A Life in the Balance

Twenty-five years ago, Ronald Reagan was on the campaign trail. John Paul II was a fresh-faced but little known pope from Poland. The economy of the United States was in the grip of something called “stagflation.” A sweater-clad and overmatched Jimmy Carter was picking up the pieces of a disastrous rescue mission as student radicals shouting “Death to America” held American Embassy staff hostage.

The ayatollah was consolidating his grim Islamic Revolution in Iran, forcing a relatively moderate and modernized Muslim state back to the supposed purity of seventh-century religious law. But instead of bringing paradise on earth, the theocrats who took power brought with them a venal repression that made thousands of Iranians long for the “good old days” of the shah.

Hamid Pourmand was a 22-year-old Iranian Muslim who, perhaps seeing the brutal side of Islam, wanted something more. Quietly, Pourmand changed his ultimate allegiance from Allah to Christ. It was a step of courage that thousands of Iranians have taken since the mullahs took over. Islamic law denies the universal human right of Muslims to change their religion, and Iran enforces this law more strictly than most. Those who commit the “crime” of apostasy know that the prescribed punishment is execution.

Not just Christians are at risk, however. The Shiite mullahs also target those who do not follow their particular branch of Islam, including Sunnis and Sufis, who face widespread discrimination and torture. The country’s 300,000-350,000 followers of the Baha’i religion are called “heretics” and may not have houses of worship, schools, or independent religious associations. Some 10,000 Baha’is have lost their government or university jobs, and 200 Baha’i leaders have been killed.

Since 1999, the State Department has designated Iran as a “country of particular concern” when it comes to religious freedom, noting, “The government of Iran engages in systematic, ongoing, and egregious violations of religious freedom, including prolonged detention, torture, and executions based primarily or entirely upon the religion of the accused.”

This brings us back to Pourmand, now 47, who by last fall was a colonel in the Iranian army. He is also a lay pastor in the evangelistically active Assemblies of God church. He and his wife, Arlet, are raising two boys, Immanuel and David. Last September 9, authorities broke up a church conference and arrested 86 pastors and church leaders. Pourmand was among them. Most were out after a few days, but not Pourmand, who spent several months in solitary confinement.

A Muslim convert in the army could not be ignored. It is against the law for a non-Muslim to serve as an officer in the Iranian military.

On February 16, a military court found Pourmand guilty of deceiving the armed forces about his faith. Pourmand presented evidence that his superiors knew about his beliefs, but the court rejected his claim and gave him a three-year sentence. To save their own skins, his superiors now apparently deny they knew about his faith in Christ. Pourmand launched an appeal, the status of which is uncertain.

Upon conviction, Pourmand lost his salary and pension, and his wife and boys were kicked out of military housing. One source noted, “His family has nothing now. No salary, no house, nothing.”

That would be injustice enough, but someone in the Islamic hierarchy has decided to make an example of Pourmand to the thousands who have converted to Christ–and the thousands more who may be considering doing so. His case was given to an Islamic court in Bandar-i-Bushehr.

Pourmand now faces charges of converting to Christ and of proselytizing Muslims–both of which carry death sentences upon conviction. The court was expected to hear his case earlier this month, but so far human-rights advocates have been unable to ascertain his status. Pourmand is reportedly being held in a group cell in Tehran’s infamous Evin Prison.

“Either he will be forced to return to Islam,” Charles Colson quoted one Iranian Christian as saying, “or he will face a very big problem now.”

Assemblies of God pastor Hussein Soodman, also a Muslim convert, was executed for apostasy on December 3, 1990. Several other Christians have simply been murdered. Pourmand is the first Iranian to be formally charged with apostasy since 1993, and observers worry more such cases could be in the offing. Many groups, including the European Union and Christian Solidarity Worldwide, are calling on Iran to spare Pourmand’s life.

Of course, life is cheap to the mullahs who run Iran. Facing growing protests and discontent, they continue zealously pursuing Muslim purity no matter the cost. A ruinous war with Iraq killed tens of thousands. The government continues to block peace in the Middle East and is a prime sponsor of terrorism. Iran is even seeking to acquire nuclear weapons and other weapons of mass destruction.

After the attacks of September 11, President Bush called Iran a member of the “axis of evil.” At the time, there were widespread howls of protest from members of the more “enlightened” mainstream media.

Will there be a similar outcry now on behalf of Pourmand?

Author Insight: Mike Yankoski on Homelessness (Part 2)

Most of us occasionally think about the homeless and wonder what it would be like to trade places with them. Mike Yankoski was a freshman at Westmont College in California when he and a friend named Sam decided to live on the streets in major American cities over five months in 2003. Yankoski tells what happened in his new book, Under the Overpass: A Journey of Faith on the Streets of America, published earlier this month by Multnomah. Stan Guthrie interviewed Yankoski. Part 1 appeared last week.

