The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not overcome it. There came a man who was sent from God; his name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all men might believe … The true light that gives light to every man was coming into the world (John 1:5-9).
As believers, we are called to be a light in the dark places. Unfortunately, though, interactions between Muslims and Christians tend to involve more heat than light. I know people who will happily engage in a debate but who refuse invitations to genuine discussions: they want to win, not to understand.
I have a book containing correspondence between Christians and Muslims, written during the first three centuries of Islam’s development. These letters reveal an amazing lack of understanding of what the other believes. In many ways it can be characterised as:
M: Our prophet is the last and greatest prophet.
C: Oh yeah, well, ours is the light of the world.
M: Oh yeah, well, so is ours. Ours is the light of creation.
C: Well, ours is the word of God.
M: No, he’s a word from God, and to obey the word of our prophet is to obey God himself. So he brings that final word. So there!
C: Well, ours is the Son of God.
M: Oh yuck, that’s a disgusting thought that God would have sex with a woman. Ours is beloved of God from all time.
You get the picture. And, in one form or another, with varying degrees of finesse, this “my prophet is bigger than your prophet” approach to witness has been utilised in much of the dialogue between Muslims and Christians. However, few in each community really know what the other believes. For example, when Christians defend the idea of the Trinity (Father, Son and Holy Spirit) to Muslims, they don’t realise that Muslims understand the Trinity to mean “Father, Son and Mary”. And when the tenor of interactions is that of feeling attacked and needing to defend (on both sides), the result is conflict, not relationship.
Many expressions of Islam Persians, Bengalis, Pakistanis, Indonesians: these are all large populations that are mainly Muslim. Indeed in the new Pew Report on Islam in the World we see that most Muslims aren’t Arabs: “More than 60% of the global Muslim population is in Asia and about 20% is in the Middle East and North Africa.”
Each Muslim community has its own flavour and expression of Islam. True, just as going to Catholic Mass or to McDonalds is fairly much the same the world over, Muslims can go to any Mosque in the world and feel at home in the ritual and prayer. But in an unfamiliar community, they may also find outlooks, beliefs and practices that astonish them. In Bangladesh, for example, there are hymns of praise to the prophet Muhammad, which traditionalists in the Middle East are appalled at. And in India there are Muslim holy shrines where people go to pray for children and healing, something which the traditionalists also oppose.
We do ourselves, our message and our Muslim neighbours a disservice when we assume that Islam is a monolithic whole. We need to get to know the individuals and their community, their beliefs, their outlook on the world and who they are in their setting. This will mean asking questions and being willing to listen and learn, and making ourselves available to spend time with them, including sharing meals and attending events together. Don’t be afraid to share the celebration of Christmas, as Muslims honour Jesus and are generally happy to celebrate his birth and share in the Bethlehem story. Similarly, prayer is an expected part of public and private life for Muslims. To offer to pray for your neighbours in their daily experience is usually warmly welcomed. In praying with Muslims we have seen people experiencing healing, peace in difficult times, and provision when it was needed. One man said, “Each time I came here I felt such peace. How could I not respond?”
Called to testify A Christian’s primary role in witness is just that: witness. We testify to what we have seen and heard. We’re not called primarily to argue against someone else’s faith, to counter opposing arguments. We’re called to say what we’ve experienced. We’re called to tell our story.
I have a friend in Bangladesh, whose life was turned around by joining a Sufi group (kind of like a charismatic group headed by saints within Islam); he went from a life of violence and alcohol to one of piety. He discusses Christianity with many people and hasn’t been at all convinced by any arguments.
There is one thing about Christianity, however, that gives him pause for thought: when he asks expatriate Christians, “So, what brought you to Bangladesh?” and they reply, “Because God told me to come”, that rattles his cage!
My friend would dearly love to hear the voice of God. He prays, he practises meditation and follows his saint, but he has never experienced God being with him. And that is the same for many Muslims: although they long to experience God, He is so great and powerful – and distant – that the idea of actually knowing Him, particularly as Father, and hearing from Him, is beyond what they can imagine.
Our witness is our story – are we willing to share it? How did we come to know Jesus? How does He relate to us today? What happens when we pray? Yes, we must know our Bibles, and yes, the more information we have on their faith and ours the better, but the heart of our witness is our story: our experience and our relationship with Jesus.
We are not called to combative oneupmanship; any discussion along the lines of “my prophet is bigger than your prophet” will be fraught with defensiveness and aggression. However, as we build relationships with Muslims, and start to share our story, our testimony, we will be making claims that challenge their beliefs. To say that “I prayed for my neighbour and he was healed” is to say “Jesus heals”. Our Muslim friend will be struck by the idea: “Wait a minute here – Jesus heals. But Muhammad doesn’t.” Similarly, to say “Jesus led me” is to say that Jesus is alive; for a Muslim, Muhammad is dead. We must let these comparisons arise naturally, in the course of our everyday interactions with Muslim friends: if we start to push them, then we will see walls raised very, very quickly. However, with gentle honesty and a simple telling of our ongoing story, we can be public about our faith in a way that expresses our love, and still allows the light of Christ to shine.
Colin Edwards is Team Leader of Interserve’s Urban Vision in the UK. 1http://pewforum.org/docs/?DocID=450
“Yes!” I replied.
“Do you want another wife?”
“No, thanks. I love my wife. I don’t want another.”
“Don’t you think that our girls are pretty?”
“Yes, they are. But I love my wife, and don’t want another one.”
