The year was 2006. I had just been detained by Egyptian authorities at the Cairo airport. After several hours of interrogation, I was stuck in what is equivalent to an immigration holding-tank with the rest of the people who were not allowed to enter the country. I would later learn that some of my Christian activities the previous year had landed my name on Egypt’s secret police blacklist.
As I was sitting in the detainment area, waiting to be processed, the officer-in-charge walked up to me and asked, “Where are you from?”
“I am an American,” I replied.
The man’s face quickly contorted, as if someone had just pushed his face into fresh horse manure. He then snatched my passport out of my hand and mumbled what sounded like, “You are NOT an American!” as he walked away.
What angered him was the fact that an Iranian-born man was referring to himself as an American. I knew that. In fact, he might have treated me a bit differently if I had told him that I was an Iranian, but I refused to do so. Iran is where, of no choice of my own, I was born. However, by choice, I am now a naturalized American citizen, and I was not about to allow an Egyptian officer take that privilege away from me.
America is my country and I am grateful to be an American. Here’s why:
I am grateful to be an American because this is the nation where, exactly 40 years ago, I was welcomed with open arms and taught that all men are created equal in God’s eyes. It was in this country that I learned the meaning of freedom. It was in America that I received my higher education that provided a decent living for my family and me. But even more important, it was here where I met my soul mate and greatest love of my life, Karen, whom I’ve been with for 36 years. Furthermore, it was in the United States of America where our two children (a son who is proudly serving in the Air Force and a daughter who is working on her doctorate) were born. But above all else, it was this great land that introduced me to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and freed me from the bondage of Islam.
So, to my dear friends, who, just like me, migrated to this great nation, let me say: Be grateful for living here. Otherwise, may I suggest to you what I suggested to my Iranian church members the Sunday after 9/11:
Did anyone put a gun to your head and force you to come to the United States? Those Americans who were born here have no choice. This is their country and they have to put up with things they don’t like about their nation. However, for those of us who willingly migrated here, we have our country of origin. If you can’t be grateful for what this nation has to offer, or you don’t like this country for your personal reasons, then I will be glad to buy you a one-way ticket and personally put you on the first plane back to Iran. Why? Because ungrateful people will never be happy, no matter where they live.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Conversion And Cultural Understanding
Imagine for a moment an Iranian Muslim student in the 1970s who, after having been in the United States for just a few months, heard the Gospel for the first time.
Unlike my American friends, I was raised in a shame-based society rather than a guilt-based one. I knew the greatest sin I could commit was anything that might bring shame to my family; I sought instead to bring them honor.
I was introduced to Christianity for the first time at a Bible study with a few other foreign students. As a hungry and penniless student, I appreciated the offer of an American friend to come and enjoy free food at this meeting. As we ate, a gentleman opened a book and began to talk to the group; I didn’t understand a thing the man said. It wasn’t until the other Muslim students and I left the house that I realized I wasn’t the only one confused. Language was not the only problem, however. Everything the man talked about posed a problem for what I was raised to believe.
The stranger talked about God. The only gods I knew were Khoda, the dualistic god of the Zoroastrians, and Allah, a Semitic god to the
Arabs. But the God referred to that night appeared as a man, Jesus, to the Jews 2,000 years ago and called himself the Son of God. To me, that was blasphemy. In fact, as a Muslim, the greatest sin I could commit was the sin of shirk—making an equal with God.
As a little boy, I was told that according to the Quran, the Muslim holy book, God was neither begotten nor begets. I was brought up to respect Jesus as one of the many prophets God sent to warn mankind. While he performed some miracles and raised the dead, Jesus was simply a man whom the Jews appeared to have crucified. Like many Shia Muslims, I believed that in the last minute before Jesus was arrested, God changed the appearance of Judas to make him look like Jesus, and that it was actually Judas who was nailed to the cross.
I was always taught that in the last day, everyone will be judged according to his or her own actions on earth; no one could take your place for punishment. For the strange man in the living room to assert that I was a sinner and that Jesus died to forgive my sins was, frankly, offensive. I could not believe this man, who knew nothing about me, would dishonor me in this way.
Two years later, I faced expulsion from school due to bad grades. I couldn’t face being such a failure to my family who made many sacrifices to send their oldest son and brother to the United States to become an engineer. This extreme shame led me to contemplate suicide.
But things got even worse. The house I was living in burned down and I lost all my belongings. Shortly thereafter, as I was sitting on a street curb on campus thinking about my future, a young lady walked up to me and asked how I was doing. She was apparently concerned about the way I looked. I was surprised to see someone actually care about my wellbeing, especially someone I did not know. I have never forgotten that simple act of kindness, which included her giving me a sweater, and have made a point of practicing it every chance I get.
