We were talking about missions, and it was Ward’s observation that often we Americans look for the poor and needy, the needier the better. Fixing them makes us feel useful, more needed, or virtuous. Historically we determined what they needed and “what we could teach them” so that “they could get fixed.” From the birth of our missionary movement, we set up schools, with our teacher at the center to accomplish the “fixing” task. It didn’t work all that well. But that was back then, missions in a colonial age.

Today we are much more modern and advanced, so we do the job more subtly, in the form of a seminar. We make a spiritual discovery and with our PowerPoint presentation, we scale it up to fix the leader, the Church or even the whole world. The fact remains, we still ascertain the “need” and we still try to “fix people.” We ought to know better by now.

A wise man now with the Lord, Ed Dayton, repeatedly told me that “a point of view is basically a view from a point.” What is the point from which we view others?

As a reflection of our “fix it” culture, far too often, the assessment of the needs is subtly or not so subtly top down. We assess from the vantage point of our superior theology, education, money or effective “proven” ministry outcomes. We then insistently proclaim that the principles that will “fix” others are Biblically universal, for all times, and for all peoples. Far too often our vantage point is one of assumed superiority. A view from the vantage point of pride rarely captures a complete picture, or produces good and lasting results. Humility is a fruit of God’s Spirit. Pride, no matter how well intentioned, is from the pit.

We often think (all right, I often think) that God shows up when I arrive on the scene and begin to determine what needs fixing. However, humans are not objects to be fixed. They are people who live and move within the stream of God’s providence just as you and I do. He was there, and active long before we arrived. The Sovereign graciously superintends each experience that brings us to the place of our common encounter. He brings us together not just for their benefit it is also to repair us.

We all desperately need to be “fixed.” God is the only one who can do the job. He often does it through others who are quite different from us. We have no built in, innate advantage that warrants our inclination to superiority. For the follower of Jesus, the “means” and “ends” are one and the same. God uses us and in the process shapes us. We all need fixing. The miracle is that He graciously calls all of us broken people to participate with Him in the process of fixing our fallen, broken world.

“Dave” is not his real name, but he is part of a cohort of generational mission heroes who for years existed outside my field of vision. The excitement and organizational challenges of ministry occupied all my attention. However, as Jo and I have traveled the country, the “Daves” have become very real, a part of our lives and even, perhaps, harbingers of what we will also experience one day.

As I was going through several surgeries at the end of this past year, the issues of identity and self worth surfaced. Questions about my future usefulness and ministry productivity were ones that dogged me. Being a “servant” that adds kingdom value was the big deal. Time and again I noticed a pervasive restlessness in my inner core. Getting back to our active ministry pushed these productive and identity issues to the back of my cognitive map.

However, questions about self worth and productivity were evidently deep in my subconscious. They would pop back uninvited and unwelcomed each time I would visit with another “Dave.” Who am I, and what am I worth, if my world is confined to some small apartment, if I can’t see to read, write, or if sickness restricts my world to a bed? For leaders these doubts often only seem to accompany one of God’s surprise physical interruptions or failure to perform up to our, or others’, expectations. Far too often my identity and feeling of self worth come from meeting performance or productivity standards.

As I talk to leaders, I find my feelings and doubts are not unique. We unconsciously draw an inordinate amount of our sense of self worth from what we do for the Kingdom. Perversely, I have found it much easier to reflect on God’s “grace,” and accept it, when I feel that I am “productive,” carrying my end of the load. This, however, is “works based” Christianity at its most oppressive. It is an expression of my sinful pride. Knowing something is wrong intellectually and feeling it in the inner core of ones’ soul are two different things. For God’s love and grace to be truly experienced I must first repent of my prideful performance = identity fixation.

“Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so” is not just a song for little kids. It is for leaders like you and like me, especially when we question our Kingdom productivity. These words have become a bulwark against debilitating self doubt. The Creator of the universe, loves me, chose me, adopted me into His royal family, not because I could add anything to His glory or eternal program; I can only gratefully acknowledge this love and His incomprehensible greatness. I can dwell on the awesome truth of this grace, and in faith bow before Him in gratitude. He loves me even if I can’t do anything but worship at His feet. Cultivating an intimacy with my Father has become much more relevant as I can see eternity with Him over the next hill or around life’s next bend.

One final thought, though, in all of life’s limitations He is conforming me to the image of His Son, Jesus. How confining must humanity, time and space, have been for the One who created the vast cosmic universe? The love of His Father was a huge sustaining factor in Christ’s pilgrimage. I really want to learn these essential lessons, not to merely “get on with life” and “productive” ministry. I want to continue to become the person He is preparing me to be, whatever His plan is.

Oh, one more final, final thought, cultivate the “Dave’s” in your world. They have so much to teach us about life, ministry, and even about the reality of Heaven.

In the endeavor to live among Muslims in my target country, I have been confronted by opposition on several fronts, both personally and on a more general basis. I would like to deal with some of these in this last chapter.

“Aren’t they too stubborn?”

