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Who Writes History When There Is No Winner?

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Eight somber Muslims sat around white plastic tables on the gold-tinged red carpet of Sayyida Aisha Mosque in Sidon, Lebanon. Arabic sweets beckoned, but few partook. The seriousness of the occasion—reviewing their memories of Lebanon’s 15-year civil war that ended in 1990—seemed to make several uneasy. They did sip their tea.

Four were Lebanese native to Sidon. Four were Palestinian refugees. Several wore beards, some long and scraggly, others short and trimmed. One was a former fighter in the war. Another lost family members when a Christian militia massacred inhabitants in Tel al-Zaatar.

Beginning in 1975, Christians, Muslims, and Palestinians plunged Lebanon into a regional conflict that included Israel and Syria, leaving 150,000 dead. Those convening the meeting, a Lebanese evangelical and a Druze follower of Jesus, hoped to unravel the reasons behind the highly contested conflict. Their host, chief judge for the Sunni Muslim court in Sidon and imam of the mosque, lent his legitimacy to the sensitive proceedings.

As participants received a 12-page document presenting Lebanese history that preceded the war, they were taken aback by reading a fully Christian perspective. But then the story shifted to Muslim perspectives, divided between Lebanese and Palestinian views. Three versions of history, none legitimized over the other.  

Many Christians do not call Lebanon’s tragedy a civil war. They emphasize how Palestinian refugees brought local destruction in their fight against Israel. Meanwhile, Palestinians emphasize displacement from their homeland and their need for a base from which to fight Israel. Lebanese Muslims sympathized with Palestine but aimed to change a sectarian political order that disproportionately favored Christians.

When the group finished reading the document, the evangelical stood up.

“Which narrative do you sympathize with the most?” he asked.

Martin Accad, president of the Beirut-based Near East School of Theology, spoke in his capacity as founder of Action Research Associates (ARA), which is working on a project that presents civil war history through multiple narratives. Cofounder Chaden Hani took notes. Their project is unique because, in schools, history books end shortly after the country’s independence in 1943 and avoid discussion of the sectarian struggles that followed.

A few participants dominated the mosque conversation with their viewpoints. An elderly Palestinian former fighter mostly sat silent. Accad asked about their emotions, which prompted different responses. “Sadness at what happened,” said one. “Fear it might happen again,” said another. A third noted, “I am happy we are finally trying to talk objectively about what took place.”

To move on from the conflict, Parliament passed a general amnesty law in 1991 that pardoned all political and civil war–related crimes. Former militia leaders became politicians and ignored the peace accord to write a unified history textbook as each sect clung to its narrative.

In 1997, Lebanon mandated a new educational approach. After three years of work, the cabinet formally adopted the history curriculum. But it was never implemented due to political interference behind the scenes.

“History is written by the winners,” said Accad. “But there was no winner in Lebanon.” Christians and Muslims fought each other, and as allegiances shifted, each religion split into rival factions that clashed as well.

Accad said history became…

This article was originally published at Christianity Today, on December 18, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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The Priest and Social Worker Deradicalizing Jihadists in Prison

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Maya Yamout stared at the hardened jihadist sitting across from her over a plastic desk in the unkempt library prison. Books littered the floor. The man, a veteran al-Qaeda militant in the notorious Block B of Lebanon’s Roumieh jail pushed forward a glass of tea.

“Where’s the sugar?” Yamout asked.

The curt question fit their relationship. In their previous brief encounters, the prisoner called Yamout a spy, a pig, and all manner of insults that belittled her as a Muslim woman who did not wear a veil.

Yet this time, her mischievous smirk made the terrorist smile. Two weeks earlier, when he was sick, Yamout inquired about his health from prison guards and brought medicine and shampoo on her next visit. Once he recovered, he invited the visit, prompting the nervy but playful exchange. Sensing a breakthrough, Yamout proposed therapy. He accepted.

Eventually, filled with shame, he apologized for how poorly he treated her.

“To reach a prisoner, you have to bond over something,” said Yamout, the cofounder of Rescue Me, a Lebanese crime prevention and deradicalization organization.

But Yamout is clear: This something should not be religion. She’s found that speaking about faith often gets entwined in politics and leads to endless debate. It also rarely addresses what radicalized a militant in the first place.

Yet Marwan Ghanem, a priest in the Maronite Catholic church and president of the Lebanese chapter of Prison Fellowship International (PFI), takes the opposite approach. He centers his ministry on the story of Jesus and Zaccheus, believing the tax collector’s model of repentance can help any prisoner restore a debt to society.

Yamout and Ghanem worked independently in separate sections of Roumieh but met often for mutual encouragement. Despite their differences, when Yamout left in 2024 to pursue a PhD at the University of Swansea in the UK and budget restrictions at Rescue Me pinched its ability to go into prisons, she asked Ghanem to continue her work with extremists. She simply counseled him to go slow with religion, avoid provocation, be patient if insulted, and remember the prisoners’ humanity.

“Kill them with kindness,” Yamout said, “and kindness will prevail.”

Rescue Me, which Yamout and her sister Nancy founded in 2011, primarily worked among at-risk youth in the Hayy al-Gharbia neighborhood of Beirut until funding cuts in 2017 curtailed its service among the Lebanese poor as well as Syrian and Palestinian refugees.

Many in hopeless situations became easy targets for Islamic extremist groups, she discovered. And when prison overcrowding assigns ordinary criminals to Block B—designated for terrorist offenses—even the nonreligious can be radicalized through their need to belong, Yamout said.

She said Block B extremists fall into four categories. A quarter of her cases sought retribution for wrongs they suffered or the poverty they endured. Another quarter put a religious overlay on their frustration, while 35 percent did the same with politics. The remaining 15 percent are simple psychopaths—“I joined ISIS to smell the blood,” one told her.

Another prisoner she met fell into the second category. Born into Lebanon’s impoverished northern city of Tripoli …

This article was originally published at Christianity Today on December 3, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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Grassroots Efforts Bring Together Diverse Sects in Iraq

Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Getty

Three years ago in Iraqi Kurdistan, an adherent of the Kakai faith posted on social media that he had been called an infidel by a Sunni Muslim sheikh.

Kakai is a synthesis of Zoroastrianism and Shiite Islam, with between 110,000 and 200,000 followers in Iraq. Persecuted throughout their history, some Kakai consider themselves an independent religion, others a sect of Islam. But most Kurds are Sunni. The offending adherent felt a clear threat; some interpretations of Islam call for the killing of infidels.

Abdo Saad, regional programs director for Adyan Foundation, a Lebanon-based organization promoting interfaith dialogue and equal rights, reached out from his office in Erbil, Iraq, to the local ministry for religious affairs, alerting officials to the danger the Kakai follower may have faced. The authorities intervened and spoke to the sheikh privately. The Kakai man told Saad the issue had been resolved. But the ministry took no further action against the cleric.

Saad was not satisfied. In the honor-shame culture of the Middle East, it is often possible to resolve issues of religious freedom behind the scenes. Many converts to Christianity, for example, can live in relative peace if their Muslim families are not devout. Most authorities are not out to arrest believers.