How many times have I had conversations like this one? More than I care to remember! And any reply I give declining a second wife seems to be met with ridicule. “My wife is my best friend,” was the answer that met with the most ridicule! “Your wife is your friend!!??” Often men here steal their wives… or at least that’s how we translate their action. A better description would be to say that they kidnap and rape young girls that they like the look of. So to them, the idea that their wife might also be a friend is ridiculous. A recent documentary on bride stealing in the country asked a local man why he was getting married: “We need someone to milk the cows.”
Most single expatriates find it hard living here as locals are always trying to marry them off. I know one single lady who created a story about her being a widow with 3 children at university back home in Holland. She used to have great fun creating anecdotes about them to relay to the next taxi driver! When we first came here as a young married couple without children we were always being asked when we were going to have children (or whether we had left them in England…). Now I am here, married, with two children, but still people are not satisfied! “Only one wife! We take two or three! I know of one man who had seven!” “Only two children! I’m one of seventeen!”
I first met Kudaibergen (literally, “Given by God”) 3 years ago. He was working as president of the charity he himself had established for the provision of credit for village farmers. He worked alone with just an accountant in the room next door. I reconnected with him again earlier this year and the staff had increased. The same accountant, Gulia, was still there, but now she was joined by Gulira, Nurbek and Erlan. Kudaibergen, like many people here with a “position,” is quite a proud, authoritative man. His staff have little freedom to use their own initiative. He says “Jump!” and they ask “How high?” He frequently calls his staff into his office to shout at them when they have done something that is not to his satisfaction. I’ve often felt sorry for Gulia. Being a single mum she doesn’t have much opportunity to find alternative work, and this current situation could be better than many others she might find herself in. At least she has a stable income to support herself and her 5 year old son.
5 months ago I thought that Gulia was putting on weight. But, she was actually pregnant! Her second son, Adilet, was born a couple of weeks ago. Well, I must have misunderstood her home situation. I won’t ask questions! It’s not polite! Last week I had to write a letter for Kudaibergen to an English-speaking supporter. I wrote the following text…
“Let me tell you about my family. My wife is called Mirgul. She graduated from the agricultural institute as a vet, but has spent most of her life at home looking after our children. We have 4 boys and 3 girls.
My oldest son is married with one son and one daughter. He lives here and works at an employment office, helping people to find jobs. My second son lives in the capital city and works as a furniture maker. He is married with one son, so I have 3 grandchildren!
My eldest daughter has just finished studying in the capital city and is now working as a beautician. My 3rd son is in year 10 at the Turkish lyceum in town. My 2nd daughter is in year 9. And I also have two younger children who are 5 years and 1 year old.”
Poor woman, I thought! Two more children after all that time? Is that possible? Surely not!
Well, this morning all the pieces of the jigsaw fell into place and I’m still reeling from the shock. Perhaps I should have realised sooner, but if you’re not from a country where this kind of thing happens you don’t expect it and you don’t go looking for it! In yet another “won’t-you-takeanother- wife” conversation Nurbek and Erlan told me that Kudaibergen had a second wife and that I knew who she was. My heart immediately sank. The clues they gave only confirmed my worst thoughts. Gulia is Kudaibergen’s second wife. Adilet, her newly born baby is Kudaibergen’s son. EVERYBODY seems to know about this… and it’s all OK. His first wife knows about his second wife, his second wife knows about the first wife. They live in the same town and frequently see each other. And yet again, I’m the one being laughed at. This time for struggling to cope with the fact that this is all seems to be legitimate when in the country I come from not only is it considered immoral, but it is also illegal.
My heart bleeds for the women of this country.
And just to recap… my wife is my best friend. And yes, I do love my wife. And please feel free to laugh if you want, but I’m proud of it.
“Yes!” I replied.
“Do you want another wife?”
“No, thanks. I love my wife. I don’t want another.”
“Don’t you think that our girls are pretty?”
“Yes, they are. But I love my wife, and don’t want another one.”
How many times have I had conversations like this one? More than I care to remember! And any reply I give declining a second wife seems to be met with ridicule. “My wife is my best friend,” was the answer that met with the most ridicule! “Your wife is your friend!!??” Often men here steal their wives… or at least that’s how we translate their action. A better description would be to say that they kidnap and rape young girls that they like the look of. So to them, the idea that their wife might also be a friend is ridiculous. A recent documentary on bride stealing in the country asked a local man why he was getting married: “We need someone to milk the cows.”
Most single expatriates find it hard living here as locals are always trying to marry them off. I know one single lady who created a story about her being a widow with 3 children at university back home in Holland. She used to have great fun creating anecdotes about them to relay to the next taxi driver! When we first came here as a young married couple without children we were always being asked when we were going to have children (or whether we had left them in England…). Now I am here, married, with two children, but still people are not satisfied! “Only one wife! We take two or three! I know of one man who had seven!” “Only two children! I’m one of seventeen!”
I first met Kudaibergen (literally, “Given by God”) 3 years ago. He was working as president of the charity he himself had established for the provision of credit for village farmers. He worked alone with just an accountant in the room next door. I reconnected with him again earlier this year and the staff had increased. The same accountant, Gulia, was still there, but now she was joined by Gulira, Nurbek and Erlan. Kudaibergen, like many people here with a “position,” is quite a proud, authoritative man. His staff have little freedom to use their own initiative. He says “Jump!” and they ask “How high?” He frequently calls his staff into his office to shout at them when they have done something that is not to his satisfaction. I’ve often felt sorry for Gulia. Being a single mum she doesn’t have much opportunity to find alternative work, and this current situation could be better than many others she might find herself in. At least she has a stable income to support herself and her 5 year old son.
