“Why don’t you become a Muslim?” asked the young Somali, with an aggressive air I had not encountered before in small-town Minnesota. Such evangelical Muslim fervor–I wonder what teaching he’s been sitting under? And I imagined he’d also had run-ins with doctrine-arguing Christians, too.
Next to him sat an older Somali man, watching carefully.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” I turned to face them.
“I said,” he repeated, leaning forward in his chair, ‘Why don’t you become a Muslim?'” Confident. Cocky. Spoiling for a fight.
“The Prophet Muhammad told people there is only one God,” I began, “and commanded people everywhere to submit to Him alone.” (I thought I might open with an approach which had proven helpful in diffusing similar arguments in the past.) “Issa al-Masih (Jesus the Messiah) lead me to the One God, and now I and my wife and children are submitted to the One God. And together—” But even before I had completed what I hoped would be a calming, opening statement, his growing agitation got the best of him.
“Muhammad is the Final Prophet–not Issa!” he blurted, cutting me off. “Issa is not the Son of God! He is only one of twenty-five prophets. Only the Prophet Muhammad is the Final Prophet!”
I considered his boldness, and the signs of growing, Islamist influence I had been observing about my community.
From his scalp protruded four, black, horn-like bundles of hair in a fashion reminiscent of an epic, Star Wars battle scene. Light Sabers and Jedi knights: We’ll handle this. Dut-Dut-dut-ala Dut-Dut-dut-ala.
I admit, for a moment I was tempted to employ a deferential, conflict-avoidance maneuver–a weak smile and a head-nod–and retreat lamely to my office–retreat to my maps and books, to my laptop–telescope on the world around me: to sports scores and stock returns, weather reports and internet bargains, fashion trends and political peccadilloes. Wars and rumors of wars–but all viewed safely from a distance. The lost and broken world–but comfortably far, far away.
I considered that this conversation before us–were we back in Somalia–could easily get one or both of us killed. But we are not in Somalia. We are in America–my country–and in my hometown, among a people yet free. And Abdi (not his real name)–this pushy fellow before me–this excitable, impatient, energetic, rude-religious-proselytizer messing with my day–was dearly loved by my Father-God in Heaven–every bit as much as I had experienced the love of God over my own life and family.
On occasion I have found the courage to rise and confront aggression, to wake and face the fear. Ride out to meet them. Light, shine in darkness. Set captives free.
I saw this man before me, educated and articulate, but a lost man still–a dead man, really. A man in search of life.
There it is: my path forward.
I love this guy.
Maybe I can help him.
“Somali badan ayan sxhib la-ahi,” I smile. (I have many Somali friends.) Breathing a silent prayer for love-grace-truth, I dropped to one knee beside him.
Point-blank range.
“It is good,” I said, holding his eyes with a level gaze, “that we should talk about these things together, sxbkeyga (my friend), for the Prophet Muhammad also commanded that Muslims everywhere should live in peace with the People of the Book,” I nodded once, “–Muslims, Christians, and Jews.”
Immediately his head snapped side-to-side in vigorous disagreement.
“No! No! No! No!” he barked, like four rounds from an AK-47.
“Yes!” I touched his forearm in a firm but friendly Uncle-gesture. “If a Muslim desires peace he will follow the verses in the Qur’an from the Mecca-period where the Prophet Muhammad commanded his followers to live in peace with the People of The Book.”
But these were not the verses he was being taught from, I suspected. At my words the man became wary, perhaps concerned I possessed more knowledge of Islam and the Qur’an than he had presumed of an American kafir (unbeliever).
Undaunted, he circled back and resumed his first line of attack.
“Issa is not the son of God. Allah has no brothers. Allah has no sisters. Allah has no mother, no father, no grandmother, no grandfather. Allah has no children. Issa is not the son of God!”
“This is what the Qur’an–your holy book–and your tradition teach,” I smiled, touching his arm again, gently. “But in my holy book, the Bible, I read that Jesus the Messiah is called the Savior of the world, and that those who receive him and accept his word are made alive, set free from spiritual death, delivered from the judgment of God. I have been reborn, as a child of God, now. He lives in my heart, and invites me to love people and live in peace with all men.”
But Abdi shook this off. Peace was not his path.
With sharp thrusts of Islamic doctrine he pressed his assault, intent on carving my confidence to shreds. But the man with experience is never at the mercy of the man with merely a theory. I parried, back and forth, seeking grace to wake his heart behind the iron bars of his religious dogma. He pursued familiar lines of attack–Jesus was but one prophet among many, Allah has no children, the Bible was corrupted, etc.–replaying talking-points like a wooden puppet with a pull-string in its back. I entreated him as a son, with respect toward him and his religious background, for “a brother offended is as a fortified city.” Proverbs 18:19. And friendship is always the best path forward.