However, if a conservative cousin publicizes the convert’s new faith, trouble may ensue. Wise officials may calm the situation, perhaps by relocating the convert to a different part of the city. They do not want Muslim extremists to discover the offense and call into question the religious legitimacy of a government that does not enforce the Islamic ban on apostasy.

Yet in the Middle East, only Lebanon allows a convert to officially register his or her new faith. For other nations in the region, religious scruples often trump religious freedom. Governments resolve many social issues along similar patterns, but human rights advocates lament that—as with the Sunni sheikh and Kakai Kurd—officials do not take a public stand.

Lebanon boasts one of the Arab world’s more robust expressions of political and cultural commitment to religious freedom. But Saad said the concept of rights-based citizenship has not sufficiently taken hold in any nation to enable a transition to a free and open democracy. He counsels Christians and Muslims to listen well to each other’s concerns so they can reform their nations together.

“I don’t have the answer for what this should look like,” he said. “I hope our grassroots work will push the leaders, but I don’t know.”

His uncertainty is warranted for Iraq as well. Under the dictatorship of Saddam Hussein, a Sunni, the nation had a nominally secular regime that integrated allied elites from different sects into its authoritarian governing structure. During the transition to democracy under US occupation, Iraqi political parties immediately organized along religious lines, and the majority Shiites captured power.

Sunni insurgencies followed, culminating in the creation of ISIS. Shiite militias backed by Iran joined the international coalition to defeat the jihadist threat but then kept their weapons and eroded national sovereignty. Neighboring Syria may witness a similar transition to conservative Sunni power now that a former al-Qaeda member has overthrown the Alawite-led regime.

Adyan registered in Iraq in 2022. An early project aimed to replicate the Lebanon success of Alwan, a school-based program to foster religious diversity and acceptance. Alwan means “colors” in Arabic. The Iraqi government welcomed the effort but insisted on calling it by the less kid-friendly name “Education on Active and Inclusive Citizenship,” as the original name made them think of the LGBTQ rainbow. Due to local sensitivities, the interfaith group accepted.

Other projects worked on social cohesion, Saad said. In a Chaldean Catholic city in the northern area of Nineveh, a Christian, Muslim, and Yazidi led joint efforts to renovate a public square damaged by ISIS. They restored electricity, installed benches, and held a public dinner. Some played backgammon long into the evening.

Similarly, in the southern city of Basrah, Iraq, with an overwhelmingly Shiite population, Adyan helped a Shiite and a Sunni lead a festival of diversity in the main city square. Artists and singers entertained onlookers, when a member of the minority Mandaean religion took the stage. He told Saad this was the first time he felt comfortable speaking publicly about his faith, in which John the Baptist is the greatest prophet.

Within a sectarian society, good social relations are possible—even common. It is harder to…

This article was originally published at Christianity Today, on October 29, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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What Would a Liberal Democracy in Lebanon Look Like?

Images courtesy of Rabih Koubayssi.

In September 2024, when Israel escalated its bombing campaign against Hezbollah in Lebanon, Shiite sheikh Rabih Koubayssi was one of the few clerics, Muslim or Christian, to stay in the targeted southern region. He was needed to bury the dead.

His first Islamic duty was to wash the bodies, which were often charred or missing a limb. He laid the body on an elevated table, turned it to face Mecca, and washed each part three times. Then he wrapped it in a burial cloth. Finally, he recited a Muslim prayer for Allah’s mercy. Assistants enclosed the body in a green bag, the color of Islam. He wrote the person’s name on the outside with a black marker.

On one occasion, a woman clad in an all-black abaya tossed flowers onto the hospital gurney carrying her dead father and brother. On another, Koubayssi discovered the body belonged to one of his students at the Islamic university.

Then on October 9, 2024, a Christian body arrived. Israel had bombed a civil defense center in the village of Derdghaya, damaging the church next to it. The strike killed five emergency workers, including Joseph al-Badawi, who had sent his parents and wife to safer areas while he remained on the job.

“How do I respect a Christian body?” Koubayssi asked himself.

The sheikh, a member of the Supreme Islamic Shiite Council of Lebanon, called Marious Khairallah, a Catholic priest in a village near Tyre who had also stayed behind during the war. The two had worked together in the local Forum for Religious Social Responsibility, run by Adyan Foundation, a Beirut-based interfaith organization.

Although the Christian cleric was only 10 minutes away by car, he could not come because of the bombings. Instead, he reassured his friend that Christians do not have similar rituals and that he should take care of the body as best he could.

Koubayssi wiped down Badawi’s body, leaving on the tattered clothes. He struggled to enclose the corpse in nylon as rigor mortis had steeled the right arm in a raised position above the head. Eventually, during a pause in the bombing, the sheikh and priest arranged to deliver a Christian coffin from a nearby Christian-Shiite village. Koubayssi also found a cross, which he laid inside.

The sheikh then coordinated with the Lebanese Army and Red Cross to ensure safe passage to Khairallah’s church, where the priest led Christian funeral rites. Badawi’s family watched over video, and Koubayssi added a Muslim prayer.

On October 26, Adyan honored the cleric during the group’s Spiritual Solidarity Day, which it celebrates annually on the last Saturday of the month. The interfaith group sought nominations to vote for who best demonstrated religious unity during the war, and Koubayssi won handily.

“[Muslim and Christian] blood mixed together,” he said of the Lebanese killed. “Allah created us all and wants us to support one another.”

Established in 2006, Adyan won the 2018 Japan-based Niwano prize, informally known as the Nobel Peace Prize for Religions, focused on peacemaking through interfaith cooperation.

Many consider the Lebanese south as a stronghold of Hezbollah. Koubayssi is a member of the more secular Shiite Amal party, working in its cultural department. He is also the secretary of the Committee for Muslim-Christian Encounter in Tyre, engaging with bishops and priests for religious harmony in the overwhelmingly Shiite region. He enrolls his children in a Catholic school, and sent them and their mother to seek shelter in a monastery during the war. A missile struck his apartment complex on the last day before the ceasefire, damaging his fourth-floor home.

Koubayssi’s favored proposal to fix Lebanon’s corrupt political system is to…

This article was first published at Christianity Today on October 28, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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Will There Ever Be Peace in the Middle East?

Illustration by Christianity Today / Source Images: Gett

The Middle East is a diverse region with Muslims, Jews, and Christians living together, along with each religion’s many sects or denominations. Ethnically, the region is peopled with Arabs, Jews, Kurds, Armenians, and Berbers. And despite speaking Arabic, many Assyrians, Copts, Samaritans, Yazidis, and Kakai maintain a separate ethnic identity.

Each sect, with its distinctive history and beliefs, is often deemed at least somewhat heretical by the others. While in Western countries theological disagreements do not usually end up harming the larger society, in the Middle East, sectarianism can lead to conflict and violence between different groups.

Sectarianism in the Middle Eastern context is defined in this article as the politicized prioritizing of one’s religious or ethnic group at the expense of a larger national identity.

