Popular Muslim Imam from Tehran Breaks His Silence On When Jesus Spoke To Him About the Iran-US War

Ali Khamenei is dead.

On February 28th, 2026, fire fell from the sky on his compound in central Tehran.

His daughter burned.

His granddaughter burned.

His son-in-law burned.

Jesus didn’t tell me the exact date this would happen.

But 2 years ago, in 2024, he showed me it was coming.

He showed me the fire.

He showed me the strike.

He showed me the compound in flames.

And he told me to run or I would die with them.

My name is Imam Hussein Kashani.

And this is the first time I am showing my face since I fled Iran in 2024.

I warned them this was coming.

They called me a traitor.

They called me an Israeli spy.

They called me an American agent.

They hunted my family.

They tortured people I loved.

But everything Jesus told me came true.

Down to the smallest detail.

The fire from heaven.

[clears throat] The joint American and Israeli strike.

The supreme leader dead in his own home.

And now I’m going to tell you everything.

This is April 2026.

The 40 days of mourning in Iran just ended 3 weeks ago.

Mojtaba Khamenei, Ali’s son, is now sitting on his father’s throne as the third supreme leader.

The regime is pretending everything is under control.

They are pretending the Islamic Republic is strong and will continue forever.

But I know what’s coming next.

Jesus showed me that, too.

And before this year is over, the whole world will see that the God of heaven is tearing down the throne of the Ayatollahs piece by piece.

I have been silent for almost 2 years.

I have been hiding in a place I cannot name.

In a country I cannot reveal.

I have watched from the shadows as everything Jesus showed me in 2024 unfolded exactly as he said it would.

I have carried the weight of knowing what was coming and not being able to stop it.

I have lived with the guilt of running away while my family paid the price for my obedience to Christ.

But now, the time has come to break my silence.

Now, the world needs to hear my story.

Not because I am important.

Not because I am special.

But because what happened to me proves that Jesus Christ is alive.

He is real.

And he is moving in Iran right now in ways the regime cannot stop.

Let me take you back to the beginning.

Back to early 2024, before any of this started.

Back when I was still Imam Hussein Kashani.

One of the most respected Friday prayer leaders in Tehran.

Back when I had everything a man in the Islamic Republic could want.

By 2010, I had become well-known in Tehran religious circles.

I was invited to speak at larger mosques.

I appeared on religious television programs.

I was asked to give advice to government officials.

In 2015, I was appointed as the lead Friday prayer Imam at the Javadiyeh mosque in eastern Tehran.

This was a significant position.

The mosque was large and influential.

Thousands of people came to hear me preach every week.

I had connections to people in the Revolutionary Guards.

I had access to regime officials.

I was living a comfortable life.

I had respect.

I had influence.

I had security.

The year of the November protests.

You remember what happened.

The government raised fuel prices suddenly and drastically.

People poured into the streets all across Iran.

They were angry.

They were desperate.

They chanted against the regime.

They burned pictures of Khamenei.

And the regime’s response was brutal beyond words.

I watched from my position of privilege as the Revolutionary Guards and Basij militias opened fire on unarmed protesters.

I saw the videos that were smuggled out on the internet.

I saw young men shot in the streets.

I saw bodies being dragged away by security forces.

I heard reports that over 1,500 people were killed in just a few days.

1,500 Iranians, most of them young, gunned down for daring to say they were hungry and tired of corruption.

And through all of this, I was expected to preach submission.

I was expected to tell my congregation that the protesters were enemies of Islam.

I was expected to justify the killings as necessary to protect the revolution.

I did what I was told.

I stood in the pulpit of Javadiyeh mosque and I repeated the regime’s talking points.

I called the protesters misguided.

I said they were being manipulated by foreign enemies.

I said the security forces had no choice but to restore order.

But inside, my soul was screaming.

I went home that night after preaching and I locked myself in my study and I wept.

I wept for the young people who had been killed.

I wept for their mothers who would never see them again.

I wept for Iran.

And I wept for myself because I had become a mouthpiece for murderers.

I had sold my soul for a comfortable position and the approval of evil men.

That night, I got on my knees and I cried out to Allah.

I begged him to show me the truth.

I begged him to give me peace.

I begged him to take away the crushing weight of hypocrisy that was suffocating me.

