THE MAGAZINE OF JUSTTHINKING - rzim.org · Danielle DuRant Editor Ravi Zacharias International Ministries ... Muslim prayer hall, broken before God. The edifice of my worldview, all

VOLUME 22.1 I WWW.RZIM.ORG

JUSTTHINKINGTHE MAGAZINE OF RAVI ZACHARIAS INTERNATIONAL MINISTRIES

+FOR THE SAKE OF THE ELECTPAGE 16

MAKING SENSE OF ITPAGE 22

THE MOST DIFFICULTQUESTIONSPAGE 30

Seeking Allah,Finding JesusPAGE 2

Just Thinking is a teaching

resource of Ravi Zacharias

International Ministries and

exists to engender thoughtful

engagement with apologetics,

Scripture, and the whole of life.

Danielle DuRant

Editor

Ravi Zacharias International Ministries

4725 Peachtree Corners Circle

Suite 250

Norcross, Georgia 30092

770.449.6766

WWW.RZIM.ORG

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16

22

30

TABLE of CONTENTS

VOLUME 22.1

Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus

Nabeel Qureshi, a medical doctor bytraining, shares his story of growingup in an American Muslim familyand how his passion for Islamopened the door to a budding friendship with an equally devoutChristian.

For the Sake of the Elect

Ruth Malhotra relates her personalreflections after a decade of work in politics at the national level and her growing conviction thatultimately government is not theanswer to people’s deepest need.

Making Sense of It

Cameron McAllister examines someof the key differences between theChristian and secular imaginationby comparing the worldviews of C.S. Lewis and science fiction authorand avowed atheist H.P. Lovecraft.

Think Again

The Most Difficult Questions“Out of the scores of letters that Ihave received over the years,” writesRavi Zacharias, “one in particularstands out. The writer simply asked,‘Why has God made it so difficult to believe in him?’ The question ultimately gains momentum andparks itself in our hearts’ genuinesearch for meaning, belongingness,and relationship to our own creator.”

[2] JUST THINKING • RAVI ZACHARIAS INTERNATIONAL MINISTRIES

JUST THINKING • VOLUME 22.1 [3]

lay prostrate in a largeMuslim prayer hall, broken before God.

The edifice of my worldview, all I hadever known, had slowly been dismantled over the past few years. On this day, my world came crashing down. I lay in ruin, seeking Allah.


Excerpts taken from Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus by Nabeel Qureshi. Copyright © 2014by Nabeel Qureshi. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

mean. No man is equal to You. You areinfinitely greater than all of creation.Everything bows down before You, Allahsubhanahu wata ‘ala.2

“No, what I mean to say is that You,O Allah, are all powerful. Surely You canenter into creation if You choose. DidYou enter into this world? Did Youbecome a man? And was that man Jesus?

“O Allah, the Bible couldn’t beright, could it?”

As if on parallel timelines, my lipscontinued to pray in sajda while my mindrelentlessly fought with itself. The Arabicphrase was to be recited twice morebefore the sajda would be complete.

Subhana Rabbi al-ala.Glorified is my Lord, the Highest.

“But how is it conceivable that Allah, thehighest being of all, would enter into thisworld? This world is filthy and sinful, noplace for the One who deserves all gloryand all praise. And how could I evenbegin to suggest that God, the magnifi-cent and splendid Creator, would enterinto this world through the birth canal of a girl? Audhu billah3, that’s disgusting!To have to eat, to grow fatigued, and tosweat and spill blood, and to be finallynailed to a cross. I cannot believe this.God deserves infinitely more. Hismajesty is far greater than this.

“But what if His majesty is not asimportant to Him as His children are?”


“Of course we are important to Him,but Allah does not need to die in order toforgive us. Allah is all powerful, and Hecan easily forgive us if He chooses. He isal-Ghaffar and ar-Rahim!4 His forgiveness

Fading footsteps echoed throughthe halls of the mosque as thehumid summer evening drew to aclose. The other worshipers were

heading back to their homes and familiesfor the night, but my thoughts were stillracing. Every fiber of my being wrestledwith itself. With my forehead pressed intothe ground and heart pounding in mychest, my mind scrutinized each word mylips whispered into the musty carpet.

These were not new words. I hadbeen taught to recite this Arabic phrase132 times, every single day, from a timebefore I even knew my name. It was thesajda, the portion of the ritual prayers inwhich Muslims lower themselves beforeAllah, glorifying His loftiness. The wordshad always flowed with ease, but this daywas different. As my lips exercised theirrote rituals, my mind questioned every-thing I thought I knew about God.


“Glorified is my Lord … Who is my Lord?Who are You, Lord? Are You Allah, theGod of my father and forefathers? Are Youthe God I have always worshiped? The Godmy family has always worshiped? Surely Youare the one who sent Muhammad (SAW)1

as the final messenger for mankind and theQuran as our guide? You are Allah, the Godof Islam, aren’t You? Or are You …” I hesi-tated, fighting the blasphemy I was aboutto propose. But what if the blasphemy wasthe truth?

“Or are You Jesus?”My heart froze, as if indignant at my

mind for risking hell. “Allah, I would neversay that a man became equal to You. Pleaseforgive me and have mercy on me if that’swhat I said, because that’s not what I


flows from His very being. What doescoming into this world to die on a crosshave to do with my sins? It doesn’t evenmake sense for Allah to die on the cross.If He died, who was ruling the universe?Subhanallah,5 He cannot die! That is partof His glory. There is no need for thesecharades. He can simply forgive from His throne.

“But how can Allah be just if He‘simply forgives’ arbitrarily? God is notarbitrary. He is absolutely just. Howwould He be just if He forgave arbitrarily?No, He cannot ‘just forgive us if Hechooses.’ The penalty for my sins must be paid.”

Rising from the ground and sittingon my heels, I recited the takbir.

Allah-hu-akbar.God is great.

“God, I know that You are great in reality, but some of what the Holy Quranteaches is far from great. I am having avery difficult time understanding it,Allah. Please, have mercy on me. I don’tmean to doubt You, and I ask for Yourmercy on my lack of knowledge andunderstanding. Please, Allah, may all thisdoubt not anger You. I must have misun-derstood something, but there’s no wayYou, being good and loving, would havegiven some of the commands found inthe Quran. I have found so much violenceand contempt in its pages, the pages of abook I have read and loved every daybecause it is Your word.

“But maybe You are showing me thatthe Quran is not Your word after all? Somuch of what I’ve been taught about ithas turned out to be false. I was taughtthat it has never been changed, but hadithand history show that it has. I was taughtthat it has supernatural knowledge of science and the future, but when I askedYou to help me see it with my own eyes, Icould find none. So much that I thoughtI knew about the Quran simply is not

true. Is it really Your book? O Allah, havemercy on me.

“Who are You?”

At-tahiyyatu lillahi, was-salawatuwat-tayyibatu. As salamu ‘alaykaayyuha n-nabiyyu wa rahmatullahi wabarakatuh. As salamu ‘alayna wa-’ala‘ibadi llahi salihin.All compliments, prayers, and goodthings are due to Allah. Allah’speace be upon you, O Prophet, andHis mercy and blessings. Peace beon us and on all righteous servantsof Allah.

“I praise You, Allah. All homage iscertainly due to You. But there is so muchI do not understand. Why am I speakingto Muhammad (SAW) in my prayer? Hecannot hear me. He is dead! I should notbe praying to any man, even if it is theProphet. And why am I wishing peaceupon him? I am not his intercessor. Iknow these words were first recited whenhe was alive, but why does Your greatestprophet need anyone to pray peace overhim? Could You not have given himassurance and peace? If he cannot havepeace and assurance as the Prophet, whathope is there for me?”

Following the traditions of theProphet and the guidance of my parents,I pointed my forefinger skyward whilereciting the proclamation:

Ashhadu alla ilaha illa llahu wa ashhadu anna Muhammadan ‘abduhuwa-rasuluh.I bear witness that there is noneworthy of worship except Allah, andI bear witness that Muhammad isHis servant and messenger.

“O Allah, have mercy on me. How can Ibear witness that Muhammad (SAW) isYour messenger? It used to be so easy!Ammi taught me to love Muhammad(SAW) because he was the greatest man

Dr. Nabeel Qureshi

is is a member of thespeaking team atRavi ZachariasInternationalMinistries. He holdsan MD from EasternVirginia MedicalSchool, an MA inChristian Apologeticsfrom Biola University,and an MA fromDuke University inReligion.


who ever lived, and there was no closesecond. She taught me that his generositywas abundant, his mercy was incompara-ble, and his love for mankind was beyondmeasure. I was taught that he wouldnever wage war unless he was defendingthe ummah,6 and that he fought to elevatethe status of women and the downtrod-den. He was the perfect military leader;he was the ultimate statesman; and hewas the exemplary follower of Allah. Hewas al-Insan al-Kamil, the perfect man.He was Rahmatu-lil alameen, God’s mercypersonified for all the world. It was easyto bear witness that such a man is RasulAllah, the messenger of God.

“But now I know the truth abouthim, and there’s too much to sweepunder the rug. I know about his first revelation, his raids on caravans, his childbride, his marriage to Zainab, the blackmagic cast upon him, his poisoning, hisassassinations, his tortures, and…”

My thoughts slowed as they arrivedat the one issue that I simply could notoverlook. “And how could Muhammad(SAW), my beloved Prophet, haveallowed … that?”