Linda Macktaby, a Congregationalist pastor in the National Union of Evangelical Churches in Lebanon, illustrates the difficulty of dealing with sectarianism through a simple game she calls “Stick,” which is played during workshops she leads through Adyan Foundation, a Lebanon-based organization promoting interfaith dialogue and equal rights in the Middle East. Adyan means “religions” in Arabic.

The concept of the game is simple: Six individuals balance a single bamboo rod on their outstretched pointer fingers and lower it until they can lay it on the floor. They must cooperate and go slowly—if anyone’s finger loses contact with the stick, that person is replaced by someone from the crowd of about 20 people. Macktaby appoints from among attendees a referee, who watches carefully for any violation. The outside group can also collectively decide to swap out the original six players.

“We need someone shorter,” an onlooker may call out. “You’re going too fast,” says another. Multilingual Lebanese often speak Arabic, English, and French, but when mixed with other nationalities, one language prevails and the less fluent are quickly replaced for the sake of communication. Across the many sessions she’s led, Macktaby finds that, before long, the crowd tends to remove the tall people—who then stand on the sideline criticizing the shorter players. Those displaced by language sulk into the background. Sometimes the tide turns against the women.

But Macktaby makes it worse. She starts shouting advice to the players. She makes a blind suggestion that someone from the crowd would have a steadier hand. And she criticizes the referee, sometimes inserting herself to expel an offender. Tensions rise. The stick falls. Not once in all the workshops she’s led has Macktaby seen a group successfully reach the floor.

After the game, Macktaby explains that the task appears simple, but the rule of finger contact makes it nearly impossible. She gently rebukes the participants: “Why did you allow me to interfere? I undermined the judge and played you off against one another.” Without fail, the workshop attendees—all friends before the game—divide themselves into sects.

And this, she explains, is where sectarianism comes from.

In the game of Stick, the challenge is to lay down the bamboo stick. In nations around the world, including in the Middle East, the challenge is to create a functioning society. In both Stick and politics, the rules and behavior of the leader can erode trust and cooperation.

Many assume religion to be the root of division in the Arab world, but diverse beliefs…

This article was first published at Christianity Today on October 27, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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Who Are the Ismaili Muslims?

Sean Gallup / Staff / Getty

An 11-acre Ismaili Muslim religious center is coming to Texas.

Part one of this two-part series described how the small sect of Shiite Islam will soon open the huge prayer hall and social center in Houston. Ismaili leaders emphasize an adherence to pluralism and interfaith dialogue, and this article will discuss how this assertion fits—or clashes—with Ismaili history.

For Ismailis today, who number between 12 and 15 million across 35 countries, pluralism is more than a commitment—it is near dogma. That is due to the center’s subsect, Nizari Ismailism, and its distinguishing feature: the living imam. Most Shiite Muslims name the leader of the Islamic community an imam, but only the Nizari sect claims he is alive and actively present in the world today.

And the imam’s legitimacy originates in his descent from Muhammad.

Islam’s prophet married and had several children, but only his daughter Fatimah survived to adulthood. She married Ali, Muhammad’s nephew and adopted son, and they had two daughters and three sons, one of whom likely died in infancy. All Muslims hold these descendants in high regard, and the current king of Jordan is one of thousands who trace their lineage back to Muhammad.

Yet the branches of Islam divided over who they saw as Muhammad’s true heir. Shiites believe that prior to his death, Muhammad designated Ali as his political and spiritual successor, so they call him “imam.” They also elevate Ali, Fatimah, and their sons Hasan and Hussein as Ahl al-Bayt, “the family of [Muhammad’s] household,” and believe these five received divine knowledge and infallibility. Only Muhammad holds the title of prophet, but his grandsons, in turn, became the second and third imams.

Sunni Muslims reject the claim of special favor, but honor Ali as the fourth community-chosen caliph, the highest Islamic political office. They dismiss the idea that an imam or any other human can inherit Muhammad’s aura of divine guidance.

Sunnis won the ensuing civil war in Islam and then set up a hereditary caliphate. Shiites rallied around Ahl al-Bayt, with some rebelling against the caliph’s authority and others adopting a quiet posture of perseverance. The majority, known as Twelvers, trace a line of 12 imams who from Hussein are designated directly from father to son. Twelvers are prominent in Iran, Iraq, Lebanon, and Azerbaijan.

Ismailis, found primarily in Central Asia, East Africa, and the Indian subcontinent, separated over a disputed succession. In AD 765, the Shiite community faced a crisis when Jafar al-Sadiq, the sixth imam, died at home, allegedly poisoned by the Sunni caliph who had previously detained him. Many of his followers believed he had designated his oldest son, Ismail, as the next imam—who died two years earlier than his father.

Sadiq’s other sons claimed Shiite leadership, with Twelvers following Musa al-Kazim as the seventh imam. But the crisis was more than just political—it was theological.

If an imam is infallible, how could he wrongly designate his successor? A dissenting party no longer in existence concluded that Ismail must still be alive and in hiding. Others held that Ismail’s son Muhammad should next inherit leadership, consistent with the father-to-son pattern. Most Ismailis today follow this line, and their head, known as Aga Khan V, is the 50th imam in the succession.

A century later, a different theological crisis hit the Twelver community. In AD 874, the eleventh imam died without an obvious heir. Consensus emerged that he did have a son who went into “occultation,” concealed from public view. Yet he never reappeared, and Twelvers judged that this Hidden Imam, miraculously preserved, will return to rule at the end of the age. Until then, fallible Shiite scholars lead the community.

In contrast, Ismailis offered Muslims…

This article originally published at Christianity Today on November 4, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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Does Oman’s Ban on Evangelism Increase Its Religious Liberty?

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In 2018, authorities in Oman escorted two American college students off a local university campus as they alleged the students were sharing their faith with Muslims. Omani law prohibits proselytism, and its constitution defines Islam as the state religion and declares sharia law as the basis of legislation.

Depending on the nature of their offense, the students could have faced up to 10 years in prison. Alternatively, they could have been found in violation of the law forbidding religious teaching without a government permit—as they were in the country on a tourist visa—and deported. Instead, they were let go with a warning.

Michael Bosch, a persecution analyst with Open Doors, said many foreign Christians who work with Omani converts from Islam have had to leave the country. For security reasons, Open Doors does not give numbers or details of these cases, yet it believes the Omani law hinders religious freedom.

However, Justin Meyers, director of Oman’s al-Amana Center (AAC), an interfaith ministry partnering with the Reformed Church in America, believes the law actually protects the religious freedom of its diverse population. (Part 1 of this series explained AAC’s background.)

After the students’ arrest, the Ministry of Religious Affairs called Meyers, asking him to talk with the students. Realizing they were from his home state of Michigan, Meyers first called local pastors he knew. One contact identified one of the students but had no idea he was in Oman. The sending organization had instructed him not to name the nation of his visit, the student told Meyers, lest he be inadvertently exposed—and possibly killed.

Open Doors ranks Oman No. 32 in its annual World Watch List (WWL) of countries where it is hardest to be a Christian. Its most recent report included an article about a female Omani convert to Christianity living in the US who stated on social media that if she were in her home nation, she would be killed or imprisoned for her faith.