Historically the most common hindrance to missions among Muslims has been a reluctance of the church to focus its resources on a part of the world that does not readily show tangible results. In the last century it seemed that missionaries to the Muslim world rarely had much success in terms of raw numbers of converts. While I take issue with that definition of success, the church mostly ignored Muslims. They just seemed too strong and stuck in their faith to waste our efforts on them. Their tight-knit communities did not readily allow for individuals to easily change their allegiance of faith, and there did not seem to be a lot of those individuals who were even thinking about doing so.

Only in the last few decades has the church started to pay more attention to reaching Muslims, and even more recently have significant numbers of Muslims accepted Jesus into their lives. I don’t want to speculate on the reasons why, beyond the sovereignty of God, but perhaps over a hundred years of hard labor and prayers finally came to fruition. The argument that “Muslims are not interested, so why should we be interested in them” finally became a moot one, although I hardly agree that the number of converts should determine where we go as missionaries. In any case, the vast majority of Muslims still haven’t heard who Jesus really is. The need is still there.

Perhaps the church historically used that argument in order to avoid “uncomfortable” missions. Perhaps the church was not willing to lay down long-standing political and religious grievances, whether justified or not, against Muslims for the cause of Christ. For some reason, we have not been as willing to see Muslims simply as lost people, rather than dangerous Muslims. It seemed relatively simple to go to a remote tribal group, learn the culture, and find out possible connecting points from which the gospel could be shared. We were willing to adapt to them as much as possible, in order to win them for Christ. More recently, in the wake of the collapse of Communist regimes, we were amazed at the spiritual hunger of millions who grew up without God.

Muslims, however, represent a tough bunch. They intimidate us. Perhaps this is the case because we share so much more of our value system with them. Muslims claim our scriptures as part of their own history. They themselves believe that Islam superceded Christianity, just as Christianity made Judaism unnecessary. They are, in a way, closer to us than any other “lost” people group out there. Maybe Islam threatens us more than some “weird” Eastern polytheistic cult, or even creeping Western secularism. And in terms of community, we as individualistic Western Christians seem to have little to offer to Muslims, whose religious rituals are almost always performed in a group. How can we tell them they are lost, when we place little value on communal unity or time together, and their life is never spent alone?

Could it be that Muslims, and Islam, force us to be “better” Christians? Live life more radically dependent on Christ? Make us give up a life-style that suits our sense of comfort? I’m not sure, perhaps those are just empty ramblings. But I do know that Jesus never commanded us to go to just those nations that would be easily persuaded, those that were not stubborn, and those that never offended our sensibilities.

“Aren’t they too dangerous?”

This question closely corresponds to the previous one, but deserves separate attention. It has become very much relevant in particular since September 11th, 2001. The stereotype of the fanatic and violent Islamic fundamentalist terrorist is pervasive throughout the West, and particularly in our churches. This question is also relevant because some Muslim countries have experienced a lot of unrest in the last few decades, and have been prominently displayed on the news. So when I was telling people where I was going, and after I came back where I had been, an unspoken question (although usually not for long) formed itself in people’s minds. “Why are you going/did you go THERE?”

While I don’t want to suggest that everyone is called to the Muslim world, or even to developing countries, that question seems most natural for people whose hearts and minds are focused on living as comfortable as possible as much as possible. I don’t recall Jesus telling us to go only to those countries that would issue us a visa, or where our standard of living would not decrease substantially, or where are lives would not be ever threatened. Jesus did not call us to go only there where we could maintain an illusion of control over our lives. I do recall Jesus telling one man to sell all his riches and then follow him. At another time, he told those around him to pick up their cross and follow him. We can pick up our crosses anywhere at anytime. It doesn’t mean we have to go to the Muslim world to do that. However, it does mean we cannot use the excuse of “excessive potential danger” when refusing to consider such a place. Picking up one’s cross is as dangerous as it gets. No threatening (and perhaps imaginary) Muslim terrorist can top that.

“Is it really necessary?”

This is a question I have heard and expected to hear from non-Christian friends. But in today’s post-modern climate of questioning absolutes, it is one I am starting to hear from people of Christian backgrounds as well. I have no intention to try and prove the exclusiveness of Jesus’ claims, or the absolute necessity of his saving work for every individual in these pages. That has already been done by older and smarter people than I. But the question is still relevant, and it is still being asked. So here is an experiential answer.

Muslims are intimidating to us, as I mentioned earlier, specifically because they already adhere to a rather systematic faith, and they are firmly embedded in a strong and supportive community. Why should we spend energy converting them to our faith when they already have something that seems to be working quite well? Why should we seek to tear them out of their social network and endanger their lives by having them switch allegiance to Jesus as the Son of God? Isn’t it enough that Jesus is one of their prophets, and they live good and moral lives, according to the fairly stringent standards of their laws?

Well, first of all, we must affirm that we seek to convert nobody. Because if we convert someone, it is through our own human strength, and the heart of a person who is converted by us has not really changed. Only God can change hearts. It is not our job to “out-persuade” someone. However, we are the messenger, in word and deed. We are the most tangible way Muslims will see Jesus. We serve as the conduit of God’s power. And we should not stand in the way when His power is moving Muslims to accept Jesus. And I was a witness of that power in my target country.

