Converting Iran to Christianity from California, and Its Perils

I had been waiting to go to the church I attended today for a while. I just found the whole concept intriguing. What is it? The Iranian Christian Church in Sunnyvale, California:

My friend Jessica drove me down here from San Francisco to attend the service while she went shopping, which is one of her greatest skills.

The church is a controversial one, the home of International Antioch Ministries, an organization of former Muslims who want to convert other Muslims to Christ. Begun after September 11, IAM uses satellite television beamed into Iran and underground churches to help complete its mission to convert ten percent of Iran’s population to Christianity. It’s a dangerous endeavor, as converting from Islam in Iran can have mortal consequences.

But more on that later. First, the service.

There are two services in the church – one in Farsi for those of Iranian descent, and one in English, mainly for youth. I kept being steered towards the youth ministries, told that it would be more comfortable for me. But I insisted on going to the Farsi service and getting the real experience.

I was amazed at how accommodating they were to non-Farsi speakers. I totally expected to just sit in the seat and not understand a thing for an hour. But they had little headphones I could wear to listen to an interpreter.

I felt a little bad for the interpreter. She couldn’t keep up with the man introducing the service, and was putting in all this effort just for me. When songs were sung by the band, she would say every line, so I’d hear “If I’ve seen your example, why should I be afraid of pharaohs?” spoken amelodically over and over again in my ear.

I absolutely loved the songs, though. When Christian rock is sung in honeyed Farsi, it’s so much more moving than in English – the poetry shines through. And everyone was so enthused. I was told that 99 percent of the congregants are converts to Christianity, many of whom came to the United States as religious refugees. You’ll be hard-pressed to find people more devoted to a faith than those who have chosen to leave their homeland rather than have to practice their religion in secret. Women were crying, hands were being waved, and the entire crowd swayed with passion.

Finally, Pastor Hormuz Shariat took the stage for the sermon:

It was certainly moving, calling out a lot of issues which I don’t often see discussed in churches, revolving around religious community, or lack thereof. He said that the parishioners weren’t putting the message of community into action – they were selfishly going through the motions.

He excoriated people for being so caught up in the little problems of the church that they can’t see the bigger picture. So many people approach him with little complaints, little problems that cloud their ability to function in the community. Something as petty as not liking a song or a sermon or even another congregant takes over the church experience for some, making it useless.

“If we, like everybody else, become depressed, complain, nag – we’re not different than anyone else. … It’s great to love God, but not His children. In Damascus, when Christ met Paul, what did he say? Why do you hurt my body?” (The translator was keeping up with him well now; I assume there was a script in English.)

He said that church wasn’t fulfilling one of its main functions, a place of healing for its congregants. No one was paying attention to the other people. Everyone was so caught up in the little imperfections of the church, but weren’t trying to make it better. People were in their own little worlds, complaining about the church, but not taking ownership and trying to make it better.

“How many times do you come in pain and leave in pain? … You come, you sing a few verses, and you leave. You don’t pay attention! … There’s so much negativity. We might not be able to help each other financially, but [we can just] be next to someone and know they care. I want to say, ‘Yes, I have been loved here!.’ “

His words gained in tenor and volume, as he extended his hands to the congregation. Cameras which were recording the sermon for broadcast were sweeping the crowd of about 200 people, nodding and clapping on the left side of the floor. (The right side was roped off so that the church would look more full.)

“Do you love the body of Christ? … When we come to church, we allow a lot of things to break our hearts, and with this comes a bitter spirit. … Every time I come, at least five people break my heart.”

On the page, the words seem much harsher than they were. Shariat didn’t seem to be preaching from a high horse, but rather one of the parishioners, explaining that he needed people to make the church function as a community just as much as everyone else did. I loved it.

After the service, everyone gathered in the foyer for kebabs and other assorted goodies. One of the ladies was incredibly nice and went to get me some food, but before she returned, I was whisked outside, where I was able to talk with Arman Baghbanbashi, a member of the leadership group of the church. He’s instrumental in the workings of the English service, which is probably why I was set up with him.

The church started in Shariat’s house in the late 1980s, and has been growing greatly since then. The English service has only been going on for the last few years, however, as the second-generation Persian immigrants, as in many immigrant communities, have lost the ability to speak in the tongue of their ancestors. But it’s not just Iranians who go to the English side, as I saw people of all ethnicities leaving that service, which as growing as well. Interestingly, Baghbanbashi says that these people are attracted to the Iranian church because it has that community that Shariat was critiquing in his service.