Yet Oman is not on any lists of religious liberty offenders created by the US State Department or the Commission on International Religious Freedom. The State Department’s annual report cites Open Doors’ complaint about the treatment of converts and the monitoring of churches, but also that Christian groups had not reported any incidents of abuse or surveillance.

Meyers counseled one of the students, whom he was able to connect with, to respect the laws of Oman. Both students finished their six-month stays without further incident. Several years later, with the publishing of the 2025 WWL, the Omani government called Meyers again. Would he invite Open Doors for a visit so that officials could address their complaints?

The Open Doors report praised AAC for creating a more tolerant attitude among Omanis toward Christians while citing the Oman government’s support for AAC as an example of the country’s efforts to improve diplomatic relations with the West. Meyers has resided in Oman since 2013, serving as AAC executive director since 2021.

Open Doors had not consulted him and did not immediately respond to the Omani government’s invitation to visit—but Open Doors and AAC have since begun discussions about how to work together.

Since the death of former sultan Qaboos bin Said in 2020, Bosch explained, the new government has intensified its efforts to discover Christians who secretly share their faith. Previously, the authorities only identified those working directly with Omani converts. Now, the interrogation is broader, as authorities try to find networks and funding sources, Bosch said.

According to Open Doors criteria, “dictatorial paranoia” and “Islamic oppression” are two key drivers of local persecution. Although apostacy is not a criminal offense, converts could lose custody of their children under sharia-influenced personal status codes. But another driver is “clan oppression.” Within Oman’s tribal society, converts face shunning from society. And although the report recognizes that violence is not encouraged by the culture, some have been attacked for their faith.

Persecution, Bosch emphasized, is any act of hostility toward faith.

Mohammed al-Shuaili, associate director of AAC, said that Oman’s laws against proselytizing are expressly meant to…

This article was originally published at Christianity Today on October 15, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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Evangelism Isn’t Allowed in Oman. Sharing Is.

Image courtesy of Justin Meyers

In the ancient city of Muscat in the Sultanate of Oman on the northeastern shores of the Arabian Peninsula, several American Christian college students and local Muslims sat cross-legged on an oriental rug around printed passages from the Bible and the Quran. In the traditional Omani reception room lined with plush red mattresses and matching pillows, they discussed the phrase in John chapter 1 “the Word became flesh” and its Islamic parallels.

Two senior leaders—one Christian and one Muslim—guided the proceedings. They instructed the Americans to not place copies of the holy texts on the floor and assured the Omanis that these papers would not be thrown in the trash. Their primary goal that May afternoon was to avoid debating or comparing the texts academically, but rather to engage in a process called “scriptural reasoning.”

Though the concept was developed in the 1990s by Christian, Muslim, and Jewish philosophers, the term scriptural reasoning is a bit of a misnomer. Participants read and reflect on the selected passages with inquisitive curiosity, not logic. The point is self-discovery—and sharing—of one’s personal reasons for faith.

The Christians approach the Bible with love and reverence, describing the message they see within. Muslims do the same with the Quran, and the two groups exchange observations and ask questions, seeking to understand the passages’ meanings from the other side. Both Christians and Muslims listen attentively, free from the burden of convincing the other.

In Oman, where proselytization is illegal, al-Amana Center (AAC) uses exercises like scriptural reasoning to help bridge divides between Muslims and Christians, Arabs and Americans. Leaders said such activities by the current incarnation of the Reformed Church in America’s (RCA) 130-year ministry in Oman, now an independent partner institution, builds trust and mutual respect.

Justin Meyers, executive director of AAC, led the May session of scriptural reasoning. The students came from Hope College, a small Christian school from Michigan, as part of a senior seminar course involving an immersive exploration of Arab and Islamic culture. AAC’s Arabic teacher, Mohammed al-Shuaili, led the Muslim contingent and had already done this exercise dozens of times.

“It becomes hard to tell the Bible and Quran apart,” Shuaili said. “Scriptural reasoning brings people together, to discover the common threads.”

The scriptural reasoning website offers 34 topics—including things like modesty, fasting, and reconciliation—and looks at how passages in the Hebrew Bible, New Testament, and Quran discuss these themes. Shuaili said he especially appreciated its focus on Abraham’s hospitality.

Meyers, an RCA pastor from Grand Rapids, described how Christians get to experience the impact of quranic recitation while Muslims discover the beauty of the biblical text. By creating safe spaces for religious conversation, he said, interfaith relations are strengthened in Oman, the Persian Gulf region, and the world.

Oman’s nearly 5 million people are a diverse mix of Sunni, Shiite, and Ibadi Muslims as well as Christians (4%) and Hindus (5%), mostly from the substantial immigrant community.

While appreciating sincere Muslim engagement with the Bible, many evangelicals may view scriptural reasoning as a step down from evangelism. Shuaili’s response suggests he equates the two religious texts and downplays the differences. In a good-humored comment of commonality, he said he expects to see Meyers in heaven one day, where they can play pickleball together. But at no time, the scriptural reasoning website emphasizes, is anyone called to compromise their faith commitment.

Prior to AAC, Shuaili was a strict and traditional Muslim who would have never interacted with believers of other religions. This indicates the promise of interfaith relations to better integrate communities, but is Christian-Muslim dialogue a proper substitute for the RCA’s once-vibrant missionary heritage?

Open Doors ranks Oman at No. 32 on its World Watch List of nations where it is hardest to be a Christian. (Part 2 of this series discusses why AAC disputes this ranking.) Yet while Open Doors’ annual report praised AAC for “helping to create a more tolerant attitude towards Christians,” it also said that the center is “very much intended to boost Omani diplomatic ties.” With churches monitored and proselytizing illegal in the country, the report said that government support for AAC’s interfaith dialogue helps Oman keep a “friendly face” toward the world. 

The AAC website states it differently. The center…

This article was originally published at Christianity Today on October 14, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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I Was the Enemy Jesus Told You to Love

Photography by Sandra Singh for Christianity Today

When I was 16, a new student named Zakariya showed up at school. His forehead bore fan-shaped scars that identified him as a member of the Dinka people group—south Sudanese minority rebels, many of whom were Christian. My enemies. Zakariya was nice to everyone and scored the top grades in class, which made me hate him more.

As devout Muslims, my family and I were committed to Islam’s central place in the government. But our application of our religion was radical, since we prayed for Allah to destroy those who opposed us.

For two years, I added a request for Zakariya’s destruction to my daily noontime prayers. One night, that prayer was answered. My friends and I climbed a tree with our bayonet-fixed rifles and watched as a flashlight approached in the distance. It was Zakariya, who we knew walked this way each evening.

When he was beneath our tree, we ambushed him, beating him mercilessly with our fists and rifle butts. In a frenzy, I stabbed him repeatedly with my bayonet.

“Allahu Akbar,” I muttered in pride as we walked away from his mangled body. We left him for dead, and he never returned to school.

I was born into one of independent Sudan’s three leading families. My great-grandfather had joined the 1881 Islamic revolt against the British. Members of my family helped enshrine sharia law in our country. My father led the military in Darfur, where he later served as governor.

