My class’s final radio project.
By: Jake Heller
Just days before Liberia’s first election in six years, about 100 refugees from the strife-torn West African nation prayed for peace Sunday at the Christ Assembly Lutheran Church in Staten Island.
Christ Assembly’s senior pastor, the Rev. Philip S. Saywrayne, strode to the altar in the heart of the boisterous, musical service, which featured a gospel choir, drums—African and a rock’n’roll kit—and an electric guitar, and quieted the ringing church.
Wearing a red robe that matched the simple church’s wall-to-wall carpeting, and framed against a Liberian flag behind him, Saywrayne urged worshippers to “put on [their] spiritual eyes” and see that “the angels of God can dwell among us.” Peace in Liberia is possible because “God can change the worst person among us,” he said.
Alphonso Kenneth said the service reminded him of home. “Being back in Liberia, we always worshipped the Lord,” the 15-year-old said. “We always knew that by worshipping in Him we could become better people.”
Scheduled for October 11, the Liberian election is expected to be close. Incumbent President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf has faced significant critiques and challenges during her run for a second term, and opposition leaders and power-hungry warlords still wield significant political influence throughout the nation. International observers worry that a contested election could plunge the impoverished West African country back into civil war.
Saywrayne has therefore urged all churches on Staten Island to encourage their congregations to fast and pray for peace between 12 a.m. and 6 p.m. Monday. He is hosting a breaking of the fast at Christ Assembly Monday evening.
“I don’t think you want war in your country?” Saywrayne asked his crowd, who was seated for the first time during the service.
“No!” they yelled back. Then “this is something you want to do for your nation,” the Liberian reverend said, referring to Monday’s prayers and fast. “God is going to answer our prayers for peace.”
“I believe [the] Lord God do many things for me,” added congregant Dehkentee Logan, whose parents live in Liberia. “I know he can save me and my family.”
Logan’s hope and Saywrayne’s preaching peace are not simply wishful thinking, either; Liberians have traditionally believed that God actually controls what happens in their lives, and that lobbying God can affect His ultimate actions.
“He been the source of everything we do,” said choir director Paykue Fahnbulleh.
This belief traces back to the tribal faith systems that were widespread in Liberia before ex-American slaves arrived there in the mid-19th century, and it was later co-opted into Christianity.
Indeed, many Liberians at Christ Assembly adamantly believe that God determines their—and their country’s—fate.
Zachariah Logan, Christ Assembly’s Executive Director for Evangelism, for example, implored congregants to heed Saywrayne’s call to prayer. “We have to pray so that God can choose our leader,” he said.
Other church leaders concurred, and stressed the importance of taking action.
“If we don’t do something, our posterity, our children, will be in trouble,” said the Rev. Patrick Chai.
Saywrayne accordingly organized the day of prayer and fast. He said that fasting helps concentrate the mind on God, and helps God hear people’s prayers. At 6 p.m. Monday, he plans to break the fast with fruit and water.
“During the old days, the people of God would bring fruits into the temple,” he said. “So we also use the fruits.”
Fruits are also easy to carry, and are generally inexpensive, he noted. The church and its congregants do not have much money—“Don’t bring an orange without a knife to peel it,” he reminded those assembled on Sunday—but are willing to give back to their homeland. In addition to fasting and praying, congregants are sending non-perishable food items to Liberia’s hungry.
“We all have to serve, in fellowship,” said Jerry Jacob, who volunteers every weekend to drive the church van, picking people up all over Staten Island to bring them to church. “We make the Church,” he added.
“Those who come here, they sacrifice to give,” Saywrayne said.
The reverend likened such constant sacrifice to Jesus’ struggle to spread the Gospel. And he urged his congregants to keep fighting, to do their part in bringing peace to Liberia. Referencing the crucifixion, Saywrayne said: “You see, when you start your work, you have to finish it.”
By: Jake Heller
On the eve of the 10th anniversary of 9/11, a small group of African Muslims gathered Saturday in Staten Island’s Masjid Rahmatillah—“the mosque of mercifulness”—to study the Quran.
Members of the mosque disparaged the prejudice they have faced as Muslims since al-Qaida attacked the World Trade Center 10 years ago, and stressed that Islam does not teach violence, but peace.
“Islam never teaches people to kill,” said 27-year-old Hasan Nyehn, who tutors at the mosque’s religious school. “Islam teaches us to be tolerant and respectful.”
“In fact,” Nyehn said, “the Quran teaches that whoever save[s] one life, it’s like he or she has saved the whole world. And whoever takes away one life, it’s like he has destroyed the whole [of] humanity.”
Nyehn was living in Liberia when the two planes hit the Twin Towers, and moved to the United States in 2002 to escape his home country’s civil war. When he enrolled in college upon his arrival, he found that the U.S. was not as welcoming as he had hoped.
Like many Muslims in America, he has dealt with a decade of discrimination since 9/11.
“I couldn’t relax in school because the tension was too high for Muslims,” he said. “You could not even be identified [as a Muslim]. Because once you are identified, people will call you a terrorist.”
Nyehn eventually dropped out of school.
Just around the block, 47-year-old Sulaiman Tunis, also Liberian, shrugged off the suggestion that 9/11 pushed Muslims to the fringes of American society.
“I feel accepted,” Tunis said. “Nobody never harmed me because I am Muslim.”
“People be saying negative things,” he conceded, “but those are things I don’t pay mind to.”
Nyehn, however, does pay attention to such negative comments, and he finds it troubling that his religion continues to be openly slandered.
“You still find people saying that Islam is a destructive religion,” Nyehn worried. “But if you study Islam, if you live with Muslims, you know that, indeed, they are a decent set of people.”
Though the mosque’s exterior was peeling, its inside was filled with steadfast devotion. Men and women dressed in their nicest religious attire—thawbes (robes) for men and hijabs and robes for women—prostrated and prayed in unison inside the mosque’s only first-floor room. Women prayed behind the men, separated by a slew of unfolded folding tables.
Among those praying at the mosque was Omar Faruku, who drives a cab in Manhattan and fills in as Masjid Rahmatillah’s imam when needed. Faruku said he suffered double-despair on 9/11, an emotion brought on by his attachment to both his adopted country and to his religion.
“I felt pain twice that day,” the Ghanaian said. “America was attacked—I felt that pain. And it was a Muslim who did it.”
Nyehn said that these two identities—American and Muslim—have been bifurcated for too long, and need to be reconciled.
“We must learn to live together as one people,” he said.
Nyehn, who is now back in school studying journalism, added: “We should love each other.”