On one specific occasion, I had to come up with an impressive feat of acid-base titration. I really enjoyed this topic and grasped it intuitively, probably because we could visually test our progress. In the process of our titrations, if we did not know whether our liquid was acidic or a basic, all we had to do was dip litmus paper into it. If the paper came out pink, it was an acid. If the paper came out purple, it was a base. The litmus paper made it easy to know where we were in the process of our overall experiment.
After the lab, I waited for David in the courtyard outside. He was late. When he finally walked out of the building, I wasted no time giving him my story.
“Dude, it only took me fifteen minutes to do my titrations. I didn’t even need litmus paper. I just eyeballed it, and bam! I was done. I’ve been waiting for you ever since.”
“Oh yeah? Well, when I got to the lab, I got a beaker of acid and a beaker of base, and I put them next to each other and commanded them to titrate themselves. They obeyed out of fear and awe. So it took me only one minute.”
“Uh-huh. So why are you late?”
“It took me an hour to sign autographs for all the professors.”
“That’s why you’re late?”
“That’s why I’m late.”
I picked up my backpack, and we started heading toward the Arts and Letters Building. We began inventing one whopper after another, trying to get the last word on whose chemistry skills were the most legendary. The walk was short and relaxing, taking us past the large glass windows of the library and a calming fountain by the new broadcasting building.
When there was finally a lull in the banter, David’s visage slowly grew serious. It seemed to take on a hint of concern. My friend’s concern was my concern, so I grew serious too.
“Yo, Dave. What’s on your mind?”
“I was just thinking of something. I wanna know what you think, but I’d like you to answer me honestly.”
David didn’t usually talk like this, so he had my attention. “Yeah, man. What’s going on?”
“Right now we’re goofing off and arguing about who’s better at chemistry. It’s pointless fun. Don’t get me wrong, we’re having a blast and that’s great. But the laughs are what we’re after; the argument itself is pointless.”
I nodded.
“It’s also really fun when we talk about the Bible and Christianity, but I wonder if we’re not just goofing off and trying to outdo each other there too. You see what I’m saying? I guess I’m wondering if our conversations about faith are more than just fun arguments.”
“What do you mean? Of course they are.”
“Let me put it this way. Let’s just say Christianity were true. Just for a moment, imagine with me that Jesus really is God and that he really did die on the cross for your sins and that he rose from the dead. He loves you, and he wants you to live your life following and proclaiming him.”
“Okay, I’m imagining it. It’s hard for me, but I’m trying.”
“Alright. Now, if it were the case that Christianity were true, would you want to know it?”
“I’m sorry, what?” I didn’t understand what he was asking.
“If Christianity were true, would you want to know it?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“All kinds of reasons. For one, you’d have to admit to yourself that you were wrong all these years, and that’s not easy. It would also mean you’d have to go back through your entire life and sort out everything you ever thought you knew about God and religion. That’s tough, man. I can easily imagine not wanting to do that.”
I did not answer immediately but kept on slowly walking with David.
The trees along the path were thinning out as we approached the Arts and Letters Building. Squinting as we came out of their shadows, we decided to put our backpacks down by the fountain and take a break. I looked past David, out over the water.
After a moment, I responded. “Yes and no.”
I looked over at David. He waited.
“Yes, I would want to know because I want to know the truth, and I want to follow God. He is the most important thing there is. But, no, I wouldn’t want to know because it would cost me my family. They’d lose the son they’ve always wanted, and they’d lose all the respect they have in the community. If I became a Christian, it would destroy my family. I’m not sure I could live with that. After all they’ve done for me? No.”
The silence that followed was pregnant. The sound of flowing water washed over any awkwardness, and we stood for another few moments, saying nothing.
Finally, David asked, “So who do you think would win: God, or your family?” It was a blunt question, but that’s how I needed to hear it.
“God.”