“In the Persian culture, it’s really based on family,” Baghbanbashi says. “There is no comfort zone. We’re in your face, so when people come in, they get a hug immediately, whether we know them or not. A lot of people have said they feel more homey here, whereas at the other church they were going to, there wasn’t that relationship, that connection.”

But, of course, most of what Baghbanbashi and I talked about was the mission of the International Antioch Ministries. As I said before, IAM records its services and beams them via satellite into Iran, where it’s illegal to view them. While the Iranian church is about two decades old, the IAM outgrowth started after September 11, 2001, in order to win Muslims to Christ so that “the culture of violence, hate and revenge now so rampant in the Middle East will change.” IAM hopes to open up missionary organizations in Tehran, print Bibles for Iranians, and eventually convert at least ten percent of Iranians to Christianity.

About 99 percent of Iranians are Muslim, and Iran has drafted laws that would mandate the death penalty for converts away from Islam. Christian groups must operate in secret, under major threat.

“The Iranian people, because they don’t have access to the world, have satellite dishes. You see dishes on the rooftops, and then you see them covered up, because there’s helicopters that go and jam the dishes. They’ll cover them up, and when Iranians want to watch their Western shows, that they’re not supposed to watch, they’ll whip out that nice dish,” says Baghbanbashi. IAM gets about six hours per day on a channel called Mohabat, which means love in Farsi, and is organized by the Christian Broadcasting Network. The other hours are often taken up by other Iranian churches in America with similar missions.

But a lot of their programs aren’t religious. Baghbanbashi says that IAM puts out a lot of shows geared toward youth that simply try to instill morality and to combat drug use by showing “good, clean fun.” There are shows that are religious in nature, like the cartoon Bible stories that are ubiquitous in American Christian children’s programming, but it’s not as common. “We’re not going with the ‘Jesus come save me’ type of thing, because they’ll reject it,” he says. “They’ve been fed religion all they’re life, it’s like ‘Oh great, here’s another one.’ The big part of the mission is conversion, but really it’s just about spreading love, and through that, I believe conversion will happen.”

Baghbanbashi, who accepted Christ as a teenager, can certainly relate. The son of a Muslim father and an Eastern Orthodox Christian mother, he had conflicting interpretations of God as a child, and never really latched on to either. When he was 16, he ended up in a deep depression, had nightmares all the time, and became what he called a “bad kid.” But, then he started hanging out with a nondenominational Christian pastor, and that set him on his current path.

“I was actually envious of my pastor’s life,” he says. “He lives a peaceful life. He can go to sleep at night and wake up the next day and be totally rejuvenated, totally happy. He doesn’t get migraine headaches like I’m getting. He has so much joy.” His envy made him turn to Christ as well, as he saw the pastor’s life as proof of God. Since then, he’s never had a nightmare. “Now, I never have nightmares. It’s been eight years since I haven’t slept well. I sleep well every night no matter what circumstance, and everything I have ever wanted God has provided.

So it’s clear why Baghbanbashi and others like him in this church would want to spread their message, so others can experience what they does. But the sticking point is that it’s so dangerous. Proselytizing is not an option in Iran, and this church has to smuggle Bibles in through an underground network of home churches. At every point, life an limb are risked, not just for the missionaries, but the people who might convert, their families and friends.

But Baghbanbashi says its worth it. “To see someone who was super-depressed, who was about to commit suicide, then accept Christ. To hear them cry over the phone talking about how much their life has changed in the two hours that they’ve accepted Christ … It’s worth ten of my lives. My life is worthless compared to that, to see another person who was about to lose their life gain it.”

It’s certainly a moving sentiment. But, for me, it can be a hard pill to swallow. Even if you believe, as this church does, that Christianity is right and Islam is wrong, is that message so important that it’s worth risking death? In Iran, is it better to convert to Christianity and die than to remain Muslim and live? Not just in human terms, but in God’s eyes? How much would God want you to risk?

Even in the bigger picture. By sending missionaries in a country that disallows them, you might pick up some converts. But what are the people who hate the presence of missionaries thinking? Are you turning more people off from Christ than you are turning on to him?

It’s hard for me to fathom. I can’t relate to thinking my religion is so true to the exclusion of others, that I’d risk so much. Not that I wouldn’t risk what I have, but to include others in the danger. But how much is the truth worth?