The power of a transformed life
You show that you are a letter from Christ…written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.
2 Corinthians 3:3 NIV
I grew up in a fairly religious family in Tehran, the capital of Iran. At home, my brother and I were taught to pray and to fast during Ramadan, and we were expected to read and to recite the Quran. I have fond memories of my grandmother telling me stories from the Quran when I was a child, and of my takleef party, when I first began to wear the hijab.
As I grew older, however, I gradually became disillusioned with my religion, particularly as I became more and more aware of the religious and societal discrimination against women. Stories I heard of brutality and violence within marriage relationships began to plague my mind. By my late twenties, I had serious doubts about Islam, but I kept my thoughts and feelings to myself. I had married my husband, Radin, by this time, and his family were much more religious than mine. I was afraid of the consequences of even appearing to question Islamic belief and traditions.
I continued to practise my Islamic prayers every day. In my heart I was yearning for an assurance that I would go to heaven when I died, and I believed that I had to perform my prayers diligently in order to please God. At the back of my mind, though, there was always the same thought: “How can I really communicate with God if I can only speak to Him in Arabic?”
With the birth of my sons, Adriyan and Arman, and the demands that they made on my time, my prayers became more haphazard. Sometimes it was just impossible for me to perform a prayer at the right time, or, from exhaustion, I would miss one completely. At first, I felt a certain fear and panic on these occasions. I had always been told that missing prayers could have bad consequences. Yet, if misfortunes did result as a direct result of my missed prayers, then I was completely unaware of them. As time went on, and as I began sometimes to go for whole days without praying, I started to see that my prayer, or lack of prayer, made little real difference to my life, and my whole attitude to my religious observances relaxed.
Religion started to appear more and more like superstition to me. I pondered the ongoing hostilities between the Shia and Sunni branches of Islam. I wondered why there should be so much enmity between people who read the same religious texts and follow the same prophet. Every few days there were stories in the news of Muslims killing Muslims. This was supposed to be my religion, my system of belief and practice, but I was becoming more and more alienated from it in my thinking.
Gradually I stopped praying altogether. Still, I said nothing to anyone about what was going on in my mind and heart. Radin and my mother began to notice that I never prayed, and encouraged me to begin again, but they never pressed me on the issue.
At this point in my story I should introduce my friend Sara. Before my sons were born, I had begun attending a gym, near to my home in Tehran. Sara was a personal trainer and pilates instructor. She worked at the gym, but also held private sessions in her home. Sara was very good at her job, and I enjoyed her classes so much that I was soon attending regularly, and seeing her three times every week, twice at the gym, and once a week in her house. Despite her talent and professionalism, Sara had a difficult personality. She could be very short-tempered and aggressive, even in her relationship with her boss. I warned her sometimes about this. I told her that she would lose her job if she could not behave more calmly. I also saw that she was very materialistic in her attitudes, thinking only about how she could earn more money and acquire more things to fill her life. Despite these issues, I liked Sara and we got on well together.
When I became pregnant with Adriyan, I stopped attending Sara’s classes. My sons are close in age, so Arman came along shortly after, and it was about three years before I went again to the classes. During this time, I never met with Sara, but we kept in touch through occasional text messages. We would wish each other happy birthday, and she would ask me about the boys, and about whether I had put on much weight during pregnancy and how much I had managed to lose afterwards.
During my second pregnancy, I made the decision to give up my job. I wanted to do something to occupy my short bouts of free time at home, however. I had studied graphic design, and an opportunity arose to do some volunteer work from home creating ID cards for the children at a nearby orphanage, run by a charitable organisation. Each child’s card contained information about their personal financial support. There might be one sponsor providing funds for their education and another for their health and well-being, for example. To my surprise, as I was preparing the cards, I came across Sara’s full name as a sponsor for three different children. I did not pay too much attention on the first two occasions, thinking that it was a common enough first name to be purely coincidental. The information was supposed to be strictly confidential. People agreed to support the children on the understanding that their sponsorship would remain anonymous, so I knew that I could never ask Sara about it. The third time, however, I could not resist checking the phone number on the ID cards with the number that I had stored in my phone. The numbers matched. It was indeed the very same Sara, providing very considerable financial support to three orphan children. This really puzzled me. The Sara that I knew was selfish and grasping, always ambitious for a higher income, and for whatever she could get for herself. I simply could not fit the image that I had of her with this new one that I had discovered by accident – a Sara who would secretly give away her money to children who would never be able to thank her. And of course, I could never ask her about it because I was not supposed to know.