What is the scope of the homeless problem in the United States?

Larger than it should be. There are actually varying reports on how many homeless people there are in the United States. It ranges from 200,000 to upwards of 3 million. The age and demographics of the homeless vary depending on where you are. For example, in Washington D.C., the majority of the homeless are war veterans, African American, and over the age of 40. Whereas in Portland, most of the homeless are Caucasian and under the age of 25.

The reason it is so difficult to get an accurate statistical idea of the American homeless population is because often street people so are transient, moving from location to location, warehouse to warehouse, cheap motel to cheap motel, that it is impossible to do any sort of controlled study.

Regardless of the numbers, I really do believe that the problem of homelessness is a major blot on the conscience of the American way of life, and especially on the church. We as Christians are called to care for the orphans and the widows, those who cannot fend for themselves. I don’t care whether it is drug addiction or mental instability that leaves a person lying face down in the gutter, Christ has commanded us to love. Tangibly. There simply isn’t enough of that going on, and the homeless landscape is evidence of that fact.

Aren’t most people homeless because they have a problem with substance abuse or with mental illness?

Yes. A large majority of the homeless population suffer from some sort of alcoholism or drug addiction, or else are mentally unable to cope with normal societal life. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between the two, as long-term drug addiction does make the human brain go haywire. To say that substance abuse or mental illness is the cause of their homelessness is a little tricky, though, because the causes are as individual as the people themselves. It’s not just a cookie-cutter pattern: started drinking, started drinking a lot, ended up on the streets, but often includes deeply ingrained family patterns, abuse, depression, and a variety of other factors.

These issues, however, no matter how grotesque or hard to look at, are by no means a reason to push these men and women aside. Christ came, after all, not for the healthy but for the sick. Something central in our understanding of Christ is skewed when we push the sick out of our churches, out of our communities, and out of our lives.

What do we need to do differently to help the homeless?

Be involved. There are so many different ways to have a tangible effect on homelessness. There are rescue missions and shelters around the country in nearly every major city that need people with a passion and a heart to volunteer. Most agencies serve two to three meals per day. By volunteering to serve a meal, you get the opportunity to meet a person’s need and then also have the context for conversation and friendship. In addition to this, some communities have counseling programs that need mentors willing to dedicate one to two hours per week to meet with people and work with them as they find their way through their problems, addictions, or depression.

Additionally, in a more dynamic fashion, each of us must be more willing to give, both of our resources and our time, even to the people we think don’t deserve it—perhaps most importantly to the people we think don’t deserve it. Grace isn’t earned, right? Be open to buying homeless people lunch—smelly, dirty, scary as they may be. If you feel led, sit with them as they eat their burrito or cheeseburger and listen a little to their story.

How has this experience changed you?

Some changes were more immediately noticeable after the return from the streets. Others, however, have been slower to surface. Most noticeably, though, there is a strong connection with street people that I don’t think will ever leave. It’s much easier now to walk up to a group of homeless people and start a conversation, find out where they’re staying, let them know about the local rescue mission, and so on. Before the months on the street, I was much more intimidated and unwilling to approach a group of street people.

Although I sometimes drown out its effect, one of the largest impacts the five-month homeless journey had on me was making me realize how disconnected life is from possessions and materialism. Sam and I were exactly the same men, with the same faith in the Lord, the same history, the same hopes and dreams on the streets that we are in “normal” life. The circumstances and context don’t make the person. In many ways, this has allowed a new perception of myself and of the people that I encounter every day. Thus, I find a real desire to find out who they really are despite whatever they may appear to be.

Would you recommend that others do this kind of thing?

Not really, no. I actually have given this quite a bit of thought. I believe that God called Sam and me to the five-month journey that we experienced. And thus I think those months were a rare circumstance in which we were protected only because we were called to it. So, if the Lord is calling someone to a similar experience, then, yes, I recommend it. But if it just “seems like a good idea,” then I highly discourage it. The circumstances that Sam and I found ourselves in could so quickly have turned bad. Whether from violence, sickness, accident, or who knows what, we were often in harm’s way. It really is a miracle that we came back unscathed.

There are other, more appropriate ways to connect with the homeless population of America, like in a local rescue mission or shelter, on a dynamic basis when you see someone downtown with your family, and so on.

Author Insight: Mike Yankoski on Homelessness (Part 1)

Most of us occasionally think about the homeless and wonder what it would be like to trade places with them. Mike Yankoski was a freshman at Westmont College in California when he and a friend named Sam decided to live on the streets in major American cities over five months in 2003. Yankoski tells what happened in his new book, Under the Overpass: A Journey of Faith on the Streets of America, published earlier this month by Multnomah. Stan Guthrie interviewed him.