Even as I spoke, a wave of defiance swept over me. I came to my senses and turned to David. “But it’s not like any of this speculation matters. Christianity is not true. Islam is the truth. Will you be willing to admit it when you realize it, David?”
David looked at me incredulously. “Nabeel, you’re doing it again! I hate to say it, but it seems like when we talk about our faiths you just try to win the argument instead of honestly looking for the truth. It’s as if you presuppose that Christianity is false.”
If anyone else had made these accusations, I probably would have walked away and avoided further discussion. But this was my best friend, and I knew he cared about me. I considered his words carefully.
“Maybe you’re right. I don’t think Christianity could even possibly be true.”
“Why not, Nabeel? You haven’t been able to defend your position in any of our discussions. You thought the Bible had been altered over time, but you weren’t able to defend that. You thought it might not be trustworthy, and you weren’t able to defend that.”
“Well maybe it’s because I’m not well versed in these things. I’m no scholar, I don’t know all the answers.” In saying this, a hidden reality was revealed: Western though my upbringing was, it was built upon the Eastern bedrock of authority.
David remained focused. “What would it take for you to begin to think that Christianity is possibly true?”
I reflected on this for a moment before responding. “My dad taught me everything I know about religion, and he knows way more than I do. If I saw that even he could not answer objections, then I would begin to look into things more carefully.”
“Then you’d think that Christianity is possibly true?”
“Just possibly.”
David considered this. “Do you think your dad would be up for a conversation?”
“Of course,” I answered, without hesitation.
“I’ve got a friend named Mike who holds meetings at his house once a month, where people from all kinds of backgrounds get together and talk about religion. We call them ‘Dream Team’ meetings. I know he would be willing to have a conversation with your dad. You think that’ll work?”
“Yeah, definitely. I’ll check with my dad, but I don’t think he’ll have a problem with it. Count us in.”
“Okay, good. Let’s pick a topic, so we don’t go all over the map. What should we discuss?”
“Well, if there’s a litmus test between Islam and Christianity, I think it’s the issue of whether Jesus died on the cross.”
“Alright. We’ll talk about Jesus’ death on the cross. That settles it.” David and I turned back to look over the water, considering the implications of what had just happened.
Years later I would find that this was a major turning point for David. If I had said that I didn’t want to know if Christianity was true, David would not have pursued our conversations any further. He had long before realized that people who wanted to avoid the truth usually succeeded.
It was a turning point for me too. Convinced that Abba would be able to deftly handle anything that was thrown his way, I was not prepared for how the conversation would go.
Chapter Twenty-Five
CRUCIFYING THE SWOON THEORY
SHORT
LY AFTER THE CANDID CONVERSATION by the fountain, I asked Abba if he would be willing to go to meet with Mike and talk about Jesus’ death. As expected, Abba responded enthusiastically. Like me, he loved talking about matters of religion because he was convinced of the truth of Islam. He saw every opportunity to discuss our beliefs as an opportunity to honor and glorify God.
But because of final exams, family trips, and other obligations, there was no opportunity in the near future for us to go to one of Mike’s meetings. It wasn’t until my sophomore year that the stars aligned.
David and I were taking genetics together, and he told me in class one day that a friend of Mike’s was coming to town, someone who had studied the historical Jesus. If we wanted, the five of us could meet over the weekend. It sounded like the perfect opportunity, so I made sure Abba and I were available. Before long, the day we had been waiting for finally arrived.
Historical Jesus: Jesus as he can be known through historical records
It turned out the meeting was not far from our house, practically in our own neighborhood. The man hosting the event, Mike Licona, had been a friend of David’s for some time. Formerly a Tae Kwon Do instructor and insurance salesman, he had been studying the New Testament for the past few years. He had recently finished a master’s degree in religious studies and was considering a doctorate.
When we arrived at his home, he greeted us warmly. At 6’ 4”, he had a rather striking figure, but despite his formidable height and martial arts training, he had kind eyes and a soft voice.
