“MOHAMMED IS GREATER THAN JESUS! SAY IT!”

“Monkeys will fly out my nose before I go there!” I was very firm with my husband Daryl. He’d made an agreement with UNESCO and Afghanistan’s Ministry of Higher Education that he’d bring a team of academics to Kabul for university faculty training by March 2003.

“You know I can’t go to a Muslim country. And from everything I read about Kabul it is total chaos there. No! I’m not going. And that’s final!” He knew I meant business because my arms were akimbo. That always means the final word.

Stupid Terry Mitchell. Daryl made an announcement at one of our major conferences that he was looking for folks to go with him to Afghanistan. I usually liked Terry Mitchell, but after the session, I must have been standing too close to Terry because he started talking to Daryl about how he wanted to go to Afghanistan and how much he loved Afghans and to count him in and that he was really excited about the opportunity and somehow the Holy Spirit, which was supposed to be on Terry Mitchell, spilled over onto me! It was almost involuntary and I found the words coming out of my mouth, “Well, I’ll go if Terry Mitchell goes.”

And that was that. Suddenly I was preparing for Afghanistan. Couldn’t point it out to you on a map, but I was getting ready to go.

Before we even arrived in Kabul, we knew we were heading for a mess. We flew from Dubai on Ariana Airlines (Afghan Air). The plane was an old Pan Am 707. (Remember, Pan Am went out of business in 1990.) The seatbelts still had the Pan Am logo on them, as did the plane’s soiled and torn seat covers. Most of the seatbelts didn’t work—including mine. The plane had seats missing. Those that remained were broken; the backs wouldn’t stay upright. If a passenger stood up, the seatback would fall forward. We shared the flight with livestock and saddles. There were live chickens, and one guy had a goat.

We landed among debris at the airport. All along the runway, there were crashed airplanes, old machine parts, and things that were burned beyond recognition. Welcome to Kabul!

One of the things the team agreed to was that we’d obey the laws of the land. We four were all evangelical Christians with hearts for winning souls. We all believe that Jesus is the only way to God. But Afghanistan’s government and UNESCO made it clear we were not to proselytize. Afghanistan needed help and holding these faculty workshops for university professors (some hadn’t been in a classroom in 25 years) was our cold cup of water in Jesus’ name—even if we couldn’t speak His name, it was right for us to go and help.

People often ask me, “What good is it to go to a country where you can’t share the Four Spiritual Laws?” And believe me, I’m what CS Lewis called a “Hot Gospeler.” I love evangelism, but evangelism isn’t the only thing that brings glory to God. A good housepainter, if he does his job well, brings glory to God. A new mommy that is nursing and changing diapers, if her focus is on Jesus, brings glory to God. Because truly, in the life of the Believer, there should never be a separation between sacred and secular. There is no bifurcation in the Christian life. Whatever we do in word or deed, we are to do it all in the name of the Lord (Colossians 3:17), giving thanks. Our team was willing to go to Kabul and hold workshops and in-service training sessions and give of what knowledge we had to the Afghan faculty members even if we were never given a chance to preach the gospel. Our going was about obedience and serving others and leaving the results in God’s hands.

We went. We taught. We prayed and we asked the Holy Spirit to help us give to these war-torn, exhausted, and weary colleagues something of value. Every day we asked the Lord Jesus to guide us, anoint us, and let us smell like Him. We wanted to be the fragrance of Christ in those classrooms.

During the final week, I was conducting a workshop on philosophy of education. Right in the middle of my presentation, a creepy, bearded, turbaned man stood up (some of the Afghans had warned us he was a Taliban sympathizer). The scary Taliban guy, rather aggressively, asked, “Dr. Teri, do you believe in Mohammed?”

Well, I paused and tried to think of a win-win response. “Of course. Everyone knows about Mohammed. He is a historical figure with…”

The man interrupted, “No! I mean do you believe he is the prophet of Allah?”

Uh oh. The faculty members’ heads went down. No one looked around. It felt as if it was just the two of us in that room.

“Well, I defend your right to believe that,” and I tried to steer the conversation toward democracy and freedom of speech. But this man was persistent.

He shouted at me “Do you follow Mohammed or Jesus?”

Long pause.

“Uh…Jesus. In fact, Jesus Christ is my very best friend!” It’s a line I picked up from my husband. You see, I thought if this guy believed I was a mental case, he’d leave me alone. I mean who can be best friends with a man who has been “dead” for 2,000 years? Right? Didn’t work.

