A Christian-Muslim Encounter

Paul Harder had said that if the Islamic world wanted a pattern to follow in finding a way to live with other people in the world, the Nation of Indonesia would be a good model to use. After an experience that I had, I might amend his comment in this way: “If the Christian and Islamic peoples of the world wanted a pattern to follow in finding a way to live with others, the Nation of Indonesia would be a good model to use.”

Edison, our driver, had picked us up at the Medan Airport on our return from the Island of Nias, to take us back to Pematangsiantar. Edison spoke little or no English, and would use his cell phone to call someone from the HKBP whenever he was in doubt about times, addresses, schedules, or whatever.

He picked us up in mid-afternoon, and we immediately headed south towards Pematangsiantar. About a third of the way to our destination, he pulled off at a gas station and food store owned by a Muslim couple. He had obviously eaten there many times, by the way he was greeted. I asked for coffee, and was handed a cup and pointed to the coffee urn. I tried to pay for it, but was told that it was “free.”

But there were two riders with him this time, who did not look like Batak people at all. “Where were we from?” Jean and I finally understood. “America,” we said. No emotions were shown, but I sensed distance from the couple. “I no visit America,” was what the husband finally got out, “I visit Saudi Arabia.” “Riyadh?” “Yes!” “Mecca?” “Yes, two times.” He had made the hajj pilgrimage twice. I gave him the thumbs up, and he smiled broadly.

Then I dug one of the calling cards out of my shoulder bag that Paul had prepared for us. “ELCA/HKBP” it said across the top. And “Pdt.” in front of my name. “HKBP Preditgan?” he asked. “Yes, pastor, from America.”

And the husband extended his hand, now with a big smile on his face, shook it firmly, respectfully, and with a smile on his face. “HKBP,” he said, and he nodded his head in affirmation. And with that, the conversation became animated, haltingly, with puzzlement, with care, and with certainly some misunderstandings as well. But we were HKBP and that was good.

When we were ready to leave, everyone, including their children, had to shake our hands. As the van backed out of the parking place at the store, the couple stood in front of the windshield, walking in front of the backing car, waving warmly, with broad smiles, intended for the American HKBP Christians.

What are the impacts of a Church’s ministry? It looks like a Muslim couple greeting you warmly and waving farewell with a big smile. That’s the witness of the HKBP. Well, done, my brothers and sisters.

Lowell Anderson