Awash in empathy, my mind drifted fromthe prayers. I was still grappling with whatI had come across while investigating theQuran. How could he? I envisioned thehorror from the vantage point of the victims. What if that had been my family?Where was the Prophet’s famed mercy?

I imagined that I was there, under the red sky of the desert, at that

very moment. Anger quickly swelledwithin me as I surveyed the ruins of mypeople. Blood and death. A few youngsoldiers hungrily made their way throughthe corpses and approached Muhammad.They made their barbarous desires

known and asked Muhammad for hisguidance. Muhammad’s face flushed andbegan perspiring. He was receiving reve-lation from Allah.7 When he announcedit to his soldiers, an evil glee spread acrosstheir faces. They disappeared into theirtents, eager to proceed. Allah had sanc-tioned their activities. For a moment, alllay calm.

Suddenly, an unbearable noisepierced the desert sky and my soul.

It was my mother, screaming.My eyes shot open as I snapped

back to reality. I was still in the mosque,still praying the salaat. My overwhelmingrevulsion toward Muhammad suddenlymet with immediate contrition. I hadbeen impudent before Allah. Muhammadwas still my Prophet. I still swore allegianceto him. I had gone too far.

How could I continue like this?Astaghfirullah.8

Quickly, I finished the rest of theritual prayers, ending by turning my headto the right and the left:

Assalaamo alaikum wa rahmutallah.The peace and mercy of Allah beupon you.

After a pause, I let my face fall intomy hands. Tears blurred my sight. The ritual prayers had ended, and now it wastime for my heart’s prayer.

“God, I want Your peace. Pleasehave mercy on me and give me the peaceof knowing You. I don’t know who Youare anymore, but I know that You are allthat matters. You created this world; Yougive it meaning; and either You define itspurpose or it has none.

“Please, God Almighty, tell me whoYou are! I beseech You and only You.Only You can rescue me. At Your feet, Ilay down everything I have learned, and I give my entire life to You. Take awaywhat You will, be it my joy, my friends,my family, or even my life. But let mehave You, O God.

So much that I thought I knew

about the Quran simply is not true.


“Light the path that I must walk. I don’t care how many hurdles are in theway, how many pits I must jump over orclimb out of, or how many thorns I muststep through. Guide me on the rightpath. If it is Islam, show me how it istrue! If it is Christianity, give me eyes tosee! Just show me which path is Yours,dear God, so I can walk it.”

Although I did not know it, that peaceand mercy of God which I desperatelyasked for would soon fall upon me. He wasabout to give me supernatural guidancethrough dreams and visions, forever chang-ing my heart and the course of my life.

PRAYERS OF MY FATHERSAt dawn across the Islamic world,sonorous voices usher the sun over thehorizon. The core beliefs of Muslims arerepeatedly proclaimed from rooftopsand minarets, beginning with the takbir:

Allah-hu-akbar!Ashado an-la illaha il-Allah!Ashado an-na Muhammad-ur-RasoolAllah!Allah is Great!I bear witness that there is no godbut Allah!I bear witness that Muhammad isthe messenger of Allah!

It is the start of the adhan, the callto prayer. The call reminds Muslims todedicate their lives to Allah the verymoment they awaken. From memorizedoccasional prayers to elaborate daily rituals, devout Muslims are steeped inremembrance of Allah and performanceof Islamic traditions. The adhan calls theMuslims, resonates within them, ralliesthem, and brings them together in unified prostration before Allah.

To the alien observer, it might seemthat the adhan is the very thing thatrends the night sky, separating dark fromday, infusing life into the Muslim landsand people.

It is no surprise, then, that Muslimsuse the adhan not just to awaken oneanother for the day but also to awaken oneanother into life. It is a hadith, a traditionof the prophet Muhammad, that everyMuslim child should hear the adhan atbirth. When I was born, my father softlyspoke the adhan into my ear, echoingthe words that his father had whisperedto him twenty-eight years earlier. Theywere the first words ever spoken to me,in accordance with tradition.

My family has always paid particularattention to following the hadith. We areQureshi, after all, and the Qureshi are thetribe of Muhammad. When I was oldenough to realize the prestige of ourname, I asked my father if we inherited itfrom the Prophet.

“Abba, are we the real Qureshi, likeMuhammad (SAW)?”

He said, “Jee mera beyta,” Urdu for“Yes, my son.” “Muhammad (SAW) hadno sons who survived childhood, but weare descendants of Hazrat Umar.” Umarwas one of the four khalifas, the menthat Sunnis consider the divinely guidedsuccessors of Muhammad. Our lineagewas noble indeed; it’s no wonder myfamily was proud of our heritage.

When my father left Pakistan in the1970s, love for his family and heritage washis motivation. He was driven to providea better life for his parents and siblings.When he came to the United States, hejoined the navy at the instruction of hisolder brother. As a seaman, he sentmoney from every paycheck back home,even when it was all he had. It would bea few years before he briefly returned toPakistan, once his marriage to my motherhad been arranged.

Ammi, my mother, had also lived alife devoted to her family and her reli-gion. She was the daughter of a Muslimmissionary. Her father, whom I calledNana Abu, had moved to Indonesia withher mother, Nani Ammi, shortly after


their marriage to invite people to Islam.It was there that my mother was born,followed by her three sisters. With NaniAmmi working to help support the fami-ly and Nana Abu often absent on mission,my mother had a large role in raising heryounger siblings and teaching them theway of Islam.

At the age of ten, Ammi returnedto Pakistan with her siblings and NaniAmmi. The community received herfamily with great respect for dutifullyperforming the call of missionaries.Since Nana Abu was still an active missionary in Indonesia and returned to Pakistan only on furlough, Ammi’scaretaking role in the home intensified.Ultimately she had five siblings to manage and care for, so although shegraduated at the top of her undergradu-ate class and was offered a scholarshipfor medical school, she declined theoffer. Nani Ammi needed the help athome, since she invested much of herday volunteering as a secretary at thelocal jamaat offices. (Jamaat is the Arabicword for assembly, usually used to mean“group” or “denomination.”)

Nani Ammi herself had spent virtually all her life sacrificing in the wayof Islam. Not only was she the wife of amissionary but, like Ammi, she had also

been the child of a missionary. She wasborn in Uganda, where her father servedas a physician while calling people toIslam. Raised as a missionary child, tran-sitioning into the role of missionary wife,and living her last able years serving thejamaat, she had garnered great respectand prestige from the community.Through it all, Nani Ammi was perhapsAmmi’s greatest role model, and Ammiwanted nothing more than to carry on thelegacy through a family of her own.

And so, though I did not know it at

the time, the man who whispered theadhan into my ears was a self-sacrificial,loving man who bore the noble name ofQureshi. The woman who looked on wasa daughter of missionaries, an experiencedcaretaker with an ardent desire to serveIslam. I was their second child, their first-born son. They were calling me to prayer.

A COMMUNITY OF FOURAs I grew, I felt like my family and I never really fit in with the people aroundus. I have always felt disheartened think-ing about it. Aside from the Islamic traditionalism, my life was a mix of1980s cartoons, plastic toys, and tempertantrums. I should have fit in with theother boys just fine. Unfortunately, people are afraid of what they do notknow, and my Muslim heritage was adeterrent for many would-be friends and their families. I was very lonely.

What made it even worse was thatthe navy moved my family fairly regularly.We never had time to develop any roots.Most of my early memories are snapshotsof either moving out of a house, travelingto a new one, or settling in and learningto call a new place “home.” But thesememories are still dear to me, and I vividly remember, for instance, our movewhen it was time to leave Virginia.

As strangers took our furniture, Istood by the screen door on the frontporch crying. I cried inconsolably, notunderstanding who these men were orwhat I had done to deserve this fate, butAmmi was there to comfort me. True, shechuckled at times, and I do remembersome teasing when my favorite chair wastaken away by a stranger. But I alsoremember her consoling caress and hercomforting voice.

“Kya baat hai?” she asked, as shetook my face into her hands and drew it

My Muslim heritage was a deterrent for many

would-be friends and their families. I was very lonely.


THE PERFECT BOOKy the time I arrived in

Scotland, I had notyet learned Englishwell. We always spoke

Urdu at home, and if we were going

to learn anyscript, it wouldbe Arabic. The

reason for thiswas simple: the

Quran was written in Arabic, and it was imperative that Bajiand I learn to recite it.

Muslims believe that every singleword of the Quran was dictated verbatimby Allah, through the Archangel Gabriel,to Muhammad. The Quran is thereforenot only inspired at the level of meaningbut at the deeper level of the wordsthemselves. For this reason, Muslims donot consider the Quran translatable. If itis rendered in any language other thanArabic, it is not Quran but rather aninterpretation of the Quran. A book canbe a true Quran only if written in Arabic.

This is why it is such an importantbelief for Muslims that the Quran hasalways been exactly the same—word forword, dot for dot. Imams and teachersregularly declare that the Quran was perfectly preserved, unchanged from the moment Muhammad heard it fromGabriel and dictated it to his scribes. Of course, Muhammad had nothing to do with composing the Quran; he wassimply the conduit of its revelation tomankind, and he dutifully preserved itsexact form. Had he not, and had thewords been even slightly altered, theQuran would be irretrievably lost. Butsuch a tainting of the words was unfath-omable; no one doubted the perfecttransmission of the Quran. The wordsmust be perfect.

