Abdul-Fattah quietly closed the door to his little house in the Muslim Quarter. He didn’t want to wake his family who were all sleeping. It was early and still dark at this hour.
He checked one last time, patting his jacket to make sure he had the old key. His own door safely latched and the “other” key secured in his pocket, he paused to look up and down the narrow street. He saw no one, though if he had he would have known them on sight. Abdul-Fattah knew everyone. His family and their ancestors had lived here for many years.
He turned and headed toward Lion’s Gate Street. Praying to himself as he went; carefully fingering his Misbaha (prayer beads). Abdul prayed the Tasbih of Fatima. Thirty four times he would recite “Allahu Akbar” (God is the greatest), then “Al-hamdu lilah” 33 times (Praise be to God), and finally “Subhan Allah” 33 times (Glory be to God). This was the best time of the day – just him, his prayers and his God.
“Al-hamdu lilah.” Abdul turned left on Al Wad. When he had first been entrusted with the duties of caretaker of the key he had thought it a great inconvenience. As a male member of the Nuseibeh family (the oldest Arab family in Jerusalem), responsibility for the key had fallen to him – a responsibility which went back generations. “Why couldn’t these so-called “Men of God,” handle this on their own,” he had wondered.
Now, many years later, he finally understood the wisdom of the Sultan Saladin. It had been the right thing to do. It had become, for Abdul-Fattah, a daily mission; a holy thing. His parents must have known this when they named him. After all, his name, Abdul-Fattah, meant “Servant of the Opener of the Gates of Sustenance”. The thought made him smile.
He said his last “Al-hamdu lilah” and began the first “Sudhan Allah” as he turned right continuing along the Via Dolorosa. Bits of sunlight began to appear at the edges of the ancient walls.
Passing the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer on his left he smelled Turkish coffee brewing somewhere. He would have a cup with his old friend Abad later that morning. Stepping through the archway in front of him, the ancient church appeared on his right. It had been a holy site since 300 CE. Abdul made his way down the stone steps to the courtyard. Even at this early hour there were already pilgrims and tourists lingering by the door.
Reaching the doorway, he reverently removed the key from his pocket. The key slid home into the lock. Leaning his weight slightly against the door Abdul turned the key, throwing the bolt, and opened the door. The waiting pilgrims rushed inside before the key was out of the lock.
Returning the key to the safety of his pocket, he gazed upward at the ancient walls. He, a Muslim, had just opened the door to one of the holiest sites in all of Christendom, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, where Jesus had been entombed.
A warm, reassuring feeling came over him. After a last look at the open door, Abdul headed off for his coffee with Abad. As he went he wondered if both Muhammad and Jesus would greet him when he got to heaven. “Allahu Akbar” (God is the greatest).
God gifts us all with a unique array of time, talents and treasure. So unique, in fact, that God made each of us “one of a kind.” Stewards (of all faiths) do their best to fulfill God’s intent by using their gifts to better the world and its inhabitants.
Using our gifts for the benefit of others is important, but how do we go about the reception of the gifts of others? In other words, how do we respond when someone else’s “stewardship” is directed at us?
In the individualistic world we live in, many of us have difficulty accepting help from anyone, even family and friends. How do we respond when that help comes from a totally unexpected source – one foreign to us?
Sometimes, the people God sends our way are not the ones we would like to encounter and yet each one is exactly the right person for the situation. Putting a Muslim family in charge of the entrance to Christianity’s holiest location seems counter-intuitive. And yet, amongst a group of feuding and stubborn Christians, it was exactly the right choice. It is a decision which has worked for 820 years.
When God’s help comes, we should not turn it away, regardless of who our benefactor might be.
Dear God: Who will you send to help me today?
“You can’t always get what you want, but you always get what you need.” ~Mick Jagger 1969 (“Let it Bleed” album)
*Note: The primary custodians of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher are the Eastern Orthodox, Armenian Apostolic, and Roman Catholic Churches. The Greek Orthodox control the largest portion. The Coptic Orthodox, the Ethiopian Orthodox and the Syriac Orthodox have lesser responsibilities, including shrines and other structures within and around the building. Times and places of worship for each community are strictly regulated in common areas.
We often hear about discord amongst Jews, Muslims and Christians, but at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, it is the Christians who can’t seem to get along. As a result, none of them control the main entrance. In 1192, Sultan Saladin (Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn Yūsuf ibn Ayyūb) the Sultan of Egypt and Syria assigned responsibility for the front door to the Nuseibeh family (the oldest Arab family in Jerusalem). The Joudeh Al-Goudia family was entrusted with the keys of the Holy Sepulchre by the Ottomans a few hundred years later. These two Muslim families now share the responsibility. (See Wikipedia, Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Status Quo)
©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the “© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
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