But the heavens were silent.

I felt nothing.

It was like praying to an empty sky.

Then came the night that changed everything.

It was April 12th, 2024.

A Friday night.

I had just finished leading the evening prayers at Javadiyeh mosque.

I had preached that afternoon about patience and submission to Allah’s will.

The sermon was well received as usual.

People came up to me afterward to thank me and ask for my prayers.

I smiled and blessed them and played my role perfectly.

But when I finally got home and everyone in my house was asleep, I went into my study and closed the door.

I sat at my desk with my head in my hands.

I felt like I was suffocating.

The walls of that room felt like they were closing in on me.

I had spent years in that study reading the Quran and Islamic texts.

I had prepared thousands of sermons there, but that night it felt like a tomb.

I got down on my knees on the floor and I did something I had never done before.

Yeah, I stopped reciting the formal prayers I had been taught.

I stopped using the religious language I had used my whole life.

I just spoke from my heart like a desperate man with nothing left to lose.

I said, “If there is a real God anywhere in this universe, I am begging you to show yourself to me.

I am dying inside.

I have nothing left.

If you are real, if you can hear me, please please show me the truth.

” I stayed on my knees with tears running down my face.

And then everything changed.

The room suddenly became very bright.

I opened my eyes because the light was so strong I could see it even with my eyes closed.

At first, I thought maybe there was a fire or someone had turned on all the lights in my house.

But this light was different.

It was not yellow like electric light or orange like fire.

It was pure white.

It was the kind of white that should hurt your eyes, but somehow it did not hurt at all.

Instead, it felt warm and peaceful.

I stood up from my knees slowly.

My heart was beating so fast I thought it would explode out of my chest.

I looked around my study and everything looked different.

The light was coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

It filled every corner of the room.

And then I saw him.

There was a man standing in my study about 2 m away from me.

He was wearing white robes that seemed to glow with the same light that filled the room.

His face was kind but strong.

His eyes were looking straight into mine.

And I felt like those eyes could see everything about me.

Every secret.

Every sin.

Every doubt.

Every moment of my entire life.

But there was no judgment in those eyes.

Only love.

A love so powerful and so pure that I had never felt anything like it in my entire life.

I knew immediately who he was.

I do not know how I knew, but I knew.

This was Jesus.

This was Isa al-Masih.

The one I had been taught about in the Quran but never really understood.

The one I had been told was just a prophet, nothing more.

But standing in front of me now was not just a prophet.

This was someone far greater than anything I had ever imagined.

I fell to my knees again.

Not because anyone told me to.

Not because it was the religious thing to do.

But because my legs could not hold me up anymore.

The presence of holiness in that room was so strong that I felt like I would die if I stayed standing.

I tried to speak, but no words came out of my mouth.

My whole body was shaking.

I was terrified and amazed at the same time.

I had prayed for God to show himself to me and now he was standing in my study.

But he did not look anything like what I had expected.

He did not look like Allah, the distant judge that I had served my whole life.

He looked like someone who actually cared about me.

Jesus smiled at me.

It was a gentle smile.

The kind of smile a father gives to a frightened child.

He spoke to me in Farsi.

His voice was quiet, but it filled the entire room.

He said my name.

He said, “Hossein.

” Just hearing him say my name made me start crying.

Nobody had ever said my name with that much tenderness.

Nobody had ever looked at me with that much love.

He said, “I know your pain.

I know your questions.

I know the emptiness you carry inside.

I know you have been searching for truth your whole life and never found it.

I know you are tired.

I know you are broken.

I know you feel like you’re dying inside.

” Every word he spoke was true.

He knew me.

He knew everything about me.

Not just the things I did on the outside, but the things I felt on the inside that I had never told anyone.

He knew the doubts I had hidden for years.

He knew the guilt I carried for serving a regime that murdered its own people.

He knew the shame I felt for being a hypocrite.

He knew all of it and he was still standing there looking at me with love.

Then Jesus said something that shook me to my core.

He said, “You have been praying to a God who does not exist.

You have been serving a system built on fear and control and violence.

You have been teaching people to submit to a religion that keeps them far from the Father.

But I did not come to give you religion, Hossein.

I came to give you life.

Real life.

I came to set you free from the chains you have been wearing your whole life.

I came to fill the emptiness inside you with something real.

