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We want to introduce you to “Amir”. Amir is an underground disciple-maker serving in a majority Muslim region. Any given day Amir is surrounded by a million Muslims. This is his remarkable story. Using simple conversation tactics Amir identified a potential person of peace that eventually opened the door to meeting with two large families at a wedding!
I few months ago I took a taxi to come home after a long night of looking for people of peace. My driver was a nice guy I will call “Rashad.” The questions from my drivers are always the same, and Rashad’s were no exception: “Where are you from?” “How did you learn Arabic?” “How long have you been in the country?” “What brings you here?” “Are you a Muslim?” My reply to the last question, and their reaction, usually dictates how the rest of the ride will go. I have experimented with different answers to this question over my years here to see how Muslims react. Recently I have been using this response a lot.
“Yes, I am a Muslim (Muslim means “surrendered” or “submitted”); I am someone who surrenders and or submits to God by following Jesus the Messiah.”
Usually they are confused (because “Muslim” is supposed to include following Mohammad), and their questions give me a chance to keep explaining my faith and, in the process, I get a chance to knock down some misconceptions they have about Christians. Usually, they end up asking me, “So you are a Christian then?” And I will say, “yes”.
By the time I leave the car, they are either very confused, curious for more and asking for my phone number (this is the best), or quietly contented with my explanation, or trying to argue. The latter are rarer if I use this technique rather than if I had just come out saying, “I’m a Christian.” This is due to all the lies they believe about Christians; When I say “Christian” I have a vastly different definition in mind than they do.
It is much the same in reverse with most people who have never met, or spent much time talking to Muslims… What goes through your mind when you hear the word “Muslim”? I can assure you that it is different from what is in their minds when they say, “I am a Muslim.”
Thankfully, Rashad and I hit it off well, and we managed to get past the usual script easily. Somehow, we got to talking about Muslim weddings. I told him I had never been to one before. In typical form for Arab hospitality, he immediately invited me to one. He told me I was most welcome and that it would be happening a few months from now.
I was surprised he invited me, knowing that I am a “Muslim who submits to God by following Jesus the Messiah, …some explanation…, i.e. Christian” and that non-Muslims are not supposed to enter the Muslim-only neighborhood. I thought for sure he was just flattering me or joking. I asked him if he was sure that it would not be a problem to take me, a Christian guy, into an all-Muslim wedding. He assured me it would not be an issue, but his tone was a little more hesitant than before.
I gave him my phone number as I left his car and forgot about the whole conversation, sure that he had not been seriously inviting me. Arabs often will make such invitations to honor someone, but not really mean it. If they meant it, they usually would repeat it over and over so you would be sure they are serious. A one-time invitation is almost never serious. But their style of communication requires an ability to read between the lines, and I have been wrong before.
A couple of weeks ago I got a call unexpectedly. Sure, enough it was Rashad, and he was calling to tell me to be ready with my best garb for the wedding party tomorrow evening, and to meet him at such and such a place so he could give me a ride there. It would be a long drive there, but it would be worth it. I was incredibly surprised and pleased, FINALLY I would get to see a Muslim wedding. This had been on my wish list for years and now it was happening! But how would I be perceived? I pushed that thought aside and assured him that I was so excited to come.
The daring optimist in me decided that if he was inviting me, he must think there will not be any issues. The worrying pessimist in me told me it was a trap. I decided this opportunity was just too good to refuse, so I was just going to let God take me there and what would happen, would happen. This would be my first time at an all-Muslim wedding, and my first-time setting foot within the forbidden neighborhood. I got home and told my wife about it. To my surprise, she was fine with it. I took that as God’s confirmation that He wanted me to go.
The car ride there with Rashad was long but very pleasant. Rashad was asking me all the questions and answering mine only in generalities. He seemed very curious about me but also did not want to divulge much of anything about himself. This is normal for Muslims in this nation; they like to keep their lives very private until they know and trust someone a lot. I did not mind being the subject of the conversation, as it gave me more of a chance to show him Christ in me and how I live my life in relationship with God. By the time we arrived we were feeling comfortable together.
When we arrived at the wedding venue, we parked the car and Rashad got out to straighten his head dress and put on his pistol holster, which had a real pistol in it, and real bullets. “It’s a trap!” came to my mind again, but then I remembered that guns and knives are a normal formal dress accessory in his culture. I felt relieved and told him he looked good. He smiled and welcomed me into the wedding hall.
The wedding hall was large and very bright and full of rows and rows of chairs. I thought it vaguely resembled a church. The large entry room had a few chairs and lots of snacks and drinks, and the inner main hall had rows and rows of chairs, and a stage in front with big fancy chairs for the groom and his immediate family. The chairs were arranged in double rows all facing each other so that the guests could sit across from each other and chat. The floor was white tile, and the chairs were mostly gold, the whole place was shining under bright lights.
As usual in Arab Muslim culture, there was a side for men and a side for women. We would never mix. There was also a dining hall with lots of round tables and chairs. I was mostly still wondering how I should introduce myself, so I decided to let Rashad introduce me as he saw fit. Rashad walked with me into the entry hall and immediately introduced me to the first men we saw standing inside. I shook hands with them, and we exchanged greetings and cheek kisses.