5 months ago I thought that Gulia was putting on weight. But, she was actually pregnant! Her second son, Adilet, was born a couple of weeks ago. Well, I must have misunderstood her home situation. I won’t ask questions! It’s not polite! Last week I had to write a letter for Kudaibergen to an English-speaking supporter. I wrote the following text…
“Let me tell you about my family. My wife is called Mirgul. She graduated from the agricultural institute as a vet, but has spent most of her life at home looking after our children. We have 4 boys and 3 girls.
My oldest son is married with one son and one daughter. He lives here and works at an employment office, helping people to find jobs. My second son lives in the capital city and works as a furniture maker. He is married with one son, so I have 3 grandchildren!
My eldest daughter has just finished studying in the capital city and is now working as a beautician. My 3rd son is in year 10 at the Turkish lyceum in town. My 2nd daughter is in year 9. And I also have two younger children who are 5 years and 1 year old.”
Poor woman, I thought! Two more children after all that time? Is that possible? Surely not!
Well, this morning all the pieces of the jigsaw fell into place and I’m still reeling from the shock. Perhaps I should have realised sooner, but if you’re not from a country where this kind of thing happens you don’t expect it and you don’t go looking for it! In yet another “won’t-you-takeanother- wife” conversation Nurbek and Erlan told me that Kudaibergen had a second wife and that I knew who she was. My heart immediately sank. The clues they gave only confirmed my worst thoughts. Gulia is Kudaibergen’s second wife. Adilet, her newly born baby is Kudaibergen’s son. EVERYBODY seems to know about this… and it’s all OK. His first wife knows about his second wife, his second wife knows about the first wife. They live in the same town and frequently see each other. And yet again, I’m the one being laughed at. This time for struggling to cope with the fact that this is all seems to be legitimate when in the country I come from not only is it considered immoral, but it is also illegal.
My heart bleeds for the women of this country.
And just to recap… my wife is my best friend. And yes, I do love my wife. And please feel free to laugh if you want, but I’m proud of it.
Lives are being changed in the Central Asian Republics through the power of the Good News. This intriguing part of the former Soviet Union is made up of five countries – Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Turkmenistan – all of which gained independence in the early 1990s.
Since that time, in two or three of the “Stans”, there has been a relatively open door to aid and input from the West. While the majority religion is Islam and the Russian Orthodox Church has a strong presence, there has been a dramatic growth in the evangelical or Protestant church, even though many of the new believers face persecution from their families and villages.
In the last few years, in the country we know best, this growth has levelled off, or even decreased. And the door is less open now – new laws threaten to limit the work of NGOs and already restrict the activities of Christian believers, both national and expatriate. But local pastors rebuke the fears of foreign workers by saying: “Where is your faith? God will be glorified!”
Big issues like corruption, poverty, unemployment, rampant inflation, political instability and economic turmoil lead to a widespread sense of hopelessness among the common people. Here and there, though, people are finding hope and faith and lives are being transformed.
Some are ready… On one of those public holidays when businesses and schools were closed but our small, inter-church theological college was working, a woman came in asking to see the principal. Tania said she had come to offer her help – in translating, or in any other way – as she wanted to be of service to “Americans”. As she spoke, tears started flowing, and we took her off to a private office. There she poured out years of hurt and misunderstanding and her longing to be involved with foreigners because with them she sensed more acceptance. We had no answers except to point her to the One who could meet her needs. And there and then she prayed to receive the Lord into her heart.
Tania loves speaking English and she attends the International Fellowship. She bought an English Bible, preferring that, but providentially found a Russian Bible in her workplace. She reads some of this each day and is making progress in understanding.
Some take time… Chinara is a poorly-paid doctor who came to an English Club. Having three children already she was distressed to find she was pregnant again. With her surgeon husband’s encouragement she was going to have an abortion, a very common way out in this part of the world. After our lesson one day she mentioned her predicament to Gulnara, another member of the group.
Gulnara has been a keen and dedicated believer, involved in ministry for more than ten years. She was harshly persecuted by her family in the early days but from the beginning forgave them – and some believed. Divorced, with three young children, she lives hand to mouth, but continues to work joyfully, largely unpaid, in her church, evangelising, teaching the youth, caring for the poor, and leading Bible studies. Every new arrival in the English Club called forth Gulnara’s loving care and evangelistic effort. Sometimes I had to urge her to take it easy in class, when her bold forthrightness upset some! Often after the lesson she would spend an hour or two talking with one or another in the courtyard, interested in them, sharing in their problems. She followed them up with invitations to her home, in time to her church, and built friendships with them.
Gulnara poured time and love into Chinara, and after a week or two she let me know with delight and praise that Chinara had decided to go ahead with the pregnancy. Gulnara’s family and Chinara’s family became close, and Chinara’s children started going to Sunday School. After a while Chinara began going to church occasionally. It took time, but at last Chinara was ready to enter the Kingdom.
Some are ‘not yet’… For several years I ran an English Bible Study group. For believers like Gulnara, it both helped their English and increased their understanding of the Word. But it wasn’t only believers who came along. Two young women who were at least nominally of the majority faith were the most regular attendees. They loved singing songs of praise at Easter and Christmas and they showed a real perception of some of the truths that were being discovered. But although they intellectually agreed with and believed what they were reading, they were not ready or able to take the step of faith into a new life. The seeds have been sown… pray for fruit to develop.
