Religion and rage: they are so close these days. But not in the past, at least as I recall. When I was small, the preacher at Friday prayers in the mosque in our village stood holding a carved stick like a spear, but the words that issued from the simple pulpit were calm, soothing, sweet. Worship, as he extolled it, meant giving thanks to God by treating His creation well. The loudspeaker affixed to the mosque tower did not shriek its domination