by Jim Carroll
“Then how do these women come to Jesus?” I bent forward and took a date from the platter with my fingers. Hibah handed me a napkin. She didn’t want her carpet sullied by her newly arrived brother.
“With all the gender problems, they still come. It’s a miracle. The men who are converted bring their women along. That’s what happens most often. Whether you call that conversion or not, who knows? God knows.” Hibah nodded to Divina, “The maids are a secret weapon. They talk with the women. They answer questions the women ask when they’re at home without the men around.” This was Divina’s work. “Divina has taught the ex-patriot maids how to go about presenting the gospel in the home in which they work.” Divina glanced down, without acknowledging the praise. I envied the godly humility of both women.
The next morning was Friday, and we went to the hall my father had rented for the service. I was skittish, my default state. “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?” (Psalm 27:1). The psalms of my dead mother mocked me again.
The empty hall was in a quiet neighborhood in Qurtoba off Abu Ayyub Al-Ansari Street. There was no specific parking area, so those attending scattered their vehicles throughout the neighborhood. This way the meeting was not so obvious.
The worshippers filed quietly into the large, bare room with folding chairs already set up. An elevated table was placed in the front on a makeshift stage. The room was unheated and cold in the midwinter morning. The men and women sat together with no evidence of segregation. Binyamin sat next to a young girl I didn’t recognize. Hibah later told me my father required this seating arrangement in order to dispel any evidence of gender inequality before God. Most of the women were still covered.
I counted fifty-six congregants.
My father stood silently at the front by the table for a full two minutes while the congregation bowed their heads. I waited uncomfortably for something to happen. Then, my father looked to Mohammed on his right near the front. For forty years Mohammed had been the muezzin of the area mosque. For forty years he had called the people to prayer five times daily. But the grizzled, shrunken old man had dreamed a dream. Now he called the church of Jesus to prayer. Mohammed rose. His voice was still deep and rich, and he gave melody to a psalm by the rhythm of his recitation, “Shout for joy to God, all the earth; sing the glory of his name; give to him glorious praise! Say to God, ‘How awesome are your deeds! So great is your power that your enemies come cringing to you. All the earth worships you and sings praises to you; they sing praises to your name’” (Psalm 66:1-4). I shivered, chilled in the cool air.
The hymn singing in the church was from the Psalms. Two traditional Kuwaiti musicians accompanied the congregation with the ten string oud and small drums. As there was much modern Arabic Christian music available, I asked my father about this choice later. “I know about that music, but I want the Kuwaiti church to develop its own worship from the very beginning. Psalms are a good beginning.”
In the middle of the service my father stood and prayed for the needs of the church: for the rental of the building, those who were sick, and the financial needs of several. He expressed thanks to God for His protection from persecution. After closing the prayer in the name of Jesus, he asked the flock to place their financial gifts in the small box at the door as they departed later.
To my shock, Hibah rose from her seat and began to sing. I had never heard her before. She sang without accompaniment, and her voice was high, sweet and clear. The song was that of Moses and Miriam, “I will sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider he has thrown into the sea. The Lord is my strength and my song… this is my God, and I will praise him, my father’s God, and I will exalt him” (Exodus 15:1-2). For a moment I saw the shadow of my mother.
My father propped himself on his cane and stood at the table. I was surprised at his choice of a text too. I thought it quite difficult. It was Galatians 5:1-14. He preached in the circular manner long established in the Middle East, known to both Arab and Jew and all Semitic peoples, often seen in the Scriptures, as it was in this passage. There was none of the three-point syllogism method here that was typical in Western churches. His method was faithful to Paul’s. The beginning and end of the passage emphasized our freedom only in Christ. “For freedom Christ has set us free (Galatians 5:1a).”
