Muslim Activists Disrupt Catholic Church But Jesus Got There First

Have you ever stood in the middle of a church screaming at Christians only to feel Jesus himself standing right behind you? That was me on Easter Sunday 2018.

And what happened next changed my life forever.

My name is Rashid Ahmed and I am 29 years old from Patterson, New Jersey.

On April 1st, 2018, I led 15 Muslim activists into St.

Patrick’s Cathedral in Manhattan to disrupt their Easter service.

We plan to expose Christian hypocrisy and defend Islam against their lies.

But Jesus Christ met me in that cathedral and showed me a truth I had spent my entire life running from.

I was born in Peterson in 1989 to Egyptian immigrants who came to America in the early 1980s.

My father Omar worked as a taxi driver in New York City for over 30 years.

My mother Fatima worked as a nurse at St.

Joseph’s Hospital in Patterson.

We lived in a modest house in the South Patterson neighborhood, one of the largest Arab and Muslim communities on the east coast.

Growing up in Patterson meant living between two completely different worlds.

Outside my house, I saw American flags, heard English everywhere, and experiences the freedom that my parents had come to America seeking.

But inside my home and within our Muslim community, everything was traditional.

conservative and strictly Islamic.

My parents made sure we never forgot our Egyptian roots or our Muslim identity.

From my earliest memories, Islam controlled every aspect of my life.

I attended the local mosque with my father five times a day starting when I was 7 years old.

I went to Islamic school every weekend to learn Arabic and memorize the Quran.

I prayed without fail.

I fasted during Ramadan, even when it fell during the school year, and I had to sit hungry through lunch while my classmates ate.

I avoided music, movies, and close friendship with non-Muslims because my parents said these things would corrupt my faith.

My father was intensely devoted to Islam and to defending it against what he called Western attacks on our religion.

He would spend hours every evening watching videos of Muslim preachers, talking about Christian lies and Jewish conspiracies.

He taught me that Christians had corrupted the Bible and invented false doctrines about Jesus being God.

He said that Muslims had a duty to defend the truth of Islam against these deceptions.

I remember one conversation we had when I was about 12 years old.

We were driving home from the mosque after Friday prayers and I asked him why Christians believed Jesus was God if it was not true.

My father’s face became serious and he explained that Satan had deceived Christians into worshiping a man instead of Allah.

He said it was one of the greatest tricks of the devil and that faithful Muslims needed to expose this lie wherever they found it.

My mother was quieter but equally committed to our faith.

She taught me that a good Muslim man was strong in his faith, dedicated to defending Islam, and willing to sacrifice everything for Allah.

She said my purpose was to marry a good Muslim woman, raise Muslim children, and be a warrior for the faith.

She warned me that American culture would try to pull me away from Islam, but I must remain strong and faithful.

I took their teachings very seriously.

In high school, while other teenagers were dating and going to parties, I was organizing Muslim student events and debating with Christian classmates about religion.

I wore traditional Islamic clothing proudly as a statement of my identity.

I argued passionately that Islam was the only true religion and that the Christianity was based on corrupted texts and false claims about Jesus.

My best friend during high school was a guy named Ahmed who shared my passion for Islam.

We would spend hours after school discussing Islamic theology and planning ways to defend our faith against what we saw as attacks from Western culture.

We attended lectures by radical Islamic preachers who came through the New York area.

We watched videos online of Muslim activists confronting Christians and exposing their lies.

After graduating high school in 2007, I enrolled at Montlair State University to study political science.

I became heavily involved in Muslim student activism.

I joined groups that protested against Islamophobia, organized rallies for Palestinian rights and confronted what we called Western imperialism and Christian colonialism.

I saw myself as a warrior defending Islam against its enemies.

During college, I became more radical in my views.

I started following Islamic activists online who thought that Muslims needed to be more aggressive in defending our faith.

They said we could not just practice Islam quietly in our mosques and homes.

We needed to actively challenge Christian missionary efforts and expose the lies of Christianity to the world.

I was particularly angry about Christian missionaries who targeted Muslims for conversion.

I saw videos of former Muslims who had become Christians and were sharing their testimonies.

These apostates made me furious.

They were betraying Islam and spreading lies about finding truth in Christianity.

I believed they needed to be confronted and silenced before they could deceive other Muslims.

One video that especially enraged me showed a former Muslim named Daniel who had grown up in New Jersey just like me.