I came to show you what love actually looks like.

I could not stop crying.

His words were cutting through me like a knife, but not in a painful way.

It was like he was cutting away all the lies I had believed.

All the false ideas about God that I had built my entire life on.

Everything I thought I knew about Allah and Islam and salvation was being torn down in front of my eyes.

And instead of feeling angry or defensive, I felt relief.

Deep, overwhelming relief.

Because somewhere deep inside I had always known that what I was teaching was not the whole truth.

I had always felt that something was missing.

And now I was standing face to face with what had been missing all along.

Jesus stepped closer to me.

He reached out his hand and placed it on my shoulder.

The moment he touched me, I felt something like electricity run through my whole body.

But it was not painful.

It was like life itself was flowing into me.

Like I had been dead my whole life and now I was waking up for the first time.

The emptiness that had lived in my chest for years suddenly started to fade.

It was being replaced by something warm and real and alive.

I looked up at his face and I saw tears in his eyes.

He was crying, too.

Not because he was sad, but because he cared so much.

He cared about me, a broken Imam from Tehran who had spent his whole life serving the wrong master.

He cared enough to leave heaven and come into my study in the middle of the night to rescue me.

That was when I understood what grace meant.

Not the cheap grace that Islam talks about where Allah might forgive you if you do enough good works, but real grace.

The kind of grace that pursues you when you are running away.

The kind of grace that finds you when you are lost.

The kind of grace that loves you when you do not deserve it.

Then Jesus began to show me things.

He did not speak out loud anymore.

Instead, pictures started appearing in my mind like I was watching a movie.

But these were not normal pictures.

They were so real and so vivid that I felt like I was actually there.

I saw myself as a young boy in Qom studying in the seminary.

I saw myself memorizing the Quran and learning Islamic law.

I saw myself graduating and becoming an Imam.

I saw myself preaching to thousands of people.

But then I saw something else.

Yeah, I saw what was really happening in the spiritual realm while I was doing all these things.

I saw that I was serving darkness while thinking I was serving light.

I saw that the system I was part of was not from God at all.

It was from the enemy of God.

I saw the blood of innocent people crying out from the ground.

I saw the chains on the souls of millions of Iranians who were trapped under religious oppression.

I saw demons sitting on the shoulders of regime leaders whispering lies into their ears.

I saw the whole Islamic Republic for what it really was.

Not a godly government, but a kingdom of darkness pretending to be holy.

The vision changed.

Jesus showed me what was coming.

This is when I saw the strike for the first time.

I saw the sky over Tehran at night.

I saw missiles flying through the air.

They were coming from two different directions.

I somehow knew in the vision that they were American missiles and Israeli missiles flying together toward the same target.

I saw them hit a large compound in central Tehran.

I recognized the compound immediately.

It was one of Khamenei’s official residences.

The missiles hit and massive explosions lit up the night sky.

Fire erupted everywhere.

Buildings collapsed.

I saw people running and screaming.

Then the vision zoomed in and I saw Khamenei himself.

He was trying to escape, but he could not.

The fire caught him.

I saw his face twisted in terror as he realized he was about to die.

And I saw other people dying with him.

Family members, guards, staff.

All of them burning in the flames.

The vision was so real that I could almost feel the heat of the fire.

I could almost smell the smoke.

It was terrible and terrifying.

Jesus spoke to me again.

He said, “This is what is coming to Iran.

The supreme leader will fall.

Fire will fall from heaven and consume him in his own house.

His family will die with him.

This is the judgment of God on a man who has shed innocent blood for decades.

This is what happens when someone sits on a throne that belongs to me alone.

” I was shaking as I watched the vision.

I wanted to ask when this would happen, but before I could speak, Jesus said, “You do not need to know the exact time.

You only need to know that it is coming soon in your lifetime.

While you are still breathing, it will happen.

And when it happens, the whole world will know that I am the Lord and there is no other.

” The vision faded, but the images were burned into my mind.

I would never forget what I had just seen.

I would never forget the fire or the explosions or the look of terror on Khamenei’s face.

Jesus showed me more.

He showed me what would happen to me if I stayed in Iran.

I saw myself being arrested.

I saw Revolutionary Guards breaking down my door in the middle of the night.

I saw them dragging me out of my house while my wife and children screamed.