As the only son, I was to inherit this legacy. Our family believed our highest allegiance transcended the nation to include all Muslims in a global Islamic community called an umma. This inspired a tradition—unknown to me at the time—of early commitment to religious learning. So when I was 8 years old, my father drove me 500 miles north of Khartoum and dropped me at a desert madrasa to learn the Quran. He gave me no explanation and barely said goodbye.

At the madrasa, I was shaved bald and given a white robe and prayer cap for my daily uniform. Our group of ten boys sat in a straw hut and memorized Arabic verses with a long-bearded shaykh. The Quran was in his right hand; in his left he held a leather whip to punish our frequent mistakes. Allah must be like this too, I thought. I cried at night for 17 days straight.

When my father came to pick me up two years later, there was no embrace, but I saw he was proud of me. At home, I recited the entire Quran to my family and received a camel as my reward.

In my family’s eyes, I was now a man. Instead of playing soccer, I practiced disassembling and reassembling a Kalashnikov rifle and playacted ambushes against our enemies. Maybe it was preparation for Zakariya. By the time I graduated from high school in 1989, I was ready for jihad and to die as a martyr. I was the perfect son my father had dreamed of.

But my role model wasn’t my father. It was…

This article was originally published in the September/October print edition of Christianity Today. Please click here to read the full text.

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Does the Quran Support Religious Pluralism?

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Last month, an obscure jihadist group claimed responsibility for a suicide bombing at the Mar Elias Greek Orthodox Church in Damascus, Syria, that killed 25 people. The attack came as a response, it stated, to the government requiring prior approval of Islamic preaching in the Christian neighborhood. Three months earlier, at the site of the future bombing, austere Salafi Muslims called on residents to convert to Islam, a practice known in Arabic as da’wa. Later, a car drove up and its occupants loudly repeated the call until local Muslims sent them away.

Salafis are known for growing long beards and wearing traditional robes in imitation of the prophet Muhammad. Salafi practice is not inherently violent, and reporting does not draw a clear connection between the incident at the church and the later suicide bombing. But many jihadists emerge from or are drawn to Salafi communities, as both aim to follow the Quran literally in complete devotion to Allah.

The jihadists even adopted a particular verse from the Quran as their slogan: “Fight the polytheists together as they fight together against you.” To them, belief in the Trinity is an offense against Allah’s oneness. In preventing Muslims from proper da’wa, then, both state and church in Syria became worthy of war.

Some experts say Salafis and jihadists represent a reaction—peaceful or otherwise—to reclaim a lost idealized era when Islam governed much of the world. Yet most Muslims are neither Salafis nor jihadists; many have accepted democracy and the nation-state system that formally adopts principles of minority rights and common citizenship.

Still, according to a 2013 survey of Muslims in 38 nations, the sense of Islamic superiority lingers. Like many evangelicals, the most devout Muslims view their faith as the only way to heaven and consider converting others to be a religious duty.

In the West, belief that someone is going to hell has little civic impact, as religious faith tends to be an individual decision. But in the Muslim world, this belief has subjected Christians to a long heritage of second-class citizenship. And the survey reveals that substantial minorities of the most devout want sharia made the law of the land, applied also to non-Muslims.

The modern principle of pluralism holds two ideas in tension: Believers should be free to spread their faith, while minority religions and their beliefs should be respected. As Syria shows, this can be complicated in the Middle East, where the understanding of Islam is a crucial factor for interfaith peace.

One Tunisian Muslim academic, Adnane Mokrani, makes a bold assertion: Islam, when properly understood, is an ally of religious pluralism. Though he concedes this is a minority viewpoint among Muslims, Mokrani, who serves on the Network of Centers for Christian-Muslim Relations advisory board, said that a new generation of theologians are reevaluating the Quran’s understanding of diversity.

The new network, profiled previously this series, doesn’t comment on political events or policies. It recognizes the witness of one’s faith as an essential part of both Christianity and Islam. But it believes that interfaith peace may require setting aside evangelism and da’wa in certain ways and places, though not as an activity of individual believers.

In this case, Mokrani believes the diversity of religions flows intentionally from the divine will, expressing his argument in a recent webinar. He cited this verse from the Quran as evidence: “If Allah had willed, He would have made you one community.” This idea is similar to that of the academic sage in the first article in this series, who lamented the state of conflict and rancor that ensues from religious difference. Yet the passage continues optimistically: Multiple religious communities exist so that they may “compete with one another in doing good.”

Classical Muslim theology, however, divides the world into the “House of Islam” and the “House of War,” as multiple verses in the Quran encourage Muslims to fight unbelievers. Historically, the House of War was the realm of opposing empires, with the Christian Byzantines the most stubborn in resistance.

This theology recognized that Jews and Christians in conquered lands now resided within the House of Islam. The Quran refers to Jews and Christians, along with Muslims, as “People of the Book,” in recognition of a shared scriptural heritage, Mokrani said. Classical Muslim scholars rejected much of the Bible’s content as distorted. Yet the Quran honors its conception of the Torah, given to Moses, and the Gospel, given to Jesus, as “containing guidance and light”—the same terms it uses of itself.

On the ground, this meant that Muslims would not forcibly convert Jews and Christians. Instead, the two religious groups could continue practicing their faiths in exchange for payment of a tax called jizya. Through this, these communities received status as dhimmis, safe from war and given freedom of worship—though not to evangelize. Treatment varied over time, but their second-class status reinforced the Islamic sense of religious superiority.

The historical development of Muslim society led to a gap between the original conciliatory vision of Muhammad and the later, more rigid attitude of scholars, maintains Mokrani, who is also professor of Islamic studies at the Pontifical Gregorian University in Rome. Faced with a growing empire and Christian opposition in war and faith, Muslim scholars’ commentaries on the Quran polemically defined Islam as a religious community distinct from Jews and Christians rather than in continuity with them.

Their interpretive tool was the location of Muhammad’s prophecies.

In Mecca, the prophet preached…

This article was originally published by Christianity Today on July 24, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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Loving Muslim Neighbors Without Watering Down Your Faith

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When Wageeh Mikhail was a boy, a Muslim mob attacked his Presbyterian church and killed his Sunday school teacher in the Upper Egyptian city of Minya. Though he remembers little about the event itself, he recalls praying for the assailants. And he still feels emotional remembering how he honored the childhood lessons that told him to love his enemies.

It was not the last time he had to.

Three decades later, in the aftermath of the Arab Spring, Islamist supporters of Egyptian president Mohamed Morsi alleged that Christians had collaborated against him and used that pretext to set dozens of churches on fire. In some locations, Muslims defended the local houses of worship.

Among these was Mikhail’s childhood church. The subsequent Sunday, grieving members worshiped in the burned-out pews—this was the extent of their protest. And across the country, Christians refused to escalate the conflict. 

Though Mikhail was living in Cairo at the time, he mourned from afar and again remembered his Sunday school lessons. Today, Mikhail is the director of the Network of Centers for Christian-Muslim Relations (NCCMR) and has a clear message: Muslims are not the enemies of Christians.

“Islam has been a practical and theological challenge to the Christian faith,” he said. “But we must work together.”

