Soccer, Kebabs, and Injil, 04: Gender and Grief in a Muslim context

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Soccer, Kebabs, and Injil, 04: Gender and Grief in a Muslim context

Posted by Justin Long ⋅ June 29, 2008 ⋅

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This series has been generously contributed from a booklet by Stephen Jordan (pseudonym) entitled “Soccer, Kebabs, and the Injil.” Jordan spent a year in ministry among Muslims in a Central Asian country, and jotted down his experiences and interactions in these brief chapters. The lessons learned demonstrate that, given an open heart, a humble spirit, and adequate preparation, short-term missions among Muslims can still have a fruitful impact on listeners and evangelist alike. We are happy to make this little volume available to you in the hopes that it will 1) show what daily life is like for many Muslims, 2) encourage prayer for unreached people groups, and 3) perhaps even motivate many to go and be a part of what God is doing in what are usually referred to as “creative-access” situations. If you would like a copy of the printed version of the booklet, or you would like to be placed on the mailing list of ReachAcross (formerly Red Sea Team International), please contact info.us…@reachacross.net.

As Nancy, my teammate, and I made our way along the side of the muddy street, trying to hide in our coats from the biting wind and rain, and attempting to avoid slipping into one of those seemingly bottomless mud holes disguised as small puddles, profound grief pressed down upon us with an immense weight. Earlier in the morning as I was eating breakfast with the guys, we had heard the news. Sarah, our librarian and perhaps one of the most influential women in the city, had lost her husband to a heart attack that night.

Sarah had worked with our office from the very beginning. With her seemingly endless network of contacts from her days as an English teacher, she had played a pivotal role in establishing credibility for us in the region. She was always greeted respectfully by everyone I saw her meet, belying the status of women normally associated with this culture. It sufficed to see her walk towards you to understand she was a woman of importance and pride. Indeed, this pride and grief seemed to be the defining characteristics of her life.

She came from a family of influence. Her father had been governor of a province decades before, but killed when violence once again made its ugly reappearance. Her brother was killed years later in a different conflict. Her eldest son died as well. Her daughter had recently married, and therefore probably would not be a part of the household much longer. Her youngest son was born severely handicapped, and at age seven, lived the life of an infant, only able to barely communicate with moans and occasional smiles. He was a source of shame to his father, who did not have a son able to carry on the family line. But at the same time, he was dearly loved by his parents.

Sarah had long shown interest in the message of hope through Jesus. Only recently had she indicated a firm commitment to Christ to us. She was not willing, however, to let other locals know about this. Her husband, however, did sense a change, and although not happy, tolerated this new development in his wife’s life. He did not hesitate to ridicule her, however, particularly when she showed hope that Jesus would heal their young son. We had just visited their home a few weeks before, celebrating the end of the month of fasting. Although the conversation with Sarah’s husband was pleasant, I could see the bitterness and cynicism just beneath the surface. We did pray for their son before we left, but the father was nowhere to be seen at that point.

When Nancy and I arrived at the house, dozens of men were already standing in front. As was the custom here, only the women came inside to mourn. However, as a foreigner and a close friend, I was allowed inside. Nancy entered the room packed with mourning women, while I sat down in an adjacent room with Sarah’s foster boy, whose shepherd grandfather had sent him to the city to earn money and get an education while serving Sarah’s family. All the while, Sarah’s daughter’s shrill voice filled the house with its plaintive cries, repeated over and over again: “Oh father, oh father, where are you? Where are you? Father!” Sarah herself sat in silent grief.

While her relationship with her husband had not been the greatest, losing him was a devastating blow to a woman already accustomed to death in her family. He had held an influential job with a government agency, and brought a steady stream of income to their home. Her own status as his wife elevated her in the eyes of the townspeople. Now she was a widow, perhaps expected to go and live with her own family again, as a single woman does not have much say or status in this Muslim culture. Her strong association with us foreigners was a good thing for her economically, but also earned her the suspicion of others, particularly in regard to her faith.

I cannot now say for certain whether her situation has turned out for the good or the bad. Her first grandchild was born shortly after the death of her husband. As the maternal grandparents by custom name the child, she gave him the name Masih, or Christ. Her daughter, who still lives with her as far as I know, has since given birth to a daughter. Her name is Mariam, Mary in English. Sarah’s faith has grown stronger, and she has been bold enough to reveal her faith to other believers. She has even played a role in training and discipling others. Her son, as far as I know, is still in the same condition. God is faithful, even in the saddest situations. Especially in those situations.

Next Chapter: Funerals