Mike introduced us to his friend, Gary, who was also rather imposing. He appeared to be about five years older than Abba, with sharp blue eyes and a well-trimmed beard. He looked like a mix between Santa Claus and an offensive lineman. Gary extended his hand to me.
“Hi, my name is Gary Habermas. I’m a friend of Mike’s, one of his former professors.”
“Nabeel Qureshi. Good to meet you. Thanks for coming to the meeting. I hear you’re familiar with the historical Jesus?”
Gary chuckled. “I guess you could say that. I’ve written a few books on the topic.”
This was my first indication that things might not go so well for Abba and me that night. I decided to ask him some more questions, to see whom exactly we had stumbled upon. “David told me you knew the subject well, but I didn’t realize you’ve written books on it. How long have you been studying the field?”
“Well, my dissertation was on the historicity of Jesus’ resurrection. I wrote it in 1976, and I’ve been studying the historical Jesus ever since, so that’s over twenty-six years.”
Smiling and nodding, I decided to let Abba do most of the talking for the evening.
The five of us continued getting to know one another as we seated ourselves in Mike’s living room. Mike sat with his back to the window and Gary at his left. I sat in a recliner facing Mike, with Abba to my right. David sat farther away from us, in an armchair toward the corner of the room. He reined us in when it was time to begin.
“Well, I’ll quickly give some background and then hand it over to Nabeel and his dad. We wanted to talk about the crucifixion of Jesus. Nabeel and Mr. Qureshi believe Jesus did not die on the cross, whereas the rest of us know that’s just not true.”
Gary’s mouth dropped, and I just shook my head. But Abba had met David a few times and knew he was a bit cheeky, so he chuckled, and Mike lightheartedly chided David. “Now play nice, David!”
“Alright, alright. But you guys think Jesus was crucified, right? Crucified, but not killed on the cross?”
Abba responded, “That’s right.”
Mike stepped in. “Well, why don’t we just start there? Tell us why you think that.”
With that, Abba and I had the floor. Abba did the lion’s share of the talking, mostly arguing the case found in Mirza Ghulam Ahmad’s book, Jesus in India. It was the same case I had shared with my friend Kristen years earlier on the school bus, except Abba wove in supplementary arguments.
Mike and Gary listened attentively, asking questions only for the sake of clarification. They did not disrupt Abba or interject with refutations, much to David’s chagrin. After about half an hour, there was a subtle shift in the mood of the room. Mike and Gary were looking for an opportunity to start responding.
When Abba mentioned the Shroud of Turin, Gary piped up, “Wait, you think the Shroud of Turin is real? You think Jesus’ image is on that shroud?”
Shroud of Turin: A controversial relic, it is often believed to be the burial cloth of Jesus himself, supernaturally bearing his image
Abba doubled back and considered his claim more carefully. “Yes, I do. Why, what do you think?”
“Well, I think there’s a lot of good reason to agree with you, but I’m surprised that you think it’s Jesus. It’s pretty clear the man in the shroud is dead.”
The imams in our jamaat proclaimed the authenticity of the shroud, but they argued that Jesus was alive when the shroud was placed on him. Having heard some of their arguments, Abba replied, “But blood coagulates when a man dies, and the man in the shroud has blood flow.”
“You’re right, but the blood flow on the shroud demonstrates a separation of serum and clotted blood, which only happens after death. You also see evidence of rigor mortis, another indication the body is dead.”
Not being overly familiar with the details of the shroud, Abba decided to stick with the gospel accounts. “But even in the Bible, it says that when Jesus’ side was pierced, blood and water gushed out. That means that his heart was still pumping. Otherwise, how would blood gush out?”