I saw myself thrown into Evin prison.

I saw interrogation rooms and torture and beatings.

I saw my own body broken and bloody on a prison floor.

I saw a rope being put around my neck.

I saw myself hanging from a crane in a public square with a crowd watching.

Jesus said, “This is what will happen to you if you stay here.

They will kill you.

Not because you are guilty of any crime, but because you will speak my name.

And that is the one thing the regime cannot tolerate.

If you stay in Tehran, you will die before the year is over.

” Fear gripped my heart.

I did not want to die.

I was not ready to be a martyr.

I was just starting to understand who Jesus really was.

I did not want my life to end before I could know him better.

But then Jesus showed me a different path.

He showed me leaving Iran.

I saw myself crossing the border into Turkey.

I saw myself in a small room in a city I did not recognize.

I saw myself safe and hidden and alive.

Jesus said, “You must leave this place, Hossein.

You must run.

Leave your position.

Leave your mosque.

Leave everything behind and go where I send you.

If you stay, you will die.

But if you go, you will live.

And you will be my witness.

You will tell the world what I showed you.

You will warn people that judgment is coming.

You will call Muslims to turn from darkness and come into my light.

And this is your purpose.

This is why I came to you tonight.

Not just to save your soul, but to give you a mission.

” I was overwhelmed.

Everything was happening too fast.

Just an hour ago, I was a broken Imam praying desperately in my study.

Now, I was being told to abandon everything and flee the country.

Now, I was being told that I had been chosen to be a witness for Jesus Christ.

Me, a man who had spent his whole life fighting against Christianity.

Me, a man who had taught thousands of Muslims that Jesus was just a prophet and nothing more.

Jesus looked at me with those eyes full of love.

He said, “I know you are afraid.

I know this seems impossible, but I will be with you every step of the way.

When you cross the border, I will be there.

When you hide in the darkness, I will be your light.

When you speak my name, I will give you the words.

Yeah, you will not be alone, Hussein.

” I did not call you because you are strong.

I called you because I am strong.

And my strength will be enough for both of us.

Then, he said something that I will remember for the rest of my life.

He said, “You have been wearing a mask your whole life.

You have been pretending to be someone you are not.

You have been an Imam on the outside while dying on the inside.

But, I am about to set you free.

I am about to show you who you really are.

You are my son.

You are loved.

You are forgiven.

You are chosen.

And nothing in hell or on earth can change that.

” The vision began to fade.

The light in the room started to dim.

Jesus was still standing there, but he was becoming less visible.

Before he disappeared completely, he said one last thing.

He said, “Go.

Leave before Ramadan ends.

Do not delay.

Do not tell anyone what you are planning.

Just go.

And when you are safe, then you will speak.

Then you will tell them everything I showed you.

Then you will warn them.

The fire is coming, Hussein.

The fire is coming soon.

” And then he was gone.

The light vanished.

My study looked normal again.

I was alone on my knees on the floor, but everything had changed.

I was not the same man who had knelt down to pray an hour before.

That man was dead.

In his place was someone new.

Someone who had met Jesus face-to-face and would never be the same again.

I stayed on the floor of my study for a long time after Jesus disappeared.

I could not move.

My whole body felt weak like I had just run for miles without stopping.

My mind was racing with everything I had just seen and heard.

Part of me wondered if I had imagined it all.

Part of me wondered if I had lost my mind, but deep inside, I knew it was real.

More real than anything I had ever experienced in my entire life.

The presence I had felt in that room was not something my imagination could create.

The love I had experienced was not something I could make up.

And the visions I had seen were too detailed and too specific to be just dreams.

Jesus had really been there.

He had really spoken to me.

And now I had to decide what I was going to do about it.

I finally stood up and looked at the clock on the wall.

It was almost 3:00 in the morning.

I had been in that study for over 5 hours.

It felt like only minutes had passed.

Time had done something strange during the encounter with Jesus.

I walked quietly through my house checking on my family.

My wife was asleep.

My children were asleep.

Yes, nobody knew what had just happened to me.

Nobody knew that their husband and father had just met Jesus Christ and that everything was about to change.

I could not sleep that night.

I lay in bed next to my wife staring at the ceiling.

My mind kept replaying the vision of the missiles striking Khamenei’s compound.