The middle of the passage presented a difficult concept, that the Old Testament Law, or Sharia law, could never make us free but only enslave us. My father said, “We are slaves if we live only by the Law. No law can make us right with God. The Law does not work for our salvation because we cannot fully obey it. If we try to obey a small part of the Law, like circumcision, the rest of the Law is still there to convict us. We still have the desires of our flesh. Paul says the only way to obey the whole Law is to cut off all of our desires, not just the foreskin, as he says in Galatians 5:12, ‘I wish those who unsettle you would emasculate themselves.’ By this Paul meant that the only way to obey the whole Law was to amputate the entire organ, not just a part of it. Only then, by removing the entire source of desires could the Law be obeyed.” The passage concluded with: “For you were called to freedom, brothers (Galatians 5:13a).” My father completed the circle of the passage, “For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself’” (Galatians 5:14).
I thought the passage was too much for most to absorb, but to my surprise the people were rapt in their attention, nodding in agreement. I had not noticed Thawab in the congregation, but at my father’s direction he arose, lifted his arms and said, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope” (Romans 15:13). With that benediction the congregation rose and filed out of the building. Greetings and conversations, men and women together, took place on the grounds for about thirty minutes.
The whole experience was too much for me. I couldn’t believe what had gone on in my absence. God had bypassed me! Would my Persian bomb sins follow me? Did I cause the bomb to end up in Kuwait? And what’s more, with the burgeoning churches, Esau had a real target. What if the bomb really was in Kuwait? I pictured the explosion at my father’s church.
How could I fail to see the Lord’s hand? What was the grand plan? Was I a part of it? Unlike God, I couldn’t see the end from the beginning. I was finally beginning to see my limitations. How could I have been so blind?
Despite the progress of the gospel in Kuwait, there were threats. Most of these originated in quarters that were isolated and without the means to cause difficulty. But one of the threats surprised and frightened me. I shouldn’t have been surprised, as it only confirmed my fears. That threat was my half-brother, Esau… again.
CHAPTER 15
“ESAU WILL BE STUBBLE”
I had hoped to rid my family and myself of Esau, leaving him on that sad little stretch of land across from Bandar Abbas. But he was not so easily eliminated. “You need to know what’s happening with your brother, your half-brother,” said my father. He sat in his well-padded chair. “His ISIS colleagues found him on that strand of land and got him to Qatar. And then here to Kuwait.” So my efforts had failed miserably, and Esau had not been held there in Qatar as planned. I suspected there was still a lot my father hadn’t told me. From his grim countenance, it was clear the Esau situation had only worsened. Esau had become an agent of extreme Islam in Kuwait, at least that was my father’s analysis. Of course, there was more, more on the personal side.
“Dr. Allison, Esau’s mother, chose the name Esau purposefully. She was a student of history, and the significance of the name was not lost on her. She resented the circumstances of our affair, even though she dictated the course of events. It was my fault too, but she begrudged my returning to the wealth of Kuwait and leaving her with the responsibility. I paid for my departure many times over, at least in dinars.”
My father was more forthcoming now than when I was a teenager, but the Esau story always de
pressed him. He sank into the wrinkles in his neck. “Before Esau’s mother died, she insisted that I only came back to Kuwait to be rich, but I think the crowning irritation was the fact that I became a Christian. She learned about my conversion when she came to Kuwait on a sabbatical for an archeological dig many years ago – that geological attack of hers on Failika. For her, my conversion was an affront to her sensibilities, impossible for her to integrate into her image of me. She thought it was all fake. I tried to speak with her when she was here, in order to set things straight, but I failed.”
“I don’t get it,” I replied. “I thought I understood it when I was in school. Esau was after me while I was in Iran, but I still don’t grasp why Esau’s so against us. I understand all you’ve said, but it doesn’t seem sufficient to explain the extreme passion behind his attacks.”
“His mother came to despise me. That’s what she said. Eventually she wouldn’t even talk to me. I know much of this was my sin.” I could see he was tired and only with urging did the story leak out. “I know it doesn’t make sense. The fact is that she resented me, even though, in my view, she took advantage of me. She blackmailed me and threatened to tell Rabea. She wrote me that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. It had spread. She knew she was going to die, and I was to blame. She didn’t write that exactly, but that was her message. I was the ruin of her life.”
