By Ali Syarief
At one point in my life, I was assigned to work as a translator. The task seemed technical—transferring words from one language to another. Yet in practice, I found myself translating not only language, but worldview. Through that experience, I began to understand that learning how people speak often leads to understanding how they seek God.
During that assignment, I witnessed a Balinese Hindu prayer ritual. For an outsider, it might appear unfamiliar or even questionable. But once I listened to its explanation, I realized it carried a deep structure of spiritual etiquette.
First, the worshippers ask permission from unseen beings believed to inhabit the surrounding space, requesting that no disturbance occur during the prayer. This is not worship of those beings, but an expression of cosmic courtesy—a recognition that human life exists within a wider, visible and invisible environment.
Second, they direct their prayer to Sang Hyang Widhi, the Supreme God, asking for protection and safety. At this stage, the essence of monotheistic devotion becomes evident: reliance on the Highest Power.
Third, they ask the divine witnesses—the participating deities—to safeguard their well-being. And finally, they close with gratitude for everything that has been granted.
Four steps: respect for the surrounding universe, devotion to the Supreme, supplication for protection, and thanksgiving. It is a disciplined architecture of spiritual consciousness.
So, what is wrong with such a prayer?
Some Muslims might instinctively reject it, viewing it as incompatible with Islamic monotheism. Yet often this rejection emerges not from understanding, but from distance—from the refusal to listen before judging.
Interestingly, the Qur’an itself begins many of its universal calls with the phrase:
“Ya ayyuhannas ittaqu rabbakum”
O humankind, be mindful of your Lord.
Not “O believers,” not “O a particular community,” but O humankind. This verse acknowledges that the search for God is a shared human endeavor, even though the paths may differ.
If God addresses humanity universally, why do humans so often refuse to recognize the universality in each other’s devotion?
The issue is rarely about the prayers of others. It is more often about our own insecurity—fear that understanding another tradition might weaken our faith. Yet mature faith does not fear dialogue. Only fragile faith does.
From my experience as a translator, I learned this: languages differ, rituals differ, symbols differ—but the human longing for the Divine is strikingly similar. Everyone seeks safety. Everyone seeks peace. Everyone seeks meaning.
Perhaps true piety is not merely being right within one’s own belief, but having the capacity to respect others’ devotion without losing one’s own grounding.
After all, God needs no defenders.
What humanity needs is more willingness to understand.