My curiosity was enough that a few months after my second son, Arman, was born, I called Sara and told her that I was ready to start attending her classes again. I was soon seeing Sara three times a week, twice at the gym, and once a week at her home, just as I had done before. During these two-hour sessions, I had plenty of opportunity to observe her, and I was astonished to find that Sara was a very changed person. She was now far calmer, and also far kinder in her attitudes and in all her dealings with her clients. She seemed always cheerful and genuinely pleased to greet everyone. I could hardly believe that it was the same person. Now, the charity work that I had discovered she was involved in did not seem such a contradiction. This was a Sara I could more easily imagine putting herself out financially for the sake of others.
After the first few of my meetings with this new Sara, I felt bold enough to ask her about the change in her personality. I was so curious to understand what had happened in her life to transform her. From what I could tell, the change seemed to be a permanent one. It was not just the result of a good mood, but was a consistent and thorough transformation. I asked her at the end of a class, as I was just about to leave, why she seemed so different now. I am not sure what kind of answer I was expecting – maybe she had met a good man, or she had received some kind of good news. Sara’s answer could not have surprised or shocked me more, however. She told me very simply in Farsi, “Man dobare motevaled shodam” – “I have been born again”). There was no time for further questions. This was all I heard as I hurried away, but the words burned into my mind, and I felt a kind of tingling down my spine, as you feel from a sudden shock of fear or excitement.
That night and the following night, as I lay awake in bed, I could not sleep and I could not stop thinking about Sara’s response. Man dobare motevaled shodam. What could she possibly mean? I had never heard anyone use such an expression before. And yet, as I thought about the Sara I knew now, and the Sara she had been three years previously, there seemed to be some logic. She really was like a completely different woman. The old Sara had gone, and a new one had been born to replace her. I could hardly wait for my next gym session to ask Sara to explain to me exactly what she had meant by that strange sentence.
Again, I waited until we were alone at the end of the class. I was a little disappointed, however. Rather than explain her meaning, Sara merely asked me a series of five questions. “These are some things that you should think carefully about, and ask yourself”, she told me.
“Why did God create you?”
“Are you a sinner?”
“Can you clear yourself of all your sins on your own?”
“Can you be sure that your name is registered in God’s book eternal of life?”
“If not, do you know who can write your name there?”
Apart from the second question, I had no answers. I was very aware that I was a sinful person, but I had no idea why I had been created, or how I could be freed from my sin. I went away from the class puzzled and confused again, and still yearning to see my friend and question her more. Maybe she would give me some answers next time.
I knew in the following session that my curiosity and perplexity were plainly written on my face. Sara kindly approached me at the end of our routine, and told me that she would answer the questions if I was ready. She told me that, regarding the first question, God had created us to be with Him forever. I then told her that I was very sure that I was a sinner. She replied that I could not possibly be free from my sins by myself, but that there was someone who could buy forgiveness on my behalf, and who would guarantee that my name is written in the book of life. Then Sara gave me the answer to the last question, and it shocked me to the core. She told me, “It is only Jesus Christ who can do this for you.”
My immediate feeling was that I should get away from Sara and from that place as quickly as I could. I was really not expecting such an answer from a Muslim, and her words really troubled me. I had never heard Jesus spoken about in such a way before. He was just one of the prophets, according to our religion. I had no idea at this point that Sara had become a Christian. I had only very vague notions about what Christians believed, and the idea that someone could change their religion, was beyond my experience. What I was sure of was that I had heard enough. I had no desire to continue with this conversation anymore.
On my way home from the gym that day, I resolved not to go back again. I had already paid upfront for the exercise sessions, but I felt that even if I lost my money, I did not want to see Sara again. I had learnt that Mohammed is the last prophet, and that whoever obeyed his teachings and imitated his life had a good chance of ending up in heaven. That was all I needed to know, I decided. Sara was trying to tell me something that was wrong. Maybe she had made up these new ideas herself, and in any case, it was too disturbing for me to listen to her.