People came to us to hear about Jesus even before we had ever said a word to them. A few of these stories have been recounted in previous chapters. Jesus resonates in people’s souls. Jesus also is a stumbling block to many. His life and words aren’t easy to swallow, and to the Muslim heart and mind this is no different. But this does not change the fact that I saw people that wanted to know who Jesus was, and what He could do in their lives. No amount of persuasive preaching, unbalanced argumentation, or even manipulation could ever have that same effect. Those things would have never led to radically changed lives.

In the majority of cases, including those I described in the previous chapter, dreams were part of the process that brought individuals to Jesus. In Muslim (as in ancient biblical) cultures, dreams are highly significant, and perhaps we in the West have too easily dismissed them ourselves. In many cases, they served to question or confirm the decisions they had made. Sometimes people had significant dreams as a result of conversations with us. Often it was the dreams that first brought them to us. Why mention the significance of dreams? Reaching Muslims is a work of God, not of man. I can’t emphasize this enough.

But really, have I answered the question yet? Why is it necessary to reach Muslims with the gospel? Don’t we cause more harm than good? I did point out that it really isn’t our choice or doing when God brings people to himself. If people professed to follow Jesus because of our doing, they soon fell away. The question, however, becomes moot when observing the change in the lives of individuals. Jesus saves us from hell, and it becomes evident in our lives when we accept Him for who He is. Hopefully my stories served to confirm that.

“What about the money?”

Perhaps I should answer at least one more objection. This is a question we have to deal with when working as people from the wealthy and economically developed West among predominantly financially poor Muslim populations. Are those Muslims that are seemingly attracted to the gospel much more attracted to the promise of a comfortable Western life-style? When they show interest in what I have to say, aren’t they really interested in what I can potentially give them? Aren’t they trying to get access to the West, perhaps a visa, through me? This is an objection not easily dismissed. As you have seen, material greed was a problem during my year in this country. In the end, it was fairly easy to spot those who were not interested in Jesus, but only gain. They fell away quickly. Those whose hearts had been changed profoundly by the gospel stayed strong.

However, I believe that all of us have hidden motives when we come to Jesus. Desires that we want him to fulfill. To a certain extent, all spiritually hungry Muslims I interacted with also had other motivations for relating to me. In a sense, so did I when I interacted with them. But that does not take away from the fact that Jesus was and is drawing us to him, despite of our ugliness. As Westerners, however, we do have the responsibility to adapt to our Muslim target culture as much as possible, in order to separate the message of Jesus from the message of the materialistic West. When we present Jesus as an upper-middle class white evangelical yuppie to young and ambitious Muslim students, for example, we can hardly blame those who jump on the bandwagon purely for material gain. How we present Jesus to Muslims largely depends on how we present ourselves to them.

I had no great expectations, really. Knowing that, so far in my life, I had not been bestowed with a great gift of evangelism – at least not how I understood it – and that work among Muslims takes years and decades before bearing fruit, I thought that perhaps a few very close friendships with many “salty” conversations would be all I could hope for. I hoped to help build the groundwork by showing the love of Jesus in deeds, so that others coming after me could take part in the actual harvest. Furthermore, I knew that one or two young men had professed faith in Jesus, and needed someone to help support them. As the only guy on my team, I figured this would be a big part of my job.

But God is able to do immeasurably more than we could ask or hope for. Upon my arrival, I discovered that He had set in motion a steady trickle of young men who were accepting Jesus into their lives. One young man, a brave and impetuous one, had come to faith, and was bringing all his friends to hear the message. In my first month in the country, we must have had at least 10 guys come to us ready to accept Jesus. I became acquainted with over three dozen local believers, most of them newly so, before I left. A truly amazing occurrence this was in this conservative, traditional, and so far quite un-reached Muslim country. God was at work, and this had absolutely very little, if not anything at all, to do with my presence there.

Each of these young men had their own tale to tell. Each of them was at a unique point in their life, and had arrived there differently. Paul, the brave one, with a colorful and violent past, experienced a quick dramatic life change from womanizer to committed follower of Christ. His friend Frank took his time. I think his main motive for accepting Jesus, other than pushy Paul, was his unwillingness to continue practicing the stringent Muslim ritual requirements. The lazy fellow figured that the message of forgiveness gave him just the excuse he needed! He remained scared to death, however, to tell anyone about his new allegiance. Over a period of twelve months, God continued to work in his life. Towards the end of my time, he took a trove full of Christian materials into his home village a day’s drive away. A bold move, considering the fact that villages tend to be much more strictly governed by religious authorities, and his entire family and social structure resided there. He ran into trouble later on, but I do not exactly know now how he is doing.

Early on Frank brought his friend Ben to us, who in turn brought his friend Walter. Walter was an intelligent and well-read young man in his mid-twenties who had lived the majority of his life outside his native country before returning a few years before. Ben had professed faith in Christ, and when I asked Walter about his faith, it seemed to me that he had done the same. He always had a rather melancholic look and air about him, evident to my other teammates as well. We interacted regularly throughout my time in the country, but often he would not show up for months and then come to seek me out several times a week at other times.

With time, I realized that he was a very different fellow than most of the other guys. He asked different questions. Whereas others were hungry to know how their new faith could be practically applied in every day life, and asked basic questions, Walter seemed to always arrive with questions about obscure theological concepts or wanted to talk about esoteric philosophic themes. One of his favorite topics to discuss was his interesting notion of evolution. I don’t think I ever fully wrapped my head around exactly what he meant by it, as he didn’t seem to refer to Darwin’s biological theory. Part of the problem could have been his imperfect knowledge of English and my inadequate command of the local language. While he liked to study the Bible with me, he seemed somewhat uninterested in studying at home. Partly this was due to his rather inordinate fear of discovery. He usually was not willing to meet with other believers, much less discuss his opinions.

During one talk, I was enlightened as to where I exactly was at with him. We were talking about the authenticity of the Bible, the value of the Qur’anic message, and the exclusive nature of Jesus’ claims, when he continued to claim truth in all religions. While I was and still am willing to agree that all faiths have redeemable qualities, his position seemed to me overly universalist. I had assumed him to be a follower of Jesus, although, obviously at a different point in life than others. He was, however, in his own words, just as committed to the Qur’an and its teachings as to the Bible. This new revelation shocked me a little bit, and I must say that I lost my cool with him, something that has perhaps happened too many times in my life. Arguments I have been involved in have often gotten quite heated.

Afterwards, I realized, one among many insights, I had a true free-thinker on my hands. I also realized that losing my cool was a big mistake, particularly in a culture that values politeness and saving face above anything else, including speaking one’s opinions. Walter had been coming to meet with me because he was searching for the truth and wanted to interact and converse with an open-minded fellow that was moderately well-educated about the workings and intricacies of this world. As a member of a highly influential family among his ethnic group, he was most probably obligated to strictly adhere to the Islamic faith. He undoubtedly had his fill of speaking to Mullahs who generally aren’t too interested in taking a broad view of this world. They would not be very happy about the questions Walter was asking, or the inquisitive nature of his mind.

I had enjoyed my conversations with Walter to this point, and I imagine he had as well. However, when I so vocally expressed my displeasure with his current beliefs, I basically played the same role as the narrow-minded Mullahs, who would get agitated with people not towing the party line. I was in danger of discarding the main reason Walter was coming to talk with me. And in truth, he did not come to visit me for some time, although that could have very well been due to personal reasons. He remained paranoid of discovery till the time I left. Thankfully, he came to visit me several more times, and we exchanged books to read.

I still receive e-mails from Walter infrequently, and he is still searching, and still afraid. He is on a journey, although I’m not sure where he’s at. He does not live in a society that would look kindly on his intellectual wanderings. And to tell the truth, many missionaries would not have the patience to interact with him. Or they would not think it worth their while to spend time with someone who might not show much “evangelistic” potential.
However, from Walter’s and other people’s stories, I have realized that walking towards God is a journey, often a long-drawn out process. This is not only true of this Muslim country, but perhaps more and more so of our post-modern Western societies. I believe God has called us to accompany people on their journeys, as we seek to continue on our own.

I have mentioned Samuel previously, the one who brought bushy-bearded David to talk to me. Samuel had come spent time at our office several times during my year, mostly for the English classes we offered for two weeks every month or so. Marcus happened to be in the same English class as Samuel, and whether they became friends while in class or were so well before, I don’t know. During these English classes, their interest in Jesus was piqued, particularly after viewing the Jesus film during a voluntary session at the end of the two weeks. A few days later, they both decided to follow Jesus together. For us this was a remarkable event, as they had each other to rely on in their new-found journey, and not just us foreigners. Muslim background believers are usually quite distrustful of other local professing believers, but Samuel and Marcus already had a small little fellowship together.

They started coming to the office regularly to meet with me. We would read passages of scripture together, where I preferred to start them out in the beginning, namely the creation of the earth and man in Genesis. They would ask all sorts of questions as well, usually very non-theological and practical, and often quite distracting to my own purposes! They were young guys in their late teens, and were, in a way, clinging to me for nurture. What an unaccustomed position this was for me, the youngest child and only boy out of four children. In typical local fashion, they came regularly, but certainly not always at the most convenient of times, and quite often unscheduled. Unlike in the West, people, not time, are given the highest priority in this culture.

As both continued to come to me together, I began to notice several behavioral patterns in both, and particularly in Marcus. While I had given both a copy of the New Testament in their own language, they almost never read the suggested portion of scripture I had assigned them the previous time. They said they could not keep the Injil, as it is called, in their homes for lack of privacy. This was typical behavior, as believers are at great risk of being found out by their families, particularly if they are still under the authority of their fathers. However, Marcus also began to ask me if he could borrow certain electronic items I had. He showed particular interest in my digital camera. Upon his request, I let him borrow the battery charger for my camera.

One day, Marcus came to the office alone to see me. He was obviously in distress. He gazed at me intensely before popping the question. Would I be able to give him a computer from our office? This was shocking, and disillusioning. Had Marcus befriended us and feigned interest in the faith only for material gain? I clearly told him that I could do no such thing. With a resigned and defeated look on his face, he told me that his father had suspected him of becoming a Christian. Why was he spending so much time with the foreigners? Apparently, Marcus denied this, and told his father that he was actually buying a computer from us. That’s why he had asked for the computer, as a cover-up to pacify his father. He obviously didn’t have money to buy one. Showing disappointment that I was not aiding him in this instance, he told me he would no longer be able to see me. He would no longer be able to be a Christian. He would support the cause privately, but never again would he profess to follow Jesus.

While saddened at this development, I wondered at the strange tale he told me. Some of my team-members actually showed relief that Marcus was no longer coming. They had been suspicious of him from the beginning. One way or the other, it seemed like we would not get the opportunity to see the bottom of the story. Marcus was gone. However, after a month of self-imposed exile, he showed up again for one of our English classes. And he started meeting with me again, usually together with Samuel, who had continued coming even after Marcus no longer did. He had brought David with him during this time.

I did not ask Marcus why he had decided to return, or at least I don’t remember so, but his strange behavior turned even stranger. We would find him wandering around the office on his own, a no-no in local etiquette and a trespass of our own rules. Coincidentally, my digital camera got lost around the same time, never to be recovered. Marcus had never returned the battery charger I had lent him earlier. When I confronted him about his wanderings without mentioning possible theft, he accused me of spying on him, recording our conversations to use them as blackmail, and other strange conspiracies. After calming down his fears and assuring him of my good intentions towards him, He returned a tape-recorder I had been using for language practice and hadn’t noticed was gone.

Was inordinate fear of discovery the source of his strange behavior? It certainly seemed plausible in the climate of the local culture. And why would he return my tape-recorder if he was a thief? Perhaps someone else had stolen my camera. Shortly afterwards, however, other expensive pocket-sized electronic items, this time not my own, got lost. While I wanted to show as much grace as possible to a brother, other team-members were bent on exposing Marcus and banning him from our premises. We compromised and decided to confront him on the issue. Interestingly enough, instead of giving us a straight answer, he instead turned the tables on us, expressing outrage that we would throw around accusations like this. He never admitted to any kind of theft. Our patience, however, had worn too thin. Too much damage had already been caused by the lost items – we had even suspected some of our own staff, and caused relational damage because of that.

Eventually, we told Marcus to stay away from the office for a while, at least several months. In another strange twist, he had started spreading rumors about another believer and friend of ours who we did not know was connected to Marcus. Apparently they attended the same school. I never saw Marcus again, nor have I stayed in contact with him. I did receive e-mails from good-hearted Samuel who was having troubles of his own. But I do not know how he is doing these days.

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!

One day, a group of us foreigners decided to go visit an ancient historical site nearby, and who turned out to be our guide but Adam himself, around sixty years of age, and in considerable good health at that. He was a good friend of one of the foreigners in the group. We struck up several conversations during the day, and built up a good rapport. Towards the end, he insisted that we visit his gardens at the other end of town. After living in dry and dusty surroundings for months on end, this sounded like an awesome idea, although perhaps too good to be true. Our expectations were put to shame – I had not seen such an array of fruits and flowers in a very long time. It almost felt like we were getting a taste of paradise. He then insisted that we return at some point in time, and then come to his house for a meal. We agreed whole-heartedly according to the local custom, for to do otherwise would have been quite rude and off-putting, even though we did not have any definite plan to visit him again.

In the meanwhile, Adam’s son did come to visit off and on, and relationship with his father seemed to have improved. At one point he was on the verge of getting kicked out of the house, but now things were smoothening out. No doubt an unexpected but well-paying job that brought cash flowing into his father’s purse certainly did not hurt to this end. Maybe he had started to act more respectfully and responsibly toward Adam as well. Who knows, and I certainly did not know everything that had transpired in this father-son relationship, beyond the beginnings of faith in Jesus. The situation was certainly fascinating: we were closely related to Adam’s son through his faith, as he would come for encouragement and support more or less regularly. And this faith seemed to be the main point of friction in Adam’s relationship with his son. And now we were getting quite close to Adam himself, who seemed to go even beyond local cultural politeness in extending hospitality towards us.

Before my time was up, we indeed visited Adam for a meal at his house, and we did not find it wanting in anything either. A group of ten of us were fed all sorts of main dishes, and the quantity of it all would have been more than enough for double our group. Nothing dishonors a host more than lack of food. And nothing delights a host more than pointing out that a local would have been able to eat three times as much as us foreigners could – notwithstanding the fact that I had so far successfully kept up a reputation as a hefty eater. We had hardly eaten half of what was offered to us, however delicious it had been. And for this our host was reproaching us. I knew full yet, though, that this was no unusual occurrence. In this country, large dishes of various kinds of foods are prepared for parties or official events, with the expectation that much would be left over. Afterwards, a family might subsist on just those left-overs for days and even weeks. The unwritten code of hospitality, ingrained in people’s hearts and minds, demanded that the host offer all had.