The young lady, Ellen, belonged to a group of former Hippies who had become followers of Christ, or as they were called, “Jesus Freaks.” Through her I got to know the whole group, where in the midst of them, I felt the sense of peace that I had been longing for. At one point I asked what gave them such peace, to which they simply replied, “Jesus.” Once again, I was offended. I didn’t understand how a second-class prophet could provide such peace when Islam, the revelation to end all revelations, was not able to offer me the same.
That Thanksgiving, Ellen invited me to her house for dinner. As we sat around the dining table, her father said a blessing over the food. I had never heard anyone pray over a meal. As Muslims, if we ever said a prayer, it was after we had finished the meal and were full. For whatever reason, that prayer was what brought me to the following.
That evening, as I rode my motorcycle to school, I began to have a conversation with the only god I was familiar with, Khoda. I said, “I’m a Muslim. I believe in Mohammad, Ali and the other 11 Imams, but I want to kill myself.” Then I added, “Jesus, if you really are who these people tell me you are, I’ll accept you if you give me good grades at school.”
At the time, I did not believe Jesus was the Son of God, that he was divine, or that he had died on the cross. I was concerned not about my sins, but my honor. I wanted someone to restore my honor by changing my grades. Interestingly enough, as little as I knew about this man named Jesus, I did believe that he cared about restoring my honor just as much as my Christian friends believed in his power to forgive their sins. That is why I prayed the way I did, and though I prayed to Khoda, it was Jesus who came to my rescue.
On that day, I took my first step toward the cross. Islam was my religion, identity, tradition, and attached to my family’s honor; renouncing it was one of the hardest things I have ever had to face.
It has taken me many years to understand who Jesus is. In fact, I learn more about him every day, but I never forget the reality that Jesus accepted me as I was and did not wait until my theology was perfected.
Over 30 years later, I do not believe I switched gods to follow Jesus any more than the apostle Paul did on his way to Damascus, but rather I came to a more complete revelation of the Creator through my Savior and Lord, Jesus Christ—the one who saved me from my sins, fears and shame—the son of God and God himself.
I know now that according to Jesus, the second greatest commandment is to love your neighbor as yourself. That act of love can start with a simple smile followed by the heartfelt question, “How are you?”
Thursday, September 10, 2009
From Mohammad to Jesus
I am putting together my itinerary for 2010. I would like you to watch this clip and share it with your pastor or group leader asking them to consider me as a guest speaker. The flier bellow gives more information as to how they can contact me.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
PLEASE DON’T PIGEONHOLE ME
Did you see the confrontation between California Senator Barbara Boxer and Harry Alford, CEO, of the Black Chamber of Commerce? If not, watch the following video.
It doesn’t matter in which camp you reside, but apparently, according to Mr. Alford, Mrs. Boxer assumed that all blacks in America should do or think the same. In other words, she pigeonholed the gentleman, which offended him greatly. As a naturalized American citizen, I have experienced this type of misconception from both Christians and non-Christians.
Recently, an old student of mine who had read my blog wrote me saying, “Don’t tell me you believe in Rob Bell’s crap.” She was referring to the Author of “Velvet Elvis” who is an emergent church pastor. Although I own the book and had read parts of it, I had forgotten whom Rob Bell was. Later, when I remembered who he was, I realized why my student had made the comment. She was assuming that because some of my ideas were like those of Rob’s, I must be an emergent teacher forgetting that, because of my background, I have had those thoughts long before Rob wrote his book.
Right after 9/11, I began traveling all around the country and abroad with my American flag bandanna. At that time, for security reasons, the airlines started the policy of randomly checking three passengers’ carry-ons. The computer provided the names of the passengers. On one of my flights, proudly brandishing my bandanna, I sat next to a young white lady from San Diego.
As we began to talk, she said, “In the past week I have been to 5 different cities and in every city, when boarding the plane, my name has come up for inspection. I am so happy they are doing it that way.”
“Why?” I asked
“Well, for your sake!”
“What do you mean?”
“This way you and people from your background don’t feel like they are being singled out.”
Again, just because of the way I look, she assumed I might somehow be offended or annoyed if the airlines had decided to only go through the luggage of those who resembled the Arab terrorists. I think my reply shocked the heck out of her.
