Overflow!
The gathering at Northwood was scheduled to start at 5 p.m. I had sensed that we might have more people than we expected, so I was running around all afternoon, making phone calls to get more food. I had told everyone we’d have halal Texas barbeque ribs! The man who was supposed to get us those halal ribs couldn’t, so we had to scramble with kebabs and other things. Our women’s Embrace group was preparing some food as well, but I ordered more, just to be safe. And still I underestimated.
As I was helping set things up 45 minutes before the service was to begin, a couple of cars packed with Muslim families pulled up. I greeted them, “Assalamu alaikum,” which means peace be upon you. They responded “Alaikum salam,” which means and upon you, peace. I told them they’d have to wait in the foyer, as the doors wouldn’t be opened for a bit.
Fifteen minutes later, two more vans full of Muslims pulled up. I greeted them, and then went in the auditorium to make sure everything was ready. I met some of the speakers, who’d arrived early, and then went back out in the foyer. The next thing I saw was a big 46-passenger bus pull up, packed with people. They began to pour out—men, women, young, old, youth, children!
I grabbed another greeter and staff member to greet them. They were grinning, and so was I. Then another bus pulled up, and another, and another. Then cars started pouring in. I felt like I was at a Billy Graham meeting! The hallways got so packed we had to go ahead and open the doors to let the people in so they could find a place to sit. Ushers were working like crazy getting everyone inside. I had told my people that it’s not proper to shake a Muslim lady’s hand, but in the confusion some shook hands with women anyhow. (I later told the audience, “Our men were not making passes at your women,” and everyone exploded in laughter.)
Ten minutes before we began the place was packed. As I walked in and moved around and shook hands, I was so moved. I began to weep but tried not to let anyone see me. I thanked God in my heart that there were so many Muslims in our church. I was meeting imams and people from all over the world who had moved to Dallas. Had Northwood Church been directed by shy faith instead of bold love—had the people who got upset and left our church determined the direction of outreach for our church—we would never have seen this day. This day was worth whatever price had to be paid. To affirm hundreds of Muslims, to share our faith in a public forum, to serve, love, and connect—it was worth it. It was worth the cross, which had to go through Pharisees and Sadducees; it would be worth the cross weaving its way through “religious” and “Baptist” Christians as well.
Our auditorium holds 2,000, but ended up with 2,500 people that night. There were 700 Christians, and about 1,800 Muslims. I was shocked. I went down to the front row where Zia was. I told him, “Zia, you and I can disagree all we want about God, but one thing I know for sure is this—God is very, very pleased tonight that we are together.” Zia grinned and said, “I agree with that, Bob. God is pleased.”
I welcomed everyone and introduced myself. The service began with a Muslim man announcing the call to prayer; I wanted our people to hear what it sounded like. We Christians sang the doxology, “Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow.” It wasn’t a worship service, but in my heart, I did worship. How could I not? I worship with messed-up evangelicals every week. Worship isn’t about who is around me, but to whom I’m directing my attention.
Then a young lady wearing a hijab sang “The Star Spangled Banner.” The pastors and imams all came forward and we introduced them. Azir Azzez of the North Texas Islamic Association brought a message. Kevin Cox, pastor of Heartland Community Church, said, “Muslims are my neighbors and that is why I’m here.” Zia brought words and tried to pronounce his newly learned Texas words. We had a combined children’s choir sing “You Are My Sunshine,” and I interviewed ladies in the Embrace cooking club.
I said I couldn’t speak for all Christians, just for those of us that night. I said, “We love you Muslims with all our hearts. I love Jesus with all my heart. I honestly believe he is God. I know to you that’s heresy, but I believe it so much so that I want every one of you to know who he is. So much so that I’m willing to make my own tribe upset with me so you can know a Christian. But as much as I would want you to know him, I would never force you or anyone to be a Christian; it has to be a choice. Nothing would give me greater joy than for all of us to be in heaven together. I know you may not become Christians, but I promise you, I will love you, serve you, and be here for you.”
When the service was over, the hallways were so crammed with people, it was hard to move. But we ate and enjoyed ourselves. I was swarmed by so many people, it was hard to talk to everyone. I remember one man from Yemen, who’d brought a lot of people with him to the event, saying, “See, I brought you the world tonight!” Person after person came up to me, thanking the church for reaching out.
I was especially moved by meeting the young Muslim fathers. One after another said it was hard raising their children as Muslims in Dallas, trying to break out of the box as we were doing. I wasn’t ready for that; it really broke my heart. And I still remember how surreal it was watching our Northwood children play with kids from different backgrounds wearing different clothing.
It was surreal, and one reason was that the whole time this gathering was taking place, my wife and her friend were in the West Bank working with Muslim women building bridges and relationships—not with the church there, but with the people there who were not Christians. They were the minority there in the West Bank working with Muslims, while our church at home was the majority religion in our city reaching out to the minority.