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I signed up for a religion class this week. Shocking, I know. Why would someone like me — a confessed opponent to boring church — intentionally listen to religious stuff I've already heard a billion times?

Quick answer: I'm not. I enrolled in a class at the Utah Islamic Center in Sandy. I'm hearing stuff I've never heard before, which on its own makes it 10 times more interesting than Sunday school.

Dubbed by the media as "Islam 101," the class is intended primarily for potential converts to Islam, new Muslims, and Muslims who are "reverting," or returning to Islam after a long absence.

The class also serves people whose understanding of Islam is shaped almost entirely by Hollywood and the news media. The first class lasted about two hours and I didn't see a single AK-47. Seriously, not even pictures.

It's also for people like me and classmate Bryan Johnson, who want to understand Muslims but stand about as much chance of converting to Islam as we do of becoming Vegas showgirls.

One night a week we learn the Islamic basics from Imam Shuaib Din. I can't tell if he's a good teacher or if I'm just completely ignorant. Ten minutes into the first class, my knowledge of Islam had increased a thousand times.

It was a little scary when I first showed up. I wasn't exactly sure how the presence of a Western journalist (and known fool) would be taken by people not generally known for having a sense of humor about their faith.

What if I didn't do something at the prescribed time, or I pronounced a sacred name wrong, or I asked a question punishable by stoning? It's happened before, including at my own church.

My nervousness was laid entirely to rest by the first Muslims I encountered — women in long dresses and head scarves.

They saw me loitering outside the door and — just like women everywhere — began telling me what to do. Please come in. Shoes off here. Thank you for coming. Go over there. We will have food after class.

Whoa, just like my own church. I was instantly at ease.

The traditional Muslim prayers — during which men and women prayed apart — were offered in Arabic. I didn't understand most of it. Again, just like where I go.

Then it was time for class. Men and women together this time.

If Muslim women are truly subservient to men, I didn't see any of that in my first visit to the Utah Islamic Center. In class, the women acted just like the men. A few of them weren't shy about calling the men out on finer points of doctrine.

Imam Din is a quiet, confident, bearded man who looks exactly like what a clueless Westerner might expect an imam to look like — dark, mysterious and even, dare I say, potentially dangerous?

He explained the fundamentals of preparing for prayer, the washing of the body, and the focus on cleanliness before Allah. Periodically he would stop and patiently answer my questions.

Islam is all still a bit confusing. There are 11 more weeks of class. I'm not sure how much I learned at the first one beyond how to say "salaam alaikum" (peace be upon you).

Wait. There was one more thing, perhaps the most important one. With the exception of dress and customs, I didn't see anyone at the Utah Islamic Center who was fundamentally different from me.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley.