c. 2003 Religion News Service

(Tom Ehrich is a writer and computer consultant, managing large-scale database implementations. An Episcopal priest, he lives in Durham, N.C.)

DOHA, Qatar _ After dinner at Al Majless Arabic Restaurant in central Doha, my three colleagues and I stand beside a busy street waiting for a taxi. As I watch residents of Doha drive to and fro, I savor the quiet but insistent automotive ballet and try to decipher the subtle nuances among various white robes, head coverings and veils.

I need to put aside images from Afghanistan, where the Taliban shrouded women in the burqa and made Islamic modesty attire a sign of oppression. Here women have substantial power, walk beside their husbands, drive alone, lead institutions, vote in elections and hold jobs. They choose to wear the veil, we are told, out of respect _ for themselves, for their husbands, for God.

In the context of this Islamic state near Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates, the veil makes sense. It feels odd to be saying that, but as I eat breakfast with my colleagues, I look at a woman on our team and imagine her in a scarf. As I contemplate the mental picture, I realize it wouldn’t be a sign of any male victory over the female, but of her assertion of deserving respect. I don’t know what to make of such thoughts. But I am not surprised when she says later that she has been wondering the same thing. Something about this place says that respect can happen in more ways than I might have arrived knowing.

I marvel at the quiet, even in busy places. Arab men speak softly and sparingly. Muslims are fasting during this holy season of Ramadan. It is a quiet fast. I am not made to feel the least unfaithful for not fasting. It isn’t like the aggressive piety that I encounter back home. There is respect in this fast. I sense the peace of those who refrain from all food and drink until Iftar at sundown.

As with the veil, I don’t understand all that I am seeing on this business trip. But I feel preconceptions evaporating. I feel a desire just to be, not to explain, certainly not to judge. I appreciate a city with virtually no crime. I appreciate being able to walk freely and to feel OK about being myself.

I think there comes a time when it is wise just to be quiet. We don’t add value with our noise _ not to ourselves, not to each other, and not to God. Nor do we add much with our theorizing, theologizing, ethicizing, criticizing, fault-finding or judging. Maybe the gift of quiet is more perfect than we could ever make ourselves. Maybe the gift of quiet will explain more, embrace more, invite more.

Where Christianity has lost its way, maybe it wasn’t because we theologized incorrectly, but because we thought it necessary to theologize at all. Maybe we are drowning in our own verbiage. Maybe God’s answer to our arguments is simply, “OK, if you think so. I just want to see the peaceful side of your hands.”

In fact, my thoughts about the veil go beyond imagining a colleague wearing one. I imagine wearing a head covering myself. Not to play a role, not to be like someone else, not to fit one stereotype or to rebel against another, not to accomplish anything. Rather, to choose respect. I won’t be wearing an Arab scarf when I return home. I know that. But I sense that the noise and self-indulgence of my native world is a cover for lack of respect _ for self, for other, for God.

Some way of choosing respect seems necessary. Nowhere is that need for respect more critical than in religion, for we are trapped in noisy debates and are so busy shouting at each other that the still small voice of God cannot be heard.

If I wanted to center myself in respect, how would I do that? Head covering isn’t the issue. Respect is a journey of choices, a complex journey, requiring more than perfected piety or right opinion. Respect seems to start in quiet, in a decision not to add to the noise, but rather to remain still and to trust in God.

DEA END EHRICH