He talked about how he had discovered that Jesus was the true God and that Islam was a false religion.

He spoke about peace and joy he had found in Christianity that he never had in Islam.

Watching that video made my blood boil.

I left angry comments calling him a traitor and a liar.

In 2013, I met a group of Muslim activists in Manhattan who shared my passion for defending Islam.

The leader was a man named Ibraim, a Palestinian immigrant who had been organizing Muslim activism in New York for over a decade.

He was in his late 40s with a long beard and intense eyes that reflected his dedication to the cause.

He taught us that we needed to be bold and confrontational in our defense of Islam.

Ibraim organized protests outside churches where former Muslims were speaking.

We would show up with signs and megaphones shouting that Christianity was false and that these apostates were traitors to Islam.

We disrupted their events and made it difficult for them to share their testimonies.

I felt like I was doing important work defending the truth.

Our first protest was outside a small church in Queens where a former Muslim woman was speaking about her conversion to Christianity.

About 20 of us showed up with signs that read, “Christianity is a lie.

” and stop targeting Muslims.

We shouted and chanted outside the church while the event was happening inside.

Some Christians came out to talk with us, but we just yelled louder.

We wanted them to know that we would not allow them to spread lies about Islam or deceive Muslims into leaving their faith.

Over the next 5 years, our group grew larger and more organized.

We had a core team of about 30 activists who regularly participated in our actions.

We targeted churches that were actively trying to reach Muslims with the gospel.

We showed up at their services, their conferences, and their outreach events.

We made ourselves heard.

We wanted Christians to know that there would be consequences for trying to convert Muslims.

We also started confronting individual apostates.

If we found out that a former Muslim was living in the New York area, we would track them down and confront them publicly.

We would show up at their workplaces or their homes.

We would post their information online and encourage other Muslims to pressure them to return to Islam.

Some people called us extremists, but we believed we were defending the faith.

I became one of Ibraim’s most trusted lieutenants.

I helped plan our actions and recruit new activists.

I gave speeches at mosques about the importance of defending Islam against Christian missionary work.

I debated with Christians online and in person, always winning the arguments in my own mind.

I was absolutely convinced that I was on the right side of truth.

By early 2018, Ibraim had an idea for our boldest action yet.

He wanted to disrupt Easter Sunday service at St.

Patrick’s Cathedral, one of the most famous Catholic churches in America.

Easter was the biggest Christian holiday celebrating the resurrection of Jesus, which we Muslims denied had ever happened.

Ibraim said we needed to make a statement on their most important day at their most prominent church.

The plan was simple but confrontational.

15 of us would attend the Easter service dressed in traditional Islamic clothing.

We would spread out throughout the cathedral.

At a specific moment during the service, we would stand up simultaneously and begin chanting Islamic declarations.

We would challenge their false teachings about Jesus being God and dying on the cross.

We would demand that they stop sending missionaries to deceive Muslims.

We would film everything and post it online to show Muslims around the world that we were defending our faith.

I volunteered immediately to be part of the action.

I had been waiting for an opportunity like this for years.

I wanted to stand in the heart of Christian worship and declare that Islam was the truth.

I wanted to disrupt their celebration of a resurrection that never happened.

I wanted to expose their lies about Jesus for the whole world to see.

This would be our greatest victory.

We spent weeks preparing for the disruption.

We memorized our chance in both Arabic and English.

We planned our positions throughout the cathedral so we could surround the congregation from all sides.

We arranged for multiple people to film from different angles to capture the full impact.

We coordinated our timing to maximize disruption and minimize the chance of being stopped before we made our statement.

Ibrahim was meticulous in his planning.

He had us scout the cathedral several times before Easter to understand the layout, identify security personnel, and plan our escape routes.

He reminded us that we might face arrest, but that would only add to our credibility as defenders of Islam.

He said suffering for the faith was honorable and that Allah would reward us.

We also prepared our social media strategy.

We would post the videos simultaneously across multiple platforms to maximize reach before they could be taken down.

We wrote press releases claiming that we were protesting Christian persecution of Muslims and Christian missionary efforts targeting vulnerable Muslim communities.

We wanted to control the narrative.

On the morning of April 1st, Easter Sunday, 2018, I woke up at 5:00 in the morning feeling excited and nervous.

This was going to be the most significant action I had ever participated in.

I performed my fajger prayer asking Allah to give me courage and the strength to defend Islam.