In fact, the emphasis on the wordsthemselves leads many Muslims to neglect the meaning of those words.Muslims who recite the Quran regularly

close in embrace. “Kya baat hai, merabeyta?” “What’s the matter, my son?”

“They took the chair! The one withstrawberries!”

“And is the chair more important toyou than your Ammi? I’m still here. Andso are Abba and Baji. Allah has given youeverything! What more do you need,Billoo?” Billoo was the nickname thatonly my parents used for me, and theyused it specifically when they wanted toexpress their love. They rarely said “I loveyou” directly; that is too crass for tradi-tional Pakistani ears. Love is implicit andunderstood, expressed through provisionby the parents and obeisance by children.

That implicitness is one reason why a child’s obedience is paramount inMuslim culture. In my teen years, Ammiwould often reprimand my obstinacy bysaying, “What good is it to tell me youlove me when you don’t do what I say?”Later still, when I was considering fol-lowing Jesus, I knew I was contemplatingthe one choice that would be far andaway the greatest disobedience. Not onlywould my parents feel betrayed, theywould be utterly heartbroken.

But at the sheltered age of four,heartbreak and family strife were the farthest things from my mind. I justwanted my strawberry chair back.

When everything was packed and wewere ready for our journey, Abba gatheredthe family and said, “Let’s pray.” I raised mycupped hands to waist level, copying Ammiand Abba. We all prayed silently, askingAllah for a safe and swift journey.

When we finally arrived at Abba’snew duty station, we were in Dunoon,Scotland. Looking back, I still feel likeDunoon was my first real home. It wasn’tthat I built any friendships at school orthat I knew many boys in the neighbor-hood—even the strawberry chair wentmissing in the move—it was that I grewcloser with my family and deeper in myfaith during those years. I had my Ammi,Abba, and Baji. I did not need anythingbesides them.


are regarded as pious, whereas Muslimswho only contemplate the meaning of theQuran are regarded as learned. Piety isthe greater honor, and most Muslims Iknew growing up could recite many chapters of the Quran from memory, butrarely could they explain the meaning orcontext of those verses.

Ammi had it in mind to teach usboth the recitation of the Quran and thetranslations, but recitation was first. Everyday as far back as I can remember, Ammiwould put a traditional Muslim skullcapon my head, sit me down beside her, andteach me to read Arabic. We began with abook called al-Qaeda, “the Guide.” Ittaught us Arabic letters in their variousforms with their respective sounds. Rightafter moving to Scotland, I “graduated”from the Qaeda to the Quran.

I remember that moment vividlybecause my momentary elation was cur-tailed by horror. After finishing the lastpage of the Qaeda, Ammi reached nextto her, picked up a Quran, and presentedit to me. It was my Quran, the very firstbook I was ever given.

Thrilled, I ran to Baji to show it toher. Baji was playing on the floor nearAmmi and Abba’s room, so I got downnext to her, placed the Quran on theground, and opened the front cover toshow her my name.

All of a sudden, I heard Ammi emita heart-stopping scream while running inmy direction. “Nabeel!” I was too shockedto respond. I had never heard her scream

like that, nor had I ever seen her run. In aflash she picked up the Quran. “Never putthe Quran on the ground!”

“Okay.”“Always raise it high. Put it in the

most honored place, wash your handsbefore touching it, and only touch it withyour right hand. This is not just any book,it is the word of Allah. Treat it with therespect He deserves!”

“Okay.”“Jao, go.” She was deeply disturbed,

and I did not hesitate to leave.From then on, whenever I carried

the Quran, I raised it high. Baji alsolearned from my mistake, so the nexttime Ammi called us to read the Qurantogether, we came holding our Qurans ashigh above our heads as we could, armsfully outstretched. Ammi was smiling.This was not exactly what she meant, butshe was pleased.

Baji was the elder, so she went first.Ammi pointed to each word Baji was toread, slowly moving her finger across thepage from right to left. Baji was not somuch reading the words as singing them.We were taught to read the Quranmelodically, making the sound of therecitation as beautiful as possible. Somemen dedicate their lives to this practice,perfecting their pitch, tempo, pronuncia-tion, and melody.

But Baji and I were no experts. Shehad a few years’ head start on me, and shehad only just learned to recite the Quranacceptably. When she finished, it was myturn. I had never read the Quran before,and I was terribly excited.

“Billoo, what do we recite before we start anything?”

“Bismillah-ir-Rahman ar-Raheem.”“And what does that mean?”“In the name of God, the Most

Gracious, Most Merciful.”“Why do we recite this prayer?”“So that we remember everything

belongs to Allah, and so that we do onlygood things.”

Muslims who recite the Quran

regularly are regarded as pious,

whereas Muslims who only

contemplate the meaning of the

Quran are regarded as learned.

Piety is the greater honor.


“Shabash, good job. Do you knowwhere this prayer comes from?”

“No.”“It is found at the beginning of

every surah in the Quran.”“Every surah?”“Every surah except one.”“Why did Allah leave it out of one

surah, Ammi?”“Allah was very upset with people in

that surah, beyta, so He didn’t give us theblessing of the bismillah there. But Heloves us very much, so He put an extraone into another surah. And how manysurahs are there?”

“114.”“Shabash. And you will read them

all soon, inshallah. Baji finished the Quranwhen she turned seven, and I want you todo it by the time you are six. Let’s go.”

As the days progressed, I becameincreasingly familiar with the Quran. I learned that there were two ways theQuran was divided: one was into 114chapters, and the other was into thirtyparts. The latter is a system that Muslimsdevised long after the Quran was com-piled, mainly so that the entire Qurancould be easily recited during the thirtydays of Ramadhan. But the thirty partswere important to me for another reason:whenever I finished one, Ammi boughtme a congratulatory gift. The Mario Bros.trash can was my favorite.

By the time I reached an acceptablepace, Ammi and I had developed a rhythm.We would sit down with my Quran, openit to the last page we had read, and Ammiwould point to my ending spot for thatday. For some reason I preferred to reciteexactly eighteen verses. If Ammi pickedmore for the day, I would complain, andif she picked less, I would consider read-ing a few extra to make her happy.

And so the days went on. I ulti-mately finished the Quran just before I turned six, much to Ammi’s delight.Concurrently, Ammi had helped me

memorize the last seven surahs to reciteduring the daily prayers. My favorite wasSurat al-Ikhlas, number 112, because itwas short, melodic, and memorable. Plusit was the first surah I memorized, and I repeated it many times a day duringsalaat. It was one of Ammi’s favoritechapters as well but for a different reason: in a hadith, Muhammad told hiscompanions that Surat al-Ikhlas is soweighty and consequential that recitingit is like reciting one third of the wholeQuran in one sitting.

What was the message thatMuhammad considered so important?Essentially this: God is not a father, andHe has no son.

* * * *TESTING THE NEW TESTAMENTMy lips continued to pray in sajda while mymind relentlessly fought with itself….

BECOMING BROTHERSThere is a simple reason I never listenedto street preachers: they didn’t seem to care about me. It wasn’t that theywere annoying. I found their passionadmirable, and I appreciated people who stood up for what they believed.Rather, it was that they treated me likean object of their agenda. Did they haveany idea how their message would impactmy life? Did they even care?

Sure, there are street preachers whoshare their message while still greetingpeople kindly, getting to know others’troubles, and praying over personal pains,but I never saw them. What I saw weremen who would stand on street cornersaccosting the public with their beliefs.No doubt they reached a few, but theyrepelled many more.

Unfortunately, I have found thatmany Christians think of evangelism thesame way, foisting Christian beliefs onstrangers in chance encounters. Theproblem with this approach is that the


gospel requires a radical life change, andnot many people are about to listen tostrangers telling them to change the way they live. What do they know aboutothers’ lives?

On the other hand, if a true friendshares the exact same message withheartfelt sincerity, speaking to specificcircumstances and struggles, then themessage is heard loud and clear.

Effective evangelism requires rela-tionships. There are very few exceptions.

In my case, I knew of no Christianwho truly cared about me, no one whohad been a part of my life through thickand thin. I had plenty of Christianacquaintances, and I’m sure they wouldhave been my friends if I had become aChristian, but that kind of friendship isconditional. There were none that I knewwho cared about me unconditionally.Since no Christian cared about me, I didnot care about their message.

But that was about to change.It took a few weeks after 9/11 for life

to regain a semblance of normalcy. Bajiand I started attending classes again, Abbawas back at work, and Ammi felt safeenough to run errands. Although Islamwas in the hot seat on the news and a general mistrust of Muslims still hung inthe air, the wave of emotional attacks wasnot as bad as we had expected. True, ourcommunity mosque was vandalized, andwe frequently heard of anti-Muslim senti-ments, but we knew of no physical attacksagainst Muslims. We felt safe to return toour lives, and not a moment too soon.

The first forensics tournament ofthe year was upon us. Unlike the tourna-ments in high school, collegiate forensicstournaments were multiday affairs, oftenin other states. Our team’s first tourna-ment was slated for West Chester,Pennsylvania.

On the day of our departure, Ammidecided to drive me to ODU so she couldsee me off. When we arrived at the

Batten Arts and Letters Building, one ofthe other students on the forensics teamcame out to greet us. I had spoken withhim a few times at practice, but we werestill getting to know each other. He rushedover to us and starting helping with mybags while introducing himself to Ammi.