I kept seeing the fire and the explosions.

I kept seeing his face in those final moments.

And I kept hearing Jesus’ words echoing in my head.

“Fire will fall from heaven.

The supreme leader will fall.

This is the judgment of God.

” I had been taught my whole life that Khamenei was appointed by Allah.

I had preached that opposing the supreme leader was opposing God himself.

I had told my congregation that the Islamic Republic was the perfect Islamic government.

But now I knew it was all a lie.

The regime was not from God.

It was from the enemy of God.

And judgment was coming.

I did not know when exactly.

Jesus had not told me the date or the time, but he had said it would be soon.

In my lifetime.

While I was still breathing.

That could mean months or it could mean years.

But either way, it was coming and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

The next morning, I got up and went through my normal routine like nothing had happened.

I washed for prayer.

I led my family in morning prayers.

I ate breakfast with my wife.

I kissed my children before they went to school.

But inside, I was not the same person.

Everything looked the same on the outside, but everything was different on the inside.

I kept thinking about what Jesus had told me.

I had to leave Iran.

I had to run before Ramadan ended.

Ramadan had started in mid-March that year.

It was now mid-April.

Yeah, that meant I had less than 2 weeks to figure out how to escape the country.

2 weeks to plan everything.

2 weeks to leave behind the life I had built for 52 years.

The thought terrified me.

How was I supposed to leave? Where would I go? How would I cross the border? What would I tell my family? What would happen to them after I was gone? A thousand questions flooded my mind, but I had no answers.

All I had was the command that Jesus had given me.

“Go.

Leave.

Do not delay.

” Over the next few days, I tried to continue my normal life while secretly planning my escape.

I preached at the mosque on Friday like I always did.

But this time, when I stood in the pulpit looking out at the thousands of faces staring back at me, I felt like a fraud.

These people trusted me.

They believed I was teaching them the truth about God.

They had no idea that their Imam had met Jesus and was planning to run away.

I went through the motions of the sermon, but my heart was not in it.

I talked about fasting and prayer and obedience to Allah, but the whole time I was thinking about what Jesus had shown me.

After the prayers were over, people came up to me like always.

They shook my hand.

They thanked me for the sermon.

They asked me to pray for their sick relatives and their financial problems and their troubled marriages.

I smiled and nodded and blessed them.

But inside, I felt like I was dying.

I was lying to these people.

I was still pretending to be something I was not.

And I hated myself for it.

That night, I did something I never thought I would do.

I went looking for a Bible.

I knew it was illegal to own a Bible in Farsi in Iran.

Yeah, the regime banned them because they did not want Muslims reading the actual words of Jesus.

They wanted to control what people knew about Christianity.

But, I had to find one.

I had to read it for myself.

I had met Jesus face-to-face, but I barely knew anything about him.

The Quran talks about Isa, but it does not give many details.

I needed to know more.

I needed to understand who this person was who had appeared in my study.

I remembered hearing whispers about underground Christian networks in Tehran.

Places where converts met in secret.

People who smuggled Bibles into the country.

I had always dismissed these rumors as Western propaganda.

But now, I needed to find these people.

I started asking very careful questions to people I thought I could trust.

I did not tell anyone why I was asking.

I just said I was curious about what Christians believed, so I could better refute their arguments.

After several days of careful searching, I was finally connected to a man who said he could help me.

His name was Amir.

We met in a quiet corner of a tea house in the Tajrish district in northern Tehran.

He was about 40 years old with a tired face and nervous eyes.

He kept looking around to make sure nobody was watching us.

I told him I needed a Bible in Farsi.

He asked me why.

I could not tell him the whole truth, so I gave him the same excuse I had been giving everyone else.

I said I wanted to study it to understand the enemy better.

He did not believe me.

I could see it in his eyes.

He stared at me for a long time without saying anything.

Then he said something that shocked me.

He said, “I know who you are.

You are Imam Kashani from Javadieh Mosque.

I have heard you preach before.

You are a famous Imam.

Why would someone like you want a Bible?” I felt my stomach drop.

I had been found out.

I thought about getting up and leaving immediately, but something made me stay.

Maybe it was the Holy Spirit.

Maybe it was just desperation.

I looked at Amir and I made a decision to trust him.

I said, “Because Jesus appeared to me and I need to know more about him.

