells, a medium, a spiritist, one who calls up the dead, diviners, one who practices magic, whoever loves and practices a lie.

(For more info, check out: 1 Corinthians 6:9-10, Romans 1:28-31, Proverbs 22:24-25; 29:22, Revelation 21:8, Galatians 5:19-21, Matthew 13:41-42, 1 Timothy 1:9-10, Titus 3:3 ,
2 Timothy 3:2-4, Deuteronomy 18:10-14, Ezekiel 13:18-20, Revelation 22:15, Acts 19:19, 1 Samuel 15:23…)

Unwelcome Here

By Sally Bishai

Everyone knows how Black Americans were barred from certain lunch counters and water fountains in the recent past. But what people may not realize is that this appearance-based discrimination has not gone the way of the cavemen—even though the whole “judging by looks” thing is obviously a relic of more Neanderthal times.

See, the “cavemen,” whom I do NOT believe came from apes and tadpoles and whom I am not even sure I believe in, had to judge at first sight because if they didn’t, they could be eaten by some scary animal, or else killed by a poisoned spear or arrow or whatever weapons they had back then.

Makes sense, doesn’t it?

In the world of communication theory, we also have several notions that fall nicely into step with the aforementioned cavemen one, although my modern brethren generally tend to couch positive and negative discrimination in such terms as “energy-saving frameworks for determination” and the like, suggesting that a person may shy away from a person of certain races because of their previous negative experiences with them.

As with the cavemen thing, it makes sense, although this “assuming the worst” (or best, for that matter) mentality may cause us to miss out on a wonderful friendship or opportunity.

But that’s not what today’s topic is (surprise, surprise).

Rather, I wanted to share a tale from my last trip to Egypt. Don’t tune out just yet, the moral of the story is actually universally generalisable.

Anyway, there I was. In the city of my dreams, the place I’ve been haunted by since childhood, and longed for twice as long. Alexandria!

Despite a 6-year absence from my honorary hometown, not much had changed there.

The foul (fava bean, pronounced “fooool,” not like “foul,” as in, erm, horrible) sandwiches at Lotfi’s cart were still kind of horrible, the scent of jasmine still assaulted my nostrils in the best possible manner, once I got within a mile of Abdo, a flower-wreath vendor whom I’d been seeing next to my friend’s apartment since I was about five.

Some things changed, however. The percentage of women who had elected to don the higab (veil) had leapt exponentially, and more of those women than I had expected were cloaked in head-to-toe black (abaya/shroud, face mask, gloves… check my blog for a photo), in the Muslim Brotherhood style.

A friend there even told me that over 97% of Muslim women were veiled now, making the unveiled—either Christians or tourists—stand out even more.

I didn’t realize the implications of this until my friend Samia and I went shopping. I had determined to buy a new blouse to wear under my favorite black suit, and Samia immediately whisked me off to the most fashionable store she could think of.

While I didn’t find anything that caught my eye just there, I did find some shoes in the store next door. The store owner, whilst wrapping up my new 3-inch-heels, referred me to yet another store, when I told him what I’d been looking for.

He was right. I fell in love with an orange sequined tank top in the store window and bustled in for a closer look.

I pointed the shirt out to the lady behind the counter, who’d been eyeing me and Samia suspiciously since she first laid (beady) eyes on us.

I didn’t know what the problem was… After all, Samia and I were not only better-dressed, but obviously more wealthy than any of the dour-faced, veiled women around us. And I don’t look SO foreign that someone would automatically peg me an American or non-Egyptian.

The lady behind the counter shook her head and frowned sternly at me.

Maybe my accent was worse than I had imagined? I nudged Samia to say it for me.

“No, that shirt is not for you,” the lady said. I was speechless. How did SHE know? And furthermore, how did she know it was even for me?

“Uh… well, it’s not for me, it’s for her,” I said, struck by a flash of insight; maybe the matron didn’t think the shirt would fit me, so I foisted it off on my anorexic-looking friend, Samia.

No go.

“No, that is not for you. How about that?” she asked, gesturing to a navy abaya. I frowned, not bothering to tell her that I was unveiled for a reason, and that reason was that I wasn’t Muslim.