“Hi, Mrs. Qureshi. I’m David Wood.”Ammi was glad to meet someone

from the team before sending me off towho-knows-where. “Hello, David, verynice to meet you. Are you going withNabeel on this trip?”

“Yeah. He told me you might beconcerned, but we’ll take good care ofhim. Don’t worry.”

Nothing David could have saidwould have made Ammi happier.“Nabeel, I can tell this is a good boy. Stayclose to him!”

“Acha, Ammi, I will.”“Keep your phone on you, okay

Nabeel? Call me when you get to thehotel so I know you’re safe and so youcan give me your hotel room number.”

“Acha, Ammi, I will. I’ll be okay.Don’t worry.”

Telling Ammi not to worry was liketelling her not to breath, so she justignored me. “And don’t forget to callAbba, too, so he knows you’re okay.”

“Acha, Ammi!”Ammi then looked to David.

“Remind Nabeel to call us. He’s very forgetful.”

David couldn’t hide his smile. “I’llmake sure of it!”

Ammi was finally satisfied. “Thankyou, David. I’m so glad I got to meet oneof Nabeel’s friends. After the trip, youshould come over to our house for a meal.I’ll cook you real Pakistani food.”

There was no hesitation in David’svoice. “You don’t have to say that twice.Thanks, Mrs. Qureshi!”

“Okay boys, have fun. Be good!Nabeel, call me. And don’t forget to praythe salaat!”


same height—six feet, three inches—butI had dark skin and black hair, whileDavid had light skin and blond hair. I wasa slender 175 pounds, while David easilyhad forty pounds of muscle over me. Iwas very meticulous with my appearanceand image, while David preferred jeansand T-shirts. I had a pampered child-hood, while David came out of trailerparks and a gritty past.

But what I did not know aboutDavid was to be the starkest contrast ofall. David was a Christian with strongconvictions who had spent the previousfive years of his life studying the Bibleand learning to follow Jesus. Even thoughthe gospel was his passion, he did notbombard me with his beliefs straight-away. The discussions arose much morenaturally, after we became friends, and inthe context of a life lived together. Infact, I was the one who brought it up.

OPENING MY EYES… So the night continued in lightheartedfrivolity. When we finally made it to thehotel, our coach told us there were tworooms to be shared among the four guyson the trip. It was a no-brainer for us, and before long, David and I were gettingsettled.

The rest of the team wanted to goout and celebrate. Most members left togo drinking or dancing at a nearby bar,while some of the others went lookingfor a suitable place to smoke variousthings. I had never engaged in any ofthese activities, and I was not looking tostart. David also decided against joiningthem, which intrigued me. I wonderedwhat made him different from the rest ofthe team and more like me.

Ammi took my face in both herhands and kissed me on the cheek, just asshe used to do when I was four years old,except now I was the one bending over.David was almost beside himself withrepressed glee, expecting me to beembarrassed by Ammi’s show of affec-tion. But this was normal for our family,and I rather enjoyed receiving this muchlove from her.

As she started to get back in the car,she called out a traditional Pakistani vale-diction. “Khuda hafiz, beyta.” May Godprotect you.

“Khuda hafiz, Ammi. Love you.”As she drove out of the parking lot,

David just stared at me, a comical smilepainted on his face.

“What?”“Oh, nothing, nothing. She does

know you’ll only be gone for three days,right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t leave home veryoften.” I picked up some bags and startedwalking into the building to meet ourteam.

“Uh-huh.” David picked up the restof the bags and followed, his silly smileunrelenting. “Hey, you know what? It’sbeen a while since you talked to yourmother. You really should call her.”

I stopped and glared at David, thenturned around and looked out at themain road. Ammi was still there, waitingat a red light to take a left turn. She waswatching us walk into the building.

Out of playful spite, I turned backto David and said, “You know what? Iwill. Thanks, David, for your heartfeltconcern about my relationship with mymother.” I pulled out my cell phone andcalled Ammi. David chuckled to himself.

And so our friendship was off to aflying start, skipping right past theniceties and straight into brotherly teas-ing. In the days to come, many wouldcomment that David and I were foils ofone another. We were both exactly the

Effective evangelism requires

relationships. There are very

few exceptions.


I did not have to wait long to find out.While I was unpacking, David sat

down in an armchair in the corner of theroom and kicked up his feet. He pulledout his Bible and started reading.

It’s difficult to express just howflabbergasted I was by this. Never in mylife had I seen anyone read a Bible in hisfree time. In fact, I had not even heard ofthis happening. True, I knew Christiansrevered the Bible, but I figured they allknew in their hearts that it had beenchanged over time and that there was nopoint in reading it.

So in the same moment I found outDavid was a Christian, I also concludedthat he must be especially deluded. Sincethere were no barriers between us, I justasked him.

“So, David,” I began, still unpack-ing my clothes. “Are you a … hard-coreChristian?”

David looked amused. “Yeah, Iguess I am.”

“You do realize that the Bible is corrupt, right?”

“Oh yeah?”“Yeah. It’s been changed over time.

Everyone knows that.”David looked unconvinced but

genuinely interested in what I had to say.“How’s that?”

“Well, it’s obvious. For one, justlook at how many Bibles there are. You’vegot the King James Version, the NewInternational Version, the RevisedStandard Version, the New AmericanStandard Bible, the English StandardVersion, and who knows how many oth-ers. If I want to know exactly what Godsaid, how am I supposed to know whichBible to go to? They are all different.”

“Okay. Is that the only reason youthink the Bible isn’t trustworthy?”

David’s calm and controlled response wassurprising. People were usually caughtmore off guard.

“No, there are tons of reasons.”“Well, I’m listening.”Breaking away from my suitcase, I

collected my thoughts. “There have beentimes when Christians take out wholesections of the Bible that they don’t wantanymore, and they add stuff that theywish were there.”

“Like what?”“I don’t know the exact references,

but I know that they added the Trinityinto the Bible. Later, when they werecalled out, they removed it.”

“Oh, I know what you’re talkingabout. You’re talking about first John five.”

I had no idea what “first John five”meant, but I practically jumped him foradmitting the flaw. “So you’ve known allalong!”

“I know what you’re referring to,but I don’t think you’re seeing it right.”

“How am I not seeing it right?”“It’s not that Christians are just

adding and removing things, as if there issome grand conspiracy with people con-trolling the text of the Bible. I mean, let’sjust imagine for a second that someonedid want to add stuff. Do you think hecould just change all the Bibles in theworld?”

“Well, maybe not all,” I admitted,approaching my bed and sitting acrossfrom David, “but enough.”

“Enough to what?”“Enough to effectively change

the text.”He looked unimpressed. “Nabeel,

are you telling me that Christians theworld over would just let someonechange their holy texts … and that thismassive change would not be recordedanywhere in history? Come on.”

“Not the world over, but I canimagine someone getting away with thatin a specific region.”

Where did he get this information?

Why hadn’t I heard it before?


“So you agree, then, that if therewere an interpolation in a specific region,we would find copies of the Bible withoutthat interpolation elsewhere in the world?”

“I guess so.”“Well, there you have it,” he said

with an air of finality. “That explains themultiple versions of the Bible and theissue with first John five.”

“Umm, what?” I felt as if I had beenplaying a game of chess with David, andhe had unexpectedly declared “checkmate.”

“The fact that there are manuscriptsof the Bible all over the world means wecan compare them and see where changeshave been introduced. It’s a field of biblical study called ‘textual criticism.’ Ifanything is changed, like the verse aboutthe Trinity in first John five, then we caneasily find the alteration by comparing it to other manuscripts. That explains the major differences between variousversions of the Bible. But don’t get thewrong idea; there are only a handful ofmajor differences between them.”

“What about all the minor differences?”

“Well those are just stylistic differences in translation, for the mostpart. There are different translations ofthe Quran, aren’t there?”

“Yeah, but they’re all using theArabic text to translate, not foreign lan-guage transmissions.”

“Well, it’s the same with the Bible.Most of the differences between Bibleversions are just matters of translation,not the underlying Hebrew or Greek.”

I let all this new information sinkin, and I looked at David in a new light.Where did he get all this information?Why hadn’t I heard it before? I found itall hard to believe.

My incredulity won out. “David, Idon’t believe you. I’ve got to see this formyself.”

He laughed. “Good! You’d be lettingme down if you didn’t look into this

further. But if you’re gonna do this right,you better bring it!”

I got up and started walking backtoward my suitcase. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s been brought.”

After I finished unpacking, wefocused on final preparations for thetournament. All the while, I kept think-ing about our conversation. I was stillfully convinced that the Bible was corrupt, but I had to deal with more advancedarguments than I had previously heard. I was excited to return home and divemore deeply into these matters.

Nabeel Qureshi is a member of the speakingteam at Ravi Zacharias InternationalMinistries.

1 This symbol represents the Arabic phrase sall Alaahu ‘alay-hi wa-sallam, which means“peace and blessings of Allah be upon him,” a standard Muslim formula after mentioningthe name of Muhammad.

2 This formula, subhanahu wata ‘ala, is oftenrepeated after the name of Allah, meaning “glorified and exalted.”

3 A common Muslim formula meaning “I seek refuge in Allah,” it is verbalized aftersomething dishonorable, blasphemous, or otherwise negative is stated or suggested.

4 In mainstream Islam, it is commonly understood that Allah has ninety-nine names.These are two, translated “the forgiver” and“the merciful” respectively.

