Faith begins when reason surrenders

As a convert from Islam to Catholicism, I am often asked to share my conversion story. I welcome the invitation as it causes me to pause from the mind-numbing hyperactivity, and to examine and notice God’s activity in my life. I trust that sharing my story serves others. 

I was born in Iran and grew up in a Shia Muslim family. In 1976, I came to the U.S. as an exchange student and lived with a loving host family who introduced me to Southern Baptist Christianity. As a Muslim, I believed in one God, Creator of all, omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent. To me, Jesus was a perfect, sinless prophet, miraculously born of the Virgin Mary. The Quran, the holy book of Islam, rejects the divinity of Christ and thus the Holy Trinity. Also, I was taught that while God is infinitely merciful, I was personally accountable for my actions; there was no original sin, so no need for a savior/crucifixion/resurrection.  

In 1979, the Islamic revolution replaced the monarchy with the Islamic Republic of Iran. I could not return home. I met my future husband, who was Catholic, and I began attending Mass. I noticed the familiar external expressions of the faith such as pious postures, common prayers, use of incense, candles, holy water, reverence for the saints, especially the Blessed Mother, and praying for the dead. With all of these similarities, there still remained the big stumbling block of the divinity of Jesus and the doctrine of the inner life of God as the Holy Trinity. God is one, period! 

My questions were logical. Why do we suffer even if we are leading a moral life? How can the infinite fit into a finite? How can three distinct persons be one? Why is it even necessary for God to become man? I believed that God gave us an intellect to use and could not compute how any intelligent person could embrace such insanity. 

My husband and I were married in 1981 and began having children. Our four children were baptized in the church, and I felt responsible to give them a faith-life and community. This grappling with God’s essence, fueled by immense emotional suffering, continued into my 20s. I longed to know and worship the true God and questioned why life was so difficult. I attended RCIA classes for nine years and each year as Easter would approach, I would sadly decline to be baptized as I could simply not believe that God became man. In the 9th year, as my suffering began to exceed my capacity to cope, and brought me down to my knees, I humbly admitted that I indeed did not know who Jesus was and prayed for an answer and begged to be relieved of my suffering. 

St. James encourages us to pray with a pure and humble heart, single mindedly, not with selfish ambition, and if it is for our highest good, God answers (James, 3:13). God answered! I had a glorious dream in which Jesus came to me, put his hand on my head, a deep heat went through my body, and he said, “It’s so simple! Just believe in Mm!” I was baptized and confirmed at Easter Vigil on Mar. 25, 1989. Years later, a priest pointed out that Mar. 25 is the Feast of the Annunciation—he smiled and pointed out that I received the gift of faith on the feast that commemorates God becoming man—a “God wink!”  

Despite this amazing encounter, in my 40s, mindlessly and not intentionally, I became lukewarm. I have noticed that I cling to Our Lord when life is difficult and I am out of my depths. Now, in the last quarter of my life, as a 65-year-old, I have learned that certainty is often an illusion, a side effect of my fallen state, and a perpetual spiritual battle of the “my” vs. “thy” will. I want to control and I want life to be predictable. I now know that we are immersed in mystery. I was given a rosary for my baptism. It became my catechism and a huge source of consolation as I came to realize that Our Lord and the Blessed Mother were long-suffering and that having a pierced heart is part of our life in this fallen world. Regularly praying and meditating the 20 mysteries of Jesus’ life, through the eyes of the Blessed Mother, fortifies me, helps me keep my inner peace, grounded in the reality of life as a uphill pilgrimage back Home.  

On this Jubilee year, as a Pilgrim of Hope, I praise God for his invitation to simply believe in him. I humbly pray for the daily Grace to obey and courageously “put down my net” (Matt. 4:18) and “pick up my cross” (Matt. 16:24) and not to shy away from the demands of a Christian life. Though still veiled, I simply believe that he is with me, and I can choose daily to live eternally in this temporal world.