CT previously introduced Ramon Llull, a 13th-century Franciscan hermit from the re-Christianized island of Majorca in modern-day Spain, who advocated winsome relations between Muslims, Christians, and Jews. During the Crusades, he penned a novel in which a representative sage from each religion argued persuasively about his faith, without rancor, and the three remained friends.

NCCMR is similarly countercultural today but in a different direction. In a world in which interfaith dialogue can seek a relativistic commonality among the monotheistic religions, NCCMR’s partners, representing 18 centers in 13 countries with five additional applicants, recognize the call to conversion as an essential part of each religion. At formal events, the members agree to forgo Christian evangelism and comparable Muslim da’wa. Yet as individuals they are free to witness. Mikhail emphasized that all participants believe in freedom of religion—and its propagation.

“Christians have to evangelize,” he said. “The one who said ‘Do not kill’ also said ‘Go and make disciples.’”

NCCMR has faced sensitive issues beyond evangelism. During last year’s inaugural meeting, several attendees voiced concerns over rumors of an international conspiracy to merge Islam and Christianity into one religion. Mikhail assured them the network’s mutual commitment was to honor each faith as an exclusive religion with claims to divine truth.

Keeping in spirit with Llull’s characters, members agreed to avoid arguments and direct challenges over their respective religion’s superiority. Yet the network also made clear that NCCMR is not for religious leaders who assert that all paths will lead to God.

Mikhail appreciates Llull. But his vision for dialogue comes from his ancestors. In the early 1990s, he studied at the Evangelical Theological Seminary in Cairo (ETSC). Though many of his professors were Egyptian, they used textbooks largely imported from the US. From this he assumed that all good theology came from the West. An American reoriented his theological geography.

In Mikhail’s third year…

This article was originally published by Christianity Today on July 23, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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How a 13th-Century Spaniard Modeled Interfaith Friendship

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Sitting with a student distraught by religious war, a God-fearing academic lamented the chaos in Syria, the destruction of Iraq, and the existential tensions seemingly ever-present in the Holy Land.

“What a great fortune it would be if … every man on earth could be under one religion,” he said. “[Then] there would be no more rancor or ill will among men, who hate each other because of the contrariness of beliefs.”

The academic’s answer, unfortunately, underestimates the human capacity for conflict. Beyond the bloody geopolitics, Islam, Christianity, and Judaism have split into sects and factions, to the point of killing fellow believers who share the same text yet hold different beliefs.

But for some, the “rancor and ill will” have prompted a corrective impulse to unite the faiths through interfaith dialogue. And the impulse is not new. The God-fearing academic? He’s a character from a book written in the 13th century by Ramon Llull, a Franciscan hermit and early proponent of an initiative still controversial among many believers today. Countercultural even then, The Book of the Gentile and the Three Wise Men addressed a world severely lacking in peaceful religious pluralism.

When Llull published his book in the 1270s, Crusaders were strengthening castles in Syria. The Mongol horde had sacked Muslim Baghdad—but then suffered defeat in Palestine, in the fields of Galilee. Llull wrote from what is now Spain, during the Reconquista, a military campaign to restore the Iberian Peninsula to Christendom. The Muslim realm, which they named Al-Andalus and became known as Andalucia, had been comparatively tolerant of Christians and Jews.

Llull lived on the island of Majorca, where his father settled after James I of Aragon declared victory in 1229. In the decades that followed, Christian kings in the liberated lands increased restrictions on non-Christian monotheists resident since the 8th century Islamic conquest. Some they forcibly converted, and within a few centuries, they expelled nearly all Muslims and Jews.

Llull, writing in Latin, Arabic, and his native Catalan, advocated for converting the non-Christians by rational argument, not the sword. While he did defend the Christian conquest of Muslim lands, he also founded missionary schools and traveled to North Africa, where he disputed with Islamic scholars.

Few of his contemporaries…

This article was originally published by Christianity Today on July 22, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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A Marxist and an Ayatollah Shaped Iran’s Islamic Republic

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(This is part four of a four-part series on Shiite Islam and the Iranian regime. Please click here to read parts one, two, and three.)

While the first three parts of the series explored the history of Shiite Islam and how the lack of an earthly imam formed Shiite political culture, today we look at modern Iran and the rise of the Islamic republic.

Although other Shiite sects exist, Iran adopted the Twelver faith—based on a line of 12 imams. The last of these disappeared, and in the centuries that followed, the sect waited for the Twelfth Imam to return as Mahdi, a messiah-type figure, and establish global Islamic governance. In his absence, Shiites submitted to political authority without admitting its ultimate legitimacy.

Something began to shift in mid-19th century Iran as Western influence seeped into the still-Shiite but increasingly secular monarchy. In 1890, the shah granted an English business monopoly over the local tobacco industry, and in response, the masses protested the blow to national sovereignty and their personal economic interests.

Sitting at home, a leading Twelver scholar then issued a fatwa (legal opinion) declaring that continuing to smoke represented a war against the Twelfth Imam himself. The wave of support for the fatwa drove the shah to reverse his policy, and clerics began to sense their secular influence. Five years later, some joined the push for a national constitution.

Most clerics stayed quiet, however, focusing on ordinary religious affairs. But decades later in the 1960s, frustration with an unpopular shah led Ali Shariati, a Paris-educated sociologist from a clerical family, to apply a Marxist reading to the story of Hussein, the grandson of the prophet Muhammad.

Hailed as “Lord of the Martyrs,” Hussein gathered a small contingent of faithful followers and set out from Medina, the city of Muhammad in today’s Saudi Arabia, to oppose the unjust caliph who ruled from Damascus, Syria. Along the way in Karbala, Iraq, the caliph’s army intercepted Hussein’s approach, and a siege ensued. After ten days of negotiation, the army killed Hussein and his supporters.

The standard Twelver narrative held that as an imam, Hussein had divine foreknowledge of the massacre yet went to his death anyway. Faithful Shiites treated it as a redemptive act compensating for the failure of their ancestors to follow the imam. A Shiite tradition quotes Muhammad as saying, “[Hussein] shall die for the sake of my people.”

By visiting Hussein’s shrine and lamenting during the yearly commemoration of Ashura, they seek fulfillment of another traditional saying: “A single tear shed for Hussein washes away a hundred sins.” Extreme Shiites will even whip themselves with ropes or chains to demonstrate their remorse.

Shariati pushed back on that interpretation, calling for a “Red Shiism” that returned the faith to an activist posture against oppression and away from the “Black Shiism” of mourning. Shariati said Hussein had died valiantly. Though he had failed, in imitation Shiites might yet succeed in taking down the unjust shah. Shariati popularized a new phrase to remember: Every day is Ashura. Every land is Karbala.

The clergy…

This article was originally published at Christianity Today on July 11, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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Shiites Await a Savior. How Should They Govern Now?

HUSSEIN FALEH / Contributor / Getty

(This is part three of a four-part series on Shiite Islam and the Iranian regime. Please click here to read parts one and two.)

The previous articles centered on the origins of Shiite Islam and its political history to examine the Shiite basis for Iran’s vision of government, one that is based on the central concept of wilayat al-faqih, translated literally as “guardianship of the jurist,” meaning the rule of a sharia expert. 