And yet my mind could not stop going over and over Sara’s words. In whatever I was doing, they preoccupied me. I could hardly give any attention to my husband or my sons. I knew that what Sara had said about Jesus must be a mistake, and yet, there was that undeniable change that I had seen in her life. She had been trying to tell me that this change had come about because of what she had learnt about Jesus. I had always been told that Islam is the last, and so the most complete, religion. Other religions had come before it, but they did not have the full picture. The Quran was God’s final revelation to man, and the Quran most certainly said nothing about Jesus buying forgiveness for our sins, and ensuring our place in heaven.
Two days after that meeting with Sara, I was back at the gym for her pilates session. Despite my resolutions, I could not stay away. I wanted to speak with her again, to find some assurance that what she was telling me was wrong. I wanted to find some affirmation of the Islamic teachings that I had always adhered to, even if my religious practice had lapsed in recent years. I actually understood very little of what Islam had to say about Jesus. Something told me that Sara really did know more about Him than I did, and I believed that she could explain to me the truth about Him. Maybe one more conversation with Sara could help to clear some of the confusion that was in my mind.
Sara told me simply and clearly this time that she had become a Christian. She told me she did not want to try to force me to become a Christian too, but if I was interested to hear about what she now believed, she was willing to tell me. Sara invited me to go with her to her home to talk. Once there she explained that Jesus is the Son of God. He had come to this world and been put to death by crucifixion. He had sacrificed Himself in this way for the sins of humanity. Whoever believes in Jesus, Sara went on, will have a place in heaven. It was this last part – the promise of some assurance of a place in heaven, without the need to stand in uncertain judgment before God – that lifted my spirits more than anything else. I felt a kind of hope that I had never felt before. I understood then that this was really very different from Islam. Sara had become a Christian, and she had this assurance of eternal life in heaven. It was this that had changed her life so dramatically.
My feelings on leaving Sara that day were very different from the previous occasion. I could not feel angry or afraid this time. I only felt an intense desire to learn more about Jesus, and to find out for sure if what Sara had told me, and if what the Christian religion taught, was the truth. Was it really possible, that what I had been told all my life was nothing more than an elaborate lie? Was Jesus really the Son of God, who had become a man, lived a perfect life for me, and died to take the punishment for my sins? I saw so clearly now that it was impossible for me to ever please God by myself. I could never fulfill all the strict Islamic laws, and I had already experienced that feeling of emptiness and pointless ritualism in the daily prayers. What I had seen in Sara, on the other hand, was real. She had become kind, generous and gentle in her manner, where before she had been argumentative and self-serving. If this was what Christianity could do for a person, then I wanted to experience its power. This, surely, was what it meant to please God. I wanted to believe in a God who was pleased by a life lived to serve and love other people, not a God who demanded that I recite words I did not understand at set times of the day, or who took a close interest in the clothes that I wore. This time I felt only impatience to see Sara again and to ask her more.
We continued to meet and to talk at length about Sara’s new faith in Jesus. On one occasion, she asked me to imagine that I had lost my way on a journey. She told me to consider that I might come across a person who was alive, and another who was dead. Who would I expect to help me to find the right way? The answer was very clear to me. Sara explained that Mohammed and all the other prophets before him had died, but that Jesus had conquered death by rising again after His crucifixion. I saw also that Sara had a new life that I could not observe in any of the other friends I had around me. She was alive in a way that I had never seen before. Sara told me that everyone born into this world lives in total darkness. Sometimes a light may come to us through the darkness, and we should follow that light to find our way to the right path. Sara gave me a few pages copied from a book that explained some Christian teaching, and I read them carefully alone in my own home.
By this time, Sara and I had known each other for about seven years, and I suppose because of this she trusted me, and she could see that my interest was genuine. We had spoken together about Sara’s faith maybe seven or eight times when she felt confident enough to invite me to go with her to the house church that she attended. The meetings were held on one afternoon each week. By this time, I had put both of my sons in a nursery for two days a week, and one of those days was the day on which the meetings were held, so I was free to attend the church alone while Radin was at work.