In a place were the standard of living was well below anything I had faced before, and hunger was certainly not unknown among its people, the principle of hospitality trumped al this concerns for meeting daily needs. For what does a man have, if he has lost his reputation and standing in society? All the food and money in the world would not be able to even remotely serve as an adequate substitute for the honor a family could lose by displaying less-than enthusiastic hospitality. This is a lesson that should be well learned by anyone considering spending all or a part of their life in the Muslim world. We must be prepared to sacrifice our personal convenience, which is perhaps the most important value of our Western culture, in order to effectively reach Muslim people groups for Christ. For how can they even remotely begin to understand and accept a message from people who do not meet the minimum standards of kindness and righteousness.

In the local culture, death is certainly not ignored, and not only the funeral, but also the forty-day period, and each anniversary of the death date is commemorated, and even celebrated as well. In its specific content, this event differs little even from the wedding: people are invited, come for a meal, talk very little, and then leave after they are done. However, one specific funeral day is engraved in my memory. Perhaps the very core values of this society were portrayed in this event more than any other.

Our driver had a young wife and a little toddler at home, and his wife was pregnant with another child. Sadly, there were complications in the pregnancy, and the child died shortly after birth. On that day, the local staff at our office, including our office manager who alone among them had professed faith in Christ, and myself drove over the house where our driver’s extended family lived. The driver and his father were waiting on us. They had wrapped the infant’s body in an embroidered fabric, and the driver started walking down the road, cradling the body, and with the rest of us following behind. Interestingly after a fairly short time frame, the driver’s father took the body from his son. Shortly after that, someone else took it from the father. This exchange continued until we reached their local masjid, the mosque, the place of worship. Rather than representing a profound individualized feeling, the burden of grief was taken up communally in this situation.

We arrived at the mosque just in time for the afternoon prayers. All the usual neighborhood worshippers were present as well. Nervous at the fact that I wasn’t a Muslim, or maybe that I would object to his participation in the ritual prayers, our office manager asked if I wanted to wait in the car. However, I declined, and after taking off my shoes, stood to the side in the corner of the building. While the thirty or so locals went through their ritual bowing, standing back up, and Arabic recitals, I stood and prayed silently for the grieving family, asking God to open their hearts to Himself. After the normal prayer time, the Imam, leader of the mosque, led us outside, the body of the baby in his arms, leading us in special prayers for this taken life. Unlike the ritual prayer before, he also spoke in the native language, not just in Arabic.

Then, most of the prayer community, all males, headed over to the burial site, off to the side of the road, marked by green flags. Two men had already done most of the digging, and the Imam laid the child in the grave. With prayers, heavy bricks were carefully placed over the body, and the rest of the grave filled back up with dirt. I did not understand everything that was said, and no doubt much was cited in Arabic from the Qur’an. All of us were crouching in typical local style, trying to shield ourselves from the burning sun on this hot summer’s day. No one was openly grieving – in fact, I had the sense that as soon as the ceremony was finished everyone went back to business as usual.

The driver never again mentioned the death of his infant child. Now I had seen and heard of women grieving openly, wailing the loss of a loved one. Perhaps the difference could be accounted for in different gender expectations. Perhaps, however, the strong local fatalistic belief system played a part in this as well. Death comes at the behest of God alone, and who can argue with Him? Whatever happens is the Will of God, and there is no use investigating earthly causes or wondering about the “what if’s”. Life moves on, and so must we. In a culture that has experienced so much grief, and where life has seemed unexplainable so many times, this coping strategy has kept people functioning a while longer.

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

Not only negative crises bring these core cultural standards to light. Rituals or celebrations signifying different life-cycle events reveal much about a people’s worldview. Weddings, funerals, religious festivals, birthdays, reaching adolescence or adulthood, all of these occasions can tell us much about a culture. I was able to experience several of these events, at times sad, and other times celebratory.
As a foreigner, people often wanted to invite me to these occasions, particularly as this would boost their standing in the eyes of their friends and acquaintances. While many resented the presence of foreigners in the country in general, they were very honored and quite happy to host them individually as guests.

I soon came to find out that weddings were rather boring. Men would usually be invited to come to one of the many wedding halls in the city at around seven in the morning. Of course, this type of celebration was strictly gender separated, and the women would arrive around noon, long after the last male guests had disappeared. Usually a meal of the local rice dish with lamb or chicken would be served, as well as the local formal wedding drink, either Fanta or Coca-Cola! Most weddings that I attended, our group would simply sit down at a table, and silently eat, while watching the surrounding tables to catch familiar faces, who would probably be sitting silently themselves, either eating or themselves looking around to see who had been seated in a more privileged section than themselves.