I put on my white th and kufi.

I reviewed the chance one final time in my mirror.

I drove from Patterson to Manhattan.

Arriving early to meet the group.

We gathered at a coffee shop two blocks from St.

Patrick’s Cathedral at 8:30 in the morning.

The Easter service was scheduled to begin at 10:00.

Ibraim gave us final instructions and reminded us why we were doing this.

He said we were defending the truth of Islam against Christian lies.

He said we were protecting Muslims from being deceived by missionary efforts.

He said we were striking a blow against Christian arrogance and supremacy.

We recited the shahada together, the Islamic declaration of faith.

There is no God but Allah and Muhammad is his messenger.

We prayed that Allah would grant us a success in our mission.

We embraced each other like soldiers going into battle.

The atmosphere was intense and charged with religious fervor.

We woke us together toward the cathedral.

15 Muslim men on a mission to disrupt the most important Christian celebration of the year.

As we approached the massive Gothic building on Fifth Avenue, I felt my heart racing with adrenaline.

Thousands of people were streaming into the church dressed in their Easter finest.

Families with children, elderly couples, young professionals.

They had no idea what was about to happen.

We blended into the crowd and entered through different doors as planned.

I walked in through the main entrance on Fifth Avenue, passing through the bronze doors into the narics.

The moment I stepped inside, I was just struck by the sheer scale and beauty of the building.

St.

Patrick’s Cathedral was breathtaking in a way I had not expected.

The soaring ceilings reached up over 100 ft above me.

The stained glass windows depicted biblical scenes in brilliant colors.

The ornate altar at the front was covered in gold and surrounded by candles.

Religious artwork and the statues filled every corner.

Everything was designed to direct attention upward toward heaven.

Despite my antagonism toward Christianity, I could not help but feel impressed by the beauty and craftsmanship.

This building represented centuries of Christian devotion and artistry.

For a brief moment, I wondered what it would be like to worship in a place like this instead of the plain simple mosques I was used to.

But I quickly pushed that thought aside and reminded myself why I was there.

We took our positions throughout the cathedral as planned.

I sat in a pew about halfway back on the left side near one of the massive stone columns.

From my position, I could see several other members of our group scattered throughout the massive church.

There were thousands of people present for this Easter service.

The cathedral was completely full with people standing in the back and along the sides.

I looked around at the faces near me.

There was an elderly couple holding hands in the pew in front of me.

A young family with three small children next to me.

A group of college students behind me.

They all seemed genuinely happy to be there.

They were chatting quietly with each other, smiling, greeting friends and neighbors.

There was a warmth and sense of community that I had rarely experienced even in the mosques I attended.

The service began at exactly 10:00 with the sound of the massive pipe organ filling the cathedral.

The music was powerful and beautiful in a way that moved me despite myself.

The congregation stood and began singing a hymn about Jesus rising from the dead.

Thousands of voices joined together in harmony, singing about victory over death and the promise of eternal life.

I had been taught that music was haram in Islam, that it distracted from worship of Allah.

But listening to thousands of Christians singing together, I felt something is stirring in my chest.

There was a joy in their voices that seemed genuine and deep.

They were not just going through religious motions.

They believed what they were singing.

The archbishop processed down the center aisle wearing elaborate white and gold vestments.

He was accompanied by dozens of priests and altar servers carrying candles and incense.

The procession was formal and traditional, full of ritual and symbolism.

Everything about the service was designed to honor and worship Jesus Christ as God.

As the service continued with prayers and the readings, I found myself paying attention in ways I had not expected.

I had come to disrupt and mock, but I was actually listening to what was being said.

The scripture readings were from the gospels describing the resurrection of Jesus.

The readers proclaimed the words with conviction and reverence.

One reading particularly caught my attention.

It was from the Gospel of John chapter 20.

It described how Mary Magdalene had gone to Jesus’s tomb on Easter morning and found it empty.

She encountered Jesus alive and he told her to tell the disciples that he was ascending to his father and their father to his God and their God.

The reader concluded with the word of the Lord and the congregation responded, “Thanks be to God.

” Something about those words resonated in my heart in a way I could not explain.

I tried to dismiss the feeling and focus on my mission.

I glanced at my watch and saw that we still had about 15 minutes before our planned disruption.

The archbishop began his sermon about the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

He was an older man with white hair and kind eyes.

He spoke with passion and conviction about what Easter meant for Christians.