Some are captive… A band of our workers regularly visits a women’s remand centre, at the invitation of the prison director (“I want to keep the women, women,” he said) and with official permission. The visitors take in necessities like soap and shampoo, toilet paper and candles, and when they have the funds, more expensive things like metal buckets for the cells and seed for the vegetable garden; they also have a message to share. There are times of discouragement, when no one seems very interested, but there are other times when women ask for prayer and teaching. “We’re all hard-core criminals,” said one. “Tell us what God’s Word says!” On a recent visit, the visitors found that one woman had come to the Lord a few days before.
Another woman in her cell had shared the gospel with her and all the women in this cell were now reading the Word and praying together. Our friend wrote: “Indeed it is God who causes the growth! How can we not continue to go out there while the doors are open?”
Some are moving ahead… In the theological college we had the privilege of getting to know and training some of the most committed of the Lord’s servants. One older lady, retired and widowed, wanted new direction for her life, and persisted through physical and mental struggles to prepare herself to be more useful in her church. Two fine young men, already pastoring growing churches out of town, committed themselves to two years’ study. Burning the candle at both ends they found little time for doing homework. When I ignorantly suggested doing some study on the hour-long bus journey morning and evening, Esen sheepishly told me he usually slept en route. How encouraged we were when we attended the official opening of his church in a freshly-painted, converted village house and witnessed the joy and zeal of his little flock.
One thirty-ish man was sent, a little reluctantly, by his large Pentecostal church. He was a rather unusual fellow, a bit gauche, and not particularly academic. Those interviewing him wondered whether to accept him as a student. But they did, and through three years of study, with a few hiccups along the way, Talantbek progressed and matured and developed into a trustworthy and sound pastoral candidate. He even married one of the most promising girl students. The senior pastor at his church was so taken by the changes evident in Talantbek’s life that he sent seven more students to the college the next year.
Some are moving out… Ainura is a young woman with a heart for missions. For several years now she has drawn around her a mission prayer movement. Prayer and training conferences have been held, resources prepared, and a “foreign missions society” established. Participants are taught that when sent out they should expect to hold a job in order to support themselves and their families. Ainura provided a model at home base when she took a part-time job in an NGO and devoted the remainder of her time to promoting prayer, oversight and training. It’s all very new, but already one couple has crossed the border into a foreign land and another is to follow. Others are heading in other directions. The evangelical church in Central Asia is young, it suffers hardship and persecution, and yet it is sending out workers into the harvest field.
While some activities and involvement may need to be curtailed because of the restrictive new laws, there is no doubt that the Father will continue to work and to draw people to Himself in Central Asia. He is building His church, and it is our privilege to partner with Him and His local children in that process of transformation.
The author is an English teacher from New Zealand. She and her husband served in Central Asia for 10 years.
The women bent over my hands and feet as I reclined on cushions on their visiting room floor. They made elaborate designs in henna, wanting me to look beautiful as I attended my first wedding in their country. They talked and laughed, anticipating the celebration that would take place in two days as their neighbour became a bride.
The preparations reminded me of Jesus’ story about being ready for a wedding: Once there were ten young women who took their oil lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom.
The next day, the feeling at the house of my new friends is one of expectation – today is the big day! The anticipation intensifies as we spend several hours dressing and perfuming our clothing and hair with incense. Finally we are ready!
As my friends and I arrive at the wedding hall, I discover that in spite of their efforts, I am underdressed.
My best dress is nothing compared to those around me! Women who normally look like black ghosts are now wearing dresses of every colour imaginable. Sequins and jewellery glitter everywhere. How beautiful the women are! Their laughing faces reflect their inner strength. Their lives are so difficult, yet they find such pleasure in dressing up and even more, in simply being together.
I happily join my friends on cushions on the floor. Music, provided by a band in another room, blares from loudspeakers. Women dance, as their mothers and grandmothers did before them. Finally an announcement is made and the bride arrives, with much fanfare! She wears a western style gown with a hoop skirt at least three feet wide; every inch is covered with sequins. She proceeds slowly up the aisle in the middle of the hall, surrounded by young women who chant blessings and hopes for many sons. Once in front of the hall, the bride sits on an ornate, throne-like chair. And the sense of anticipation grows. The climax is yet to come. The music, dancing and visiting isn’t our reason for being here. We’re waiting for the groom to come! I think again of Jesus’ story. He told the story of the wise and foolish virgins because he wanted his followers to be ready. These women (and I!) have spent days getting ready for this wedding, but they don’t even know about the one to come. How can they possibly be ready when they have no way of knowing the Bridegroom?
The hours stretch on. The conversations grow increasingly desultory and fewer and fewer women dance. My head pounds from the loud music. Four hours have passed and still we wait! In Jesus’ story, the waiting women fell asleep. They must have booked a different band, because surely no one could sleep surrounded by music at this decibel level!
Suddenly, the music stops. My ears ring in the silence, and then, over the loudspeakers a voice announces, “The groom is coming!” All around me is a whirlwind of activity. Reclining women suddenly leap to their feet and fly into their overcoats and veils, changing back into black ghosts. Here is the groom! Finally, the days of preparation and waiting are finished!
In the middle of all the rejoicing, my heart is heavy. My friends here are not ready for the wedding that’s to come. They’ve never met the Bridegroom. Seeing them with covered faces reminds me again of how it veils their hearts and makes it impossible for them to see God clearly. They cannot understand how He loves them and longs for a relationship with them. I look forward to a wedding feast with Someone who calls me His beloved. All they have is a set of rules to try to keep, and a faint hope that a capricious judge will be kind.
In spite of the stranglehold of Islam in the country, I have hope that God is working here and that my friends will be part of the final marriage celebration. Please join the work here by praying that hearts will be open to the wooing of the Bridegroom.