The entertainment centered around a television up front with Indian Bollywood music videos playing. While local women adhere to strictly conservative clothing standards, local men love to watch the suggestive dancing of Indian movie actresses. While our Western TV shows and movies are saturated with skin, these fairly modestly dressed film stars represent the most risqué TV fare locals would dare to watch in public. Usually a local music band would play as well. Typically, one or two younger men would stand up to dance in the local style, arms and hips swaying to the music and each other. At one wedding, dancers went around after their turn trying to get other attendees to try as well. These were the most excruciating moments for me, as I was hoping and praying that they would ignore me. I have no talent whatsoever for the more structured Western dancing, how much less so in this spontaneous and improvised Eastern style.

I soon learned to arrive at the wedding hall an hour later than invited. The food would not be served until then, at any point, and there was no program or meaningful conversation to fill the void. The wedding ceremony in this culture is held at home with a small group of family, and us men never get to see the bride. After my late arrival, I would be able to eat, greet the groom and perhaps his father, honor their family, say hello to people I know, and then leave within half an hour. These were most of my wedding experiences, although one wedding in particular proved to be the great exception. It was a truly remarkable event to witness.

An unusual wedding celebration:

On a visit to the capital, our team attended a wedding of a fellow worker in the country. This event really got me excited and inspired, it was like seeing a vision for the future. Two Westerners were getting married here, a remarkable decision in and of itself! Both of them had been in the country for a considerable amount of time, having become very familiar with the language and culture. Since we had received an invitation, and happened to be in the capital for a conference, we naturally decided to come. Upon arriving at the wedding hotel (the customary place to celebrate such events), the women were ushered in one entrance, while us men went in the other. A great big room/hall awaited us, with a divider in the middle, to ensure appropriate gender separation. Normally, men and women have the celebrations at separate times, so being in the same place at the same time already represented a somewhat progressive occasion. This seemed rather natural, as two foreigners were getting married.

However, much of the rest of the celebration followed local custom, and perhaps even pointing the way for the future development of customs. To our amazement, perhaps 500 people showed up, a full two-thirds of them locals! We found our seats in the hall, and were fed a large amount of food of various varieties, a feast even according to local standards! The waiters raced up and down the aisles, attempting to satisfy the crowd, and perhaps more accurately, racing each other while balancing large trays of rice and meat dishes! A music band played, seated according to local standards, equipped with indigenous instruments, and singing in the local language and style. Interestingly enough, the band members were all foreigners! A podium had been erected to the side of the divider, so that both men and women would be able to see the bride and bridegroom seated next to each other.

An MC led through the ceremony, mostly in the local language, with a little bit of translation into English here and there. Good listening practice, in any case. Amazingly, verses from the Word were read, prayers prayed, and songs were sung, all in the heart language of this country, providing the atmosphere more of a fellowship meeting than a wedding. Or perhaps the way a wedding should be. Focused on Him, to the point that one would perhaps have forgotten that two people would be getting married soon! A man from a neighboring country speaking the same language gave a message, quoting plenty from the word, and speaking in a direct manner to the audience. Who would have ever thought? While there, I asked, and learned that perhaps at least half of the locals attending were members of the Family! Unbelievable! In the middle of the city, with hundreds of His children, here we were, having a fellowship meeting! In the exchange of their vows (again, in the local language), the bride and groom had packed a whole creed, their own calls of commitment to Him, and in that, a less than veiled call for those around to participate in this commitment.

It was here that it almost seemed like a vision to me. In this restricted country, dangerous and persecuting particularly within the grass-roots culture, the neighborhood, the family, rather than the government, His children were gathered together festively. Multi-cultural yes, but also within a local framework. Here there was reading of the word and praying, singing and dancing (being incredibly talented here, particularly in the local kind …, I graciously declined … ;-)), community and outreach all at the same time. In the end, according to a neighboring country’s custom, gifts were given out to all attendees, consisting of copies of the Word and of fellowship songs – everyone was crowding around the boxes attempting to make sure they wouldn’t return home empty handed. This was like a picture of future possibilities. In a land were many children are too distrustful and scared to even meet with a local brother, were local religious leaders still have a strong influence over society, were family fathers threaten wayward children with ostracism, and friends and siblings might even be moved to physical violence, there is a vision of a strong, vibrant fellowship, united even across ethnic barriers, with a heart to reach those around them.

As I contemplated these events, there was one more image that flashed across my mind. The bridegroom, of a very friendly and charismatic personality, sat expectantly on his chair on the podium, in local dress, waiting for his bride to walk in the room while the band started up the tune to “This is the day, this is the day …”. Then she came, all in white and a veil, slowly making her way through the doorway and starting across the hall, with a somewhat shy manner, accompanied by a long-time (40-years) veteran of this country. She could have easily passed for a bride at any other wedding in town, with a hair-do that must have taken a week to prepare and enough make-up applied to satisfy even the most skeptical local present.

