False friends
No one can read the Gospels without feeling the actual presence of Jesus. His personality pulsates in every word. No myth is filled with such life.
Albert Einstein
Some of my earliest memories are of being woken up by my father, early in the morning, to wash and to pray. As a small child, the cold water and the interruption to my sleep were an unpleasant experience.
I grew up in the city of Shiraz with my parents, my younger brother, and three sisters. Lifestyles in Shiraz are relatively free. An example of this is in the way that women wear the hijab, slightly pulled back to show the front of their hair. Many church buildings can be seen in the city, although they are not open for use. There have traditionally been some Jewish and Christian communities there.
I was brought up by strict Muslim parents, however. By the age of fourteen, I believed I was living as a ‘real’ Muslim, reading and reciting the Quran loudly in my room, and praying five times a day. I believed in Allah, and in Jesus only as He was portrayed in the Quran. But at that age, I started to have some strange experiences, which completely changed my happy and peaceful life. In telling this part of my story, I am always afraid of losing friendships, or of being sent to a psychiatrist. I started to hear voices.
I would hear three or four voices speaking to me all at once. They would talk to each other, as well as to me, close to my ear. At first, most of the speech was muffled and indistinct and I could not distinguish more than a few words, but the voices were very real. I confided my experiences in my mother. She also heard voices, but my experience of this filled her with fear, and she warned me to ignore them, to pay no attention, and to never talk back to them. I did not have the same fears myself. As a curious, excitable teenager, I wanted to know who these ‘people’ were, what they looked like, and what message they might have for me, so I gave them my full attention. As time went on, I began to be able to hear and to understand the voices more and more. They would sometimes give me some advice for my life, and they became almost like close friends to me.
I cannot explain why, but something prompted me at this point in my life to start reading the Quran in Farsi. Until that time, I had only ever read and learnt it in its original Arabic, without understanding anything. My mother had allowed only that, and I believe now that the reason for this general practice in Islam is to hide the truth of what the Quran really says from any intelligent and enquiring mind. I wondered why Allah could speak only Arabic and was not able to understand or speak Farsi, and so I began to read a Farsi translation of the Quran. I could not even finish one chapter. I was so quickly disillusioned and disappointed by what I read. Questions raced through my mind. “Is this really what I have been praying? Is this really what I am supposed to believe?”
I began to ask my mother questions too, but her response was only to express horror that I would even hint at any doubts about any of the teachings or traditions of my religion. She would tell me to immediately ask Allah’s pardon for my questions.
One prayer that struck me was the Al Tashahhud:
“Pray to Mohammed and the family of Mohammad as you prayed to Abraham and the family of Abraham and bless Mohammed and the family of Mohammed as you blessed Abraham and the family of Abraham….” (My translation.)
I thought, “But what about all the other Muslims? Why are we praying only for Mohammed’s family?” I began to think about some of the other teachings of my religion. I thought about how it was taught that Muslim men could have up to four wives, and yet Mohammed was allowed to have as many as he wanted. He claimed he was from Allah and should be respected. He said he was different from all other people. In my mind this just seemed so selfish, and I could not believe this way of thinking and behaving and speaking to his followers. From that time onwards, I stopped reading the Quran. I continued with my Islamic prayers, but I was not as strict as I had been before.
My older sister, Parisa, started to really rebel against Islam around this time. I would even say that she began to hate Muslim people, and to regard them as hypocrites. She no longer believed in our religion at all. She began to badger me every day. “Nasrin, why are you praying all the time? Muslims make so many ridiculous claims. They say you will get so many good things when you go to Paradise. It’s just not possible to believe all that.” We would spend a lot of time talking together, discussing religion and the claims of Islam. More and more doubts about the things I had always been taught were growing in my mind and in my heart. I wondered again about the issue of the language. If I wanted to send a specific prayer to Allah through the mosque, I had to pay for a translation from Farsi. Why could I not speak to him directly myself in my own language?
