Provocative Catholic and Islamic Parallels

By Fr. Jerry Pokorsky ( bio - articles - email ) | Sep 08, 2025

With good intentions, I randomly opened the Quran and stumbled upon this: “O you who have attained to faith! Do not take the Jews and Christians for your allies; they are but allies of one another…behold God does not guide such evildoers.”

Then I read a similarly harsh Gospel passage: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.” (Lk. 14:26) Most Catholics unconsciously hear it as a pointed literary hyperbole. But how do non-Christians understand the passage?

Metaphors abound in the Bible. The account of creation in Genesis is beautifully poetic, appealing to the ancient mind: The firmament of the heavens with pinhole star lights and the like, and so on. Scientists may chuckle, but not the poets who understand that profound truths are conveyed through signs, symbols, and metaphors. The Sacraments use the same poetic symbolism. St. Augustine teaches that we must distinguish between the literal and metaphorical meanings to interpret Scripture.

The Church’s penny catechism teaches that the only person God allows us to hate is the Devil, because he desires our everlasting condemnation. Jesus teaches “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” (Mt. 5:43-44) Hence we must conclude that Jesus speaks metaphorically when He teaches to “hate” father and mother, and literally when He teaches us to love our enemies and abide by God’s justice when dealing with them.

We know the validity of scriptural interpretations by their fruits, manifest in the Catholic cult of saints. When Catholics grow in devotion, they become saintly, much like Mother Teresa. We hope Muslims also interpret the enigmatic sayings of the Quran metaphorically and, for example, understand Jihad as spiritual combat against evil. But as many modern Muslims grow in Islamic piety—as history testifies—the literalists become murderous jihadists, like Osama bin Laden.

Nevertheless, we sometimes need a figurative gut punch to dislodge our complacency. Jesus knew when to hurl a disruptive phrase or two to bring us to our senses. Did Jesus intend us to understand the horror of fire in a literal or figurative sense when describing the pains of hell? We can’t be sure. But Church teaching assures us that hell is eternally unpleasant.

Decades ago, I received a phone call from a local funeral home. They needed a priest to conduct a wake service for a family from across the Potomac River. The Washington, D.C. priest—-understandably—told the family to identify a local priest for the occasion.

The evening funeral home was unusually festive, with a table filled with food and flowing with beer. Surprisingly, no funeral director was around to guide me. Absent Catholic liturgical handouts, I picked up the venerable King James Bible at the entrance and worked through the crowd.

It was a crowd of gypsies. I was an interloper, and the inebriated menfolk smirked as I walked by. I approached the casket with the widow, dressed in black, solemnly sitting next to her beloved spouse. It was Advent, so the artificial Christmas tree adorning the casket wasn’t altogether out of place. I offered the woman my condolences and respectfully asked whether her husband received the Sacraments. Perhaps mechanically, she responded in the affirmative.

The time for prayer had arrived, and I beckoned the crowd socializing in the adjacent room, and they dutifully filled the pews of the funeral chapel. The menfolk in black leather jackets continued to smirk, but the women, as is often the case, were attentive.

Thumbing through the King James Bible, annoyed, I found a harsh passage: “If thy hand offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched: Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.” (Mk. 9:43-44) I boomed, “The [deceased] received the Sacraments before he died. But how will you stand before the judgment seat of God?”

I fully expected a contemptuous, rebellious response. I didn’t care. But the women turned to their men, arms folded, with stern glares, and the inebriated menfolk went silent. I gave the customary blessing and departed peacefully through the crowd, like the Israelites passing through the Red Sea. (I refrained from grabbing a Budweiser along the way.) The gypsies, if the solemnity of their response was any indication, were not far from the Kingdom of God.

When Jesus teaches us to hate father, mother, wife, and children, brothers and sisters, and even our own lives, He is teaching us that discipleship never takes second place to mom, dad, and every possession: “Anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.” Christian discipleship in union with Jesus rises above the entanglements of family, tribe, and every nation.

Family and tribal ties often possess us. Ask any clan of gypsies—or any parent invited to attend a wedding of a family member getting married outside the Church. Our possessions often possess us. Ask the wealthy encumbered with vast wealth. Ask the humble confectioners forced to decorate an LGBTQ wedding cake. Ask a soldier sent off to fight an unjust war. Discipleship requires that we reject every entanglement that distracts us from the Law of Christ, including the comforts of our lives. “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” (Jn. 14:15)

There are many parallels between the Catholic faith and other religions. However, the parallels irretrievably diverge with the Incarnation. Jesus is the Word made Flesh—the reconciliation of God and man, divine faith and human reason, logic, and poetry. Our Catholic faith brings us in union with Him. Our faith is always literally compatible with human reason and freedom.