5 A very common formula meaning “glory be toAllah,” it is often exclaimed whenever goodnews is heard or something positive is stated.

6 An Arabic term meaning “community,”referring to all Muslims.

7 Sahih al-Bukhari 6.61.508: “the DivineInspiration descended upon him… .The Prophet’s face was red and he kept onbreathing heavily for a while and then he was relieved.” See also Sahih al-Muslim 5763:“Allah’s Apostle sweated in cold weather when revelation descended upon him.”

8 A common formula of repentance meaning “I seek forgiveness from Allah.”

For the Sake of the Electby Ruth Malhotra

I am often asked, “What is the biggestlesson you learned from the campaigntrail?” To many people’s surprise, itwasn’t about technology or turnout or demographics or economics. It was this: People need Jesus.

[ t r u e c i t i z e n s h i p ]


When I first came to RZIM, I had the privilege of meetingwith Ravi Zacharias and found myself in a wide-rangingconversation with him about everything from Indian culture to American politics. As we discussed the state ofour country, I described my previous involvement in thepolitical arena and offered my perspective on the 2012elections. Ravi then asked me two questions: “Do youbelieve you are being called away from politics as a profession at this time?” and “Do you think your backgroundand experiences have prepared you for this position?” Myanswer to both questions was “yes.” Here’s why.

It was just a month after the November2012 election. I was sitting in a conference room at a gathering ofinfluential political leaders and

conservative grassroots activists fromaround the country. We had come togetherto commiserate over the recent electiondefeat, share lessons learned from thecampaign trail, and exchange strategiesand ideas for the future as we assessedthe state of our country.

I had been invited to give a presen-tation on “Outreach to Millennials:Targeting Young Voters While Harness-ing New Technology.”

Leaders in the conservative move-ment were rightly concerned about theyouth vote, as both exit polling anddemographic research indicated that anincreasing number of young people were

not voting our way, were departing fromtraditional moral values, and lacked abasic understanding of fiscal and socialresponsibility.

Organizers had asked me to tacklequestions such as, “How can we reachthe younger generation with our message?”“How can we better appeal to them tovote based on biblical values?” “Whatare some examples of effective market-ing techniques?”

I had planned to show a sophisti-cated PowerPoint demonstrating the latest trends and technology ideas. I was all prepared to talk about creatingsmartphone apps and infographics andutilizing social media and other creativecommunication methods to tell storiesand illustrate statistics.


to share… and I even got a few “amens”from the crowd. It was in this momentthat I knew God was calling me out ofpartisan politics for the next season ofmy life and into something that wouldaddress the more fundamental questionsand challenges of our day—and the needsand longings of every human heart.

THE DEEPER ISSUEI am often asked, “What is the biggestlesson you learned from the campaigntrail?” To many people’s surprise, it wasn’t about technology or turnout ordemographics or economics.

It was this: People need Jesus. It sounds so simple, perhaps even

simplistic. But in every state and city andcommunity I visited during election season,that was the one common denominator.

My political adventures and campaign travels took

me across the country to places and people I never thought I’d encounter… from Boston and Denver to Detroit and Chicago.

By far, the most timeI spent outside my home

state of Georgia was in theswing states of Florida and Ohio,

during the final months of the 2012campaign.

While in Florida, I spent significanttime in West Palm Beach and Boca Raton,visiting some of the most picturesque andaffluent areas I’ve ever seen. I met peoplewho admittedly had more money thanthey knew what to do with, wealthyretirees who had worked hard all theirlives and now seemed to have every imaginable material pleasure. But far too many of them were lacking a senseof life purpose, and oftentimes theirrestless conversations focused on deepregrets about their past or uncertaintiesabout their future. In the midst of askingthem to “max out” and write big checks

But in the back of my mind, I knewnone of this was the answer. In fact, Iwasn’t even sure we were asking the rightquestions. So just an hour before my pres-entation, I scrapped the entire plan andinstead scrambled together a few quickslides from a completely different angle.

Instead of focusing on turnout andtechnology, I emphasized worldview andbelief system. Instead of talking aboutelection exit polling, I talked about howso many young people are exiting thechurch during their college years. Insteadof quoting politicians and pollsters, Iquoted pastors and seminary professors.In fact, I started my presentation byquoting Dr. Al Mohler’s column fromthe day after the 2012 election, where he contended, “We face a worldviewchallenge that is far greater than anypolitical challenge, as we mustlearn how to winsomely convince Americans to shareour moral convictions.”1

You see, throughoutthe campaign season therewas so much talk about“voting your biblical values,”“making moral decisions,”and “following Judeo-Christianprinciples.” But how can weexpect people to “vote their values” whenthey can’t even define what those valuesare, and they struggle to articulate whatthey believe and why they believe it?

And instead of focusing so much on how to creatively market our message,shouldn’t we be focusing more on devel-oping core values and instilling a truthcompass? Don’t we need to cultivatemoral convictions before trying to tacklesurface actions?

Unless we focus on that first and getit right, I told the audience, no amount oftechnology or turnout efforts will help.

That wasn’t the presentation I wasplanning to give to a group of politicalleaders, but it was the one I felt compelled



to our candidates, all I could think ofwas this: these precious people needJesus. They needed to know that therewas a God who could give them meaningat every stage in life, that their identitywas so much more than their previousprofessional titles, that they could investtheir resources in things of eternal value.

I often thought about G.K.Chesterton’s observation that meaning-lessness does not come from being wearyof pain; rather, meaninglessness comesfrom being weary of pleasure. And I sawtoo much evidence of this along the trail.

From pristine Palm Beach GardensI was sent to Akron, Ohio, for the finalweeks leading up to the election. In whatwas a drastic change of scenery, I spentthe next several days in Akron’s industrialareas and Canton’s underdevelopedneighborhoods where I met one personafter another who was one step awayfrom bankruptcy. I talked to young singlemoms who were working three hourlyjobs and concerned about keeping theheat on in their homes, older men whowere struggling to pay their child supportand put gas in their cars at the same time.Yes, some of these people had made baddecisions early in their lives and werenow faced with the consequences, butmy heart broke for them.

Here we were, trying to convincethem to vote for our candidates, the guys

who we said would fix the economy andcreate jobs. And while I truly believed inour team and our message, I felt evenmore strongly that in that moment, whatthese struggling people needed most wasJesus. They needed to know that therewas a God who forgave and could redeemtheir past, a God who was bigger thanthe environment in which they felttrapped, a God who was powerful enoughto provide for their physical and spiritualneeds. And no political party or electedofficial could give them that assurance.

THE ONLY TRUE HOPEWe are living in a culture without a compass right now. In each segment ofsociety, we see people wandering withoutdirection. At the same time, leaders inevery arena—from government andmedia to education and entertainment,and, sadly, even in some churches—areincreasingly advancing a message thatdownplays personal responsibility andemphasizes moral relativism, ignoringlife’s fundamental questions and insteadfocusing on superficial solutions.

We can talk about the sanctity oflife and marriage, and we must. But totruly create a culture of life and family,shouldn’t we first approach these issuesat a deeper level, convincing people oflife’s origin and destiny, of meaning andpurpose and design?

That wasn’t the presentation I was planning to give to a group of

political leaders, but it was the one I felt compelled to share … and

I even got a few “amens” from the crowd. It was in this moment

that I knew God was calling me out of partisan politics for the

next season of my life and into something that would address the

more fundamental questions and challenges of our day–and the

needs and longings of every human heart.

on the campaign trail. As the church, andas individuals, we must focus on founda-tional elements first before expectingpeople to agree with us on policies orcandidates.

We know that the only true hope isfound in Jesus Christ and Him alone. Andhis name is the one our country—and ourworld—needs to hear. All the public poli-cy initiatives we promote and activismcauses we engage in are important, andindeed can be an effective avenue for promoting biblical principles and sharingChrist with others in direct and indirectways. However, ultimately we know government is not the answer to people’sdeepest need. We must never forget that,and our own passions and priorities mustreflect this knowledge.

THE LENS OF ETERNITYI still believe in America. I am incrediblygrateful for the countless ways God hasblessed this great land, and humbled thatHe has providentially allowed me to callAmerica my home. But more than that, I believe in the One who created the universe and holds eternity in his hands,and I want to commit myself anew to living with an eternal perspective andtaking his redemptive message to a worldthat needs a Savior.

Over the past ten years God openeddoors for me in government where I


We can fight for religious libertyand free speech, and a personal passion of mine, academic freedom and highereducation reform—and we must. Butwhat good are all the First Amendmentfreedoms in the world if students can’tarticulate what they believe and profes-sors aren’t willing to stand up for theirconvictions in the marketplace of ideas?

We can seek to hold individuals inauthority accountable—from universityadministrators to elected officials tomembers of the media—when theyunashamedly mock God and underminebiblical principles, and we must. Butunless people have a relationship with theOne who created them and understandhis plan for their lives, can we reallyexpect them to act any differently?