Susan is an IS Partner from the USA, currently serving in the Arab World.
Lives are being changed in the Central Asian Republics through the power of the Good News. This intriguing part of the former Soviet Union is made up of five countries – Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Turkmenistan – all of which gained independence in the early 1990s.
Since that time, in two or three of the “Stans”, there has been a relatively open door to aid and input from the West. While the majority religion is Islam and the Russian Orthodox Church has a strong presence, there has been a dramatic growth in the evangelical or Protestant church, even though many of the new believers face persecution from their families and villages.
In the last few years, in the country we know best, this growth has levelled off, or even decreased. And the door is less open now – new laws threaten to limit the work of NGOs and already restrict the activities of Christian believers, both national and expatriate. But local pastors rebuke the fears of foreign workers by saying: “Where is your faith? God will be glorified!”
Big issues like corruption, poverty, unemployment, rampant inflation, political instability and economic turmoil lead to a widespread sense of hopelessness among the common people. Here and there, though, people are finding hope and faith and lives are being transformed.
Some are ready… On one of those public holidays when businesses and schools were closed but our small, inter-church theological college was working, a woman came in asking to see the principal. Tania said she had come to offer her help – in translating, or in any other way – as she wanted to be of service to “Americans”. As she spoke, tears started flowing, and we took her off to a private office. There she poured out years of hurt and misunderstanding and her longing to be involved with foreigners because with them she sensed more acceptance. We had no answers except to point her to the One who could meet her needs. And there and then she prayed to receive the Lord into her heart.
Tania loves speaking English and she attends the International Fellowship. She bought an English Bible, preferring that, but providentially found a Russian Bible in her workplace. She reads some of this each day and is making progress in understanding.
Some take time… Chinara is a poorly-paid doctor who came to an English Club. Having three children already she was distressed to find she was pregnant again. With her surgeon husband’s encouragement she was going to have an abortion, a very common way out in this part of the world. After our lesson one day she mentioned her predicament to Gulnara, another member of the group.
Gulnara has been a keen and dedicated believer, involved in ministry for more than ten years. She was harshly persecuted by her family in the early days but from the beginning forgave them – and some believed. Divorced, with three young children, she lives hand to mouth, but continues to work joyfully, largely unpaid, in her church, evangelising, teaching the youth, caring for the poor, and leading Bible studies. Every new arrival in the English Club called forth Gulnara’s loving care and evangelistic effort. Sometimes I had to urge her to take it easy in class, when her bold forthrightness upset some! Often after the lesson she would spend an hour or two talking with one or another in the courtyard, interested in them, sharing in their problems. She followed them up with invitations to her home, in time to her church, and built friendships with them.
Gulnara poured time and love into Chinara, and after a week or two she let me know with delight and praise that Chinara had decided to go ahead with the pregnancy. Gulnara’s family and Chinara’s family became close, and Chinara’s children started going to Sunday School. After a while Chinara began going to church occasionally. It took time, but at last Chinara was ready to enter the Kingdom.
Some are ‘not yet’… For several years I ran an English Bible Study group. For believers like Gulnara, it both helped their English and increased their understanding of the Word. But it wasn’t only believers who came along. Two young women who were at least nominally of the majority faith were the most regular attendees. They loved singing songs of praise at Easter and Christmas and they showed a real perception of some of the truths that were being discovered. But although they intellectually agreed with and believed what they were reading, they were not ready or able to take the step of faith into a new life. The seeds have been sown… pray for fruit to develop.
Some are captive… A band of our workers regularly visits a women’s remand centre, at the invitation of the prison director (“I want to keep the women, women,” he said) and with official permission. The visitors take in necessities like soap and shampoo, toilet paper and candles, and when they have the funds, more expensive things like metal buckets for the cells and seed for the vegetable garden; they also have a message to share. There are times of discouragement, when no one seems very interested, but there are other times when women ask for prayer and teaching. “We’re all hard-core criminals,” said one. “Tell us what God’s Word says!” On a recent visit, the visitors found that one woman had come to the Lord a few days before.
Another woman in her cell had shared the gospel with her and all the women in this cell were now reading the Word and praying together. Our friend wrote: “Indeed it is God who causes the growth! How can we not continue to go out there while the doors are open?”
Some are moving ahead… In the theological college we had the privilege of getting to know and training some of the most committed of the Lord’s servants. One older lady, retired and widowed, wanted new direction for her life, and persisted through physical and mental struggles to prepare herself to be more useful in her church. Two fine young men, already pastoring growing churches out of town, committed themselves to two years’ study. Burning the candle at both ends they found little time for doing homework. When I ignorantly suggested doing some study on the hour-long bus journey morning and evening, Esen sheepishly told me he usually slept en route. How encouraged we were when we attended the official opening of his church in a freshly-painted, converted village house and witnessed the joy and zeal of his little flock.
One thirty-ish man was sent, a little reluctantly, by his large Pentecostal church. He was a rather unusual fellow, a bit gauche, and not particularly academic. Those interviewing him wondered whether to accept him as a student. But they did, and through three years of study, with a few hiccups along the way, Talantbek progressed and matured and developed into a trustworthy and sound pastoral candidate. He even married one of the most promising girl students. The senior pastor at his church was so taken by the changes evident in Talantbek’s life that he sent seven more students to the college the next year.