A brief recap: The two primary theological concerns of Shiism are Islamic justice and leadership, both represented in the figure of the imam. The large majority of Shiites, including most in Iran, are called Twelvers since they follow the line of 12 imams beginning with Ali, Muhammad’s cousin, whom they believe should have immediately inherited the prophet’s political position—but was wrongly denied.

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Iran returned Shiites to power. Prior to the Islamic Republic, the ruling shah belonged to the sect but was a secular and modernizing leader. But does the restoration of religious government honor or betray the Shiite heritage? To evaluate, we will now examine the end of the lineage of imams and the two rare instances when Twelver dynasties ruled in Iran—without a rightful imam.

Ali did eventually lead the Islamic community as the fourth caliph, and Sunni Muslims agree his governance was just. Yet when civil war and assassination ended Ali’s rule, Sunnis controlled the empire and often persecuted Shiites as rival claimants to Muhammad’s mantle. The imams counseled patience to the Shiite community, knowing they were a vulnerable political minority. They focused on religion, guiding their followers in the right understanding of Islam.

But in AD 874, the Twelfth Imam, a five-year-old boy, disappeared.

This threw the Twelver community into confusion, and many drifted toward a rival Shiite sect called Ismailism, which had broken off from the Twelvers in AD 765 and ruled a powerful dynasty from Cairo. But Twelvers said that the child did not simply vanish but that Allah had preserved his life in occultation.

In astronomy, the term refers to one celestial body passing in front of another and blocking its view. Here Shiites said that Allah was hiding the imam from public view—especially from the Sunni authorities—until he could grow up and restore Shiites to Islamic political leadership. In the immediate aftermath, the treasurer of the deceased 11th imam continued to collect the Shiite tithe and answer believers’ questions, claiming to communicate with the child in secret. After nearly 70 years passed without the imam’s reappearance, this “minor” (or short-term) occultation gave way to a “major” occultation that lasts to this day.

Twelver scholars held that…

This article originally published at Christianity Today on July 10, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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Imam’s the Word

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(This is part two of a four-part series on Shiite Islam and the Iranian regime. Please click here to read part one.)

The previous article introduced the Shiite concept of justice through Ali ibn Abi Talib, cousin of Islam’s prophet Muhammad. Ali is a linchpin for understanding the difference between Sunni and Shiite Islam, the former representing the majority of Muslims in the world and the latter representing the majority in Iran. In 1979, Iran led a revolution that resulted in the world’s only Shiite government, establishing wilayat al-faqih, the “guardianship of the jurist,” meaning the rule of an expert scholar in sharia law.

This article will continue our examination of Shiite history, starting with the way Shiites see the Quran as containing both literal commands and mystical values. Shiites say it takes spiritual insight to understand the Quran correctly. And there are a multitude of traditions—the Sunna, from which Sunnis take their name—describing what Muhammad said and did.

Sunni scholarship recognizes many of these reports as authentic and others as uncertain or outright invented to support a political cause. They exist in the thousands, and although the standards of determining authenticity are internally rigorous, the task is a human endeavor.

Shiites say the Sunni criteria are necessarily insufficient. They believe proper Islamic leadership requires supernatural insight passed directly from Muhammad to his offspring—those who knew him best. Ali married the prophet’s daughter Fatimah, and they had two sons, Hasan and Hussein. Recall that Ali was assassinated in an Islamic civil war and leadership passed into Sunni hands. In AD 680, Hussein led a revolt against Yazid, the sixth caliph, whom many Sunnis consider impious. Yazid’s army slaughtered Hussein with his small contingent in Iraq, marking another blow to Shiites while reinforcing…

This article was originally published at Christianity Today on July 9, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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How Iran Became an Islamic Republic

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When asked last month about his goals in attacking Iran, Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu stated that he sought to stop a nuclear threat. Yet he also expressed hope for a regime change.

“The decision to act,” he said, “is the decision of the Iranian people.”

Although Iranian sentiment is hard to measure, some surveys suggest widespread disillusionment with the country’s rulers. According to the nonprofit Freedom House, Iran ranks No. 20 on its list of the least-free nations in the world. But if Iranians were free to decide, on what basis would they decide what is right?

Shiite Islam offers Iranians a standard it views as just. Iran calls itself an Islamic republic. Many Iranians may appreciate the Western understanding of human rights. But long before Freedom House existed, their sect prized two concepts through which the Shiite people can judge their governments: justice and leadership.

Najam Haider, assistant professor of religion at Columbia University, calls these the core theological beliefs of Shiite Islam. Iran’s constitution purports to enshrine them via the judiciary in wilayat al-faqih, the “guardianship of the jurist.” In plain terms, the religious scholar, an expert in sharia law, is to rule and ensure fidelity to Islam. Iranians can theoretically vote politicians out of office but the chief religious scholar is in charge. He can be removed from his post—but only by fellow religious scholars.

To understand the Iranian government we need to understand Shiite political history. This article is the first in a four-part survey, based on Haider’s Shi’i Islam, Vali Nasr’s The Shia Revival, Mark Bradley’s Iran and Christianity, and interviews with Shiite experts.

Part one is the origin story, describing why Shiites view themselves as cheated out of Muslim leadership. Part two looks at how different branches within the sect responded to this loss. Although Shiite rule is historically rare, part three considers how two premodern dynasties shed light on later developments in Iran. And part four describes two Iranian personalities who played a key role in politicizing the Shiite faith.

The starting point: Politics is never far from Islam, as the Muslim prophet Muhammad also became a head of state. But for centuries, most Shiites waited for divine intervention on their behalf, and did not push to create a government themselves.

Iran is one of only four majority Shiite countries in the world—Iraq, Bahrain, and Azerbaijan are the others—but is unique as the only nation with specifically Shiite governance. The global majority Sunni population may admire Iran for its centrality of religion, its anti-Western posture, or its opposition to Israel. But Sunnis reject the theological basis of wilayat al-faqih.

This article will focus on what Shiites think. An anecdote about…

This article was originally published at Christianity Today, on July 8, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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What Do Iraq’s Persecuted Yazidis Believe?

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Hadi Maao has faced multiple challenges in his 22 years of life. At age five, his mud-brick house fell on him, a result of nearby car bombings. At age 12, he fled to the mountains when ISIS displaced his people. At age 19, he dodged police while seeking asylum in Europe. Today, he lives and works legally in the Netherlands, while missing and worrying about his family still living in camps in northern Iraq.

Yet he maintains hope.

“God is always by my side,” Maao said. “And when I pray, he assures me of his presence.”

The thought sounds very evangelical. Yet Maao is Yazidi, a member of a minority religious community in Iraq that dates back to ancient Mesopotamia.

CT profiled Maao in part 1 of this series. In part 2, we described the challenges of Christian aid groups who help Yazidis in Kurdistan, the northern Iraqi region hosting many camps for the displaced. USAID cuts, also described in part 1, have drastically reduced humanitarian service.

Alongside his faith, Maao credited the prayers of his foreign Christian friends for his continued well-being. Conversion to another religion is forbidden to his people, Maao said. But he believes there is only a “thread of difference” between Yazidis and Christians.