Yes, the political challenges aregreat. But the worldview divide is evengreater. My involvement in the politicalarena—as exciting and rewarding as it hasbeen—has only deepened my burden forreaching the lost with the gospel messageand helping believers view everythingthrough a biblical lens. I am especiallyheartbroken that so many young peoplewho claim the name of Christ cannotarticulate even basic biblical beliefs, letalone explain or defend anything abouthow their faith informs their values anddecisions—and I saw this time and again

I am especially heartbroken that so many young people who claim

the name of Christ cannot articulate even basic biblical beliefs, let

alone explain or defend anything about how their faith informs

their values and decisions—and I saw this time and again on the

campaign trail. As the church, and as individuals, we must focus

on foundational elements first before expecting people to agree

with us on policies or candidates.


sought to influence those in authorityand help advance biblical values, and Ihave no regrets. As Eric Metaxas oftensays, the question for Christians is how—not whether—to be involved in politics.God desires to use his children to impactevery arena of society, and with Americaat a crossroads, the needs in today’s gov-ernment are monumental. Throughoutthe ages, from the Old Testament to thepresent day, we see believers who wereplaced in strategic roles of influence andapproached their public platformthrough the lens of eternity. As C.S.Lewis stated, “If you read history youwill find that the Christians who didmost for the present world were justthose who thought most of the next. ... It is since Christians have largely ceasedto think of the other world that theyhave become so ineffective in this.”2 Soeven as we seek to stand up for scripturalprinciples today and contend for life andliberty in the public square, we must doso with a compassion for the hurtingand an understanding that our true citizenship is in heaven.

In his 2013 Baccalaureate address at Liberty University, Ravi Zachariaschallenged graduates to go courageouslyinto a formidable society, taking heart inthe eternal power of the gospel. “You are facing a tough world. You are facing achanging world. You are facing a resistantworld. You are facing a hostile world. Butthe gospel story is always used to risingup and outliving its pallbearers. Take themessage: it is alive; it is powerful; it istransforming.” That’s timely advice, andnot just for the Class of 2013.

So as I approach this next season ofmy life, my priorities have shifted.Instead of talking in terms of opinionpolls and electoral majorities and chang-ing demographics, I want to focus onfaith and hope, on living boldly in a darkworld, on the constant truth of God’sWord and the only One who is mighty to

save. I feel strongly called to invest mytime and energy in evangelism and apolo-getics, and I am delighted that God hasprovided unique avenues for me to dojust that through RZIM.

On a personal note, to the manypeople who have encouraged me alongthe way, I am so grateful for your supportand would value your prayers for thisnext step in my journey. To my friendsand former colleagues in the politicalarena who are faithfully pursuing God’scalling in a challenging environment, Iapplaud your courage and will continueto pray for your witness as salt and lightamong today’s leaders in our government.

Finally, for all of us, we must neverforget who it is we are ultimately servingin life. Not a political party or move-ment, not even a church or ministry, butthe God who created us in his image andsent us his Son who died on a cross thatwe may have life. Always rely on the ultimate truth of Jesus Christ instead ofmen’s fleeting promises. Take confidencein his infinite justice and love over secular notions of fairness and success.Derive your identity from a personalrelationship with God rather than theaccolades of others, and—no matterwhat field you are in—live in light ofeternity, making your limited time onearth count for what matters most toour Lord.

Ruth Malhotra is Marketing Associate,Public Relations, at RZIM.

1 See Albert Mohler, “Aftermath: Lessons from the 2012 Election” (November 7, 2012),accessed online athttp://www.albertmohler.com/2012/11/07/aftermath-lessons-from-the-2012-election/.

2 C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (New York:Macmillan Publishing Co., 1960), 118.


Making Sense of Itby Cameron McAllister

H.P. Lovecraft and C.S. Lewis craftedtheir respective visions of ultimate reality around the same time period.Both were keenly aware of a vast cosmos that remains largely inscrutableto human minds. And yet, once thesetwo men drew their conclusions, starkdifferences emerged.


[ c o m p r e h e n d i n g

t h e u n i v e r s e ]


When I was in third gradeour class took a field-trip to a large Catholicchurch. We assembled

at school before departing. I well remem-ber gazing out the window of the bus asour class passed by my home. (Our familyoccupied a large apartment above asupermarket in those days.) It was dis-orienting to see it during school hours. I thought of my mom up there, serenelygoing about the business of living with-out me; at the time, it seemed like thestrangest idea in the world.

This all took place in a small townjust outside of Vienna, Austria, where Igrew up. Presumably, this fieldtrip wasfor the benefit of our class’s culturalenrichment, Austria being a nominallyCatholic nation. But most of us just treat-ed it much like we would treat a trip to amuseum; we muted our laughter and triedour best not to touch anything. I recallprecious little of the architecture of theactual building except that it looked asancient as it was cold. A few candy-col-ored sparks of stained glass now suggestthemselves to me, but after that my visualrecollection of the church just gives out.

The priest was a bald and solemnfigure whom I found frightening. Not asingle thing he said has survived in mymemory. What I do remember is themounting sense of terror I experiencedwhen it became clear that he intended toadminister the “Eucharistie”—Germanfor Eucharist— to our class. Back then, I knew it only as the “Lord’s Supper,” andI didn’t know much about it except thatit was no laughing matter, something notto be trifled with, and, that somethingcalled “enmity” had better not existbetween you and anyone else before youpartook. I had even overheard stories of men and women whose frivolous treatment of this holy meal had ended in death. Weren’t some of these stories in the Bible?

I stood helplessly with the elementsin my hands. My classmates cackled andlaughed with their mouths full of bread.“The body of Christ, broken for you.”Sounds of gulping, burping, stifled shrieksof laughter echoing through the sanctuary.“The blood of Christ, shed for you.”

Wordlessly, I pocketed the bread; Idon’t remember what I did with the cup.

Back home, my parents greeted my hesitations with a chuckle, but dadacknowledged that I had done the rightthing, if I remember correctly. We said aprayer together.

In the privacy of my room, I removedthe bread from my pocket, now hardenedto the consistency of a stone, and ate inremembrance of Christ’s body, broken forme. All these years later that communionis still a blessing to me.

I was a kid. I occupied the center ofmy own universe. But even then I knew Iwas dealing with something much biggerthan my universe, or any universe for thatmatter, certainly something much biggerthan a meal on a table. Looking back, Ithink what troubled me more than any-thing was the immensity of the subject—nothing less than Christ’s death on thecross—and the humble stuff we had torepresent it: a piece of bread, a cup of wine.All of my associations with eating were sooffensively ordinary: “Kids, supper time!”“Dinner’s ready!” “Come to the table!”“Don’t chew with your mouth open!”How could something so small give us aglimpse into something so big?

LEWIS AND “TRANSPOSITION” C.S. Lewis enlarges my childhood ques-tion: “If we have really been visited by arevelation from beyond Nature, is it notvery strange that an Apocalypse can furnish heaven with nothing more thanselections from terrestrial experience(crowns, thrones, and music), that devotion can find no language but that ofhuman lovers, and that the rite whereby


To be sick with love or sick with the flu will depend entirely on

the covert emotion behind the overt sensation. It is the emotional

charge behind the sensation that determines what that sensation

is. Lewis calls this “transposition.”

Christians enact a mystical union shouldturn out to be only the old, familiar act ofeating and drinking?”1 In other words, canspiritual reality not break the stubbornharness of natural reality? Must we alwaysbe limited to the meager selections furnished by this “terrestrial experience”?Perhaps a more incisive question is this:even if we do have access to a supernaturalrealm, how could we ever hope to expressit by anything more than natural means?

Lewis’s strategy in dealing with this problem involves distinguishing the emotions from the sensations.2 Ouremotional life, says Lewis, is superior tothat of our sensations in that it is, “richer,more varied, more subtle.”3 The confusionsets in when this “richer, more varied,more subtle” life is forced through thenarrow channel of our physical sensations,which happens to be its only currentmeans of expression. This confusion iscompounded when our highly varied anddistinct emotions meet with our limitedbut versatile sensations. “The sensescompensate for this by using the samesensation to express more than one emotion,” as Lewis puts it.4

To be sick with love or sick with the flu will depend entirely on the covertemotion behind the overt sensation.Lewis ingeniously quotes from SamuelPepys’s diary to make this point. Pepysdescribes the “wind musick” of a play heand his wife attended as ravishing him,and making him “really sick, just as I haveformerly been when in love with mywife…”5 Clearly, Pepys is insulting neitherhis wife nor the horn section of theorchestra; he is describing an emotionthat the senses alternately translate as

love or illness depending on the circum-stances. Lewis adds the acute observationthat “introspection can discover no dif-ference at all between my neural responseto very bad news and my neural responseto the overture of The Magic Flute.”6 Adeeply cherished piece of music or thetrembling voice of a loved one on theother end of a phone may both produce auniform sensation that is neverthelesspure elation on the one hand and sheerdread on the other.

But it is the emotional chargebehind the sensation that determineswhat that sensation is. Lewis calls this“transposition.” Transposition involvesan “adaptation from a richer to a poorermedium,” say, that from the emotions tothe sensations.7 Under the pressure oftransposition, the sensation in questionbecomes the emotion it signifies. When Ihear the overture to The Magic Flute, the same “flutter in the diaphragm” thatsignaled indigestion after an ill-advisedlate night snack now signals elation. The translations vary while the “flutterin the diaphragm” remains constant.When I am sick, “the flutter in thediaphragm” becomes misery. When I am taking in the music of Mozart, thatflutter becomes exaltation.

Practical examples of transpositionare both numerous and conspicuous.Lewis mentions the art of drawing, wherean artist, restricted to the two-dimensionsof her canvas, endeavors to render ourthree-dimensional world with as muchprecision as she possibly can.8 We mightalso think of an entire orchestralarrangement being played through a single piano.9 Naturally, many of the


notes on the piano will have to act assubstitutes for the missing instrumentsin order to achieve the degree ofpolyphony natural to a symphony.