As I got older, I would reflect too on some of the legal and cultural traditions of my country that flowed from Islam. I thought about how women could be stoned to death for adultery on the accusation of her husband without proper investigation. In traditional Persian Zoroastrianism, women were given high status and respect, so their treatment under Islam is in glaring contrast to our history. I did not need to look outside my own family to find an example of how women are mistreated in modern-day Iran. I have a really beautiful cousin who married a rich man. A few months into their marriage, he brought another woman into their home. He told her that she was there for sigheh, which amounts to “temporary marriage”. Sigheh is based on a verbal contract and can last for as long or short a time as desired. The woman is usually given money, or a gift, or a place to sleep under sigheh, so that in essence it is religiously sanctioned prostitution. My cousin’s husband took the woman into the bedroom and they emerged an hour later, and the woman left. My cousin’s husband has repeated his sigheh marriages, and she is unable to do anything about it. He has refused her a divorce and frequently locks her in the house when he goes out.
There came a day when my sister Parisa’s husband got into trouble for political reasons and they both had to flee the country. They went to the UK as refugees. Within a short time, in 2012, my sister found herself in a church and met an Iranian Christian there. He would translate the sermons each Sunday into Farsi for a group of Iranian refugees, and also held a Farsi Bible study during the week. She was soon reading the Bible every day. She kept in close contact with me all this time. She would remind me of things that we had read together in the Quran and found difficult to understand and to accept. She told me, “Nasrin, you know, the Bible is not like the Quran at all. It is so different.”
Meanwhile, my voices were starting to control my life more and more. At first, I had been hearing them only when I was alone at night, but they were now speaking to me more and more frequently, and at any time of day or night. They would talk to me about my friends and family, and sometimes predict the future. I listened to them and believed everything they told me. At times I would test them. I recall one instance when they told me, “Two years ago, this day was Friday.” I thought to myself, “I will prove that this is just a lie to try to make me put my confidence in them.” But, on checking the calendar, I found that the day had indeed been a Friday. Another time they told me, “Go into the back yard. We have left a gift for you there.” I went outside to the yard, and found two kittens. I was young, naïve and impressionable, but in this way, the voices gained an ever deeper hold over my life.
Strange as it may seem, I was not afraid of the voices at this point. I asked them over and over again to allow me to see them, but they told me, “No, you can’t see us. Stop asking for this.” Nevertheless, it seemed to me like real friendship. I had friends I could talk to whenever I wanted. I just could not see them. My mother continued to warn me against speaking to these voices. She told me again and again to ignore them and to have nothing to do with them. I did not listen to her advice. I began to sink deeper into this darkness that was slowly engulfing me. I could now hear and understand every word that they spoke to me. I started to retreat to my room for hours at a time during the day, talking out loud to my “friends”. I spent very little time with my parents or with anyone else.
Yet, in all the darkness, a light began to dawn on my soul. Parisa sent me the Gospel of Matthew in Farsi. I am indebted to her for the patience and the time she took to photograph each page on her phone and to send them to me so that I could read just that small portion of the Bible for the first time. I was amazed at the character of Jesus as he is portrayed by Matthew. I saw that He was not selfish. He did not have numerous wives. He did not even have a girlfriend at any time in His life. For me, brought up with the stories of Mohammed and his many wives, this contrast spoke to me more than anything else. But it was also the things that He taught that struck me. I knew no human being would speak the way that He did about loving our enemies, or about the need for purity in our thoughts as well as our actions. My spirit was refreshed to read about a man who was so different from any other I had encountered or read about before. However, there was no thought in my mind during this period of my life of ever becoming a Christian. I knew that for me to be a Christian could lead to countless problems, and I could even be killed. I did not even consider that I could ever leave my religion of Islam.
I would say that up to this point I’d had a good and happy childhood. My parents never argued with each other, providing a harmonious home and a good upbringing. My home was comfortable, I did well in my studies and I had no real problems. I also had some privileges of wealth, owning a lot of gold jewellery, which is beyond the income of most Iranians. I had every material possession I could possibly desire, in fact.
