Mixed Prayer

By Maria Mills

Gabriel and I decided to go to the mosque last night. Aside from a quick visit for a scarcely attended Asr prayer a few weeks ago while taking our friend Mike on a Mosques of Denver Driving Tour, neither one of us had been to a mosque for at least a year, or maybe longer. Not completely sure of our motivation, we walked up the front steps and in through the main door.

I would typically go through the women’s entrance, but we wanted to see if the imam was in so we could finally, after two years, get our marriage certificate. The office door was closed, so I turned and headed up to the balcony which, along with a wide hallway behind it, serves as the women’s prayer space. I suppose as far as women’s prayer spaces are concerned, this mosque is designed in a way that is friendlier than many. At least the women are in the same room as the imam and can actually see and hear him if they want.

Walking toward the stairway something caught my eye in the men’s section. I didn’t think much about what I’d seen until about half way up the stairs when it hit me—there was a woman sitting in the men’s section!

I ran down the stairs and into the main prayer hall to find not only one but two women seated right in the middle of the room. I must have had a look of confusion, apprehension, shock and surprise on my face because when they turned and saw me one of them smiled and nodded in a gesture that said, "join us." I went and sat next to my husband who had settled toward the front of the room. We joined hands and sat nervously. Although we didn’t utter a word to each other I knew we were both waiting for holy hell to break loose.

I expected it all to end soon. I expected someone to walk in any minute and return the mosque to its normal state with women up top and men on the main level. But instead the next five to ten minutes were incredible. The room filled with men and women and became more alive with every person who walked through the door. Some were sitting in groups of men only and women only but others were mixed. The quiet time that typically precedes the prayer had been replaced by the buzz of the energy in the room.

My head darted around, taking in this incredible sight. I turned to look up to the balcony to find that the smoky glass partition which once divided the two spaces was gone and was in the process of being replaced by a simple safety railing. Among the stern-faced women sitting in the balcony were a few men with broad trouble-maker grins on their faces. “My god!” I exclaimed to Gabriel, “This is a team effort. Men and women are working together on this!”

The iqama was called and we all rose to align ourselves for prayer. There were a few small clusters of men-only rows and women-only rows, but the two lines which filled the front of the room were a mix of men and women seemingly comfortable to make their salat shoulder-to-shoulder together.

Like the Red Sea, the rows parted to let the imam rush to the front of the room, but instead of closing up behind him they remained open to allow a small group of niqab-clad women through. They marched to the front-center of the room and made a line just behind the imam. Jaws were dropping all around. I had once been a leader in the niqab-gang, but in those days we sternly sat as far back in the balcony as we could, turning the balcony lights off every time one of the aunties would turn them on. We claimed that with the lights on the men could see through the smoked-glass partition. If they happened to turn around, stand up and strain their necks to see into the balcony area, that is. I thought I recognized the leader of this pack as my old friend Samira, but I knew she had moved to the Gulf a few years ago. Maybe she was back. Maybe something happened over there, and she had returned with a mission to change things.

“Allahu Akbar” the imam proclaimed in that voice that has always been music to my ears. It was this man’s voice that kept me going to the mosque sometime back. As time passed however, even his melodic recitation couldn’t keep me motivated.

“Allahu Akbar” the congregation repeated in unison with power like I’ve never heard before.

I once got a rush out of praying in congregation, but that feeling has been lost for longer than I care to remember. Last night, that rush came back like a hurricane. I felt Allah and a love for Muslims for the first time in years.

After the prayer Gabriel and I walked out in shock. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. A few weeks prior, when Mike and I had visited the mosque I prayed by myself in the balcony as usual, but instead of concentrating on my salat I simply went through the motions as I wondered what would have happened had I walked into the men’s section with him. I knew inside that I simply didn’t have the energy to be the one who leads the rebellion. I had to know who was in charge this night. Whose idea was this?

As we drove away I got on the phone calling everyone I could think of to find out what brave woman took on this challenge. I found out that her name was Patricia. I didn’t know her, but that wasn’t a big surprise. It had been over two years since I’d been even a tiny bit active in the community and even longer since the time when I was in the center of the action. I had to meet this woman.

As I worked on finding her contact information, I shouted to Gabriel, “Call Mike! I needed to get Mohja’s number fast. I needed to tell her about what was happening in Denver!”

“What?” Gabriel said softly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I felt my son nestled up next to me. The room was dark, the only sound was the hum of the fan in the corner. A dream. It was only a dream. Disappointed I lay back down and went back to sleep hoping that my dream would pick up where it left off. I got such a rush out of what I’d just felt that I wanted desperately to go back to that dreamland where for the fist time in years praying in congregation felt genuinely good.

Maria Mills holds degrees in Child and Family Studies and Psychology with an emphasis in Early Childhood Education. She currently puts those degrees to practice on adults in her roll has Human Resources Manager for a large non-profit. When she isn’t busy redirecting her son’s play, she sometimes writes a thing or two.