The very first time I attended the church, I knew that I wanted to become a Christian, as Sara had done. I loved the atmosphere of the church and the attitudes of the believers who attended. It was a very small group of just eight people. We shared one Bible between us, and an older man led the meetings. He began by praying, and then read a passage from the Bible. He proceeded to explain the meaning of the passage to us, and we would end the meeting by sharing each other’s needs and praying together. This was prayer that was very different from the kind of prayers I had always prayed as a Muslim. We actually spoke freely to God in Farsi, calling Him Father, and expressing the thoughts and feelings of our hearts. The group was aware of the danger of meeting as Christians, and we knew that we had to keep as quiet as possible so that neighbours would not hear us and become suspicious of what was going on.
As I attended the house church week by week, I gradually came to understand more and more of what this new faith was all about. I read and learnt about the life of Jesus, and about His death and resurrection. I learnt that He literally raised people from death on three occasions. In Islam, I had heard too much about jihad, the need to fight for the faith, and about death and bloodshed. Jesus said,
“The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.”
John 10:10 NKJV
And He said,
“These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.”
John 16:33 NKJV
Life and peace: this was what I had found in Jesus.
In Islam, we are often told that hypocrisy is a terrible sin. And yet if anyone performs a good deed, they usually make sure that everyone knows about it so that they will be praised for what they do. By contrast, I found that Christians are encouraged to do good deeds when only God can see. Jesus told His followers,
“…when you do a charitable deed, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.”
Matthew 6:3 NKJV
We should not even keep a record of our good deeds in our own minds, but leave that only for God.
I did not keep my attendance at the house church a secret from Radin. I trusted him enough not to be angry with me over this issue. I knew that he cared for my happiness, and he soon saw that going to the church and spending time with Sara was making me happy in a way that I had never been before. He was very worried for my safety, though, and he was right to be worried.
I had been attending the house church for no more than about two months, when one day, after the meeting had started, the doorbell rang. We all knew immediately that something was wrong. Because of the danger, we were aware of the importance of arriving promptly, and we used to close ourselves into an upstairs room for the duration of the service. Once the meeting had started, we knew that there would be no one else joining us. The homeowner went to check his security camera and saw that it was the police outside. He spoke to them via the intercom and they told him to come to the door immediately. Returning to the room where the rest of us were waiting, he told us to quickly hide the Bible and the other Christian books that we had been using, and went to answer the door. While he was gone, the man who led our group instructed us that, if we were questioned, we should all say that we were just a party of friends. I was gripped by fear, perhaps more than anyone else in our group. I began to tremble uncontrollably.
Soon we were all called to go downstairs. Three uniformed kalantari (local urbanpolice) officers were waiting for us. I and a younger girl were separated from the rest of the group, bundled into the police car that was waiting outside and driven to the local police station. I was terrified, and thought especially of my two sons, who would soon need to be collected from nursery. I had no idea what was going to happen to me, or to any of the others of our group. I was only glad that Sara was away on holiday for the week, so she had escaped the ordeal and maybe had a chance to remain undiscovered.
On arriving at the station, our bags and our phones were taken from us immediately, and I had no way to communicate with Radin, or with the boys’ nursery to tell them that I would not be able to collect them. I begged to be allowed to make one phone call but my request was refused. We were separated for interview. I was interviewed on arrival by a female officer, and then two hours later by a male officer, but each time they asked me the same questions. They asked me if I was married or single. When I replied that I was married, they asked me why I had been attending a mixed party without my husband. They asked if we had been using any drugs or alcohol, and why I had appeared so anxious and guilty when they called us to come downstairs. Samples of our blood and urine were taken for testing. I listened as the officers talked amongst themselves. They said that a neighbour had noticed the comings and goings at the house, and had informed the police. All this time my mind remained preoccupied with thoughts of Radin and my sons, and what would happen when the nursery called Radin, and he found that he could not contact me.