He said that Jesus’s resurrection was the central truth of the Christian faith.

Without it, Christianity would be meaningless.

But because Jesus had risen from the dead, everything had to changed.

He explained that Jesus had died on the cross to pay for humanity’s sins.

He had taken the punishment that we deserved.

He had satisfied God’s justice so that God’s mercy could be freely offered to all people.

And then he had risen from the dead to prove that he was God, to defeat death, and to offer eternal life to everyone who believed in him.

The archbishop spoke about God’s grace and mercy in a way that was completely different from anything I had heard about Allah.

He described God as a loving father who pursued his rebellious children with relentless love.

He said that salvation was not something we could earn through good works or religious performance.

It was a free gift that we could only receive through faith in Jesus Christ.

As I listened, I felt an unexpected stirring on my heart.

The archbishop was not mocking Islam or attacking Muslims.

He was simply explaining what Christians believed about Jesus with conviction and love.

He spoke about forgiveness, grace, redemption, and unconditional love in ways that made me realize I had never truly experienced any of those things in Islam.

In Islam, I had always understood that I needed to earn Allah’s favor through perfect obedience.

My good deeds had to outweigh my bad deeds.

I had to pray five times daily, fast during Ramadan, give arms, and follow all the rules of Sharia law.

Even then, there was no guarantee of salvation.

Allah might choose to send me to hell anyway based on his inscrable will.

There was no assurance, no peace, no confidence.

But this archbishop was describing a God who offered salvation as a free gift.

A God who had done all the work necessary for redemption.

a God who promised eternal life to anyone who believed in Jesus.

It was almost too good to be true.

I tried to push these thoughts aside.

I reminded myself that this was exactly the kind of deception the Christians uses to lure Muslims away from the truth.

I told myself that I was there to expose these lies, not to be moved by them.

I glanced at my watch again and saw that it was almost time.

At exactly 11:00, Ibraim stood up in his position near the front of the cathedral and began shouting in Arabic at the top of his lungs, “Allah Akbar, Allah Akbar,” Muhammad rasool Allah, God is greatest.

There is no God but Allah and Muhammad is his messenger.

” The other activists throughout the cathedral immediately joined in, standing and chanting the Islamic declaration of faith.

The sound echoed over the stone walls and vaulted ceilings, creating a cacophony that drowned out everything else.

I stood up from my pew and began chanting with them.

Jesus was only a prophet.

He did not die on the cross.

He did not rise from the dead.

You worship a false god.

Islam is the truth.

Stop deceiving Muslims with your lies.

My voice was loud and aggressive.

I could feel the self-righteous anger flowing through me.

This was what I had come for.

To declare Islamic truth in the heart of Christian worship.

To disrupt their celebration of a resurrection that never happened.

To defend Allah against the blasphemy of calling Jesus God.

The congregation was shocked.

People turned to look at us with confusion, fear, and disbelief on their faces.

Some parents instinctively pulled their children closer to protect them.

Elderly people looked frightened.

Security guards began moving toward us from different directions throughout the cathedral, but we continued chanting, determined to make our statement before we were removed.

We had rehearsed this moment for weeks.

We knew we only had a few minutes before security would force us out.

We needed to make every second count.

I held up my phone to film the disruption.

I wanted to capture the fear and confusion on Christian faces.

I wanted Muslims around the world to see us boldly defending Islam in the heart of Christian worship.

I panned across the congregation recording their shocked reactions.

But then something happened that I did not expect and could not explain.

As I stood there shouting Islamic chants and filming the chaos, I felt a presence behind me.

It was so strong and real and tangible that I instinctively turned around expecting to see someone standing there.

But there was no one.

The pew behind me was empty.

Yet I could feel someone there as clearly as if they were touching my shoulder.

The presence was overwhelming.

It was not threatening or frightening, but it was powerful beyond anything I had ever experienced.

It felt like pure love and holiness radiating toward me with an intensity that took my breath away.

A voice spoke to me.

Not an audible voice that others could hear, but a voice inside my spirit that was more real than any sound my ears had ever detected.

The voice said simply and clearly, “Rashid, why are you persecuting me?” I stopped chanting immediately.

My phone dropped to my side.

I stood frozen in place, unable to move or speak.

around me.

My fellow activists were still shouting and being confronted by security guards, but I could not hear any of it.

Everything seemed to fade into silence as this voice spoke to my heart.

The voice continued, “I love you.