“But what about Esau?”
“He came to Kuwait shortly after her death. That’s what ignited his fire. That’s when he came to your school as headmaster. He was more definite with me than he was with you. He blamed me for the condition in which his mother died. He said I was responsible for her emotional and physical decline by my neglect.” The old man had to gather his thoughts before continuing, preventing the flow of tears. “I didn’t deny this. I was responsible. I deserted her with a failing marriage. The end of her marriage left her with insufficient resources. Of course, I paid for Esau’s education at Stanford, but I gave nothing of myself to either of them. All that I did not do got magnified over the years. That’s the way it’s been since he first arrived here. He was gone for a time, but now he’s back. And it’s worse, much worse.”
“How so?” I didn’t fill in the details I knew about Esau’s absence from Kuwait. I should have known he’d make it back to Kuwait from Ras Al-Khaimah. I really didn’t want my father to carry on like this, but I honored his apparent need.
“I know you’re well-acquainted with the name of your half-brother. There’s a verse in the book of Obadiah that says, ‘The house of Jacob shall be a fire, and the house of Joseph a flame, and the house of Esau stubble; they shall burn them and consume them, and there shall be no survivor for the house of Esau, for the Lord has spoken’ (Obadiah 1:18). The stage had been set from the beginning. Esau and his mother adopted this old conflict and made it their mission in life.” My father looked down, as if he was the one responsible. In point of fact, I thought I was the guilty one. “I wouldn’t give his mother credit for a prophecy,” my father continued, “but Esau’s here and he’s already demonstrated the works of his hand. He also understand the words in the Bible and he knows it’s his death struggle. For some reason, that does not deter him.”
“So it’s worse.” I kept learning more than I wanted to know.
“He’s brought devastation wherever he’s been. He set the Al Ahli Bank on its ear. He came in there as a midlevel executive and cleverly managed to turn the bank executives against one another. He instigated arguments among them and used the fights to win advantage. He was hospitalized back in the United States – shock treatments for depression.” I should have guessed. “Then, he came back to the Al-Bader Trading Company and got in with their advanced computer system. Somehow he’s maintained ties with the Al-Ahli Bank, even with all the trouble he caused there. He’s still at the top after freezing out better, kinder men.” I saw my father wanted to be alone, but Hibah entered the room with tea and crackers. She looked distressed at our father’s confessions, but he had to continue.
“His personal life is the same – four wives in ten years, still married to two, and living with a fifth woman, with six children. None of his personal life affects us, but he’s carrying out his mission against the fledgling church.”
“By what means?” The discussion was taking far too long for my taste. I just wanted simple answers, and I wanted to stop punishing our father by his endless telling. Just a solution, please. What was Esau doing? How could we stop him?
“It’s said he’s joined ISIL and that he’s organizing a cell here in Kuwait.” I knew from Esau’s comments to me in Iran that he was actually the enemy of any religion, but he was adept at playing all sides just the same. “We still don’t know if that’s true. And it seems contradictory, but he probably has connections in Iran. And why in the world with the Shia?” I knew that to be fact. “Of course, he’s a computer expert. Our computer traffic in regard to the church has undoubtedly been invaded. Like a hungry lion he goes from one threat to another. He has no discipline, even toward his own aims.” The old photos around our living room formed a variegated backdrop of the past, racing camels from my grandfather’s time, a pearl-diving dhow slogging through a windswept sea. “He jumps from one job to another. He singles out various converts, particularly new converts, and tries to frighten them. He sees me as his main enemy. His primary weapon right now is the computer. He’s brilliant. He’s unstable, with highs and lows like you wouldn’t believe. And if it’s true, the ISIL connection indicates there may be physical violence in the offing. Binyamin is our only, our best, computer defense.”
Papa hadn’t touched the tea and crackers. Hibah told me later that Papa’s appetite had waned.
