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The Valley of Decision

by Lyndi Parshall Thomas It was a beautiful, tropical sunny day. A chicken scurried across the road. Akbar Khan watched it as he walked toward the village market. He turned down the dusty street, and there stood the talk of the town. A large, bright yellow building stood majestically before him, practically shining in the blazing morning sun. He stood on the corner watching what was going on. People were walking through the gate, dressed in their best clothes. Just yesterday, his father had laughed at the person everyone called a missionary. Akbar wasnt too sure what he thought about the man. He had observed him when the building they called a church was being built. The missionary always wore clean suits, and he seemed to have plenty of them. Of course, if he supplied the money to build the building, he must have a lot of money left over. Just then, he saw Mohammed, the silversmith, go in the gate of the church. Akbar watched with curiosity. There was word going around that Mohammed had come to believe what the missionary was preaching. People said his attitude had changed and that he was a much nicer man now, with more patience.

Akbars curiosity grew. What did this missionary have to say? Most of the people in his village spoke contemptuously of the white man. They were jealous of his money and wondered why he couldnt use it to help them instead of spending it on a silly building. A young boy chasing a stray cow ran into Akbar, jolting him into remembering that he was supposed to be canvassing for the prices of lamps. The month of fasting would be coming up soon, and he wanted to have a good lamp by which to see when he ate in the early hours of the morning. Akbar was tempted to go inside this foreign church and see for himself what was going on. His wife would probably get mad at him if he did. Slowly, he walked towards the gate, noticing the barbed wire running along the top of the high wall. It was placed there to keep out the beggar kids. Then he looked up at the cross standing tall on the top of the building. How awful! The cross! What a symbol of hatred that represented to Akbar. It reminded him of the grotesque stories he had learned in school about the Crusadeshow his Muslim ancestors had been killed by cross-carrying Crusaders. Akbar decided not to think about it but to go on in. He felt strange going to a place of worship on Sunday. Normally, he would have gone on a Friday. He followed the little brick walkway past the small cement house where the national evangelist lived

Lyndi Parshall Thomas is a missionary kid from Bangladesh and wrote this paper when she was a high school student at Faith Academy in Manila. Adapted from Phil Parshall, ed., The Last Great Frontier (Philippines: Open Doors with Brother Andrew, 2000), pp. 18588. Used by permission. www.opendoors.org.

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with his family. He looked in and saw a fan hanging from the ceiling. What luxury! Electricity! Why, even the Muslim holy man doesnt have a cement house. Only the banker and other high class people have electricity. He then made his way to the front door of the church. Akbar reached down to unbuckle his sandals, but he noticed that there were hardly any shoes outside compared to the number of people inside. How repulsive! In a mosque, no one is allowed How does our behavior affect our impressions on Muslims? to wear shoes. He pulled off his sandals, added them to the small pile, and slowly Akbar read the words under the walked in the door. He looked up towards picture: Jesus Christ. He couldnt the front of the room and saw an elevated believe it! No Muslim would have a stand that held some books on it. He saw picture of a prophet hanging on a wall! It another cross behind the pulpit. was totally forbidden. His thoughts were interrupted when a little boy ran by him. He turned around and looked for a place His eyes swept the room. It was full of to wash his face, hands, and feet. Surely, chairsnew ones. Where did the white they would have a washing place like the man get all his money? How different mosque did. But, no, there was none. He from the mosque where you sit on the walked down the center aisle looking for floor, he thought. He noticed that men someone he knew. He saw a few familiar were on one side and women on the faces, but he decided to sit by himself so other. That was good, but even that was he could silently analyze the service. He unique because women usually would not found a seat and sat down. Picking up one go to a mosque. of the books, he saw that it was thick and nicely bound. He opened it and tried to On the front row, sitting all together, was read it, but he couldnt really understand the missionarys familyhusband, wife, the words. One word he saw was Bible. and two daughters. Akbar was amazed to This was the Christians Holy Book! see them all together on the womens side. Did they just let it lay around where it He hoped no one else would be offended could get messed up? Didnt they care if like he was. someone dropped it or touched it with dirty hands? His eyes fell on a picture on the wall. It was of a man who looked nice enough, with long hair and a beard. But then,