I die for you.

Why are you fighting against me?” I knew instantly and without question that I was hearing from Jesus Christ himself, not the prophet Isa from Islamic teaching, who was just a man, not a dead historical figure from 2,000 years ago, but the living son of God who was present in that cathedral at that very moment and speaking directly to me.

Tears began streaming down my face uncontrollably.

I felt waves of love washing over me that were so powerful I could barely stand.

This was not the conditional love of Allah who demanded obedience and threatened punishment for failure.

This was unconditional love that accepted me completely despite everything I had done and was doing at that very moment.

I thought about all the years I had spent fighting against Christianity and mocking Jesus.

I thought about all the time I had disrupted Christian worship and harassed Christian believers.

I thought about all the hatred I had directed toward people who were trying to share the gospel.

And yet Jesus was standing there telling me that he loved me and had died for me.

The realization hit me like a physical blow.

Jesus Christ was real.

He was exactly who Christians claim he was.

He was not just a prophet.

He was God himself who had become human.

lived a perfect life, died on the cross to pay for my sins, and risen from the dead to offer me eternal life.

I fell back into the pew, trembling and weeping.

My body was shaking so badly I could barely sit upright around me.

My fellow activists were being escorted out by security guards.

Some were still shouting Islamic chants.

Others were filming everything on their phones, but I could not move.

I was encountering the living God and everything I had believed my entire life was being shattered in an instant.

Jesus spoke to me again and this time his words cut straight to my soul.

I am the way, the truth and the life.

No one comes to the father except through me.

I am everything you have been searching for.

Stop fighting me and come to me.

In that moment, I understood something that changed everything.

For 29 years, I had been trying to earn Allah’s approval through perfect religious performance.

I had prayed, fasted, given arms, memorized Quran, and defended Islam with all my strength.

But I had never had peace.

I had never had assurance.

I had never had joy.

I had been working and striving and fighting my entire life, but I had never found what I was really looking for.

And here was Jesus offering me everything I had been searching for as a free gift.

He was offering me forgiveness for all my sins.

He was offering me peace with God.

He was offering me assurance of eternal life.

He was offering me unconditional love that did not depend on my performance.

I began sobbing uncontrollably.

29 years of Islamic teaching, activism, and certainty collapsed in an instant.

I had been so wrong about everything.

I had spent years fighting against the very God who loved me and wanted to save me.

I had disrupted worship of the one true God while claiming to defend truth.

I had been serving Satan while thinking I was serving Allah.

The presence of Jesus remained with me surrounding me with love and peace and holiness that I had never experienced in all my years of Islamic devotion.

I felt forgiven for every sin I had ever committed.

I felt accepted despite my rebellion against God.

I felt clean despite the spiritual dirt that covered me from head to toe.

An elderly man in the pew next to me put his hand on my shoulder.

I looked up at him through my tears and saw compassion in his eyes.

He did not know what was happening to me, but he could see that I was in distress.

Instead of being angry that I had disrupted his Easter service, he looked at me with love and concern.

“Are you okay, son?” he asked gently.

I could barely speak through my sobs.

“Jesus is real,” I whispered.

“He just spoke to me.

Everything I believed was wrong.

” The man’s eyes filled with tears.

He squeezed my shoulder and said, “Jesus loves you very much.

He has been pursuing you your whole life.

Welcome home, son.

” Those words broke something inside me.

Welcome home.

I had never truly been home in Islam.

I had always been striving, working, trying to be good enough.

But I had never belonged.

I had never been at rest.

I had never been fully accepted.

But Jesus was welcoming me home.

Not because I deserved it.

Not because I had earned it, but because he loved me and had paid the price for my sins on the cross.

A security guards approached me.

But the elderly man stopped them.

“Give him a moment,” he said firmly.

“Something important is happening here.

” The guards looked uncertain but stepped back a few feet.

The archbishop had paused the service.

He was standing at the altar watching what was happening throughout the cathedral.

Several of my fellow activists had already been escorted out.

A few others were being led toward the exits.

But the archbishop had not ordered the service to continue.

Instead, he asked the congregation to remain calm and to pray.

And that is what they did.

Instead of angry reactions or calls for violence, I saw Christians throughout the cathedral bowing their heads in prayer, they were praying for us, the very people who had just attacked their worship.

They were praying for the Muslims who had disrupted their most sacred service.

The contrast between my hatred and their love was devastating.