Some are moving out… Ainura is a young woman with a heart for missions. For several years now she has drawn around her a mission prayer movement. Prayer and training conferences have been held, resources prepared, and a “foreign missions society” established. Participants are taught that when sent out they should expect to hold a job in order to support themselves and their families. Ainura provided a model at home base when she took a part-time job in an NGO and devoted the remainder of her time to promoting prayer, oversight and training. It’s all very new, but already one couple has crossed the border into a foreign land and another is to follow. Others are heading in other directions. The evangelical church in Central Asia is young, it suffers hardship and persecution, and yet it is sending out workers into the harvest field.
While some activities and involvement may need to be curtailed because of the restrictive new laws, there is no doubt that the Father will continue to work and to draw people to Himself in Central Asia. He is building His church, and it is our privilege to partner with Him and His local children in that process of transformation.
The author is an English teacher from New Zealand. She and her husband served in Central Asia for 10 years.
Arabia. The name invokes memories of fables about a mystical land of sweeping, soaring sand dunes, desert date-palmed oases, Ali Baba, Aladdin and flying carpets. My husband and I have lived in this far-away, beautiful part of the world for many years, among people who are so very different from us, and yet not so different at all.
While the dominant religion is Islam, there are many here who do own Jesus as their Lord. However, they must do so in secret, as apostasy (conversion from Islam to another religion) carries serious social and legal consequences: the annulment of marriage, the removal of children, and the loss of all property and inheritance rights. Apostasy is also punishable by death.
One day a Western friend, who is married to a local Muslim, shared with me that her husband was suspicious of their eldest daughter. The daughter did not pray five times a day nor did she want to go on the Hajj, the traditional pilgrimage to Mecca. The husband suspected her of following his wife, and believing as she did. But when the questioning got a little out of hand, in anger and frustration he put his open hand in my friend’s face, and said, “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know!” He did not want to fulfil the duties and obligations required of him if his daughter was bringing dishonour to the family. My friend and I cried and prayed together over her situation: how does a woman be a wife to a man who she knows would kill their daughter if he knew the truth?
We had been in the country for less than a year when I realised just how closely our family was being observed by our neighbours and our community. I was approached by a neighbour, covered in black from her head to her toes, shaking her finger at me as she insisted that I come to her home: she had been watching us and she wanted to know why we were so different.
I was asked about my children, and why my sons treated their sisters the way they did. The women could not understand why my sons were considerate, loving and protective toward their sisters, because within a Muslim family, regardless of age, a daughter is there to serve her brother. It was a great opportunity to explain that as we were Christians, our family relationships were based on love for each other. And that men and women, sons and daughters, are equal in God’s eyes. As parents we were equally proud of both our sons and our daughters: they were not worth more (or less) because of their gender.
While I was talking with these mothers I was watching their children playing outside in the courtyard. The boys were kicking a soccer ball around, and when it hit one of the girls in the stomach, she doubled up in pain. But the boys did not show the least concern for their sister, and she received a severe rebuke from her mother for interrupting the game.
In this Muslim land we are watched because we’re different, and that works to our advantage because it opens up all sorts of opportunities to share about God and His love. A group of married women from my work once asked me to explain my ‘love story’. They had been watching my husband and me for many months. They saw the consideration my husband gave me in the simplest of things, like opening the car door for me (an Arab man would never do this for his wife, as it would be considered demeaning), and walking beside me when we were out at the Mall, instead of requiring me to walk behind him. So the next day I brought my wedding album into work, and explained how our marriage was based on the fact that we loved each other, and wanted to spend our lives together. I showed them photos of the church and the ceremony, and explained that the vows we made were a sacred promise before God and the community: my husband promised to love, honour and cherish me for as long as he lived, and I promised to love, honour and obey him.
Women in this country do not marry for love. They do not even get to choose their own husbands. While they are still very young, their parents choose their groom for them, from amongst their first cousins (which later often leads to major health issues in their children). In Arabia, the legal marriage age is 14, but I know women who were married and mothers by the time they were 11 years old. The formalities are completed at the courts by the fathers, and then at a later date set by the couple themselves they have the celebration.
There are actually two separate wedding celebrations: one for the groom and one for the bride. At the celebrations they dance and party until at least midnight, then the groom and his wedding party go across town to the bride’s celebration, to claim her and take her to his home. When he and his wedding party enter the wedding hall of the bride, within the twinkling of an eye the room becomes a sea of black, in stark contrast to the music and dancing, eating and laughing, gossiping and talking that the bride and her guests had been enjoying up to that point. This is a very sad analogy of how marriage is viewed. The bride should not have to hide herself from the bridegroom, but these brides are not loved, and they know that.
I remember being shocked when a young local woman told me that it was not right to seek love from her husband, that the object of life was to become wise so that Allah would accept them into Paradise. To believe it is unacceptable to seek love within marriage, when it is the one thing they desire above all else, leaves both men and women empty, angry and deeply lonely.
My husband was approached in the supermarket one day by a stranger, who hesitantly asked him, “Do you love your wife?” My husband arranged to meet him later for coffee in a more private setting, at which time the man explained he was deeply troubled because he was being forced into a marriage he didn’t want. My husband was then able to share with him that God’s plan for marriage includes love, and that He instructs men to honour and cherish their wives, and even be willing to lay down their lives for them, as Christ did for us. We have no idea why he approached my husband except that God obviously wanted him to speak with a follower of Christ and learn a little of what he himself knew was very different from his culture and religion.