This is far from the case in theology. Maao said that in ethics and conduct, the communities are close and keep good relations. But he made the comparison as the two minority religious groups have faced persecution from the majority Muslims, many of whom charge Yazidis with devil worship. Christians sometimes speak similarly, claiming Yazidis worship Lucifer.

The Bible does not give many details about the origin of Satan’s evil—only that in pride the angel rebelled against God and God cast him out of heaven. But in Islam, the Quran relates that when Allah created Adam, he commanded the angels to bow before the human creation. Believing himself superior, Satan refused.

Maao said that in the Yazidi story, God rewarded this angel (which they believe was a spirit called Melek Tawûs) for his refusal, as he would only worship God. In another version, however, Melek Tawûs’s disobedience was forgiven with his repentance, evidenced by tears that quenched the fires of hell. Maao stated that Yazidi beliefs are relayed by oral tradition, creating…

This article was originally published at Christianity Today on July 3, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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ISIS Victims Welcome Christian Help, Not Christian Conversion

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The previous article in this series highlighted the impact of USAID cuts on the vulnerable Yazidi community in Iraq. ISIS displaced Yazidis from their historic home of Sinjar in northern Iraq in 2014, killing and enslaving thousands. The jihadist group claimed that the Yazidis, whose religion has roots in ancient Mesopotamia, worshiped Satan. (The nature of the Yazidi religion will be discussed in the final article of this series.)

After US coalition forces drove back ISIS, most Yazidis remained in United Nations camps for the internally displaced. USAID was a key aid provider, facilitating access to essential services for more than 30,000 people in Sinjar. The cuts have prevented vulnerable groups like the Yazidis from accessing food and health care they need to survive, wrote Amy Hawthorne, a former Obama-era State Department official.

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Yet the legacy of USAID in the Middle East is mixed.

American foreign policy is “deeply unpopular” in the region, Hawthorne continued, while tens of billions of dollars in assistance have failed to create stability, prosperity, or democracy.

If USAID has its critics in the region, so too does faith-based aid.

“Some [Iraqis and secular expats] are very critical of Christians,” said one aid worker serving Yazidis. CT granted him anonymity due to the sensitivity of the issue. “They accuse us of mixing help with the gospel.”

Humanitarian organizations of many varieties rushed to help the Yazidis in 2014 during their displacement. Yet large agencies like World Vision, Medair, and Doctors Without Borders began leaving in 2019 as the situation stabilized and crises multiplied around the world. Among the international groups remaining, the aid worker said, many are small and motivated by a long-term commitment to serve the Yazidi people.

For instance, the Kurdistan-based Zalal Life (highlighted in part 1) provides food distribution, vocational training, and medical services to three Yazidi camps and dozens of villages in the northern Iraqi governorate of Duhok. Other Yazidis are displaced to Iraq’s Nineveh valley, bordering Syria.

Ashty Bahro, who founded the Christian group in 2007, has never received USAID or UN funding. But this would not be a problem in Kurdistan, he explained, because unlike many Arabs in the Middle East, most Kurds love America.  

Christian foundations and church support fund Zalal Life operations, he said, which recently included the repair of 100 tents left leaking in the wake of Trump’s budget cuts. And his two medical clinics are now serving twice as many patients as before, with three times the demand.

Bahro said the aid work is separate from his church ministry. He is also…

This article was originally published at Christianity Today on July 2, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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USAID Cuts Leave Yazidi Tents in Tatters

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When Hadi Maao was five years old, his mud-brick home collapsed on him after Muslim extremists detonated car bombs in his northern Iraqi village. Seven years later, in 2014, ISIS jihadists forced his community in the district of Sinjar to flee to the mountains. Now 22, he is an asylum seeker in the Netherlands and sends a quarter of his meager earnings as a grocery shelf stocker to his family still sheltering in a United Nations camp for internally displaced Yazidis.

“Sinjar is not a place to live,” he said. “I’m afraid people are forgetting us.”

US Agency for International Development (USAID) cuts have made things worse, pausing the reconstruction of Yazidi villages and overwhelming medical centers. An evangelical organization is trying to fill the gap, while a new generation of Yazidis living aboard are seeking ways to help. In this three-part series, we will also cover the complications of Christian aid in Sinjar and explain the basics of the Yazidi religion that Maao and his people follow.

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Maao is the youngest of four brothers and three sisters. All of his siblings currently live in Sardashti Camp in the Nineveh Valley, 12 miles east of the Syrian border. The money Maao sends home contributes to building a concrete house for his aging mother and father. They currently reside with his cousin’s family in the UN’s standard canvas tent.

At the International Religious Freedom Summit in February, Vice President JD Vance praised the first Trump administration’s action to bring aid to Yazidis and Christians “facing genocidal terror from ISIS.” Yet President Donald Trump’s executive order to freeze foreign funding and the subsequent dismantling of USAID has had a disastrous effect on the camps where Yazidis still live.

The camp is full of tattered tents that allow rain leakage, unhygienic bathroom facilities, and the threat of fire from spark-prone electricity cables, according to on-the-ground sources that CT spoke with. Cuts have halted the building of schools, community centers, and water purification units. An unused transformer, delivered prior to the stop-work order, was placed in storage.

Maao is from the village of Tel Ezer, also known as…

This article was originally published at Christianity Today on July 1, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.

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One Muslim Sect Confesses a Trinity. It Includes Simon Peter.

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As an Alawite, Ziad identifies with the main markers of Islam.

“Our book is the Quran, our prophet is Muhammad, and our direction of prayer is the Kaaba in Mecca,” he said.

Ziad, a pseudonym granted because of the still-unstable situation in Syria, believes in God and called out to him during the Sunni militant attack on Alawite cities and villages in the coastal northwest. However, he does not perform the prescribed ritual prayers, fast for Ramadan, or consider a pilgrimage to Mecca necessary. And he drinks alcohol, which is forbidden for other Muslims.

Yet mainstream rejection of his sect goes far beyond these offenses. To understand why most Muslims consider Alawite beliefs heretical, we must first know a little about the religion’s main sects—Sunni and Shiite.

When Muhammad died in AD 632, disputes arose within the community over who would assume leadership. Sunnis, who today represent 85 percent of Muslims, hold that the prophet left this choice open for believers to decide. They chose Abu Bakr, an early convert and respected tribal leader, as the first caliph.

Shiites, on the other hand, hold that Muhammad designated his cousin Ali as his successor and that the tribal confederation bypassed his will. Ali was eventually chosen as the fourth caliph but assassinated within an Islamic civil war. The caliphate thereafter passed into hereditary rule. This political history matters practically little to Alawites, but they share with Shiites the belief that Ali was the first imam.

Most Shiites count a succession of 12 imams from the bloodline of Ali, whom they say God endowed with supernatural insight to interpret the Quran and Muslim religious traditions. The 12th imam is believed to have concealed himself—entering a period of what is called “occultation”—and will reappear at the end of the age.

However, Alawites follow…

This article first published at Christianity Today on June 25, 2025. Please click here to read the full text.