Why did you do this?

I felt the Lord’s calling toward the streets. “What would it look like to become homeless?” I wondered. “Is my faith strong enough? Is God big enough to be trusted, even on the streets, away from everything I’ve ever known?” I felt the call to lay everything down and follow the Lord into a desolate place. Another question urged me forward: “How would I be treated by the Body of Christ [Christians]?” Would I be shunned and forgotten simply because of how I looked? The call and the burning questions drew me into the five-month homeless journey that Sam and I had.

How did your parents react? Did they think you had gone off the deep end?

Definitely. When I told them on the phone about the crazy idea, they were both speechless for quite a while. Then, their answer was a slow and calculated: “We’ll have to talk about it later.” They were concerned for my safety, of course, and also wondered, I think, how anything beneficial could be gained by living on the streets. In due time, though, through the excitement and encouragement of the many people who surrounded and encouraged the idea, they became confident that the homeless journey was supposed to happen.

Where did you go?

Sam and I spent just a little longer than five months on the streets of six major American cities: Denver, Washington, D.C., Portland, San Francisco, Phoenix, and San Diego. In those cities, we lived as homeless as we knew how, sleeping under bridges or in shelters, eating from garbage cans or panhandling to buy a sandwich, going long weeks without a shower or clean clothes. We looked disgusting, smelled disgusting, and were disgusting.

How did people treat you as a homeless person? I’m guessing it was worse than as a student at Westmont.

Quite a bit differently, actually. It was really hard to be ignored and forgotten by nearly everyone who passed us by, every moment of every day. Families would walk past us and the only people who would acknowledge that we were alive were the kids who didn’t know any better. Hours of panhandling were rewarded with only a few cents on more than one occasion. We were feared and avoided as we walked down the street, people parting and swerving far ahead of us in order to avoid contact. Even churches turned us away, stating that it wasn’t their “job” to provide for our needs. But in the midst of that hurt and disappointment, there were experiences with phenomenal Christians who took Christ at his word, and helped us in very real, tangible ways.

Was your life ever at risk?

That’s sort of hard to say. On the one hand, nearly every day it was at risk because we were hanging out with and sleeping next to convicted felons and just about every kind of person that you’re warned as a kid to not go near. There was one evening in San Francisco when three very large men were talking about jumping us and pounding us to see if we had any pot, but the attack was prevented by a medicine man who earlier had asked us for a piece of our hair for his medicine kit. So I think the general answer is Yes, but at the same time the Lord provided for our protection, safety, and sustenance in amazing ways. Even though we were hungry, tired, dirty, depressed, shamed, and forgotten in the midst of felons and violence, we survived. We were sustained, and carried through the rough spots.

What did you learn about God, and about yourself?

The lessons were numerous. Some of the most notable are centered around trust. I grew up in a home where I [rarely] lacked anything. If I was hungry, I went to the refrigerator. If I was dirty, I took a shower and put on clean clothes. Quite a bit different from life on the streets. On the sidewalk, where panhandling was the only way to get a decent meal, or standing in line for two-plus hours to get dinner from the rescue mission, trust meant something different. When I prayed “Lord, thank you for this food,” the words now dripped with honesty and intensity whereas before they were simply by rote. Sleeping out in the open, under a bridge, unsure of what might come during the night, required an absolute abandon to the will of the Lord. If he wanted me to wake up the next morning, I would. If he didn’t, I wouldn’t. And there was nothing that could stop that. From these in-your-face lessons about trust, there came an amazing sensation of peace. The Lord really is worthy of all our trust.

The personal lessons were intense, as well. Living with another human being 24 hours a day, seven days a week for as many months as Sam and I did was nearly a disaster. I learned time and again how prideful I am and how selfish even my best intentions really are. But in the midst of those failures, there was an incredible realization of what it means to bear one another’s burdens, and love unconditionally—both of which, I might add, were possible only after a lot of prayer and reading of Scripture.

Was it hard to reintegrate yourself into American society?

Yes. Coming home was quite difficult. It was such a transition to go from poverty on the streets to opulence back home. Almost immediately this difference between worlds was shoved in my face.

The night we left the streets of San Diego, we stayed with a friend in his Los Angeles apartment. I took a long shower and climbed into my own bed in my own room. Even though the sheets were fresh and I was finally clean, I couldn’t fall asleep. The room was silent, and I felt alone. Where there had been stars above now there was a confining ceiling. The sound of traffic had given way to the quiet hum of the air conditioning unit.

The whole world had changed.

Even though I knew it was coming, I still wasn’t prepared for the shock of coming back into “normal” life. It was hard to remember that I didn’t have to go hungry during the days, that I could afford to eat, that I could shower and change clothes when I was dirty. It sounds strange, but it really did take a couple of months before the general events of life became normal again.