” Amir’s eyes went wide.

He leaned forward across the table and whispered, “Say that again.

” I repeated it.

I told him that Jesus had come to me in a vision.

I did not give him all the details, but I told him enough.

I said I had encountered Jesus and that my whole understanding of God had been shattered.

I said I needed to read the Bible because I needed to know the truth.

Is Amir sat back in his chair and shook his head in amazement.

He said, “Do you know how many Iranians are having dreams and visions of Jesus right now? Thousands, maybe tens of thousands.

All across this country, Muslims are meeting Jesus in supernatural ways.

The regime does not know what to do about it.

They can arrest people.

They can ban Bibles.

They can torture and kill converts, but they cannot stop Jesus from appearing to people in their dreams.

They cannot stop what God is doing in Iran right now.

” His words sent chills down my spine.

I was not alone.

There were others like me.

Other Muslims who had encountered Jesus.

Other Iranians who were discovering that everything they had been taught was wrong.

Amir told me to meet him again in 3 days.

He said he would bring me a Bible, but I had to be very careful with it.

If I was caught with it, I would be arrested immediately.

Especially someone in my position.

An Imam caught with a Bible would be considered a traitor of the worst kind.

3 days later, we met again in a different location.

This time, it was a park near the Milad Tower.

Amir handed me a plastic bag.

Inside was a book wrapped in brown paper.

He said, “This is the most dangerous book in Iran.

Guard it with your life.

Read it in secret, and may Jesus open your eyes to the truth.

” I took the bag and thanked him.

I asked him how he had become a Christian.

He said that was a story for another time.

Then he said something that has stayed with me ever since.

He said, “If Jesus appeared to you personally, then he has a special plan for your life.

He does not show up like that for no reason.

Whatever he told you to do, you must obey.

Oh, even if it costs you everything.

Because nothing in this world is worth more than knowing him.

” I went home and hid the Bible in my study.

I waited until late at night when everyone was asleep.

Then I locked the door and unwrapped the brown paper.

I held the Bible in my hands and felt the weight of it.

This book had been illegal in my country for decades.

People had been tortured and killed for owning it.

And now I was holding one in my own hands.

I opened it to the first page.

It said, “The New Testament of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ in Farsi.

” I turned to the Gospel of Matthew and started reading.

The very first page talked about the genealogy of Jesus.

It listed all his ancestors going back to Abraham.

I had never seen anything like this in the Quran.

Yes, the Quran mentions Jesus, but it does not give this kind of detail about his human lineage.

I kept reading.

I read about his birth in Bethlehem.

I read about the wise men coming to worship him.

I read about Herod trying to kill him.

I read about his family fleeing to Egypt.

Every word felt like it was alive.

It felt like the book was speaking directly to me.

I read through the night without stopping.

I read about Jesus’ baptism and his temptation in the wilderness.

I read about him calling his disciples.

I read about his first miracles.

And then I came to the Sermon on the Mount.

I read Jesus’ words.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

” Tears started rolling down my face as I read these words.

This was nothing like what I had been teaching my whole life.

Islam taught strength and power and dominance, but Jesus was teaching about humility and meekness and spiritual poverty.

Islam taught that the righteous would conquer the earth through force, but Jesus was teaching that the meek would inherit the earth through love.

Everything was backwards from what I had learned.

Or maybe everything I had learned was backwards, and this was actually right side up.

I kept reading.

I read Jesus saying, “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.

‘ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.

” I stopped reading and stared at those words.

Love your enemies.

Pray for those who persecute you.

I had never heard anything like this in my life.

The Quran talks about fighting enemies and defeating them.

But Jesus was teaching something completely different.

He was teaching a kind of love that was so radical, it seemed impossible.

How could anyone love their enemies? How could anyone pray for people who were trying to hurt them? But then I remembered the vision.

I remembered Jesus looking at me with those eyes full of love.

And I realized that this was exactly what he had done.

I was his enemy.

I had spent my whole life teaching against him.

I had told people he was not the son of God.

I had rejected everything he stood for.

But he still came to me.

He still loved me.

He still saved me.

That was the kind of love he was talking about.

A love that pursues enemies and turns them into sons.

By the time the sun came up, I had read through the entire Gospel of Matthew.