Gary shook his head. “If his heart was still pumping, what was the water? What the author of the gospel calls ‘water’ is either the serum after it has separated or it was fluid from around the heart. Either way, Jesus had to be dead in order for there to be ‘blood and water.’ ”
Mike had a New Testament in hand and added, “The Greek word you’re translating as ‘gushed out’ is the same word for simply ‘coming out.’ It doesn’t mean the heart was pumping. Besides, if you’re going to quote John, you’ve got a bigger problem: John says explicitly that Jesus was dead. See? 19:33, ‘He was already dead.’ ”
Abba asked Mike to show him the Bible, and Mike pointed out the verse. It was in Greek, so it couldn’t help Abba too much, but Abba continued to look at it, switching back and forth between Mike’s Greek New Testament and his own King James.
After giving him a moment, Gary spoke up again. “I don’t think a man could survive the kind of spear wound dealt to Jesus. The very reason they stabbed him in the chest was to make sure he was dead. The spear would have gone into Jesus’ heart, killing him instantly.”
“But the Bible doesn’t say it went into his heart,” Abba pressed, “just that it pierced his side. Plus, he was only on the cross for a few hours; he could easily survive that.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure. There’s an entire history of the practice of crucifixion, and I can assure you of this: it wasn’t gentle enough to survive. As far as we know, no one in history ever survived a full Roman crucifixion.43 The Romans designed it to be a humiliating, torturous, surefire method of execution. Are you familiar with the flogging process and the rest of the crucifixion?”
Abba shook his head.
“They used what’s called a flagrum, a whip that was designed to rip skin off the body and cause excessive bleeding. After just a few lashes, the victim’s skin began to come off in ribbons and their muscles tore. After a few more lashes, the muscles became like pulp. Arteries and veins were laid bare. Sometimes the flagrum would reach around the abdomen and the abdominal wall would give way, causing the victim’s intestines to spill out. Obviously, many people died during the flogging alone.”44
This was all news to me, and I was horrified. I knew the Bible said Jesus was flogged, but it gave no details. If this was truly the kind of torture Jesus underwent, I was going to have a harder time defending the idea that Jesus survived the cross. But Gary was not
done.
“After the flogging, victims were nailed through their arms to a crossbeam. The nails would go right through the median nerve, causing extreme pain and incapacitating the hands. A seven-inch nail would then be driven through both feet, and the crucifixion victim would be made to hang from his arms, a position that makes it nearly impossible to breathe. He would have to use his little remaining energy to push against the nail in his feet so he could breathe out. He could breathe in as he sagged back down, but he would have to push back up before breathing out again. When all his energy was drained and he could not push up any longer, he would die of asphyxiation.”
Mike quickly added, “Which is why they broke the legs of the robbers next to Jesus. Without their knees, they couldn’t breathe out, so they died.”
Gary continued, “And that made it pretty easy for the guards to tell when someone was dead; all they had to do was see if the victim stopped pushing up. But the guards developed ways to ensure the victims really were dead. Other than breaking the knees, sometimes they’d crush the victim’s head, sometimes they would feed the body to dogs, or, as in the case of Jesus, sometimes they would pierce the victim’s heart.”
With each point, I felt our position become more and more problematic, but Abba was not through. “Jesus prayed for the bitter cup to be taken away from him in the garden of Gethsemane. Clearly, he did not want to die! Would God not honor that?”
Mike answered, “Yes, but he also said to God, ‘Let Your will be done, not mine.’ So, on the human level of experiencing pain, of course Jesus did not want to be crucified. But on a deeper level, Jesus wanted God’s will to be done, and so he was willing to be crucified. He made this clear when he turned back to Jerusalem much earlier in his ministry, prophesying his death and willingly walking toward it.”45
Gary added, “And that’s something that I wanted to clarify about your position. It looks like you quote the gospels to help build your case but that you do not take verses into account that might oppose your view. For example, you quoted the dream that Pilate’s wife had, even though it appears only once in one of the gospels,46 but you ignore the times Jesus prophesies his death, even though that occurs multiple times in each gospel.47 Why is that?”
Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus: A Devout Muslim Encounters Christianity Page 13