Next week: Part 2

Jill Porter’s Flawed Script

The storyline has made-for-TV-movie written all over it. A menacing accused rapist overpowers a lone female deputy, stealing her gun. He then fatally shoots the judge presiding over his case and three other people during his escape.

While authorities launch a massive manhunt, the fugitive, Brian Nichols, forces a single mother into her apartment, holding her hostage for seven hours. The woman, strengthened by her beliefs, keeps her wits about her and eventually convinces the killer to turn himself in. She walks away from the ordeal unharmed and an instant national celebrity.

Three cheers for this courageous hero, right?

Well, not exactly. Several commentators have offered only two. After the initial media euphoria, they noticed a problem with this hero. She is, um, you see, an . . . evangelical Christian. Not only that, the woman, Ashley Smith, credits God with resolving the incident peacefully, in part by using a best-selling book by a Baptist pastor, The Purpose-Driven Life.

So, in the minds of these supposedly liberal critics, what could have been an uplifting story of a woman’s courage has crumbled into just another pushy ad for religion—kind of like a supermodel striding down the runway in a polyester pantsuit.

“Suddenly, the near miracle that occurred in Smith's apartment because of her calm and compassion is infused with the rhetoric of Christian evangelism,” sniffs Philadelphia Daily News columnist Jill Porter. “And suddenly, those of us who are wary of the increasing influence born-again Christians have on our political and cultural life feel a regrettable discomfort with this wonderful story.”

I’d like to say I feel her pain, but I don’t.

Let’s retrace the incident, using excerpts from Ashley Smith’s subsequent testimony. Early on, Smith tried to steer Nichols toward a conversation about God and faith.

We went to my room. And I asked him if I could read.

He said, “What do you want to read?”

Well, I have a book in my room.” So I went and got it. I got my Bible. And I got a book called The Purpose-Driven Life. I turned it to the chapter that I was on that day. It was Chapter 33.

And I started to read the first paragraph of it. After I read it, he said, “Stop, will you read it again?”

I said, “Yeah. I’ll read it again.” So I read it again to him.

It mentioned something about what you thought your purpose in life was. What were you—what talents were you given? What gifts were you given to use?

And I asked him what he thought. And he said, “I think it was to talk to people and tell them about you.”

Despite her fears, Ashley Smith looked beyond the man’s crimes and saw his soul.

I really didn’t keep track of time too much because I was really worried about just living. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want him to hurt anybody else. And I really didn’t want him to hurt himself or anyone else to hurt him. He’s done enough—he had done enough. And he really, honestly when I looked at him, he looked like he didn’t want to do it anymore.

He asked me what I thought he should do.

And I said, “I think you should turn yourself in. If you don’t turn yourself in,” this is what I said, “If you don’t turn yourself in, lots more people are going to get hurt. And you’re probably going to die.”

And he said, “I don’t want that to happen.”

He said, “Can I stay here for a few days? I just want to eat some real food and watch some TV and sleep and just do normal things that normal people do.”

So, of course, I said, “Sure. You can stay here.” I didn’t want—I wanted to gain his trust.

Most of my time was spent talking to this man about my life and experiences in my life, things that had happened to me.

He needed hope for his life. He told me that he was already dead. He said, “Look at me, look at my eyes. I am already dead.”

And I said, “You are not dead. You are standing right in front of me. If you want to die, you can. It’s your choice.”

But after I started to read to him, he saw—I guess he saw my faith and what I really believed in. And I told him I was a child of God and that I wanted to do God’s will. I guess he began to want to. That’s what I think.

But some skeptics, such as Porter, find Smith’s faith incidental. To them, any number of other approaches might have yielded the same result.

“I know many profoundly religious people who could never have responded the way Smith did when Brian Nichols put a gun in her side and tied her up,” Porter says. Oh, really? Care to share any names?

“I also know a few completely irreligious people who might have disarmed Nichols through bravery, poise and calm,” Porter continues. Or maybe just a winning smile?

“Ashley Smith,” Porter writes, “ought to remain a hero to us all—and not be reduced to a shill for a book or a symbol of the righteousness of evangelical Christianity.”

Porter, who admits she is “in awe of [Smith’s] spiritual and emotional resources,” eventually reveals her true target—the Almighty Himself. “And if, as some disciples of the book have said, God used Smith to reach Nichols, exactly where was God earlier in the day when he slaughtered four innocent people?”

Jill Porter’s question is an old one: Why does God allow bad things to happen? The evangelical Christianity she apparently despises has satisfying (though not exhaustive) answers—seen most clearly in the Good Friday death and Easter resurrection the One who sustained Ashley Smith in her hour of extremity.

Sounds like a superb script to me.