However, everything was gradually changing as a direct result of the strange relationship I had developed with my invisible “friends”. For one thing, I was having nightmares. Usually, I dreamt that I was falling. This would happen three or four times each night, waking me from my sleep. At first, I tried to ignore the nightmares, to carry on as usual and to tell myself that this was nothing serious. But soon I was experiencing other strange phenomena at night. I used to wake, open my eyes, and find that although I could see everything around me in the familiar surroundings of my room, I was completely paralysed, unable to move a muscle. During these awakenings, I could hear voices, like a crowd of people, chattering and laughing. These were not the same “friends” that I heard at other times. These voices made me afraid. Sometimes I could see lights, without knowing what they were or where they were coming from.
This pattern of disturbed sleep, with the nightmares and the awakenings, went on for two years. All this time, I dreaded going to bed every single night. It became a new way of life for me, and I would set myself tests. For example, at bedtime, I would determine that on that particular night I would try really hard to move my hand when I woke, just a little bit. If I succeeded, I would feel I had achieved something, and that I was making progress towards some vague, unspecified goal.
When I confided in my mother, she advised me to read the Quran before going to sleep, and gave me some prayers to recite. She was sure that it would help me to overcome my nighttime experiences. She believed firmly that the Quran would solve all my problems. I tried to follow her advice, but my prayers and my readings never made any difference.
During the last year that I spent at my home in Iran, I began to shout out loudly when I woke during the night. Sometimes I shouted, “There’s an earthquake!”, and if I was able to move, I would run to the door of my house, not even understanding myself why I was behaving this way. The rest of my family never seemed to be particularly worried. They just mocked me and called me crazy. In fact, my behaviour in general was very disturbed. Small remarks that people made would make me cry or lose my temper. Another sister, who was living at home with us at this time, became my greatest enemy. We were always fighting and arguing. I was extremely sensitive to every negative thing she said to me. Twice I tried to commit suicide. My life was out of control. I thought about the comforts and the privileges I had grown up with, and I could not understand what had gone so wrong.
My sister Parisa, still living in the UK, heard about my second suicide attempt. We were still frequently in touch with each other, and she promised me that she would pray for me and told me that everything would be okay. This time she sent me the Gospel of John to read. I liked what I read, but I still had no thought of becoming a Christian. I managed to buy a gold cross at around this time, and I wanted to send it to my sister, but I was never able to find a way to do that.
Some time after reading through John’s Gospel, I made a new friend. My sister had been able to find and get in touch with a Christian living in Shiraz and asked her to introduce herself to me. We began to meet and to talk together, and quickly became close. She was able to give me a small Bible in Farsi. I still read only the gospels because my thoughts were focused on finding out more about Jesus.
I was still having nightmares and suffering from disturbed sleep, so I made the decision to leave my family and the atmosphere of my home that had become so oppressive to me. I was desperate to come to the UK and to be with Parisa there. I thought somehow that if I left my life in Iran behind, I could start a new life and everything would be better.
I went first to Turkey and spent a month there in deep despair. I was homeless and penniless, unable to go back to Iran, but unable to move forwards. I was just twenty-five years old. I had been told that it was too dangerous for me to travel alone, and that I would almost inevitably be raped at some point. Even Parisa told me to prepare myself for that to happen. I felt I was waiting for some terrible disaster to come my way, and I was afraid of everyone I met.
One day, as I was walking in the streets of Istanbul, I saw a leaflet on the ground. The picture on the leaflet was of a topless man with a toned physique, and with a mind desperate for anything attractive or appealing, I picked the leaflet up. It was an advertisement for a show, and the date given was December 11th. I suddenly started to cry. Clutching the leaflet, I prayed a very simple and desperate prayer. I said, “Jesus, please, on this date, let me be in the UK. I’m fed up with everything. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t know what’s going on. I left my home because I believed I could find my way to you, and you should save me.” It was the first time I had prayed to Jesus.