The first one asked Rashad who I was, and if I was a Muslim. Rashad answered saying I was a friend, and that yes, I was a brother Muslim with them. I was a little surprised but pleased with this introduction, as it was a big compliment from Rashad to introduce me this way. He was honoring me in front of his relatives as a righteous person who knows God and deserves respect (putting Mohammad to the side for a moment, that is a lot of what a Muslim has in mind when he says “I am a Muslim”).
I was ready to begin my usual script, “Yes I am a Muslim who follows Jesus…etc.” but never got the chance because the man I had just been introduced to was full of joy at hearing I was a Muslim (obviously he thought I was a real convert, eagerly following Mohammad) and excitedly started introducing me to others in the hall as “ The Muslim Convert”. Now I was getting a little red in the face, I did not really want to be known as THAT kind of Muslim… Rashad could see me getting embarrassed but eyed me, telling me silently to play along.
I quickly realized that in this setting, he was right, it would not make any sense to try to explain myself to the dozens of men I would be introduced to using my usual script. Moreover, correcting him in front of everyone saying, “No! I am a Christian!” would cause a scandal and shame Rashad tremendously. So, embarrassed as I was, I decided to roll with it and see how the night went. I prayed to the Lord asking him to have mercy on me and to help me in this awkward situation. As you will see, the Lord did help me, several times, to avoid a scandal.
Rashad was amazing at helping me the whole night. He stayed right by my side, steering conversations away from me whenever someone got too nosey about me and telling me what to do and where to go the whole night.
The next part of the event was the meeting of the bride’s family and the groom’s family. (Of course, we only saw the men.) Rashad explained to me that we had missed part one of the wedding, which included dancing, and he was sorry we had missed that. This part was a dinner with the bride and groom’s family.
The groom’s family is supposed to show up first and prepare everything, greet each other (every person gets a “peace to you”, a handshake and several kisses, so this takes a while, with dozens of men to greet and all) and wait for the bride’s family. Then the bride’s family suddenly show up all at once and walk into the wedding halls (men in theirs and women in theirs) all together, with the oldest and most honorable members first.
Greetings are exchanged from both groups from the moment they see each other until the two leading men of each family/clan meet and shake hands and exchange words of blessing and honor and welcome in the middle of the hall. Then we all greet all the members of the bride’s family, and hangout for a while as the food is prepped. Then we all ate and after that, everybody scattered home. It was a simple yet profound event.
Dodging the call to prayer… it was time for Eisha prayer, the last obligatory one of the day for Muslims. We all looked at each other. I was afraid I would be asked to join them in the mosque. This would be a problem as I have truly very little idea of how to perform a formal Islamic prayer; you must get all the motions right to avoid attracting attention. I would be seen floundering and immediately attract criticism.
The Lord saved me, the guy next to me looked at me and said, “If you want to go pray Eisha, go ahead, as for us, we already prayed it before we came.” I seized the opportunity and said, “Yes, I prayed before I came too.” I was telling the truth, I HAD prayed before I came, just not the kind he was thinking of. I inwardly laughed to myself. Rashad looked at me approvingly. I was playing along with his game now.
After this victory with the Eisha prayer moment, and a few others under my belt now, even dodging the question, “How long have you been a Muslim?” with an evasive answer, “It’s been a long journey…” and Rashad my faithful friend jumped in to change the subject, announcing to no one in particular, “You know, my friend here also really likes guns!”
(I do, we killed an hour on that topic. It is something we have in common). I now felt more confident, cheeky even, as British folks would say. I smiled cheekily to my neighbor in the chair next to me and asked, “Would you like to see a prayer I like to use?”
Muslims recite prayers that are recorded in Islamic prayer books, I was making it seem like I was talking about that. I opened the app to Psalm 1 and let him read it. After reading it he looked at me disapprovingly and said,
“Brother, why are you using the Psalms? You know these books have been replaced by the Quran now, and we must use that.” I replied, “Well, I don’t see the issue in using it if it’s good, right?” He gave me a sideways look. I could tell by his reaction that he was not open to reading the Bible, so I dropped the subject with him. This is what I like to call “probing for openness” it’s part of assessing if someone is a person of peace, ready and willing to hear more of God’s word.
Later I shared with one of the servers a summarized teaching from Jesus, “It is more honorable to serve than to be served.” He was visibly touched and thanked me. Appreciating those who serve you is NOT part of Islamic culture. At least from what I have seen, Mohammad was too self-centered for that.
I had heard that weddings in this culture are extremely extravagant in the portions given to guests at notable events like this. Now I saw it with my own eyes. The meal of the day would be an ocean of rice with roasted lamb and veggies floating on top. The pots of rice, meat and vegetables were brought in kiddy-pool-sized pots in pick-up trucks, and the ingredients for each massive serving platter of lamb were shoveled on.
I took part in the food prep and carried some trays inside. Each tray had 6-7 shovels of rice and half a lamb with veggies scattered on top. I had to work to carry those platters inside one at a time. Each platter was served to at most 6-8 people but had enough on it for twice that many. I really hope they did not just throw out all the leftovers.
The ride back home. Rashad and I also had a wonderful time on the long drive home. We talked a lot about family, and I got the chance to open up to him more about struggles and challenges in my life and the values and hope in God that helps get me through. Like before, he kept the conversation focused on me, and I did not mind, since I was getting to share more with him about how God has worked in my life!
We also got a kick out of the dangerous game we had successfully played with his family that night, and I earned his respect by playing along, because as we pulled up to my home, he invited me for dinner at his home.
Be the Underground Church