My eyes were burning from lack of sleep, but I could not stop.

I moved on to the Gospel of Mark.

I read about more miracles.

I read about Jesus healing the sick and casting out demons and raising the dead.

I read about him feeding 5,000 people with just five loaves of bread and two fish.

I read about him walking on water and calming storms with a word.

This was not just a prophet.

This was God in human flesh.

This was the creator of the universe stepping into his own creation to rescue the people he loved.

I read about Jesus’ confrontations with the religious leaders of his day.

The Pharisees and the teachers of the law.

He called them hypocrites and whitewashed tombs.

He said they loaded people down with religious burdens, but would not lift a finger to help them.

He said they honored God with their lips, but their hearts were far from him.

As I read these words, I saw myself.

I was like the Pharisees.

I was a religious leader who cared more about position and power than about truth.

I had burdened people with rules and regulations, while my own heart was empty and dead.

Then I read about Jesus’ death.

I read about his arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane.

I read about his trials before the religious leaders and before Pilate.

I read about the mockery and the beatings and the crown of thorns.

I read about him being nailed to a cross.

I read about him hanging there for 6 hours in agony.

And I read his words from the cross.

“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.

” Even while he was being murdered, he was praying for his enemies.

Even while he was suffering the most painful death imaginable, he was asking God to forgive the people who were killing him.

I had to stop reading because I was crying so hard I could not see the words anymore.

This was love.

Real love.

Not the conditional love that Islam taught where Allah loves you only if you obey perfectly.

But unconditional love that pursues you and forgives you and dies for you even when you do not deserve it.

Over the next several days, I spent every free moment reading the Bible.

I read the Gospel of Luke and the Gospel of John.

I read the Book of Acts about the early church.

I read the letters of Paul.

Every page was opening my eyes to truths I had never known.

Every chapter was tearing down the lies I had believed and replacing them with something real and solid and true.

And then one night about a week after I got the Bible, Jesus appeared to me again.

This was the second time I saw him.

I was lying in bed trying to sleep when suddenly my room filled with that same white light.

I sat up and there he was standing at the foot of my bed.

He looked exactly the same as before.

The same white robes.

The same kind eyes.

The same overwhelming presence of love and holiness.

My heart started pounding.

He said, “Hossein, I am pleased that you are seeking me.

I am pleased that you are reading my words.

But now it is time to make a choice.

You cannot serve two masters.

You cannot keep preaching Islam while following me.

You must choose.

You will you surrender your life completely to me, or will you hold on to your old life?” I knew what he was asking.

He was asking me to let go of everything.

My position as Imam.

My reputation.

My income.

My status in society.

My comfort.

My security.

Everything.

He was asking me to become a follower of Jesus publicly, even though it would cost me everything.

I thought about my family.

I thought about my wife and children.

How could I abandon them? How could I destroy their lives by leaving? But then Jesus spoke again.

He said, “I know you are worried about your family, but I will take care of them.

They are safer in my hands than they ever were in yours.

You must trust me, Hossein.

You must obey what I have called you to do.

Time is running out.

Ramadan ends in 5 days.

You must leave before then.

If you wait any longer, you will miss the window and you will be trapped here when the persecution comes.

” I felt fear rising in my chest.

5 days.

I had 5 days to leave everything behind and escape to another country.

It seemed impossible.

But then Jesus showed me one more vision.

He showed me standing in front of a camera.

I was older than I was now.

My hair was more gray.

My face looked tired, but peaceful.

And I was speaking.

I was telling my story.

I was telling the world about how Jesus had appeared to me and warned me about what was coming to Iran.

I was calling Muslims to turn from Islam and follow Jesus.

And I saw thousands of comments under the video.

People from all over Iran and all over the world saying that my testimony had changed their lives.

Saying that they had given their hearts to Jesus because of what I shared.

And Jesus said, “This is why I saved you.

This is your purpose.

You will be my witness.

You will warn people.

You will call them out of darkness into light.

But first, you must be willing to lose everything.

First, you must be willing to run.

Will you obey me?” I looked at him and I knew I had no choice.

How could I say no to the one who had loved me enough to die for me? How could I refuse the one who had appeared to me personally and called me by name? I said, “Yes, Lord.

I will obey.

I will leave.

I will do whatever you ask me to do.

” Jesus smiled.

