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Missionary Lives

Soccer, Kebabs, and Injil, 07: Witnessing to Muslims

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.

Witnessing to Muslims in the messy reality of life:

It had been five months since I arrived in country, and I had joined a local high school soccer team the day after my arrival. My main motive in joining was two-fold: first, to get regular exercise and stay healthy. And secondly, in order to continue enjoying my favorite sport. Sure, I came to this country in order to tell people about Jesus. But in regard to the team, I didn’t have any particular agenda or strategy. I was just present. In many ways, my interaction with the young guys provided the best learning conditions for me, both in language and culture. Unlike with many of the Western-oriented students, I did not feel like they had ulterior motives in spending time with me. Most spoke no English, and were just regular guys who expected to live in the city for the rest of their life.

I did not share in words much about my faith, mostly because I wasn’t really able to in the local language, and secondly, because the conversations centered around in which direction to pass the ball, or whether I had scored a goal or not. Now and then people asked me whether I was a Muslim or not, or what I believed in, or whether I wanted to become a Muslim, and those were great opportunities to let loose my expansive vocabulary: “I follow Jesus! He saved me from sin. He’s Lord.” Probably not enough to author a deep theological treatise.

Now, however, it was Christmas time, and an amazing opportunity to share Jesus had presented itself here. Most locals knew about Christmas, either from cheesy Western movies with Santa Claus stuck in there somehow, or in connection with the birth of their prophet Isa, namely Jesus. For most important events, people send out ornately designed and written invitations to family, friends, and acquaintances. People who receive such an invitation have a moral obligation to show up. Unconvincing excuses for absences never do – the answer “I didn’t feel up to it” might as well be a slap in the face of offered hospitality.

Knowing this, I bought a large number of invitations, and had a staff member assist me in writing down the names of each coach and soccer player that I could think of. This was quite a challenge, because in some cases I only knew people’s nicknames, and my grasp of the Arabic script and proper local name-giving was insufficient at best. However, the invitations were all written out and given to each person. I still don’t know if all the names were properly spelled, or if some guys got invitations with entirely different names. One way or the other, almost all of them felt compelled to come, including the main coaches. Whether they did not want to slight my hospitality, or were curious about how the foreigners live, or wanted to celebrate Christmas, I’m not sure of either. It was probably a combination of all of those reasons.

It was quite a surprise when thirty of them showed up, almost all with a bouquet of flowers. I felt like a popular girl on the night of the high school prom dance. They all congratulated me on this important day of mine, for it was the birthday of my prophet! We all sat down for a traditional local meal. As is custom, I prayed after we had finished the food. Contrary to custom, I chose my own words however, and not the Arabic ritual prayer. We then sat down to watch the Jesus film. As it was getting late, we stopped half way, with many promising to come back and see the rest at another point. I doubted it would happen. However, not more than a week later, the core of the team, as well as the two main coaches, came back to watch the rest. They even watched the part at the end which invites the audience to put repent of their sin and put their faith in Christ. I had conveniently disappeared to run a small errand at that point, not wanting to seem like I was pushing anything down their throats. I asked one young guy what he thought about the movie. His response surprised me: “It is book!”. In other words, they accepted the story as it was shown.

This was highly significant! Why? Because of several Muslim objections to the biblical story of Jesus Christ, none more important than his death and resurrection. Muslims do not believe that Jesus, a highly respected prophet, would have submitted himself to the shameful suffering inherent in the crucifixion process. Therefore, they hold that Jesus either made had a look-a-like die in his place, most probably Judas, or simply swooned on the cross, and awoke from a coma later on. Little do they know that it is exactly the shame of Jesus that brings us honor. A powerful concept in a culture dominated by fear of shame and desire for honor. Jesus was God’s way of bringing us true life.

So when my soccer comrades fully accepted the story, at least to my face, they accepted one of the most crucial aspects of God’s saving work usually denied by most Muslims. I have no idea how soft their hearts are towards Christ now. I never pressed anyone about the movie or the evening. The main head coach, however, did ask for a copy of the New Testament some months later. God works in people at His own time. He is the one who tugs at the heart. It is not us.

