That Time at a Bar in Jordan

Anchor

“But you shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be witnesses to Me in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.” — Acts 1:8

Sea

The man was six inches from my face. Sweat glimmered on his forehead beneath the lights of the bar. It was my last night in Jordan, and  A. had waited the whole two weeks to take me to the only "gay" bar in town. I use scare quotes because nothing about the atmosphere would give it away, at least not to a Westerner. 

In a Muslim country like Jordan, you can't just fly a pride flag. Not back in 2010, at least. The fact that it was a gay bar was indexed clandestinely by the fact that it was a bar. Alcohol isn't illegal in Jordan, but most reputable places don't sell it. It was assumed that only foreigners, backslidden Muslims, and degenerates drank. So, to be at a bar at all squarely placed us among the indecent. In Jordan, that included the gays (and the Christians) by default. 

Photo by Jacek Dylag on Unsplash

The man was there with a friend, their faces not exactly memorable. I remember sweat, though, and dark hair and the ice melting quickly in our glasses because even at 1 a.m., it was still hot in Amman, nearly 100 degrees. The jasmine was fragrant in the night air. 

"You're a Christian, right?" he said, looking straight at me. "Explain to me the Trinity."

Oh, the humor of God. I had run away to a Muslim country to escape the fact that the man I loved, also a Muslim, was getting married back in the States, and not to me. Amman was a place where I could be far enough away not to do anything crazy—like crash their wedding—but near enough to the culture to comfort me with the very life I had refused on the grounds of religious difference. 

These were my last hours in Amman, and here in a bar, a Muslim man was asking me about the nature of the Trinity. 

"It does not make mathematical sense. 1 + 1 + 1 is 3," our new drinking buddy scoffed. 

"But 1 x 1 x 1 is 1."

I was too excited and self-assured with my new answer gleaned from a book titled "God Loves You My Muslim Brother" to see that the man was bating me. Still, back and forth we went. His friend sat listening quietly, as did mine. None of us knew it then, but roughly 12 years later, A. would be baptized as a Christian. And on that bright spring morning in 2022, 40 minutes outside London, I would stand beside her as a witness.  

God was the one who linked that moment in the bar to the moment in the baptistry. I was a witness to A.’s baptism, sure, but I had been a witness to how God was moving in her life all along. That makes it all the sweeter.

It’s common to think of a witness as someone called to testify in a courtroom. But before someone is called to speak as a witness, they must first be made into a witness through what they have seen and heard. The take away is: listen before you speak.

Our experiences with Jesus must precede any opinions or testimonies about Jesus. If we haven’t seen it or heard it for ourselves, let’s not perjure ourselves and act as if we have. We do more harm than good. This is for those of you like me, who consider ourselves disciples.

For those who have never walked with Jesus on the daily, you should be slow to speak about Him until you do. Do you have evidence to support your claims, if you weren’t there? If you don’t really know what He looks like or sounds like? How can you be sure it was or wasn’t Him? How does your testimony align with the existing eyewitness accounts?

On the other hand, if we are interested in knowing Jesus, we better keep alert. If we don't stay close by and keep our eyes peeled for Jesus, we might miss all the action and then we won’t have anything of unique value to add when we’re called to the stand. It’s not that He wasn’t there. It’s that we were’t looking.

As an honest witness, it’s okay for me to say, "Jesus hasn’t shown me that part yet, but I’m paying attention. I know He’ll show me when the time is right." It’s okay for me to say, "I don’t understand how that part works, but I’ve known Jesus for 15 years, and he’s not a liar. His character is unimpeachable. If he says it’s true, it’s true."

Since the bar in Amman, I've learned that talking about Jesus in the abstract is no substitute for time spent with Jesus in the present. My witness that night was not about what I was saying but what He was doing. God had set up the whole thing. He had already grabbed us a seat at the bar.

As a follower of Jesus, I mustn’t ever think of myself as a pioneer. Wherever I find myself, Jesus has been there first. I don't bring Him along; He brings me. When I travel to new places, He often asks me to witness what He's up to there. It all makes sense. I serve a nomad's God. I follow an Exiled Messiah who is out there looking for other exiles. He's always on the move, so I am, too.

Verily,

Alysia

Sail

I made up this little song while I was worshipping God this morning. Jesus is our personal healer. He’s the one that deals with our past and rights all the wrongs we’ve done and all the wrongs done to us. He’s also the one that secures our hope that, as we walk with him, we will discover more and more of God taking shape in us.

This morning when I sang aloud that God wasn’t just God but my God, it really brought a new level of intimacy to my worship. If you sing along, I encourage you to put your name in the lyrics.

He is the balm of Gilead.
He is the balm of Gilead.
For forgiveness of sin,
He's the hope of God within.
He is the balm of Gilead.

You are the God of Alysia.
You are the balm of Alysia.
For my forgiveness of sin.
You're my hope of God within.
You are the balm of Alysia.