I could not stop crying.

The presence of Jesus remained with me for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes.

During that time, my entire world view was being reconstructed from the ground up.

Everything I had believed about God, about salvation, about truth, about the purpose of life was being completely transformed.

The elderly man stayed with me the entire time.

He did not try to preach to me or explain theology.

He just sat there with his hand on my shoulder, praying quietly.

His presence was a physical reminder of Jesus’s love and acceptance.

Eventually, I was able to compose myself enough to speak more clearly.

I looked at the man and said, “My whole life has been a lie.

I have been fighting against God while thinking I was serving him.

What do I do now?” The man smiled through his own tears.

You follow Jesus.

You trust him.

You let him lead you.

That is all you need to do.

He will take care of everything else.

But my family, my friends, my community, they will never accept this.

They will reject me.

They might even try to kill me.

The man nodded seriously.

Following Jesus often costs us everything.

He said as much himself.

But what you gain is worth infinitely more than what you lose.

Jesus is offering you eternal life, perfect love, and complete forgiveness.

Nothing in this world can compare to that.

Security guards eventually asked me to leave the cathedral, but they were gentle and kind about it.

The elderly [clears throat] man, whose name I learned was Robert, gave me his phone number and made me promise to call him.

He also wrote down the name and address of the church he attended in New Jersey, not far from where I lived in Patterson.

As I walked toward the exit, I passed by the archbishop, who was still standing near the altar.

He looked at me with an expression that I can only describe as compassionate understanding.

He nodded at me slightly and I saw in his eyes that he knew something significant had happened.

Outside St.

Patrick’s Cathedral, my group was celebrating what they thought was a successful disruption.

Ibrahim was reviewing videos on his phone and planning how to edit them for maximum impact online.

The others were laughing about the fear on Christian faces and congratulating each other on defending Islam so boldly.

They were treating it like a victory.

I could not participate in their celebration.

When Abraham asked me for my video footage, I told him I had accidentally deleted it.

When he asked why I looked so upset and why my eyes were red, I made an excuse about having an allergic reaction to something inside the cathedral.

Ibrahim looked at me suspiciously.

“Are you sure you are okay, brother? You do not look right.

” “I am fine,” I lied.

Just tired and a bit overwhelmed by everything.

He studied my face for a long moment before nodding, “Okay, go home and rest.

We will meet tomorrow to review all the footage and plan our social media campaign.

This was a great victory for Islam today.

” I nodded and walked away from the group, knowing that I would never attend another one of their meetings.

I could not tell them what had really happened inside that cathedral.

They would never understand or believe me.

To them, I would be a traitor and an apostate if they knew the truth.

I walking through Manhattan in a days, barely aware of where I was going.

My mind was reeling from what I had experienced.

I found myself at a small park and sat on a bench trying to process everything.

Jesus Christ was real.

He had spoken to me.

He had revealed himself to me.

He had called me to follow him.

But what did that mean for my life? How could I possibly tell my family what would happen to me when the Muslim community found out? I pulled out my phone and called Robert, the man from the cathedral.

He answered immediately and we talked for over an hour.

He explained the gospel to me clearly and patiently.

Jesus had died on the cross to pay for my sins.

He had risen from the dead to prove he was God and to offer eternal life to all who believed.

Salvation was not about what I did, but about what Jesus had done.

It was a free gift I could receive by faith.

But I have done terrible things.

I told him, “I have spent years fighting against Christianity, harassing believers, disrupting worship.

I even led the group that just attacked your Easter service today.

How can Jesus forgive all of that?” Robert’s voice was firm and clear.

Jesus died for all your sins, Rashid, past, present, and future.

There is no sin too big for his blood to cover.

If you come to him in faith, he will forgive everything and make you a new creation.

How do I do that? How do I come to him? Just pray.

Tell Jesus that you believe he is God.

That you believe he died for your sins and rose again and that you want him to be your Lord and Savior.

That is all it takes.

We prayed together over the phone right there in that Manhattan park.

I confessed my sins to Jesus and asked him to forgive me.

I told him I believed he was God and that he had died for me.

I surrendered my life to him completely.

The peace that flooded my heart was immediate and overwhelming.

It was the same peace I had felt in the cathedral, but even stronger now.

I was forgiven.

I was accepted.

I was loved.

I was saved.

But I knew the hard part was just beginning.

For the next two weeks, I lived in two worlds.

