“So, do you want to enter Islam, or don’t you?” the man sitting across the table from me asked impatiently. I felt several pairs of eyes burning into me as I looked up from my meal of rice. A Muslim friend had invited me to attend a large gathering of Muslims from all over the country and many parts of the world. Tens of thousands of the faithful had converged on a small, out-of-the-way village for two days of instruction, fellowship and inspiration. In prayer caps and long white robes, they sat cross-legged on mats in a large open area under shade cloth and listened intently as a respected teacher exhorted them to live lives pleasing to Allah.

I had hoped to fade into the background and learn more about my Muslim brothers and sisters. But I soon discovered that a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Westerner couldn’t blend in that easy. People stopped me and asked how long I had been a Muslim and were shocked to hear I wasn’t a Muslim. They were also intrigued that someone who held to the three holy books mentioned in the Quran—the Taurat (Books of Moses), Zaboor (Psalms), and the Injil (gospels)—would attend a gathering of Muslims.

“So do you want to enter Islam or don’t you?” the man asked again.

My mind raced as I thought about the implications. I had two options: I could bow to the pressure and say yes, but that would mean denying my faith in Jesus Christ as the Son of God and several other key elements of my faith. Or I could be up-front and honest regardless of the consequence. There was only one option. “No, I don’t want to be Muslim,” I responded with all the straightforward gentleness I could muster. “I hold to the Taurat, the Zaboor and Injil.” I felt a sense of peace come over me. I also noticed something else—my Muslim friends seemed to respect my forthrightness.

At the end of the meetings, I parted company with several new Muslim friends with warm hugs and handshakes.

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