A great star cloaked behind pink clouds is painted every morning with blinding light and bubble gum cotton candy on this canvas that we call earth, but we disagree on who is holding the brush. Humanity has been fighting wars for centuries because of the tendency to impose our perceptions onto others. Definitions are only objective in a dictionary, once the words are thrust into action, our reality tunnels distort and absorb an idiosyncratic rendition. Beliefs and context add dimension to words that denote the same meaning. The words god and Allah literally mean the supreme being, but a priest will not say he believes in both, and an imam will say they are one and the same.

God is everywhere; the word slips away whether we are thinking of the creator or not. “Oh my god” is what we exclaim whenever we can’t muster our thoughts into any other words. The word god has been chewed up and spit out so many times that some people don’t feel the need to capitalize it anymore. Many of us hate answering the door for the very persistent (and unusually perky) Jehovah’s witnesses who shove god down our throats, claiming there is “hope” for us. The priest will tell you not to use God’s name in vain. He will tell you to remember God when disaster strikes, to whisper His name in the hospital waiting rooms. When the priest uses the word God, he says it with reverence for the entire trinity. But when he hears the word Allah, he does not feel the same way, rather he thinks of mosque across the street.

Across the street, an imam walks to the masjid, and he too tells people not use God’s name without thought to whom they are referring to. The imam adds Subhana wa t'ala¹ every time he says Allah. He teaches people to say Allah during any moment of grief, discomfort, or happiness. The imam hopes that the first word every baby hears is Allah. Unlike the priest, the imam does not see an image of Jesus Christ. Instead, he perceives the nature around him and Allah written in Arabic calligraphy. When the imam hears the word Allah, he simultaneously hears the other ninety names, such as Ar-Rahman². The imam interchanges God and Allah throughout his lectures and regular speech; both hold the same meaning for him. He says God almighty and Allah the exalted. The same supreme being carved the trees and created man from a clot of blood. The imam’s heart swells with submission at the thought of his creator, not the mere letters that make up god or Allah.

The difference between god and Allah has more to do with whom is using them than the etymologies of the words. The priest disagrees with the imam not because he believes in a different god, but because his notion of God and mediums for worship are much different. We all hear these two words every day but have different impressions and uses for them. God and Allah are used everywhere as exclamations of disbelief and greetings. But to certain people, they mean more than that. To the priest, God is his savior and Allah is word the Jihad on the news shriek. The imam respects God, but it doesn’t roll of his tongue like Allah Subhana wa t'ala wal aziz al kareem³. The sunrise signals a start of a new day to the priest, and the end of fajr³ for the imam. But both men can agree that despite who or what is creating the brush strokes, no other wonder of the world is more breath taking than the sunrise.

^1. Subhana wa t'ala: the exalted

^2. Ar-Rahman: the compassionate

^3. Subhana wa t'ala wal aziz al kareem: Allah (is) the exalted, the mighty, the generous.

(An imam is someone who calls the prayer.)