The Mullah and the Bear

By Fahir as told to Scott Carter

The car lurched to a stop with an ominous groan. It wasn't going any further. The nearest village was over eight miles away--pretty close, considering this was the Ural mountains of Russia, on the western edge of Siberia, where a neighbor is anyone within 150 miles. But this was also winter where temperatures hover around -10¼F and lower. This was one of the "lower" days. My traveling companion and I looked each other, the unspoken question hanging in the air, "Now what?"

He broke the silence first: "Will the bears eat us?" I chuckled, in spite of myself. My friend had never been in this area before. I was born here. My people are the Bashkir, a Muslim people with their own heritage, language, and culture.

People Profile:
The Bashkirs are a Turkic people who primarily live in the Ural Mountains of Russia but also in Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan. The Bashkirs are closely related to the Russian Tatars. Bashkirs speak their own language, however, many have declared Tatar as their native language. The Bashkirs are almost entirely Muslim. In the 18th century, the Orthodox Church attempted to convert them to Christianity, but today, only about 3% are Christian by any definition of the word.

"No," I replied simply.

"How do you know?" he queried further, unconvinced by my monosyllabic response.

"Because it's winter, and bears sleep now, that's why," I elaborated.

"Good. Forget the bears. What about the cold and the car?" After much prayer and over an hour freezing ourselves as we struggled to get the car going again, it finally sputtered and gurgled into life though "life" might be a bit generous. After what seemed like an eternity, our car limped into the village. I had not wanted to come to this village. My goal was a city about 100 miles further where there was a church, and we could have found fellowship and help with the car.

But since this was a missions trip, I'd have to at least make a show of doing the missionary thing. I figured we'd ask the village officials if we could show the "Jesus" film. They'd say no, since they were Muslims, and we'd be on our way as soon as we could figure out how to fix the car. My conscience would be salved. I'd tried, but they weren't interested. Well, a funny thing happened. We asked them about the film, and they said, "Fine." I repeated the question, sure they had misunderstood me.

"Yes, yes, you must stay here and show us the film." The official was adamant. As we got the film ready, village elders went around gathering everyone to see the film. This was too funny-Muslim village elders advertising the "Jesus" film. Who says God doesn't have a sense of humor? In weather fit for neither man nor beast, people came, and came, and came. By the time we started, the club we used was filled to overflowing. We didn't know there were this many people in the entire area!

Afterwards, people asked many questions and wanted literature. We answered as many questions as we could, but we had to tell them sadly that we had no literature in the Bashkir language. There is almost no Christian literature available. After everyone left, the mullah (the local religious leader) insisted we come to his house. Over tea, we began sharing about Christianity and Islam.

"The Bible tells us we must love God." I said.

"The Koran also says that."

"The Bible says we must love each other."

"So does the Koran." We were getting nowhere fast. Then God put an idea into my head. I said, "The Bible tells how can you get rid of the guilt for the sins you've committed."

There was silence you could cut with a knife. "The Koran says nothing about that. Tell me more." For another hour, we shared God's plan of salvation and freedom from the guilt of sin. The mullah listened, enthralled. "I must take this step NOW. I must be saved."

Right there in his home, the mullah asked Jesus to forgive him of his sin and make him a new person. When he finished praying, he literally glowed from the inside out. "I'm free. EVERYONE in our village must know of this."

Tears rolled down my cheeks, tears of joy unspeakable and also shame for my previous callous attitude toward this village and my lack of faith that anything could happen. After several more days in the village monkeying around enough to get the car running semi-normally, we set out for the city. Our hearts were bursting with God's goodness. He had done a miracle, not because of us, but in spite of us. What an unspeakable honor to serve the King of Kings! Will you pray with me for the Bashkir people, for a church to be established among them and multiplied?

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