Hademe smoked as he leaned against the railing overlooking the mosque. It was 9 p.m., and the orange ember of his cigarette burned like the neon signs of the city. We waited together in the mosque gardens as our friend, Ekrem, did his last prayer for the night. Hademe is 45, three times married, an electronics inventor and perfume seller, gracious toward all, but positively arrogant.

“What do you think Ekrem says when he prays?” I asked him. “For example, when I pray, I share my thankfulness, my joy of friendship, my hopes, my plans. It is a conversation.”

“I know,” Hademe responded. “I have heard you pray at the table. I think that is the way prayer should be. It should be personal.” His eyes reflected the pain of his rigid Muslim upbringing. “I will never set foot inside a mosque. Pray, yes, but the mosque, no.” He inhaled his last puff deeply and tossed his cigarette butt to the ground. “I don’t like being forced to do anything,” he said, stepping on it.

I continued his theme. “It seems to me that God wants us pray to Him out of gratitude, not fear. He doesn’t need mindless slaves, He wants us to choose Him.” Hademe nodded silently.

I began to tell the classic story of Big John, the slave who wouldn’t work. I told how the big, muscular man stood on the auction block and shouted at the crowd defiantly, “I won’t work! I won’t work!” After he was purchased and loaded into a wagon, he bellowed all the way down the dirt road to the plantation, “You may have bought me, but I won’t work for you!” Hademe listened attentively.

I told how the wagon pulled up to a little house with a garden, and the man untied Big John. “I didn’t buy you to be a slave, I bought you to set you free. My son died last year, and I would like you to have his house and land. They are yours. You are free.”

Big John began to tremble. Overcome with gratitude, he fell to his knees before the man. “Sir,” he said, “I will work for you the rest of my life.”

Hademe studied me solemnly. “Wow,” he said. “That’s incredible.”

“That’s what’s got to motivate our hearts,” I pushed. “Simple gratitude.”

“I believe that,” Hademe replied thoughtfully.

As Ekrem came out of the mosque and our conversation closed, Hademe whispered to me, “Thank you for telling me that story, I’ll not forget it.”
I need other such stories to illustrate grace. The Koran and Islam lack the message of God’s lavish love. Do you have a gripping story or a clear parable that illustrates grace and salvation? It may be a help to us here. Please send your best stories illustrating redemption to truth4turks@bigfoot.com.

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