Shortly after this, I was given a passport one night and told to be ready to leave the next day to fly to the UK. As I arrived in London, and was dealt with by the police at the airport, I noticed that the date the officer was writing as he filled in a form for me was December 11th. I had completely forgotten about my prayer, but at that moment, the memory of my desperate cry came flooding back to me. It was a miracle: the first time that I had prayed to Jesus, I had been given a clear and unmistakable answer, and I was overwhelmed. I believe that from that moment, I really began my journey with Jesus, believing that He is real, that He is God, and that He is the way for me to be saved from the darkness that had filled my life.
Another miracle happened when I entered the UK for the first time. All the nightmares and the voices disappeared. My first night, sleeping in London, was beautiful, peaceful and dreamless. I called Parisa the next day, and said to her in amazement, “Do you sleep like this every night? Is it really normal for you? I never knew that nighttime could be so peaceful! Is it real? I have been suffering for so long, and you have been sleeping peacefully like this?”
From that very first night, I did not again experience the voices or the night disturbances, but I worried for some time that they would return. At one point, I went to visit my GP in the UK. The voices had been such a regular and overpowering part of my life for so long, that I could not believe that I had left that episode behind me for good. My GP was clearly alarmed and concerned when I described what had been happening to me back home in Iran. He suggested that I may need to be sectioned under the Mental Health Act. This was a huge shock to me, and so I have never mentioned my experiences to a health professional again. By God’s grace, I was not troubled by all that darkness and despair again for a long period, and as time went by, I realised more and more that my life had begun completely anew. I was not the same person I was before. Everything had started afresh for me.
One of the first things I did on starting my new life was to find a church to attend. I found a church where I felt welcomed and was shown real kindness. The people I met truly preached the Gospel through their behaviour. At first, they would talk to me about anything and everything, but soon they began to talk to me about Jesus and about their faith in Him. I was given a Bible in English with my name written in the front of it. I still treasure this Bible. I read it to help me to study and improve my English while learning more about Jesus. I had been sent to live in a city far from my sister Parisa, but we spoke often about the new truths we were learning.
Since receiving my leave to remain, I have managed to move to live close to Parisa, her husband and my little niece and nephew. I have “real” family here, but I also eventually found my church family – my Christian brothers and sisters who love me.
At first, I found it difficult to settle in my new city. I tried a few different churches, wanting to find some independence from my sister’s family. I had worked hard to improve my English, so I could follow the sermons, but when the service finished, I felt that no one noticed that I was a newcomer, or was interested in talking to me. I had got a job in a restaurant, and this was also proving a problem for me. My boss at the restaurant was Muslim, and would question me over and over about why I had left my religion, and would encourage me to return to Islam. She would tell me that if I returned, Allah would help me to find my way. In my mind I responded that I had finally found my way in Jesus and I did not want to lose it again. My boss also gave me a stone that is used by Shia Muslims in their prayers, and told me to use it. On starting the job, I had explained that I wanted to go to church on Sunday mornings, so I asked not to be given shifts in the restaurant at this time. However, when I was sent the work rota, I found that I had been given the Sunday morning shift more frequently than anyone else. Eventually I left this job, feeling that it was really not helping me to walk with God in my new life as a Christian.
I had enrolled in a language school very near to my home, and was attending English lessons there. One day, at the school, I met a young Iranian man from a different class, also from Shiraz. We quickly discovered that we both also shared the same faith in Jesus as our Saviour, and my new friend told me about the church that he attended. He invited me to go with him to an evening service. I went along, and found that the same Iranian Christian that my sister had met when she first came to the city was at the church, and was translating the service into Farsi for a large group of Iranian refugees. When the service ended, I went with my friend to the church hall where tea and coffee were being served. He introduced me to some of his friends – both other Iranian refugees like us, and some British members of the church. I immediately felt welcomed, and that those I spoke to were genuinely interested in getting to know me. I continued to attend the church with my friend whenever I was able to and began to find real spiritual blessing from the pastor’s messages.