On another occasion, Samuel, a fairly new believer, brought his friend David with him. Now Samuel was a young student, probably 17 years old, Western-oriented, always wearing jeans and a shirt. Samuel had told me about his friend before. David ran an internet café down-town, and apparently was a seeker of the truth, but not finding it in the rituals of the mullahs. Knowing this, however, did not prepare me for the actual encounter with him. David was probably in his thirties with a friendly disposition, but in contrast to Samuel he wore the traditional long-flowing outfit, and had a big long bushy beard, signifying his piety. I might have mistaken him for a religious leader had I not known about him beforehand.

Our conversation started out pleasantly, but swiftly turned to the subject of Jesus and the Bible. David was eager to learn, although he did throw the usual Muslim objections about the authenticity of our scriptures at me. Now Muslims have great respect for holy scriptures other than the Qur’an. The Qur’an itself speaks highly of the Taurat, the Zabur, and the Injil, which we can roughly translate to mean the five books of Moses or the entire Old Testament, the Psalms of David, and the gospels or the entire New Testament. Due to several discrepancies between the Qur’an and the Bible, however, Muslims have come to the conclusion that the Bible must have been changed, for surely Muhammad would not recommend something that contradicted his own teachings.

Now, when David came to this subject, I respectfully asked him when such a change in the Bible could have taken place, as we have reliable manuscripts of the Bible that predate the time of Muhammad, and that do not differ from our scriptures today. As Muhammad recommended the Bible for reading, the scriptures could not be considered faulty before his time for Muslims. And as they certainly have not changed after his time, we have a strong answer to give to them. David was an open-minded fellow, but still had these typical objections in his mind.

However, unlike most Muslims, he was not satisfied with the answers of his own faith either, and despised the hypocrisy and approval of violence among the mullahs. We continued talking, and I gave him a New Testament in his own language to leaf through. I don’t remember which passages we looked at, but at one point, David took my English Bible from me, and started perusing the pages. I didn’t know what he was doing, but I did remember that I had a picture of a girl inside, a girl I was corresponding with long distance. David stopped, pointed at a chapter heading (it happened to be Jesus’ genealogy in Matthew), and told me to recite it.

Now, in order to be considered a holy and pious man in Islam, one has to be able to repeat, from memory, long portions of the Qur’an, and preferably all of it. As Samuel had told David that I was a practicing Christian and knowledgeable about my faith, David now in turn expected me to be able to recite the New Testament from memory. He probably figured that I wasn’t able to do so, and wanted to show the superiority of Muslims over Christians in this regard. He was right on this one, but I managed to squeak out of the situation by telling him this portion was merely a genealogy. Not to be discouraged, he picked another passage (he couldn’t read English), and precisely then spotted the girl in my Bible. Apologizing profusely, he handed me the Bible, and our conversation continued on towards a different topic I don’t recall anymore.

Had I totally blown this situation? Here was a spiritually interested and questioning man looking for true answers while conscientiously practicing the Islamic faith. He came to me for answers, and found that I wasn’t really good at scripture memorization (in his mind, a sure sign of piety) and was hiding pictures of cute girls in my holy book. Had I totally marred his image of Christ? Had I pushed someone away from the faith through my unintended actions that were not culturally sensitive? I still don’t know the answer to that question, as I never had a deep conversation with him again. Possibly, I’ve judged myself more harshly in this case than David did. He left me with the promise that he would read both books, the Qur’an and the New Testament, and then follow the teachings of whichever one seemed better to him. One thing is certain now, however: the girl in the picture has become my wife!

Other Related Posts

• Soccer, Kebabs, and Injil, 06: Hospitality
• Soccer, Kebabs, and Injil, 08: Stories of Believers
• Soccer, Kebabs, and Injil, 05: Funerals
• Soccer, Kebabs, and Injil, 01: Arrival
• Soccer, Kebabs, and Injil, 10: Conclusion: Issues and Questions

© 2008 Momentum Magazine.
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