Ekrem’s nut shop is tucked in between a goldsmith, a butcher, and a fruit vendor. Ekrem has introduced me to these neighbors and is proud to tell every customer who enters his shop that I am an American and he is teaching me Turkish. After my university classes are finished and the dark of night has filled the streets, I walk through the madness of car lights and honking mini buses up to Ekrem’s tiny well lit shop. I lean on the glass counter, standing over bags of coffee beans and mounds of hazel nuts, and entertain the Turks with my broken Turkish.

Though Ekrem speaks some English, we have very unusual conversations because he learned his English from watching Clint Eastwood movies and listening to Madonna singles and rap music, for which he has an avid fondness. Ekrem has a memory that I have seen equaled only by a few lawyer friends of mine. He can list off the names and leading actors of any western movie shot from 1940 until the present. When the topic is rap artists, rock groups, and all sorts of Hollywood trivia, his mind jumps from one name and date to another.
Because Ekrem’s English is very poor, my English sentences don’t register their true meaning in his mind. Instead, they trigger song titles and lyrics which then leap from his mouth. For example, one day we were driving together and I said, “I need to go to the central telephone office one more time.” He responded to my words by singing, “‘Baby, one more time . . .’ that’s Britney Spears. You know Britney?” He asked. “Maybe you know George Michael or Michael Jackson?” Ekrem began singing, “‘The girl is mine, mine, mine,’ 1982 Thriller album. Michael Jackson—perhaps the greatest singer of all time.” Ekrem looked at me certain I would nod in agreement.

One Friday afternoon while standing in his shop, I heard some drums and a trumpet. He said, “Come with me. I will show you.” It is a tradition here that every Friday a small band of retired men marches to the city square and raises the Turkish flag. As I was watching this, our son, Mr. Runaway, wriggled out of my grasp and ran a few paces down the sidewalk. As Esther chased after him, Ekrem laughed and shouted, “Escape! Escape!” Which he immediately followed up with, “Alcatraz. Barnabas, you know ‘Escape from Alcatraz?’” He continued turning the pages of his mental catalogues of trivia. “Papillon. Oh, what a great escape movie! Starring Steve McQueen, and Dustin Hoffman. Wow!” He shook his head as if just the memory stirred his heart.

You see, Ekrem has watched American television with Turkish voiceovers all of his 36 years of life. He knows the same John Wayne movies that I watched when I was 10. He names all the characters from Bonanza, including Little Joe. He mentions Gilligan’s Island and knows Fred Flintstone.

There is nothing wrong with most of what Ekrem knows; it’s just nothing of saving power. I listen to him leapfrog from Snoop Doggy Dog to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Then, with Muslim prayer beads in his left hand, he makes gestures with his right and sings me the first few lines of “Singing in the Rain.” “Gene Kelly—you know Gene Kelly, Barnabas? How about, ‘American in Paris?’”

In the middle of one of these verbal media countdowns, I want to grab my friend’s shoulders and say, “Ekrem! I, too, love ‘Singing in the Rain!’ Now let me tell you about something from God’s holy word that will make your spirit dance with even more joy than Gene Kelly!” But on an English scale of 1 to 10, Ekrem is a 1.5. On a similar Turkish language scale, I am still a decimal. Oh, how I wish I could tell some bit of good news! But I can only smile and gesture as he mentions one American title after another.

I look across the nut counter at Ekrem. He is saying something about the rap group Run DMC. He then bridges to jazz musician Louie Armstrong. He puts his hand over his heart to show how impressed he is with Louie Armstrong. From Kenny Rodgers to Jon Bon Jovi, Ekrem loves America. He is sold on America. But Jesus? No. Jesus he doesn’t know.

Beyond the pop-culture madness, there is spiritual side to my friend. Ekrem kneels, bows his face to the ground, and prays faithfully five times a day—and makes no small effort to insure that I see him doing it. Ekrem goes to his neighborhood mosque on Fridays. He, unlike most Turks, neither smokes nor drinks. Ekrem fasted during Ramadan and made certain I was aware that it was difficult for him. Ekrem loves Islam, and there’s no doubt in my mind that he hopes I will become a Muslim. He extended his friendship to Esther and me and invited us to his home for dinner.

At his home, his wife, wearing a head scarf, graciously hosted us. In traditional Turkish style, she laid a bright cloth on the living room floor and set a huge platter of six or seven different hot dishes on it. After we all knelt around the food on the floor, Ekrem tore bread from a loaf and handed it to us. There were no plates. Each ate out of the same dishes with a spoon. Ekrem had learned from western movies that all good cowboys bow and say grace, so he invited me to pray before the meal. (Prayer before meals is not a Muslim tradition.)

Ekrem’s worldview is 40 percent secular, 40 percent Muslim, and the rest is a mix of Turkish animism. One day when Mr. Runaway was with me, Ekrem picked him up and joyfully started tossing him up in the air. Mr. Runaway was enjoying the high-flying experience, and I watched in amusement. Then the smiling Ekrem began saying things with each toss: “Ugly baby. Dirty baby. Ugly. Dirty.” I held my tongue. I knew there must be a reason, because Ekrem loves our son.
A week later, I asked one of the two Turkish Adventists in our city. He told me, “He didn’t want to attract the evil eye. If you compliment a baby, then Nazar is sure to come.” Nazar is the force of evil that is deflected by placing blue “eyes” (beads) everywhere. It is an animistic manipulation of spirits. Ekrem didn’t learn that from John Wayne.

Ekrem is going to hear this good news, Lord willing, because I’m willing. However, the enemy’s campaign to isolate the mystery of Christ has been very successful. It is a surprise to me to see what a steady stream of western culture a person can be exposed to and not hear the gospel. Obviously, Hollywood and the Holy Word not only have a different cast, but different directors. It sounds crazy, but there are billions like Ekrem who have been thoroughly evangelized by pop culture and will go to their graves with more interest in Scooby Doo than the mystery of Christ. I guess that is what secularism is all about.

Secularism is trivializing what God says is important and centering one’s life in the things God regards as nothing. I think the Devil finds this strategy of filling minds with “nothing” quite useful here. In fact, I believe “nothing” is America’s greatest export. In the words of C.S. Lewis in his book The Screwtape Letters, a senior demon counsels a junior demon, “Keep the man thinking about ‘nothing.’ ‘Nothing’ is very strong, strong enough to steal away a man’s best years, not in sweet sins but in a dreary flickering of the mind over who knows what. Murder is no better than wasting time if wasting time will do the trick.”

Please pray for Ekrem and those we work with in Turkey that they will begin to hunger for substance and long for Light.

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