“Mohammed is greater than Jesus!” he barked.

“Okay,” I responded.

“No! Say it! Say that Mohammed is greater than Jesus!” his face was dark and his eyes very narrow. He was shouting and leaning forward. He was, well, scary.

You know that passage in the Scripture where Jesus says if we deny Him, He’ll deny us (II Timothy 2:12)? Well, that, with some other stuff, was rolling around in my head. You see, I don’t mind dying for Jesus, but living in a filthy Kabul prison—that would be really tough on me. I have bleach under every sink in my house. I like clean. I like tidy. I like to be comfortable. Death, hey, no problem. Life in a dingy, stinking cell? Hmmmmm.

Anne Lamott says there are only two actual authentic prayers: “Help me! Help me! Help me!” and “Thank You! Thank You! Thank You!” I was chanting the first one silently.

My ears were hot, which meant my face was flushed. My knees were knocking, but not too visibly under my long tunic and trousers. I was not going to deny Jesus. But was there anything behind door #3?

In my preparation for this trip to Afghanistan, I had done a bit of research about their culture. They are a very familial people. They also have a long history of honoring the elders of their communities. I believe with all my heart that God gave me the response, because I wasn’t thinking too clearly. I asked radical scary Taliban guy, “Do you have a grandmother?”

He was so surprised by my stupid question that he actually took a step back. “What? Of course I have a grandmother. Well, she’s dead. But I had a grandmother!” His face was scrunched and he looked a little confused.

“Did you love your grandmother?” I asked.

Folks were starting to peek out from their bowed heads just to see what was happening.

“Of course I loved her! What do you mean?” he replied.

“Well, if I said those words you are asking me to say, it would break my grandmother’s heart! Do you want me to break my grandmother’s heart and bring disgrace to her?” I paused just for effect because I knew I had him. I continued…

“Is that what you want? You want my grandmother to suffer? Because if I say those words, it would break her heart and bring disgrace to my entire village.”

“Uh, uh, no!” he stammered, “You’re twisting my words. That’s not the point!” His voice was softer. I could see he had taken a direct hit.

Suddenly, the oldest member of the faculty raised his hand. This was the most respected man of the entire group. Out of the 130 participants, probably half were his former students. He was in his mid-70s (a miracle in itself knowing Afghanistan’s history), with beautiful white hair and he wore a hand-knitted skullcap that looked a lot like a halo.

“Dr. Teri, may I say something?” he asked.

In my head I was thinking, “As long as it is not ‘Kill the White Woman.’”

“Sure,” I answered.

There was a collective sigh of relief in the room. They knew this old professor. They trusted his wisdom.

“Mohammed taught us that Jesus was a great and wonderful teacher. We know that Dr. Teri is a follower of His because she too is a great and wonderful teacher. And to be quite frank, my son, even our own prophet Mohammed would not ask Dr. Teri to say such a thing. You see, the Quran teaches us that God will reveal Himself to anyone who seeks Him, whether that be in a mosque, a church or a temple.”

He paused. “May I write that verse on the board, Dr. Teri?”

I handed him the marker. He wrote it in English, Farsi, and Pashtu.

Just when he was finished, the bell rang and everyone rushed for the door heading for lunch.

Except four men who waited nervously for the classroom to empty.

Then they asked me, almost in a whisper, “Dr. Teri, we have always wanted to learn more about Jesus. We have always wanted to know Him. Can you help us? Do you have some literature, or some articles perhaps? Something that we can read to help us understand Jesus and to learn more about Him?”

Terry Mitchell had brought several copies of the Gospel of John in Pashtu. They were small booklets with drawings of Jesus speaking to crowds. At first glance, when Terry showed them to me, I thought they were children’s literature. But they weren’t. They were lovely small pamphlets of the Book of John. Terry made sure each man received his own copy.

You see, I didn’t have to break any rules or any promises in Afghanistan to bring Jesus’ name into the classroom. Scary turban, bearded guy brought Jesus’ name into that workshop. I didn’t have to steer conversations, or manipulate anyone. All I had to do was show up and God took care of the rest. I didn’t bring God into that classroom. He was already there. Peace. 

— Teri

UN Team on another trip to Kabul, Afghanistan (2006)