I must’ve hesitated too long, because a girl came up and snatched the shirt from me, after a token “You’re not getting that, are you?”

My jaw struggled to stay off the floor.

The lady turned away and rang MY tank top up for the girl. Who was veiled.

Samia grabbed my arm and steered me outside before I could give the matron a piece of my mind.

“Look, there’s nothing you can do. That’s just how it is. You knew that,” she said in a quiet voice.

Yes, I knew that a Christian couldn’t be the dean in a college, I knew that a Christian could be kidnapped in a village, or shoved on a city bus, but I had no idea that my being unveiled could make me less likely to buy an orange-sequined tank top!

The more I thought about it—the more I was able to picture the thousand little indignities that Christians in Egypt have to go through in the course of a normal day—the angrier I got.

Until I realized that I’m usually on the other end of the very same equation; when I go shopping for a Chanel lipstick, the attendants trip over themselves to help me out, but snub someone who’s wearing tattered jeans and a t-shirt.

When I go into a store in a less-exalted part of town, the owner looks infinitesimally less on- his-guard, upon seeing my benign countenance.

And the greeters at Sam’s Club never even hazard a glance at my store membership card. (Oh, they don’t look at anyone’s, do they..)

So why should I be so annoyed that, for once, my race (or lack thereof), my financial status, or my relatively non-threatening appearance didn’t save me?

Because.

Being denied a job or the guarantee of safety makes the discriminated-against feel like he’s suffering for an actual cause. But there’s nothing noble about being denied an orange sequined tank top because I happen to have been the only girl in the store who wasn’t veiled. (Apart from Samia, obviously.)

Don’t ask me what my point is in shedding the light on this maybe singly-occurring event, and don’t expect me to be able to give you any form of statistic on its happening within The Dear Land (as Egyptians call their home).

Although I should tell you right now that a non-Samia friend in Alexandria has recently informed me that this is actually beginning to happen a lot, and that people are starting to call the higab “the mark of the beast,” hearkening back to Revelations (in the Bible) where it says that you can’t buy or sell without the mark. (Hey, it could be true, and just because I think that may be taking it a bit far doesn’t mean that I’m right…far be it from me to stand in the way of anyone’s imagination..)

Do expect me to keep up my campaign of shedding the light on these inequalities, no matter how small they may be.

And expect me to keep praying for and working towards the day when all citizens of Egypt will be treated equally, when all religions will be equally accepted in America (ahem, ACLU..), and when all humans are valued for the mere fact that they were made in the image of a Creator who has carved us in the palm of His hand.

Our World Isn’t Twisted Enough

By Sally Bishai

I was halfway finished with an article decrying the discrimination against and persecution of certain races, but then an unbelievable series of events led me to a Yahoo! Movie Page dedicated to the horror genre.

Having read the synopses, and having taken in more ads advertising “The Year’s Scariest Flick!” and proclaiming that “You’ll Never Be Able to Turn The Lights Out Again!” than I could comfortably stomach so early in the morning, I decided to switch gears, in hopes of addressing the sick cinematographic appetites that are fuelling this 178 BILLION dollar industry. (And, the other article was taking too long to finish.)

I know that I’m (in)famous for going on about how I hate “the industry,” how TV is from the devil, and all sorts of semi-radical views of that nature.

You can’t really blame me, however, since the television and movie industry 1- use sex to sell everything from wall paint to rice, 2- is one of the most powerful tools of wide-range culture-transmission that we have available to us, 3- invariably depicts immorality, drug use, violence, disrespect to elders, and other actions that today’s youth don’t need to be imbibing—24/7, it seems—during their formative years.

After all, the more often one sees something, the more desensitized said person is to said behavior, leading to a much higher probability of said person’s adopting said behavior.

Scary, hmm?

I know what you’re thinking.

“Sally, wasn’t it YOU who was preaching tolerance a few weeks ago? Wasn’t it YOU who said we should hate the sin and love the sinner?”

You’re right, dear reader, I did.

BUT.