Outwardly, I continued my life as a Muslim.

I attended the mosque with my father.

I participated in Islamic prayers.

I met with Ibraim and the activist group to review footage from our Easter disruption.

But inwardly, I was reading the Bible that Robert had given me, praying to Jesus in secret, and learning what it meant to follow him.

The deception was eating me alive.

Every time I recited Islamic prayers, I felt like I was lying.

Every time I met with the activist group, I wanted to tell them the truth about Jesus.

Every time my father praised me for defending Islam, I felt ashamed that I was living a double life.

I called Robert several times during those two weeks and he encouraged me to tell the truth as soon as possible.

He warned me that the longer I waited, the harder it would become.

He also warned me about the consequences I would likely face.

Your family will probably disown you.

He said honestly, the Muslim community will reject you.

You may lose your job if you work for Muslims.

You will definitely lose most of your friends.

Some Muslims may even threaten violence against you.

Apostasy is taken very seriously in Islam.

I know I said I have been part of groups that harassed apostates.

I know exactly what they do to people who leave Islam.

But you also know that Jesus is worth it, right? I thought about the presence I had felt in the cathedral.

The love, the peace, the forgiveness, the assurance of eternal life.

Yes, I said firmly, Jesus is worth everything.

On April 15th, 2018, exactly 2 weeks after disrupting the Easter service, I decided it was time to tell my family the truth.

I could not continue living a lie.

I had to declare publicly what I had come to believe privately.

I gathered my parents and my two younger brothers in our living room that evening.

My hands were shaking as I tried to find the right words.

There was no easy way to say what I needed to say.

I need to tell you something important.

I began something that will be very difficult for you to hear.

My father looked concerned.

What is it, son? Are you in trouble? In a way, yes, but not the kind of trouble you are thinking.

I took a deep breath and said the words that would change everything.

I no longer believe Islam is true.

I have become a follower of Jesus Christ.

I believe he is God and that he died for my sins and rose from the dead.

The silence that followed was deafening.

My mother’s face went pale.

My brothers looked at me with shock and confusion.

My father’s expression slowly changed from concern to disbelief to rage.

“What did you justice say?” my father asked in a voice that was dangerously quiet.

I said, “I believe in Jesus Christ.

I am a Christian now.

” My father stood up from his chair, his whole body trembling with anger.

You cannot be serious.

This is some kind of joke.

It is not a joke, Dad.

I am completely serious.

I encountered Jesus at the Easter service we disrupted.

He revealed himself to me and I cannot deny what I experienced.

My father’s face turned red.

He began shouting at me in a mixture of English and Arabic, words I had never heard him use before.

He called me a traitor, an apostate, a disgrace to the family.

He said I had brought unimaginable shame on our name.

My mother was crying, begging me to take back my words.

This is just confusion, Rashid.

You are stressed from too much activism.

Come back to Islam, please.

My son, come back to Islam.

I tried to explain what had happened to me, but they would not listen.

My father would not let me finish a single sentence.

He just kept shouting about how I had betrayed everything they had taught me, everything they had sacrificed for me.

My younger brothers sat in a stunned silence.

They looked at me like I had become a stranger, someone they did not recognize anymore.

After an hour of shouting and crying, my father gave me an ultimatum.

You have 24 hours to recant this foolishness and return to Islam.

If you refuse, you are no longer my son.

You are no longer part of this family.

You are no longer welcome in this house.

I spent that night in my room praying to Jesus for strength.

I knew what my answer would be.

I could not deny the truth.

I had discovered Jesus Christ was real and I would follow him no matter what it cost me.

The next morning when my father asked me if I had changed my mind, I told him no.

I could not deny Jesus.

I could not return to Islam.

I had found the truth and I would not abandon it.

My father’s face showed no emotion as he delivered his verdict.

He told me to back my belongings and leave immediately.

He said that from that moment forward, he had no son named Rashid.

He would tell everyone in the community that I had died.

My mother and brothers were forbidden from speaking to me or helping me in any way.

The pain of that rejection was almost unbearable.

These were the people who had raised me, loved me, and cared for me my entire life.

and they were casting me out completely because I had found the truth about God.

I packed a bag with my clothes, my Bible, and a few personal items.

As I walked toward the door, my mother tried one last time to convince me to stay.

She grabbed my arm and begged me through her tears to recant and return to Islam.

But I gently removed her hand and walked out.

