One morning shortly after breakfast, while I was working in my office above the church, I was disturbed by a knock on the door.  As I went to open it I expected to see one of our staff members, but instead a stranger was standing there, looking almost as surprised as I must have looked.  It is not normal for uninvited people to wander up the stairs of our parish house.  The stranger standing before me was about 50.  He was evidently a Sindhi and a Muslim, and he looked very agitated.  I tried to hide my surprise and gave the usual Islamic greeting Asalaam A'laicum.  His answer was not what I expected from a Muslim.   Salaam, Father Ji! is how Christians usually greet me.  He asked where Father Robert was.  Fr. Robert was my co-pastor in the parish at that time.  He had been there for a few years before me and was well known in the town.  At the sound of our voices, Robert come out of his room down at the end of the veranda.  He extended his arms and greeted the man as an old friend.  I was more than a little relieved to have passed on the responsibility to Robert.  
Some moments later Robert called for the cook to bring tea.  He also called me to join him in the reception room.  I reluctantly went down stairs to join the party.  Robert introduced me to Ishmael Baloch Haji.  Haji is a title reserved for those who have undergone the ritual Islamic pilgrimage to Mecca.  It is no small thing to have earned that title, and in Pakistan a Haji is greatly respected.  
Robert explained that they had been friends for some months and that Ishmael was now deeply interested in Christianity.  We sat quietly for a while until the tea arrived.  Nothing serious could be discussed without tea.  Ishmael then began to ask me if I believed that Jesus was the Son of God.  I looked up at him and then at Robert, trying to guess where this was going.  Robert only shrugged his shoulders and nodded to me.  I presumed he was not overly concerned.  In Pakistan at that time it could be very dangerous to discuss such things with such a distinguished Muslim, in case charges of blasphemy were made.
'It is what I believe, that Jesus is the Son of God,' I said.  'Why do you ask?'  'I only wanted to be sure that we are among friends,' he said.  I must have looked puzzled, or I must have come across to him as a little dim, but he went on to explain his story to me in very simple Urdu.
Ishmael had grown up in the town of Badin and had a little education through the state system.  His work was as an embroiderer in a cloth shop.  His work was enough for him and his wife to live on and he had brought up a couple of sons who had at that time had already married and lived in other towns in the province.  He was, he said, a devout Muslim and kept the laws of Islam faithfully.  He was an active member of his mosque and spent much of his spare time there learning about Islam and the Holy Qurran.  Earlier that year he had won a kind of lottery where the first prize was to be sent to Mecca to do the Haj, pilgrimage.  This for him was a wonderful prize, as he was then able to complete all of the five pillars of Islam.
He joined a large group of pilgrims and was sent for training and preparation for the ordeal.  At last he arrived at Mecca and performed all the ritual requirements of the Haj within the stipulated time.  As he shared with us the experiences of what was obviously a very spiritual time, his face lit up and almost glowed with happiness.  But then a change came over his face.  His voice became more intense and he spoke more slowly.  I noticed the effect and assumed he wanted me to really understand what he was saying.
Most nights, he said, he and the thousands of pilgrims settled down to rest in their tents, or sat around a campfire.  A litany of the Prophets would be sung or chanted, starting with Hazrat Adam, peace be upon him, and ending with The Prophet of God, Mohammed,  Mohammed Rasul Allah!  He said that it was something that he had chanted all his life and had never really listened to before.  He had never taken much notice of the words

or what they meant as they were in Arabic.  For the first time in his life, probably because of where he was, in the desert of Mecca, he really tried to listen to and understand what he was chanting.  He said his throat suddenly dried up and he couldn't say another word.  It was as if he had been stung by a scorpion, he said.  He had used the same words he had said so often before, but this time they seemed to shout at him with a power he had never known before.  The words were, Isu Al salaam Ruh Allah!  Ishmael explained slowly that this is the only such phrase in the whole litany.  In all the other verses the chant says the name of the prophet and then says peace be upon him.  But in this case it is the name 'Isu', or 'Jesus, the Peace and the Spirit of God.'
The implications of this phrase shook him to the core.  Ishmael said he could not sleep that night, and the next day passed in a mechanical blur.  He could not wait for the chant to start again to listen for that special line,  just to be sure he had not imagined it.  Suddenly, once again it was there, and he was sure.  'Jesus the Peace and Spirit of God.'  He said that he turned to the man next to him and asked him if he had heard it correctly.  The man said 'Yes So what?'  So what? Ishmael's whole life had just been turned inside out.  He explained that for him the implication was life and death. It was that if Jesus is the Peace and the Spirit of God then that means he is God! and if that is true then Islam was not teaching the truth and the Christians were right.
He said that he searched out an Imam, a teacher, who could translate the Arabic Qurran into Urdu, as he could not trust his own understanding of Arabic.  He spent some time with the Imam going through all the texts relating to Jesus and Mary, until the Imam began to get suspicious about his motives in searching these texts.  He was sternly warned not to go into the matter any more, or he could find himself in deep trouble.  Six feet deep.
Ishmael kept quiet and completed the Haj and then returned home.
He had hardly been able to contain himself long enough to greet his wife and unpack his few belongings, before he set out to meet Fr. Robert.  He and Fr. Robert had met some months earlier and had had some short discussions about the Christian beliefs, but nothing serious, he said.  'Now,' he said.  'I must ask you both to tell me. How do I become a Christian?'
Robert and I looked at each other and then at Ishmael in sheer amazement.  'Are you serious,' Robert asked.  'Do you realize what you are asking?  You could be killed.'  
'It's true,' he said.  'But what else can I do? I cannot ignore what I know to be the truth.  I believe that Jesus is the son of God and that I must follow him and learn about God through him.'  'Yes,' I said.  'You must learn first.  Study more about our faith before you decide.'  
Ishmael looked as if he had been slapped across the face.  'What more do I need to know?' he asked.  Robert responded, 'Have you read the Gospels or the Bible to see what he teaches us?  Or what his disciples say about him or about the path that Jesus left us?'  I added to the caution, and said that we have a tradition and