“I have to see him again. I want to find out what we’re dealing with. I was barely out of my childhood when we first met.” Again, I omitted the Iranian business I had with Esau. “After all, he’s my brother. I’ll phone him.”
My father shook his head, as if to say, it won’t help.
Two days passed before I summoned the courage to call.
“Good morning. This is Yusef Al-Tamimi. I just returned to Kuwait. Perhaps we could meet soon.”
“I’ve been expecting your call. Come to my home on Gulf Road tonight at seven.” His voice was even, showing no emotion.
I pulled up at the home as directed; the iron gate was closed. The location by the sea and the palatial size of the home indicated he had done well financially. But the source? How had he recovered so quickly? Corinthian-style columns, out of place in Kuwait, adorned the front of the three-story house. The sleepy Pakistani attendant, wearing a wrinkled white dishdasha, came out of the gatehouse, inquired about my purpose, opened the gate, and I pulled into the driveway circle. There were two small, dark-skinned children playing by the pool, an Indian woman in a sari watching over them. I was ushered into the living room by a male Indian servant. The stairs and floor were marble, and the French antique furniture was heavy and painful to sit upon.
After twenty minutes Esau came downstairs and into the room dressed like a Kuwaiti with a grey winter dishdasha and bare feet. He was now quite obese and had deep facial folds. I was shaken how much he had aged, even since our earlier encounter. My mind went back again to the pills on his principal desk, the sertraline. Did he still take the antidepressant? And then there had been the shock treatments. The servant brought tea.
How odd that I, as a Kuwaiti, wore a woolen sport coat.
“I didn’t think you’d come. Look, I’ll be clear. Nothing has changed. I have no respect for your family, and I still I want to finish Christianity in Kuwait. That’s the main reason I’m here. By any means, and I mean any means, I intend to bring this about. I’m sure you remember how I made your school year difficult. What do think happened to your converted friends in Iran? Do you think it just occurred, an accident? No, definitely not. There’s going to be more of the same, but much worse.”
“Hasn’t your anger worn itself out?” For a brief
moment, I saw the sadness of the man. The thought came to me: He’s looking forward to his next prey. He never looks me in the eye.
“You’ve talked with your father, our father. It’s because of you I have no birthright.”
“Mr. Allison, despite what you’ve said, I have no animosity toward you. The high school thing has worn off. It was long ago.” Here in Kuwait I still felt compelled to address him as Mr. “Is there any sort of settlement you’re looking for? You must know I had to get you out of Iran. There was no choice there.” I was not hopeful but I had to try.
“I’m here for my mother. I can’t bring her back, but I can come after you and your father. I’ll finish you and all the Christians in Kuwait before you get started on your next thing. I can’t stand the sight of you. The fact I may resemble you, when I look in the mirror, is more than I can stand. The truth is that you will be responsible for the future. You can just imagine what I have waiting for you, a remnant of your work in Iran.”
“From what I’ve observed the Lord is doing here in Kuwait, the result, I think, will not be in your favor.” I said this with more vigor than I really possessed. Why was the Lord putting me the midst of all this?
The evening was quickly concluded. The tea untouched. “Save me, O God! For the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in the deep mire, where there is no foothold.” Psalm 69:1-2 occupied my thoughts. Could he really engulf us? I feared my half-brother.
The Kuwait Times the next day demonstrated Esau’s influence. Was it a coincidence that this new attack appeared just after my visit? The headline read, “Al Ahli Bank Calls in All Loans to Christians.” The text of the article continued, “In an unprecedented move, the Al Ahli Bank, by the direction of its administrative staff, has notified Christians that their loans are immediately called for full payment. This action was alarming to the ministers of the State of Kuwait, and the Finance Minister has taken up inquiry into the matter. According to unnamed sources, their action will be reported soon. The names of those from whom payment is demanded includes a number of prominent Kuwaiti families who are identified as Christians in the text of the Al Ahli Bank release. The Times has elected not to publish the list of Kuwaitis who are identified as Christians without further information.”