No one said anything about a methodical system of creating people who have an ever-increasing appetite for violence and mayhem!

(And before I go on, let me tell you why I’m focusing on scary films rather than on immoral films. It’s because sex is something that, within the proper situation, isn’t wrong, and can’t harm you. The addiction to it might, but sex itself won’t; besides, we’re wired for it. On the other hand, there is no context in which violence and torture could be considered “right,” and I defy anyone to tell me a situation where it is.)

“What dost thou mean, O Sally, dear Gadfly of this day and age? WHAT could be wrong with watching the occasional scary movie?”

Merely this: it’s not GOING to be the occasional one. The nature of the macabre, like a Lays potato chip, prevents you from HAVING just one. Humans are born with an innate fascination for all things morbid, and if you don’t believe me, try driving past an accident on the highway… without wondering just what happened.

I know, I know, people are innately curious, which doesn’t always translate to “morbid fascination.” But it’s a rare person who really doesn’t want to know about a tragedy or horrific thing.

If I told you that I saw the scariest movie of all time, you KNOW you’d ask what it was, and what made it so scary.

Your poor little mind wouldn’t let go of the thought, and you’d stay up all night, wondering.

You’d think “Nothing could be THAT shocking, though. I am past the point of being shocked!”

You might then watch the film, to see if it lived up to the hype.

You’d be so intent on proving yourself right that you may not be as horrified as the situation calls for.

And then…your tolerance for the truly horrible would get that much higher.

There, in a nutshell, is the development of the reprobate mind. So the whole “building a tolerance” thing is my first issue with horror films.

My next issue includes the fact that the pandering to this morbidity in us reminds me of the time when Romans would turn out, en masse, to watch the people (some of them Christians, others just garden-variety innocents or criminals) get eaten by lions, or turned on a wheel that would break their bones.

After a building of tolerance comes an actual appetite for something, you see. Serial killers over the years have confirmed this, admitting that when their perverse tastes couldn’t be quenched by films, they had to go create their own horror just to feel normal.

My most powerful argument, however, and the one that should appeal to a rational being (or a liberal, even) where the past two arguments may smack of the religious—meaning that some people might see nothing wrong with going around killing people, or torturing them—is the state of the world.

When suicide bombers kill themselves in an attempt to kill others, when prisoners of war (formal or informal) are tortured for information, or for the mere crime of belonging to the “wrong” side…does this sound like a world that needs even one more violent act—whether real or staged?

If you want to watch something gruesome, you may as well watch real videos of real people being tortured.

Actually, don’t. It would just serve the same purpose as watching the staged version of the same thing in some horror movie.

This makes me wonder: Are horror movies worse, or “snuff films,” their real-life counterparts?

On one hand, the horror movie is just a movie, and no one should have gotten hurt making the film, although the attempt to slake the thirst for violence is still there.

On the other hand, most people watching “Faces of Death” know that they’re watching the real thing, which makes them even worse. Or does it?

In a related matter, I happen to think it’s equally horrid to find humor in people’s misfortune, like in Home Alone, when the bumbling thieves—who, by all accounts, deserve to have some sort of come-uppance for their misdeeds—keep having all sorts of “accidents” precipitated by a naughty 11-year-old.

Hokey, perhaps. On par with snuff films, though? You’d better believe it.

From reality shows to real life, any time we derive any sort of entertainment from the misfortune—macabre or not—of others, we’re violating some moral code or other.

The sad thing—in any case—is that people give in to these macabre desires because it gives them a little jolt.

It makes the hair stand up on their necks.

What they don’t realize, however, is that they’re doing a wild dance with death, trying to get as close as they can to the edge, flirting with it a little, maybe, in an attempt to make themselves feel more alive.

The answer isn’t in pricking ourselves with the needle of Norman Bates or Freddy Krueger, though.

The ANSWER lies in waking up from our spiritual deadness and really CARING about something, and not just anything!

The spirit can only awaken—and fully develop—in the heavenly glow given off by our Heavenly Father.

May the light of the sun—and the Son—envelop you this day, my friend, and grant you the peace that passes all understanding!