I think an actor on the stagefurnishes us with our most powerfulexample of transposition. Consider JeanAnouilh’s play, Becket. Based on actualevents, the play examines the conflictedrelationship between King Henry II and Thomas Becket, which eventually led to the latter’s assassination. Anouilhacknowledges that the play contains anumber of historical inaccuracies and afairly high degree of embellishment. Yet,it remains one of the more poignantdepictions of martyrdom in recent years.This is because the largeness of the subjectis somehow given adequate expression inthe limited material. History, betrayal,intense religious devotion, our world’swild and restless scenery— the whole riotof human existence is somehow com-pressed into this little production in thislittle timespan in this little theater onthis little stage in these little costumesthrough these little lines.

One of the most moving portrayalsof the adaptation from a richer to a poorermedium is Thornton Wilder’s Our Town.Here, transposition is nakedly visible.Stepladders represent the homes of characters, and the actors stand on thetop rungs with their elbows resting onthe base, peering out of their “windows.”A character identified simply as “StageManager” presides over the whole thing,naming the playwright, the producers,the (mostly) invisible scenery, even thefictional town’s geographic coordinates.Far from being an empty modernist conceit, Wilder’s minimalist sets and self-conscious narration draw attentionto the impermanence of our world.10 Thelovely effect of all these starved sets isthat you are left with almost nothing todivert your attention from the humanbeings on stage. Life occupies center stage.

The end of Act I contains perhapsone of the most elegant elaborations ofwhat Lewis meant by transposition. Twoof the play’s siblings, Rebecca andGeorge, gaze out the window and intothe night from the vantage point of theirstepladder, and give voice to this stunningconversation:

Rebecca: I never told you about that letterJane Crofut got from her minister whenshe was sick. He wrote Jane a letter andon the envelope the address was like this:It said: Jane Crofut; The Crofut Farm;Grover’s Corners; Sutton County; NewHampshire; United States of America.

George: What’s so funny about that?

Rebecca: But listen, it’s not finished: theUnited States of America; Continent ofNorth America; Western Hemisphere;the Earth; the Solar System; the Universe;the Mind of God—that’s what it said onthe envelope.11

This gentle dance from the micro-cosmic all the way to the cosmic is whattransposition means. Fascinatingly, italso means that we have glimpses of thedivine in the very smallest of places,even Grover’s Corners.

LOVECRAFT: APOSTLE OF THE UNSPEAKABLE “With five feeble senses we pretend tocomprehend the boundlessly complexcosmos, yet other beings with a wider,stronger, or different range of sensesmight not only see very differently thethings we see, but might see and studywhole worlds of matter, energy, and lifewhich lie close at hand yet can never bedetected with the senses we have.”12 Thislittle bit of cryptic speculation belongs toCrawford Tillinghast, a character fromone of H.P. Lovecraft’s more obscuretales titled “From Beyond.”

But it turns out to be more thanidle speculation. In the story, Tillinghast


invents a machine that generates wavesthat reach well beyond the narrowparameters of our five senses to awakenhidden senses that lie dormant until theyare provoked. As the machine whirs intoaction a gradual vision of unspeakablehorrors comes into focus. It seems thatour “five feeble senses” act as a mercifulfilter against the ocean of obscene creatures that fills what we normally perceive to be empty space. Lovecraftbriefly pulls back the curtain to reveal“great inky, jellyfish monstrosities, whichflabbily quivered in harmony with thevibrations of the machine.”13 But these aremere appetizers when compared with themore malign forces that wait just outsidethe orbit of the machine’s waves. Here, as elsewhere, Lovecraft inverts thePauline apothegm of “seeing through aglass darkly” and replaces it with theassumption that to see things as theytruly are is to see a world ghastly beyondwords. The dark glass is truly preferableto the actual view.

Though largely confined to pulpmagazines in his own time, HowardPhillips Lovecraft has since done his part to carve out a respectable place forhorror fiction on literary bookshelves. A thoroughgoing atheist, nearly all of hisstories corroborate his exceedingly barren outlook on the place of humanityin the world. One striking example ofthis comes from “The Silver Key,” wherewe are told of man’s naïve quest for signif-icance “as the blind cosmos grinds aim-lessly on from nothing to something andfrom something back to nothing again,neither heeding nor knowing the wishesor existence of the minds that flicker fora second now and then in the darkness.”14

What makes Lovecraft’s most effective stories so frightening is not thethreat of some monstrous invasion butthe deeply entrenched assumption thatman’s isolation is total, his loneliness hisonly reliable law. The most conspicuous

quality exhibited by his work can only becaptured with the word “alien.” In “TheColour Out of Space,” an examination ofa small meteorite leads to the discoveryof a foreign spectrum of colors. Indeed,“it was only by analogy that they called itcolour at all.”15 As the narrative builds, weare given to understand that this strangeobject was “a piece of the great outside;and as such dowered with outside proper-ties and obedient to outside laws.”16

The most infamous creature fromLovecraft’s demonic pantheon goes bythe unpronounceable name of Cthulhu.Even the name is intended to evade ourgrasp. Whether the encounter involvesstrange beings or strange worlds, thecharacters of Lovecraft meet with closeddoor after closed door in a universescrupulously polished of any transcen-dent traces. For Lovecraft, man makes hishome in the “outer dark.”

“The oldest and strongest emotionof mankind is fear, and the oldest andstrongest kind of fear is fear of theunknown.”17 This comes from Lovecraft’sseminal essay, “Supernatural Horror inLiterature,” one of the finest pieces ofwriting on the subject. Throughout hisshort career, Lovecraft remained meticu-lously faithful to this assumption aboutthe unknown through a series of deftmaneuvers. Central to his technique washis commitment to deny his characterstotal access to the strange worlds theyapproach. In fact, he rarely allows thempast the threshold, and if he does, it usually comes at the cost of either theirlife or their sanity.

Relics, ruins, antiques, old newspa-per clippings, and ancient idols all func-tion as windows into the stupendouslyremote places inhabited by Lovecraft’smonsters. One of the clearest descrip-tions of the dreaded Cthulhu comes froma small bas-relief “less than an inch thickand about five by six inches in area,”which depicts a beast that seems to be a

For Lewis, we are God’s children. For Lovecraft, we are

cosmic orphans. For Lewis, ignorance confines us. For

Lovecraft, ignorance protects us. For Lewis, truth is ultimately

personal. For Lovecraft, truth is ultimately alien.


hybrid of an “octopus, a dragon, and ahuman caricature.”18 “A pulpy, tentaclehead surmounted a grotesque and scalybody with rudimentary wings; but it wasthe general outline of the whole whichmade it most shockingly frightful.” Andthis “general outline,” we may be sure, isonly a rumor of a much darker reality.19

Remarkably, both H.P. Lovecraftand C.S. Lewis crafted their respectivevisions of ultimate reality around thesame time period. Lovecraft was born in1890, Lewis in 1898. And though thesetwo men were separated by a number ofsalient factors, including geography, edu-cation, and worldview, the overlapbetween them is considerable. Both werekeenly aware of a vast cosmos thatremains largely inscrutable to humanminds. Both were deeply interested inexperiences, or, better yet, intimations ofother worlds at the frontiers of humanunderstanding. And both believed thatman does not stand at the center of theuniverse.

Stark differences emerge, however,once these two men have drawn theirconclusions. Perhaps the best way to con-vey these differences is to set Lovecraftand Lewis side by side and study the fas-cinating series of contrasts that appear:For Lewis, we are God’s children. ForLovecraft, we are cosmic orphans. ForLewis, ignorance confines us. ForLovecraft, ignorance protects us. ForLewis, truth is ultimately personal. ForLovecraft, truth is ultimately alien. ForLewis, we are made to be “a real ingredi-ent in the divine happiness.” ForLovecraft, we are nothing more than thesum of our biological ingredients.

A FORETASTE OF SOMETHINGMAGNIFICENT “Beloved, now we are children of God,”wrote the apostle John, “and it has notappeared as yet what we shall be. Weknow that, when He appears, we shall belike Him, because we shall see Him justas He is” (1 John 3:2). There is a kind ofhesitation in John’s remarks here that Ifind very moving. It’s almost as if he’sgently holding back. I can imagine asemi-conspiratorial smile on the apostle’sface as he records these life-changingwords. There is also a note of concession.We all know, though we rarely mention,what a diminished capacity for wonderwe have. Whatever claims our undividedattention does so at the expense of therest of the world. And so we look to ourruins, our relics, our antiques, our arti-facts, our idols, our books, and our musicfor minute glimpses of all those thingsthat would otherwise evade our grasp.There is a very real sense in which theambition of art simply consists in thevaliant effort to seize some small piece ofthe world and to hold it still long enoughfor us to take it in.

Dallas Willard gives voice to thisodd sense of helplessness in the face ofGod’s glory when he tells of the first timehe experienced the beaches of PortElizabeth, South Africa:

I had seen beaches, or so I thought.But when we came over the rise wherethe sea and land opened up to us, Istood in stunned silence and thenslowly walked toward the waves.Words cannot capture the view thatconfronted me. I saw space and light

The invitation from Christ is to bedrawn into Him, to see Him just as Heis. Though, as Scripture tells us, we surelyhave no way of knowing precisely whatthis looks like on this side of eternity, wedo know that if we see Him who isHimself the source and wellspring of all being, we will be confronted with asight that only a sanctified set of eyescan withstand.21

Cameron McAllister is a member of thespeaking and writing team at RZIM.