I said, “With all due respect madam, this is one of the most illogical statements I’ve ever heard. Why should the authorities go through your stuff, a white blond woman, while I, a Middle Easterner, can freely waltz onto the plane? For what? So my feelings might not get hurt? I wonder if you ask the men and women who lost their loved ones in that cowardly attack what they would have rather seen: 12 Arabs having their feelings hurt or their loved ones being slaughtered? After all, the men who slammed the planes into the Twin Towers were not a bunch of white men from Sweden.”
In my last blog I talked about Postmodernity, which, automatically, made one of my readers assume that I must believe in Process Theology. I wasn’t aware that there was such a connection between the two, but, apparently, the reader had a need to pigeonhole me. By the way, no, I don’t believe in Process Theology.
I’ll never forget the first time I met with a New York Times best-selling author of a book that is brilliant and yet not very complimentary toward evangelicals. This was our first meeting and she knew nothing about me. In the course of our conversation, I don’t know what I said, when, with a surprised look on her face, she exclaimed, “So, you’re a Republican?” She had assumed because I’m a minority who liked her book, I must be a liberal Democrat.
Please don’t assume since I’m a naturalized American citizen from Iran that I automatically desire all illegal aliens in the US to be given amnesty. I believe the same rule of law that applied to me must be applied to all. On the other hand, just because I have a great passion for Christian gay men and women who struggle with their sexual identities and their place in the Body of Christ, one should not pigeonhole me as gay man (my wife will convince you otherwise) or some misguided liberal Christian. Would you label Jesus a whore and a criminal because He had compassion for and spent time with all those hookers and thieves? I doubt it.
It doesn’t matter in which camp you reside, but apparently, according to Mr. Alford, Mrs. Boxer assumed that all blacks in America should do or think the same. In other words, she pigeonholed the gentleman, which offended him greatly. As a naturalized American citizen, I have experienced this type of misconception from both Christians and non-Christians.
Recently, an old student of mine who had read my blog wrote me saying, “Don’t tell me you believe in Rob Bell’s crap.” She was referring to the Author of “Velvet Elvis” who is an emergent church pastor. Although I own the book and had read parts of it, I had forgotten whom Rob Bell was. Later, when I remembered who he was, I realized why my student had made the comment. She was assuming that because some of my ideas were like those of Rob’s, I must be an emergent teacher forgetting that, because of my background, I have had those thoughts long before Rob wrote his book.
Right after 9/11, I began traveling all around the country and abroad with my American flag bandanna. At that time, for security reasons, the airlines started the policy of randomly checking three passengers’ carry-ons. The computer provided the names of the passengers. On one of my flights, proudly brandishing my bandanna, I sat next to a young white lady from San Diego.
As we began to talk, she said, “In the past week I have been to 5 different cities and in every city, when boarding the plane, my name has come up for inspection. I am so happy they are doing it that way.”
“Why?” I asked
“Well, for your sake!”
“What do you mean?”
“This way you and people from your background don’t feel like they are being singled out.”
Again, just because of the way I look, she assumed I might somehow be offended or annoyed if the airlines had decided to only go through the luggage of those who resembled the Arab terrorists. I think my reply shocked the heck out of her.
I said, “With all due respect madam, this is one of the most illogical statements I’ve ever heard. Why should the authorities go through your stuff, a white blond woman, while I, a Middle Easterner, can freely waltz onto the plane? For what? So my feelings might not get hurt? I wonder if you ask the men and women who lost their loved ones in that cowardly attack what they would have rather seen: 12 Arabs having their feelings hurt or their loved ones being slaughtered? After all, the men who slammed the planes into the Twin Towers were not a bunch of white men from Sweden.”
In my last blog I talked about Postmodernity, which, automatically, made one of my readers assume that I must believe in Process Theology. I wasn’t aware that there was such a connection between the two, but, apparently, the reader had a need to pigeonhole me. By the way, no, I don’t believe in Process Theology.
I’ll never forget the first time I met with a New York Times best-selling author of a book that is brilliant and yet not very complimentary toward evangelicals. This was our first meeting and she knew nothing about me. In the course of our conversation, I don’t know what I said, when, with a surprised look on her face, she exclaimed, “So, you’re a Republican?” She had assumed because I’m a minority who liked her book, I must be a liberal Democrat.
Please don’t assume since I’m a naturalized American citizen from Iran that I automatically desire all illegal aliens in the US to be given amnesty. I believe the same rule of law that applied to me must be applied to all. On the other hand, just because I have a great passion for Christian gay men and women who struggle with their sexual identities and their place in the Body of Christ, one should not pigeonhole me as gay man (my wife will convince you otherwise) or some misguided liberal Christian. Would you label Jesus a whore and a criminal because He had compassion for and spent time with all those hookers and thieves? I doubt it.
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