As I got of my car and headed to the front door of the Y, a foreign thought entered my consciousness.

I am a brown-skinned woman, walking alone. My head is covered. It is still dark. What if I encounter someone who thinks I am Muslim?

What followed was a few seconds of unfamiliar anxiety. A few seconds of irrational fear. What if I am attacked? I hesitated. Should I uncover my head? Right now? But it’s cold outside!

Then the neurons of my neocortex began firing. You live in Maryland. You are in north Baltimore. It’s the Towson Y. Lots of diversity here. A welcoming place. Breathe. Relax.

So I kept walking and left my head covered until I got inside where it was nice and warm. A friendly person greeted me and swiped my card. Minutes later, the water of the pool filled my senses and soothed my soul.

What a luxury. Lucky me. A few seconds of fear.

You know where I’m going with this, of course. Not everyone is as lucky as me, or you. There are countless for whom fear is a 24-7, not a few-seconds deal. For some this fear is a new, unwelcome phenomenon; for others this fear is and always has been a constant, intimate companion. And I’m not talking about the general, pervasive anxiety and fear of the unknown that has settled like cold, damp fog around many of us, seeping into our skin, weighing heavy on our hearts, invading our awareness. Nor am I talking about the fear of not being able to put food on the table, not having a job, or one that pays enough, paralyzing fears in and of their own right.

I mean the visceral, fear-for-your-life-kind-of-fear. Fear of being targeted because of the color of your skin. Fear of being uprooted and deported. Fear of being attacked because of who you love or how you praise God.

So how do we respond? How are we to be? And what are we to do?

A Muslim student at the University of Michigan was recently threatened because of her faith. The president of the Muslim Student Association decided to organize an evening Ishaa prayer service and called for allies to come in support.

Hundreds of students and faculty showed up. Jews and Christians alike stood side-by-side, forming a human circle around their Muslim brothers and sisters so Allah could be worshiped in safety. A circle of sanctuary amidst danger. A circle of faith amidst doubt. A circle of courage amidst fear.

We are called, my friends, to show up, to stand together, to bear witness to Christ as we create concentric circles of sanctuary, faith and courage.

The kind of courage that listens and engages in authentic dialogue with those whose perspectives and thoughts seem foreign to us, and with those with whom we vehemently disagree.

And the kind of courage that stands and speaks, prays and acts, strategizes and organizes, when “disagreement” is used to legitimize oppression, and “having-a-different-point-of-view” is used to justify the violation of human rights and the trampling of human dignity.

In the words of Rabbi Paul Kipnes:

There was that moment at the Red Sea when our people despaired like never before. Looking behind, the people saw an enemy coming for them. Looking ahead, the waters seemed ready to swallow them up.

To stand still was not an option….and so we pray:

Oh God of our fathers and mothers,

When our nation is divided,

When our people are afraid,

When our children are confused,

When we ourselves are unsure about how to move forward;

Grant us the courage to face our fears and walk forward into the unknown.

Grant us the insight to find the hidden waters in the wilderness to quench our thirst.

Grant us the wisdom to decide wisely as we face difficult questions in the days and months ahead.

Grant us the faith to speak truth to power demanding truth and justice, compassion and kindness.

And may we lie down in peace and rise up each tomorrow, refreshed and renewed, prepared to work towards blessings for all.

Amen.

Cristina+