Caleb Project

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He looked up and saw the missionarys children running around. In a mosque, children wouldnt be allowed to be a nuisance. The children were playing with the same type of book he had in his handsthe Bible. Didnt the missionaries care if their children showed disrespect to a Holy Book? Akbar saw flowers by the pump organ and wondered if they were for decoration, or if they were an offering to the Jesus man. He caught sight of a paper lying on the floor that a child had dropped. There was a picture on the paper of a small fenced area with some animals in it. He saw a cow, a horse, and a pig. A PIG!! How terrible. Oh, thats right. The missionary didnt think pork was bad. Now that he thought about it, Akbar remembered that someone

had told him the missionaries buy pork from the Christian butcher. They actually eat the vile meat! He looked up towards the white man and his family again. What beautiful clothes they wore. How that watch shone in the sun. Looking at the missionarys wife, he saw that she wore a sleeveless long dress. Even the high class women in the town didnt wear sleeveless blouses with their saris. It was indecent! He noticed that she didnt have any way to cover her head when she prayed. Just then, the evangelist stood up in the front and began to talk. He welcomed everyone, and then gave some announcements. Then he told them to turn to page thirty in a songbook. Were they going to

E vangelism as a P rocess
Isnt So how many were saved on your last mission trip? the usual question? Or, How many were baptized? How many attend your church? Why this focus on numbers? Too often our goal-oriented culture binds us, fooling us into thinking gures and events tell the story and measure the task. Are we are satised if someone keeps us accountable to such goals? Evangelism is a processof befriending, supporting, and loving, and our progress should be measured against the goal of becoming more like Christ. I am encouraged by God from his Word, specically, his servant Pauls testimony: I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow (1 Cor. 3:6). We all have our assigned tasks in Gods eld, but God is the one who grows the seed and gives salvation in his time. Ministry among Muslims can take a long time, sometimes years, before the rst fruits are seen. As God is the One responsible for the outcome, we should enjoy the friendships and the process! On my overseas assignment, my coworker Peter befriended a Muslim named Mahmud. After seven years, Peter expressed frustration, questioning whether he was wasting his time in this relationship. Even though Peter had helped Mahmud many times (he had found him a job), Mahmud seldom expressed any spiritual interest. Our team prayed for them both, encouraging Peter to press on. At the next meeting, Peter had exciting news. Mahmud had told him, Ive known you for seven years, and often wondered if you were really my friend, or if I was just another potential convert to Christianity. Ive decided that you really have been a caring friend, and now I want to be baptized. Source: Annee W. Rose, www.frontiers.org.

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sing? Sure enough, a man got up, went to the pump organ, and began to play. It was very strange to Akbar as Muslims only chant their songs. Akbar reached for the only other book he saw and found the page. He couldnt read well enough to follow along too well, so he just listened. The tunes sounded totally foreign. He could tell everyone was having trouble singing the song. He liked chanting much better. The foreigner then stood up and read a passage out of the Bible. My, what an accent! After ten years in this country, couldnt he speak more like we do? Akbar noticed that most of the national women covered their heads, but the white woman did not. When the foreigner was finished reading, he sat down and the service went on. They then said they would take an offering. Some men got up and passed around a plate so that people could drop their money into it. In a mosque this would not be done in such a manner. The church system seemed like begging to him. He wondered what the money was used for. Surely the white man had plenty already! Again, the missionary got up and began to speak. Akbar listened for awhile, but at the word Jesus, he could no longer listen. As a Muslim, he only saw Jesus as a

good prophet that lived long agonot as the Son of God. How repulsive to think of God having relations with Mary and having a son whom they named Jesus. The missionary stopped talking and began to pray. Akbar noticed the people all closed their eyes, but they didnt change positions. None prostrated themselves. They just sat in their chairs. How different was this religion! The service ended and people began to file out. Akbar got up and, as he walked out the door, the missionary shook his hand and mumbled something he couldnt understand. He put on his sandals and went out into the road. He heard someone call out to remind everyone to come again that night. Akbar went out the gate and toward the lamp shop, thinking about what he had seen and heard. That night, he went out to stand in front of the well-lit church. Akbar watched the people going in. He stood and pondered the events of the morning. Looking to his right, he saw his mosque in the distance, lit with small flickering candles. He looked back at the church oncethen turned and began to slowly walk down the dusty road towards the mosque.