At this point, the groom could no longer suppress his excitement. Leaping up and out of his chair, he started hopping back and forth to the rhythm, clapping his hands, and yelling out to the crowd (the guys’ side) for cheers! It was plain for all to see that he loved her, cherished her beyond measuring. And here it was that I stopped and thought. I thought of Him, waiting expectantly for the moment, excitement brimming in His every feature, ready to jump up at the right time. For whom, for what? For His bride, the body, made perfect. Hard to fathom many times, when looking at my past life, my current state of being. Who am I? Who are we that we should deserve such? And there He is, jumping out of His chair, calling to His heavenly hosts, as we step into the presence …

Next Chapter: Grief

But how does this practice of saint veneration fit in with official, orthodox Islam? Doesn’t the Qur’an clearly state that there is no intercession between God and man? City dwellers pay their respect to it, saying a little prayer, when coming in sight of the shrine. If you asked them, they would see no discrepancy. They do carry out their official religious duties, more or less. They practice their unofficial traditional customs zealously, however. Their eternal fate is in the hands of God, so they seek to carry out His will, as far as they know it, yes. But for life here and now, they need immediate remedies, and they need a more tangible way of connecting with the divine.

One missionary suggested that where the shrine now stands previously had been the site of worship to a river goddess. When Islam became established, pious Muslims found a way to channel this place of power into the mainstream beliefs – not entirely unlike the way Christianity was spread in pagan Europe. We had reason to believe that a spiritual power was resident in this location for a long time, maybe thousands of years, keeping the people in bondage, one way or another. Hundreds of thousands of pilgrims flock to the site annually to celebrate the New Year. Perhaps people were being kept from choosing the path of freedom because of this dark force?

Our team decided to Jericho-walk around the shrine area (a good half a mile in circumference) the last week of Ramadan. Every morning, we got up before the break of dawn, praying as we walked around, with some local brothers in tow. On the last day, we walked around it seven times! We even had a little cow’s horn with us to blow at the end! I’m not sure what we were expecting – we certainly weren’t hoping that the buildings would collapse. We could be in big trouble! We were definitely looking for a breakdown of spiritual walls. We got quite a bit of attention on that last day. Some of the soldiers standing on guard really started wondering what these foreigners were up to by the fourth time around! I suppose not unlike the inhabitants of Jericho staring down at the people of Israel!

The spiritual impact of this walk still seems a little unclear. But walls certainly came down, and it took us by surprise! Some of the fledgling group of local believers had taken part in the walk. It was a great source of encouragement for them, especially as we gathered for a good breakfast and fellowship after the last seven times around. However, things started falling apart shortly thereafter. One brother started spreading rumors about two other brothers: they were supposed to have stolen large amounts of money some time before, and might be trying to do the same thing again. They were not who they represented themselves to be. The rumors turned out to be not entirely true nor false – it still isn’t clear today! But the damage was done.

Some of the brothers were wary of meeting with others, and ceased doing so. Our little fellowship fell apart (although the seeds would later be resurrected in different ways) – the brother who first came forth with the allegation has since turned his back on the faith, so it seems. Some became luke-warm, whilst others remained strong, and became even stronger. But other events soon followed as well. The husband of our local librarian, who was our most influential staff member and a new believer, died of a heart-attack. A devastating blow to her in this male-dominated society. Not long after, our landlord started coming around, talking about raising the rent as soon as our lease was over. His were not idle words: he wanted to triple it on us! A couple months later, we had moved into a new place with a new landlord!

What is the conclusion here? Were all these events connected? Maybe, maybe not. However, it is certain that one should not enter into active spiritual warfare unprepared for counter-attacks! The balance lies in distinguishing between the real spiritual powers at work that keep people in bondage, and mere superstition founded on lack of knowledge. It’s not always easy to differentiate – and maybe sometimes those two are one and the same! One thing is for certain, however: belief in the everyday impact of the spiritual world on the material world is widespread there.

Our staff were afraid to walk into the basement at night, particularly when we had a well in the basement in the new place. Basements are widely regarded as high activity zones for spirits, or jinn, and wells even more so! Our driver told us not to whistle one day as we were driving along in the car, for this would be a signal for just these jinn to come pay a visit. The same driver had a little amulet hanging on the rear-view mirror. He kissed it every time he went on a journey, and then would proceed to drive like a mad-man. This amulet was a little pouch in which a little Qur’an had been stuffed. Undoubtedly, it had been blessed by a mullah of the more unorthodox kind. When we took it out of the car, we told him not to replace it with another one. Jesus was Lord of the car, not some funky talisman. His faith wasn’t overly confident, as he drove quite carefully ever after!

Do these customs and traditions have any basis in the official, or even historical Islamic beliefs? Perhaps, or perhaps not. One thing is certain, however. These animistic beliefs and practices are and have been widespread in the Islamic world for a long time, whether they existed before the arrival of Islam, or came afterwards. And to be honest, these beliefs can be found in most cultures of the world, even in dominant so-called Christian ones. When God is felt to be distant and life’s events seem dangerously threatening, we humans resort to any means necessary to feel even a semblance of control.

Next Chapter: Weddings