I stood outside my childhood home looking back at the place where I had spent 29 years of my life.

I knew I would never return.

My family was lost to me now.

Everything familiar and comfortable was gone.

But I also knew that I had made the right choice.

Jesus was worth it.

The truth was worth it.

Eternal life was worth it.

Robert and his wife welcomed me into their home without hesitation.

They gave me a room and they treated me like family.

They helped me find a new job working at a Christian bookstore in nearby Clifton.

They introduced me to other believers who had left Islam and understood what I was going through.

The backlash from the Muslim community was severe.

Ibrahim and the activist group publicly denounced me as a traitor and an apostate.

They posted my name and photo on social media warning other Muslims about me.

I received hundreds of messages calling me horrible names and threatening violence.

Some even posted my home address, Robert’s address online and encouraged people to deal with me.

For my own safety, I had to move several times over the next few months.

I deleted all my social media accounts.

I changed my phone number.

I grew a beard and started wearing different clothes so I would be less recognizable.

The Muslim community in Peterson was large and wellconed, and I knew they were looking for me.

But through all of this, Jesus was faithful.

He provided for my needs.

He surrounded me with believers who supported and encouraged me.

He gave me peace even in the midst of persecution.

I was baptized at Robert’s church in June 2018, publicly declaring my faith in Jesus Christ.

It was one of the most joyful days of my life.

As I went under the water, I felt like my old life as a Muslim was being washed away.

When I came up, I was a new creation in Christ.

Over the next year, I grew in my faith.

I read the Bible every day.

I attended church regularly.

I joined a small group of other former Muslims who were learning to follow Jesus together.

I discovered that the Christian life was not about perfect religious performance but about relationship with God through Jesus Christ.

In 2019, I met a wonderful Christian woman named Sarah at a conference for Muslim background believers.

She had also converted from Islam and understood the challenges I faced.

We fell in love, got married in 2020, and now have a baby son named David.

I work full-time with a ministry that reaches out to Muslims with the gospel.

I share my testimony regularly at churches, conferences, and online.

God has used my story to reach other Muslims who are searching for truth.

Over the past few years, more than 30 Muslims have come to faith in Christ through hearing my testimony.

The most incredible moment came in 2021 when one of my younger brothers secretly contacted me.

He had been watching from a distance as my life unfolded after leaving Islam.

He saw the peace and joy I had despite losing everything.

He started reading the Bible in secret and eventually he also gave his life to Jesus Christ.

We had to keep his conversion secret for a long time because he still lived with our parents.

But last year he finally told them the truth and moved out.

Now we serve Jesus together and we pray every day that our other brother and our parents will also come to know the truth.

I have tried repeatedly to reconcile with my father and mother but they refuse all contact.

They maintain that I am dead to them.

It breaks my heart but I continue to pray for them.

I believe that the same Jesus who reached me in the cathedral can reach them wherever they are.

The Muslim activist who led a group to disrupt Easter service at St.

Patrick’s Cathedral no longer exists.

He died and was buried with Christ in baptism.

The man who rose is a new creation is saved by grace and living for the glory of Jesus.

If you are reading this as a Muslim by I want you to know that Jesus loves you.

He is not your enemy.

He is not a false prophet or a corrupted teaching.

He is the son of God who died for your sins and rose again to give you eternal life.

Everything Islam taught you about Jesus is wrong.

He is so much greater, so much more loving, so much more powerful than you have been told.

Questioning Islam is not a sin.

Seeking truth is noble and good.

I am living proof that Jesus welcomes Muslims with open arms.

He pursued me even when I was actively fighting against him.

He revealed himself to me even when I was disrupting worship of him.

He saved me even when I deserved only judgment.

The same Jesus who met me in that cathedral is reaching out to you right now through this story.

He is knocking on the door of your heart.

Will you let him in? It may cost you everything like it cost me.

Your family may reject you.

Your community may persecute you.

You may lose your job, your friends, your reputation.

But what you gain is worth infinitely more than what you lose.

You gain eternal life.

You gain perfect peace.

You gain unconditional love.

You gain assurance of salvation.

You gain a relationship with the true and living God.

Jesus got to me before I could finish disrupting worship of him.

And he can get to you no matter where you are, what you have done, or how long you have been running from him.

Trust him.

Follow him.

He will never let you go.

The Muslim activist who attacked Easter service became a follower of the risen Christ.

And Jesus can transform you, too.