1 C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory and OtherAddresses (New York, NY: HarperOne, 2011),94.

2 Ibid., 98.3 Ibid. 4 Ibid.5 Ibid., 96.6 Ibid., 97.7 Ibid., 99.8 Ibid.9 Ibid.10 Productions with more elaborate set designs

do a disservice to Wilder’s vision.11 Thorton Wilder, Our Town (New York:

HarperCollins, 2003), 46.12 H.P. Lovecraft, The Dreams in the Witch House

And Other Weird Stories (London: PenguinBooks, 2004), 24.

13 Ibid., 28.14 Ibid., 253.15 H.P. Lovecraft, The Best of H.P. Lovecraft:

Bloodcurdling Tales of Horror and the Macabre(New York: The Balentine Publishing Group,2002), 198.

16 Ibid.17 Howard Phillips Lovecraft, Supernatural Horror

in Literature (New York: Dover Publications,1973), 12.

18 Lovecraft, The Best of H.P. Lovecraft, 73-74.19 Ibid. 20 Dallas Willard, The Divine Conspiracy:

Rediscovering Our Hidden Life in God (NewYork: HarperOne, 1997), 63.

21 Lewis, Weight of Glory, 113.

and texture and color and power…thatseemed hardly of this earth. Graduallythere crept into my mind the realiza-tion that God sees this all the time.He sees it, experiences it, knows itfrom every possible point of view, thisand billions of other scenes like andunlike it, in this and billions of otherworlds. Great tidal waves of joy mustconstantly wash through his being.20

Christ took on flesh, walked beneath thesame set of constellations we see on clearnights, felt the wind in his hair, the stingof blisters on his sandaled feet. Becauseof this colossal truth, a note of divinityresonates through our world, conferringupon creation a dignity and grace withoutprecedent. Because of this colossal truth,we discover that we have been operatingwith a tragically narrow understanding ofwhat it means to be human. Because ofthis colossal truth, a scared and ignorantlittle boy could see the holiness in a pieceof bread and a cup. And we can see ourworld in microcosm on ThorntonWilder’s immaculate stage. And we canknow that these small notes of beautybring on a pain that can only be describedas a kind of sacred homesickness. And wealso know that these small openings areonly a foretaste of something so magnifi-cent that even the apostle keeps hissilence because he knows that what weshall be cannot be voiced until we aregiven new eyes, new ears, new voices, newsenses. Even Lovecraft would find thisoffer tantalizing.

Here is a bit of hesitation from Mr. Lewis himself: “And it seems to methere is a real analogy between [Christ’sIncarnation] and what I have calledTransposition: that humanity, stillremaining itself, is not merely counted as,but veritably drawn into, Deity, seems tome like what happens when a sensation(not in itself a pleasure) is drawn into thejoy it accompanies.”



The Most Difficult Questions

Think Again

I HAVE HAD the privilege of crisscrossingthis globe over four decades and seeing

much of the world. Ihave frequently beenasked about myfavorite city or whatfood I enjoy themost. The latter iseasier to answer than

the former because, while cities haveattractions for different reasons, thepalette is often influenced by one’s landof birth.

Strangely, I have never been askedabout my favorite site. I am not sure I could pick a single spectacle but Iknow one experience that would be inthe running as the most emotionallymoving moment for me. On a brilliantlysunny day, my colleague and I were driven from Cape Town to very nearland’s end in South Africa: Cape Point.There we stood at the edge of terrafirma and watched as the waters of thecalmer Atlantic and the restless IndianOceans collided into one massive torrent of fluid strength, the power ofthe current almost visible to the nakedeye. That body of water has been thegraveyard of many mariners trying tonavigate their way around the globe. The endless horizon, the borderless blueand turquoise of the mighty waters, and

the frothy white tips of the crashingwaves as they collided against eachother—this scene from the world’s endseemed to just overwhelm us with a stupendous sense of awe.

Yes, I have seen the Taj Mahal andmany of the other so-called wonders of theworld. But this was sheer enchantment,not made by human hand! Whether itwas because we were not expecting sucha banquet for the eyes, or whether it wasthat we needed refreshment after a busyday, I would not even venture to analyze.All I know is that it affected both of usin the same way. For seemingly unex-plainable reasons, my eyes filled withtears. I was in the throes of enjoying thewonder and the vastness of creation. Ifelt at once both dwarfed and elevated,dwarfed because my entire stature as ahuman being seemed so diminishedcompared to this display of beauty andpower before me but elevated because Icould revel in this glorious sight—whilethe land and water combined could notexult in its own beauty or share in anydelight.

But then a strange, unexpectedsensation took hold of us, and we bothdid something that neither of us hadever done before. We walked back a fewsteps, found a sharp stone, and scratchedthe names of our wives onto the surface


of a massive piece of rock. We realizedthat in a matter of days the writingwould be erased, but the thought andact spoke volumes. We had been in thethroes of wonder and it just seemedincomplete that we could not enjoy itwith the ones dearest to us and expresssomething from the overflow.

Questions of personal choice arerelatively easier to answer. After all, oneis answering from his or her own contextand delights. But then there emergequestions that are really not just personal.The answer calls for some universalimplication. Such questions are indica-tive of the struggles of many skeptics aswell as believers and reveal that thedeepest questions can span both themind and the heart.

Out of the scores of letters that I have received over the years, one inparticular stands out. The writer simplyasked, “Why has God made it so difficult to believe in him? If I lovedsomebody and had infinite power, Iwould use that power to show myselfmore obviously. Why has God made itso difficult to see his presence and hisplan?” It is a powerful question that isboth felt and intellectual at the sametime. One might say, “Why is God sohidden?” The question ultimately gainsmomentum and parks itself in ourhearts’ genuine search for meaning,

belongingness, and relationship to ourown creator.

I recall the restlessness and turningpoint of my own life. I had come tobelieve that life had no meaning. Nothingseemed to connect. When still in myteens, I found myself lying in a hospitalbed after an attempted suicide. Thestruggle for answers when met bydespair led me along that tragic path.But there in my hospital room theScriptures were brought and read to me.For the first time I engaged the directanswers of God to my seeking heart.The profound realization of the newsthat God could be known personallydrew me, with sincerity and determina-tion, to plumb the depths of that claim.With a simple prayer of trust, in that

moment, the change from a desperateheart to one that found the fullness ofmeaning became a reality for me.

The immediate change was in theway I saw God’s handiwork in ways Ihad never seen before. The marvel ofdiscovering even splendor in the ordi-nary was the work of God in my heart.Over a period of time, I was able tostudy, pursue, and understand how torespond to more intricate questions ofthe mind.

That divine encounter of comingto know Him brought meaning andmade answers reachable. I believe God

Out of the scores of letters that I have received over the years, one

in particular stands out. The writer simply asked, “Why has God

made it so difficult to believe in him? If I loved somebody and had

infinite power, I would use that power to show myself more

obviously. Why has God made it so difficult to see his presence

and his plan?” It is a powerful question that is both felt and

intellectual at the same time.


intervenes in each of our lives. Hespeaks to us in different ways and at different times so that we may knowthat it is He who is the author of ourvery personality; that his answers areboth propositional and relational (andsometimes in reverse order); that hispresence stills the storms of the heart.

Oddly enough, in history, the mostquestioning and the resistant becameGod’s mouthpieces to skeptics.Consider Peter, Paul, and Thomas—just to name a few. They questioned,they wrestled, they challenged. But onceconvinced, they spoke and wrote andpersuaded people in the most stubbornof circumstances. That is why they willingly paid the ultimate price, even asthey sought God’s power and presencein those “dark nights of the soul.”

In the end, in the face of difficultquestions, the answers that are givenand received must be both felt and real,with the firm knowledge that God isnearer than one might think. Yes, theScriptures reveal, as many can attest,that this assurance of his nearness sometimes comes at a cost, like any relationship of love and commitment.But God desires that we know Him andthat He is not distant to us. He isgrander than any wondrous sight we maybehold and the answer to every heart’sdeepest question. That is why, maybe, in seeing two majestic oceans comingtogether within the panoramic view of a splendid creation, the heart saw Himnot hidden but gloriously revealed.

Questioning is the way of humanity.We will always ask, debate, challenge,and search. But when we come to knowour creator, the questioning is not fordoubting but for putting it all together.The real hidden factor may be not theabsence of evidence but the suppressionof it.

That connecting of it all is thewonderful journey of the soul. The realstruggle of sin is not in pain or suffering,but in the discrowned faculties, theunworthy loves, and the enslaved imagi-nation. When the thinking is set arightagain and when the flesh has its shacklesbroken, the mind and body come underGod’s liberating and fulfilling plan. Thenwe see as He designed us to see.

The final consummation of thatglimpse is yet future. I firmly believe as the apostle Paul declared, “Eye hasnot seen, nor ear heard, nor haveentered into the heart of man, the thingswhich God has prepared for those wholove Him” (1 Corinthians 2:9). Then weshall see, not darkly, but face to face.That is when the soul will feel the ultimate touch, and the silence will beone of knowing with awesome wonder.The only thing we would want hidden is how blind we were.

Warm Regards,

Ravi

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