Another opportunity presented itself.
“The Qur’an has many names for Jesus the Messiah. Among them he is called ‘The Word of God’, ‘The One Without Sin’, and ‘The True Path To Follow’.
I continued, hoping he might give ear to a story.
“Some time ago, a dear, Pakistani friend of mine and I were having a similar discussion. We were arguing about the story where Abraham–Ibrahim in the Qur’an–had climbed to the top of Mount Moriah to sacrifice his son. God had spoken to him–commanded him to do this–in a test of his submission, his faith, his trust in God. I said to my friend that Abraham’s son, in this story, was Isaac but my Muslim friend said, ‘No, it was Ibrahim’s other son, Ishmael!”’
Naturally, we argued about it. Until I asked, ‘Maybe what’s really important here is not so much which son it was–on the mountain with Abraham that day–but rather, ‘what truth might God have been trying to reveal to His servant through this encounter–and reveal to us, today?'”
‘What do you mean?’ my friend asked.
‘I believe that God–who revealed Himself to the patriarchs long ago–desires to reveal Himself to us, even today.’
‘Ok,’ said my friend, willing to play along. ‘So, forgetting about which son it was–after God tested Ibrahim’s faith–the angel appeared just in time and stopped him from sacrificing his son.’
‘Right. And then what happened?’
‘Ibrahim turned himself about and saw a Ram caught in the bush by its horns. God had provided it–for the sacrifice–a Ram. –Instead of Ishmael,’ he added with a wink.
‘Agreed. What do you think God was trying to show Abraham–and us?’
‘You tell me.’
‘I believe God was showing us–by Himself providing the Ram–that only He could provide the perfect sacrifice needed to wake the human race from spiritual death and darkness. Sin, our rebellion, had separated us from God, but God provided Jesus the Messiah–‘The One Without Sin’–as the ‘Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world'”.
As I finished my story, Abdi sat a moment, thinking.
“In every religious culture,” I continued, “–Islam and Christianity included–most people struggle, trying to behave well-enough, in the belief that their good deeds are the means of earning God’s favor, of earning acceptance before Him. But true Christ-Followers are those whose hearts have been reborn–as God’s children—made alive by His Spirit–by simple faith–not by the doing of good works, and not as a reward for good behavior–but by simply placing their trust in Jesus the Messiah as Savior of the world.”
“No! No! Good deeds are required! Obligatory!” Abdi looked incredulous.
“I know about The Five Pillars, and hasanats.” (Islam’s five categories of obligations, and the system of earning credits for good deeds, which Allah is said to weigh against one’s bad deeds after death.)
“Tell me,” I pressed him, “how can a Muslim ever know when he’s done enough good deeds to earn entrance into Heaven? Not even the Prophet Muhammad himself, on his death bed, could have known for certain whether or not he had done enough good deeds to guarantee his acceptance into God’s kingdom.” 1
“No, this is not true! Our scholars have made a decree declaring for us that the Prophet Muhammad–peace be upon him–had certainty of paradise upon his death!”
“Ah! Not so my friend! You go, ask any honest Imam or Islamic Jurist, privately, and they will have to admit that the Prophet Muhammad could not have known for sure at his death whether or not he had done enough good works to enter the holy presence of the God of Heaven.”
I ached for him, and for all who strive to ‘earn enough credits’ to earn acceptance before God. Jesus the Messiah came–not to make bad men good, but to make dead men live. No man’s heart has ever been made alive–clean–righteous before God–on the basis of behavior, or adherence to any legal or religious code of conduct. What is enough? How much can ever be enough?
“Let me ask my uncle,” said Abdi, nervous at last. “He is much older and much wiser than I. He will know–he will know the answer.” Abdi turned to the old man who had been sitting quietly to his left this entire time. After speaking for some time in Somali–the translation of which was beyond me–the old man’s body language spoke his answer more eloquently than any string of orthodoxy could ever have done. If Abdi had desired to conceal from me his uncle’s response to my assertion, the old man’s hollow eyes–and despairing shrug of resignation–spoke volumes. Who can ever know–what is enough?
Our conversation ended. We went our separate ways.
A week later, Abdi stopped by my office, greeted me warmly (if tentatively), and twice touched my forearm, like a nephew. I welcomed him warmly in return. I shall look for him in days to come, in hope we might, together, walk the path of life and peace.
Together as friends, on the True Path to Follow.
Brian Gazelka, Willmar, Minnesota. aka “Little Mogadishu”
Photo Credit: Author.
1. Quran. Surah 46:9, Hadith. Bukhari: Volume 5, Book 58, Number 266:
Crossing Fourth Street 