I am also appreciating studying the Bible with other Iranian friends who share my background. Going through the story of Joseph recently, I expressed my surprise when we were told that he had not always behaved wisely in his relationships with his brothers – like when he told them about his dreams. In Islam, Joseph is considered one of the prophets and as such he can never be criticised or spoken about as having any weaknesses or failings. I found that my thinking was still influenced by this attitude. My Iranian friend told me, “Yes, of course. This is not the Quran. The Bible tells the story as it really happened. It tells us the truth about Joseph. He was just a man with weaknesses like the rest of us.”
I cannot pinpoint the moment when I became a Christian. I have just found that there is a new life growing in me, and as I learn more and more, I love my new faith more and more. During one service, the pastor asked, “Do you ever ask yourself, ‘Why did God choose me? Have you ever considered how special you are to Him?’” It was as though he was speaking directly to me. I did not want to cry in front of my friend who was sitting next to me, because I knew that he would laugh at me, but I could not hold back the tears. It had dawned on me so clearly that God had chosen me and called me from the darkness of my former life, and brought me into His light.
A verse that has become very special to me is John 1:1. It says,
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
John 1:1 NKJV
For Muslims, the Quran is the word of God. But for Christians, Jesus is the Word – the revelation of the Father to the world. God shows Himself to us through His Son, whom He sent to become a human being, just like us. I have come slowly to understand the pain that Jesus bore for us on the cross, in taking away our sin – a pain that we could never bear ourselves. I have seen too the perfection of His life in the way that He lived and responded to opposition and temptation. He lived a life that I could never live myself in order to please God and to meet His standard.
As a Muslim, you live with the understanding that Allah is never happy with you, and in fear of offending him with every move you make. I remember learning as a child that if I was even to go into the bathroom of my house with my left leg before the right, I would displease Allah. I feared going to Hell for some such sin, and had a continual sense of guilt that followed me through each day of my life. I remember also being puzzled when I was taught that if you cry and show sorrow, then you will get closer to Allah. I look back at the futility of this kind of play-acting, and of the early morning washings in cold water with my father when I was a child. I remember also the fasting during Ramadan, which I was forced to do from nine years old, and how I thought even then about how unhealthy a practice it seemed. I wondered why Allah would ask us to do something that seemed so obviously harmful to our health, and I had to witness my mother frequently faint from hunger and dehydration during the day.
I am not able to communicate with my father and one of my sisters, still living in Iran. I am in contact with my mother and my brother, however. My brother has experienced some nightmares and sleeplessness as I did, and he has watched some Christian satellite television. One day, he watched a programme which included testimonies of people who had experienced nightmares and insomnia before they found peace in Christ. That night he was woken five times by nightmares. Eventually, remembering the programme he had watched, he prayed to Jesus, asking for the same peace he had heard about. He then slept soundly for the rest of the night. I pray every day for my brother to come to know Jesus as I do.
Now I am filled with the joy of knowing that Jesus chose me and called me by name to come to Him as His blessed child. I feel a pride in being who I am by His grace. I do not need to do anything to earn His favour. He has done everything for me.
Since becoming a Christian, I often find myself having to defend my faith to Muslims I meet when they discover that I have left Islam, such as my boss at the restaurant. The conversation sometimes then turns to some of the teachings and traditions of Islam. I recently discussed Mohammed’s marriage at the age of fifty to the nine-year-old Aisha. I told my Muslim friend that I thought this marriage seemed so harmful and unfair to the young Aisha. She replied that it was not a real marriage, but was arranged for political reasons. I said that if so, this made the situation even worse. If a marriage was concerned with politics rather than love, there could be no happiness for the girl.
I recently gained an English qualification so that I can return to university to study architecture as I had been doing back in Iran before I left, and I hope for a stable life in the future.
I think back sometimes to all the privileges of life that I had when I was in Iran, and I compare that life to what I have now. Now, at the times when I can find work and earn money, it is just enough to get by. In one sense I have lost everything – money, family and friends. But I remember that in that life I had no peace. I had no idea even of what peace meant. Now I am happy and contented with what I have because I have found the pearl of greatest price. As Jesus teaches in Matthew 13:45-46:
…the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant seeking beautiful pearls, who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had and bought it.
Matthew 13:45-46 NKJV
Persian Voices 