I was told that I would have to wait at least six or seven hours for the blood and urine test results. By the time they were ready and found to be clear, we were informed that the officer who was able to discharge us had gone home, so we would have to wait in the police cell until morning. I would then need to be collected by Radin, and he should bring with him a chador for me to suitably cover myself. My companion, the younger girl from the house church, would likewise be collected by her brother. The two of us were left together for the night, but we were unable to sleep, from worry and discomfort. I knew that Adriyan and Arman would be crying, and would not go to sleep willingly without me. During the night, I continued to beg to be allowed to call my husband whenever there was an opportunity. Eventually, one of the officers took pity on me, and called Radin on my behalf, to explain the situation.
The next day, I was told that my husband was coming to collect me and that I would be released. When Radin arrived, he had brought with him the chador, as requested, and also my birth and marriage certificates for proof of identification. We were both asked to sign a declaration to say that I would not attend a party without my husband again, and that I would not enter a mixed group without wearing a chador. The other girl was still waiting for her brother to arrive, so I said goodbye to her and left the police station with Radin.
Once we were alone in the car, Radin told me about his own sleepless night. The nursery had called him to tell him that I had not arrived to collect the boys and that they could not contact me. He had immediately phoned Sara, who was still away on holiday in another part of the country, as he knew that I had been at the church that afternoon. Sara tried calling the other members of our group in turn, but found that each had their phone turned off. She realised that something was very wrong, but tried to reassure Radin when she called him back. She promised to try to find out what had happened. Radin told me I should call Sara straight away from his phone as she had been so worried about me.
I could hear the relief in Sara’s voice when she answered and I told her that I had been released from the police station and that I was safe. I told her that the police did not seem to have discovered that our group was actually a secret Christian church. Sara said she had been trying to call the other members of the group, but no one’s phone was ringing; they were all still switched off. She warned me that it would not be safe for us to return to our home. I had been so filled with fear by the whole experience, and I trusted Sara’s advice. She had been a Christian for longer than me, and maybe she had heard of what had happened to other house church groups. Radin and I agreed that we would not go back to our house that day, but would stay at the home of our friends Orod and Ava, with whom Radin had left the boys when he came to collect me.
The following day, Sara called me again. She had heard from the brother of the house church leader. Plain clothes police officers had arrived at the brother’s house, escorting the church leader with them, and had seized a laptop. Sara felt sure that once they looked at the laptop, they would discover something about the church. She warned me that because I had been taken to the police station, and had given them my name and address, they would come to re-arrest me once they realised the existence of the church. I was devastated at this news. I had hoped that now that I had been released, everything would go back to normal. I was exhausted and I just wanted to go home, but we knew then that we could not return. Our only way out of this situation was to flee Tehran and to flee the country.
A first precaution was to destroy the SIM card from my phone. I had only Sara’s number – I did not have the numbers of any of the other church members, but Radin said that if the police looked at my phone, they would quickly suspect Sara’s involvement. Radin and Orod discussed our options, but as for me, I was a complete emotional wreck. I realised that I had brought disaster on my small family. I could not stop the tears from flowing. I cried and cried, as Ava tried her best to calm me down.
Ava helpfully prepared a few suitcases, with clothes for all four of us. At nightfall, we left by car with Orod, heading north to the Turkish border. Radin and Orod spent the following day searching for someone who might be able to help us. Eventually they found a Turkish man who said that he could get us across the border in his van. My mother was on my mind all this time. I was her only daughter, and Adriyan and Arman were her only grandchildren. How would she feel when she found out that we had left the country? My tears continued to fall throughout the journey.
Our Turkish driver took us to a room in a small house in a Turkish village. He told us that on no account were we to leave the house. It was a tiny village, where everyone knew each other, so anyone who saw us would immediately suspect that we had come there illegally. The driver told us that we would have to wait there for two or three days, but in fact, we were there for no less than forty-five days altogether. I suppose that fake passports for four people cannot be produced quickly.
To be closed into one room, all day every day, for such a length of time, with two lively young boys, was almost unbearable. Every four or five days, an elderly man came to visit us with basic food provisions, such as eggs, milk, bread and tuna. He was our only contact with the outside world during that time. On one occasion, I managed to make him understand, through basic English, that we would be very grateful if he could find any toys for the boys to play with. When he returned a few days later, he brought with him a big box of Kinder Surprise eggs. Eating the chocolate, and discovering the toys inside was the only diversion to brighten those forty-five days for Adriyan and Arman.