Although many are hungry to learn more of this God who is so different from the harsh taskmaster of Islam, it is almost impossible for them to understand His love because of their cultural background. Because they do not understand love, they cannot accept God’s love, and they sincerely struggle to understand why He would do such a thing as allow His Son to die for them. Only the working of the Holy Spirit within the hearts of these people will make them truly believe that God loves them unconditionally, and give them the courage to become seekers of the Truth. Please pray for the land and people of Arabia. We come from two different worlds, two different theological frameworks, but we share the same longings: to be accepted and to be loved.
The author and her husband are Kiwi partners, serving within their professions in Arabia. They have five children, who are now all adults.
Arabia. The name invokes memories of fables about a mystical land of sweeping, soaring sand dunes, desert date-palmed oases, Ali Baba, Aladdin and flying carpets. My husband and I have lived in this far-away, beautiful part of the world for many years, among people who are so very different from us, and yet not so different at all.
While the dominant religion is Islam, there are many here who do own Jesus as their Lord. However, they must do so in secret, as apostasy (conversion from Islam to another religion) carries serious social and legal consequences: the annulment of marriage, the removal of children, and the loss of all property and inheritance rights. Apostasy is also punishable by death.
One day a Western friend, who is married to a local Muslim, shared with me that her husband was suspicious of their eldest daughter. The daughter did not pray five times a day nor did she want to go on the Hajj, the traditional pilgrimage to Mecca. The husband suspected her of following his wife, and believing as she did. But when the questioning got a little out of hand, in anger and frustration he put his open hand in my friend’s face, and said, “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know!” He did not want to fulfil the duties and obligations required of him if his daughter was bringing dishonour to the family. My friend and I cried and prayed together over her situation: how does a woman be a wife to a man who she knows would kill their daughter if he knew the truth?
We had been in the country for less than a year when I realised just how closely our family was being observed by our neighbours and our community. I was approached by a neighbour, covered in black from her head to her toes, shaking her finger at me as she insisted that I come to her home: she had been watching us and she wanted to know why we were so different.
I was asked about my children, and why my sons treated their sisters the way they did. The women could not understand why my sons were considerate, loving and protective toward their sisters, because within a Muslim family, regardless of age, a daughter is there to serve her brother. It was a great opportunity to explain that as we were Christians, our family relationships were based on love for each other. And that men and women, sons and daughters, are equal in God’s eyes. As parents we were equally proud of both our sons and our daughters: they were not worth more (or less) because of their gender.
While I was talking with these mothers I was watching their children playing outside in the courtyard. The boys were kicking a soccer ball around, and when it hit one of the girls in the stomach, she doubled up in pain. But the boys did not show the least concern for their sister, and she received a severe rebuke from her mother for interrupting the game.
In this Muslim land we are watched because we’re different, and that works to our advantage because it opens up all sorts of opportunities to share about God and His love. A group of married women from my work once asked me to explain my ‘love story’. They had been watching my husband and me for many months. They saw the consideration my husband gave me in the simplest of things, like opening the car door for me (an Arab man would never do this for his wife, as it would be considered demeaning), and walking beside me when we were out at the Mall, instead of requiring me to walk behind him. So the next day I brought my wedding album into work, and explained how our marriage was based on the fact that we loved each other, and wanted to spend our lives together. I showed them photos of the church and the ceremony, and explained that the vows we made were a sacred promise before God and the community: my husband promised to love, honour and cherish me for as long as he lived, and I promised to love, honour and obey him.
Women in this country do not marry for love. They do not even get to choose their own husbands. While they are still very young, their parents choose their groom for them, from amongst their first cousins (which later often leads to major health issues in their children). In Arabia, the legal marriage age is 14, but I know women who were married and mothers by the time they were 11 years old. The formalities are completed at the courts by the fathers, and then at a later date set by the couple themselves they have the celebration.
There are actually two separate wedding celebrations: one for the groom and one for the bride. At the celebrations they dance and party until at least midnight, then the groom and his wedding party go across town to the bride’s celebration, to claim her and take her to his home. When he and his wedding party enter the wedding hall of the bride, within the twinkling of an eye the room becomes a sea of black, in stark contrast to the music and dancing, eating and laughing, gossiping and talking that the bride and her guests had been enjoying up to that point. This is a very sad analogy of how marriage is viewed. The bride should not have to hide herself from the bridegroom, but these brides are not loved, and they know that.
I remember being shocked when a young local woman told me that it was not right to seek love from her husband, that the object of life was to become wise so that Allah would accept them into Paradise. To believe it is unacceptable to seek love within marriage, when it is the one thing they desire above all else, leaves both men and women empty, angry and deeply lonely.
My husband was approached in the supermarket one day by a stranger, who hesitantly asked him, “Do you love your wife?” My husband arranged to meet him later for coffee in a more private setting, at which time the man explained he was deeply troubled because he was being forced into a marriage he didn’t want. My husband was then able to share with him that God’s plan for marriage includes love, and that He instructs men to honour and cherish their wives, and even be willing to lay down their lives for them, as Christ did for us. We have no idea why he approached my husband except that God obviously wanted him to speak with a follower of Christ and learn a little of what he himself knew was very different from his culture and religion.
Although many are hungry to learn more of this God who is so different from the harsh taskmaster of Islam, it is almost impossible for them to understand His love because of their cultural background. Because they do not understand love, they cannot accept God’s love, and they sincerely struggle to understand why He would do such a thing as allow His Son to die for them. Only the working of the Holy Spirit within the hearts of these people will make them truly believe that God loves them unconditionally, and give them the courage to become seekers of the Truth. Please pray for the land and people of Arabia. We come from two different worlds, two different theological frameworks, but we share the same longings: to be accepted and to be loved.
The author and her husband are Kiwi partners, serving within their professions in Arabia. They have five children, who are now all adults.