Finally, the day came when another man arrived with passports that had been made for us. We were told to get ready to travel. We were soon taken to the airport and told that we would be travelling to a safe country. We landed in the UK, and I realised then that I probably would never see my home in Tehran again.
On the 29th September 2017 my little family and I arrived in the city that we are now learning to make our new home. At first, we were accommodated in a small hotel, along with many other asylum seekers. Whilst there, we met other Iranians who told us about a nearby church where there was an Iranian Christian who would translate the services into Farsi. On Sunday morning, he arrived at the hotel with the church minibus, and we all went on that first weekend to the church; we have continued to attend the church ever since.
I have been overwhelmed by the welcome and the kindness of my Iranian brothers and sisters in the church, and also by the British church members, who are helping me to grow in my faith. Usually, after the evening service on Sundays, we have a Farsi Bible study, so I have the opportunity to ask questions and read the Bible in my own language. I have also been with Arman to the church mother-and-toddler group on a weekday morning, where I can meet other ladies from the church. On another morning, there is an international ladies’ Bible study, where I can improve my English through reading the Bible and discussing passages with other women from the church and from the local area. I have developed close friendships at these groups. My favourite church meeting is the prayer meeting on Wednesday evenings. I feel so much peace there, surrounded by other Christians, and speaking directly to God through Jesus.
Still, life is not always easy. Radin is happy to come to church with us, but during our first few months here he became very frustrated that he’d had to give up his job and his home to come and live in the UK, and he blamed me for everything that has happened. While I speak enough English to be able to communicate comfortably, Radin spoke very little at first. He started going to English classes every day, which has given him something to do, but it has been a much bigger struggle for him. He has given up a lot for me and for the faith that I found in Jesus. I pray that he will come to know my Saviour soon too. I am thankful to see that he has been genuinely touched by the love that has been shown to us all at the church, and that he has come to love God’s people, and to love the Christian message and way of life. I pray that, just as I was moved by the change that I saw in Sara’s life, Radin will be moved by the kindness and love of our Christian friends, and will want to learn more about the life-changing truth of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
After five weeks at the hotel, we were moved into a small house not far from the church, and we have enrolled Adriyan in a local school. He hated school at first, and cried every day. It is all very new for him too, and it will take some time for him to learn English and to make good friends. As for Arman, he hated to be fussed over by everyone when we were still staying at the hotel. We had to eat there three times a day with all the other refugees, and everyone wanted to play with him and talk to him. He is shy and hated all the attention, so I am very glad for his sake that we now have a place of our own. Adriyan asks me every day, “Where is my room? Where is my bed? Where are my toys? When will we go back to our house?” The boys are young, but they can understand that we have travelled a long way. I speak often to my mother over Skype, but for some time I did not allow the boys to speak to her because they became too distressed that they could not touch her and hug her. They miss their grandmother so much.
I am learning that I have to be strong. I am a mother, and I have two young sons, who look to me for stability in their lives. I am trying to understand Radin’s frustrations and to be calm and patient with everyone. I thank God that He has brought me to a place where I can be supported by Christian friends.
By God’s grace, we have been granted leave to remain in the UK. One of the elders from the church and several other friends kindly attended my court hearing with me. My barrister asked me as I was waiting to go in whether I was feeling nervous, and I replied that I was not. I asked my friends if we could pray together, and we all stood in a circle in the waiting room and prayed aloud to God our Father who loves us and is in control of every detail of our lives. I felt God’s peace and love surrounding me throughout that day, and I answered all the questions I was asked with confidence and without hesitation. After a wait of only two weeks, I received a letter telling me that I had leave to remain in the UK.
In the months since then, an opportunity arose for us all as a family to travel to Turkey and to meet my mother there. It was truly a blessing to see her again. I have never heard anything again about my dear friend Sara since the day we left Iran. I pray for her and the other Christian friends I left behind, and their families. I hope that there will be a day when I may meet some of them again, but I know that if it does not happen in this life, we will all be together praising God one day before His throne in heaven.
Persian Voices 