Arabia. The name invokes memories of fables about a mystical land of sweeping, soaring sand dunes, desert date-palmed oases, Ali Baba, Aladdin and flying carpets. My husband and I have lived in this far-away, beautiful part of the world for many years, among people who are so very different from us, and yet not so different at all.
While the dominant religion is Islam, there are many here who do own Jesus as their Lord. However, they must do so in secret, as apostasy (conversion from Islam to another religion) carries serious social and legal consequences: the annulment of marriage, the removal of children, and the loss of all property and inheritance rights. Apostasy is also punishable by death.
One day a Western friend, who is married to a local Muslim, shared with me that her husband was suspicious of their eldest daughter. The daughter did not pray five times a day nor did she want to go on the Hajj, the traditional pilgrimage to Mecca. The husband suspected her of following his wife, and believing as she did. But when the questioning got a little out of hand, in anger and frustration he put his open hand in my friend’s face, and said, “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know!” He did not want to fulfil the duties and obligations required of him if his daughter was bringing dishonour to the family. My friend and I cried and prayed together over her situation: how does a woman be a wife to a man who she knows would kill their daughter if he knew the truth?
We had been in the country for less than a year when I realised just how closely our family was being observed by our neighbours and our community. I was approached by a neighbour, covered in black from her head to her toes, shaking her finger at me as she insisted that I come to her home: she had been watching us and she wanted to know why we were so different.
I was asked about my children, and why my sons treated their sisters the way they did. The women could not understand why my sons were considerate, loving and protective toward their sisters, because within a Muslim family, regardless of age, a daughter is there to serve her brother. It was a great opportunity to explain that as we were Christians, our family relationships were based on love for each other. And that men and women, sons and daughters, are equal in God’s eyes. As parents we were equally proud of both our sons and our daughters: they were not worth more (or less) because of their gender.
While I was talking with these mothers I was watching their children playing outside in the courtyard. The boys were kicking a soccer ball around, and when it hit one of the girls in the stomach, she doubled up in pain. But the boys did not show the least concern for their sister, and she received a severe rebuke from her mother for interrupting the game.
In this Muslim land we are watched because we’re different, and that works to our advantage because it opens up all sorts of opportunities to share about God and His love. A group of married women from my work once asked me to explain my ‘love story’. They had been watching my husband and me for many months. They saw the consideration my husband gave me in the simplest of things, like opening the car door for me (an Arab man would never do this for his wife, as it would be considered demeaning), and walking beside me when we were out at the Mall, instead of requiring me to walk behind him. So the next day I brought my wedding album into work, and explained how our marriage was based on the fact that we loved each other, and wanted to spend our lives together. I showed them photos of the church and the ceremony, and explained that the vows we made were a sacred promise before God and the community: my husband promised to love, honour and cherish me for as long as he lived, and I promised to love, honour and obey him.
Women in this country do not marry for love. They do not even get to choose their own husbands. While they are still very young, their parents choose their groom for them, from amongst their first cousins (which later often leads to major health issues in their children). In Arabia, the legal marriage age is 14, but I know women who were married and mothers by the time they were 11 years old. The formalities are completed at the courts by the fathers, and then at a later date set by the couple themselves they have the celebration.
There are actually two separate wedding celebrations: one for the groom and one for the bride. At the celebrations they dance and party until at least midnight, then the groom and his wedding party go across town to the bride’s celebration, to claim her and take her to his home. When he and his wedding party enter the wedding hall of the bride, within the twinkling of an eye the room becomes a sea of black, in stark contrast to the music and dancing, eating and laughing, gossiping and talking that the bride and her guests had been enjoying up to that point. This is a very sad analogy of how marriage is viewed. The bride should not have to hide herself from the bridegroom, but these brides are not loved, and they know that.
I remember being shocked when a young local woman told me that it was not right to seek love from her husband, that the object of life was to become wise so that Allah would accept them into Paradise. To believe it is unacceptable to seek love within marriage, when it is the one thing they desire above all else, leaves both men and women empty, angry and deeply lonely.
My husband was approached in the supermarket one day by a stranger, who hesitantly asked him, “Do you love your wife?” My husband arranged to meet him later for coffee in a more private setting, at which time the man explained he was deeply troubled because he was being forced into a marriage he didn’t want. My husband was then able to share with him that God’s plan for marriage includes love, and that He instructs men to honour and cherish their wives, and even be willing to lay down their lives for them, as Christ did for us. We have no idea why he approached my husband except that God obviously wanted him to speak with a follower of Christ and learn a little of what he himself knew was very different from his culture and religion.
Although many are hungry to learn more of this God who is so different from the harsh taskmaster of Islam, it is almost impossible for them to understand His love because of their cultural background. Because they do not understand love, they cannot accept God’s love, and they sincerely struggle to understand why He would do such a thing as allow His Son to die for them. Only the working of the Holy Spirit within the hearts of these people will make them truly believe that God loves them unconditionally, and give them the courage to become seekers of the Truth. Please pray for the land and people of Arabia. We come from two different worlds, two different theological frameworks, but we share the same longings: to be accepted and to be loved.
The author and her husband are Kiwi partners, serving within their professions in Arabia. They have five children, who are now all adults.
Address
경기도 성남시 분당구 정자일로 1 A동 1206호
A-1206, 1, Jeongjail-ro, Bundang-gu,
Seongnam-si, Gyeonggi-do, Republic of Kore
Contact
interservekorea@gmail.com
Tel +82 031 778 7931
Fax 031-606-4773