He said, “Then go, and I will be with you every step of the way.

” And then he was gone.

I had 5 days to plan my escape from Iran.

5 days to figure out how to leave behind everything I had ever known.

5 days to arrange travel documents and money and a road to the border.

5 days to decide what to tell my family and what to leave unsaid.

I woke up the morning after Jesus appeared to me the second time and I felt a strange mixture of fear and peace.

Fear because what I was about to do was incredibly dangerous and could get me killed.

Peace because I knew Jesus was with me and that I was finally doing what I was created to do.

I got out of bed and started making plans.

The first thing I needed was money.

I could not use my regular bank accounts once I left because the government would track every [clears throat] transaction.

I needed cash that could not be traced.

Over the next 2 days, I withdrew small amounts from different ATMs around Tehran.

Not enough to raise suspicion, but enough to survive for a few months in another country.

I converted most of it to US dollars through black market money changers in the bazaar.

By the third day, I had about $8,000 hidden in my study.

It was not a fortune, but it was enough to get me started.

The second thing I needed was a way to cross the border.

Iran shares borders with seven countries.

Turkey was the closest and the safest option for someone like me.

There were established routes that refugees and smugglers used to cross from Iran into Turkey through the mountains.

I reached out to Amir again and asked if he knew anyone who could help me get across.

He was surprised that I was planning to leave so soon, but he understood.

He connected me with a man named Kazem who worked as a smuggler helping people escape Iran.

Kazem and I met in a small restaurant in the Shargh district in western Tehran.

He was a rough-looking man in his 50s with scars on his face and hands that looked like they had seen hard work.

He told me his rates.

$5,000 to get one person across the border into Turkey.

It was expensive, but I had no choice.

I agreed to his price.

He told me to be ready to leave in 3 days.

He said I should pack only what I could carry in a small backpack.

No suitcases.

No extra clothes.

Just essentials.

He said the journey through the mountains would be difficult and dangerous.

We would be walking at night to avoid border patrols.

If we were caught, we would be shot.

I nodded and said I understood the risks.

The hardest part was not the planning or the money or the danger.

The hardest part was knowing I had to leave my family without telling them where I was going.

I could not tell my wife the truth.

If I told her I had become a Christian and was fleeing the country, she would either try to stop me or she would be implicated when the regime came looking for me.

I could not put her in that position.

I could not put my children in that position.

So, I decided to lie.

It was the only way to protect them.

On the fourth day before my planned escape, I sat down with my wife in our living room.

I told her I needed to travel to Mashhad for a few days to visit some religious scholars there.

I said I was working on a new series of sermons and needed to do research.

She believed me because I had made similar trips before.

She asked when I would be back.

I said probably within a week.

That lie cut through my heart like a knife because I knew I would never be back.

I would never see her again.

I would never see my children again.

But I could not tell her that.

So, I smiled and kissed her forehead and pretended everything was normal.

That night, I spent time with each of my children.

My oldest son was 23 and studying engineering at university.

My daughter was 19 and had just gotten engaged to a young man from a good family.

My youngest son was 16 and still in school.

I talked with each of them separately.

I asked them about their lives and their dreams and their plans for the future.

I gave them advice and told them I was proud of them.

I hugged them longer than usual.

They did not know it, but I was saying goodbye.

I was memorizing their faces because I knew I might never see them again.

My daughter asked me why I seemed sad.

I told her I was just tired from work.

She hugged me and told me to get some rest.

I went to my room that night and I wept silently into my pillow.

I was about to abandon my family.

I was about to break my wife’s heart and disappoint my children.

I was about to become a deserter and a traitor in their eyes.

The guilt was crushing.

But then I remembered what Jesus had said.

He said he would take care of them.

He said they were safer in his hands than in mine.

I had to trust that.

I had to believe that God loved my family even more than I did and that he would watch over them when I was gone.

On the fifth day, the day before my planned escape, I went to Jawadiyeh Mosque one last time.

It was a Thursday afternoon.

I walked through the courtyard and looked at the building where I had preached for almost 10 years.

Thousands of people had prayed here under my leadership.

Yes, I had taught their children and blessed their marriages and buried their dead.

This mosque had been my whole world.

But now I was leaving it all behind.

I went into my office and sat at my desk.

I looked at the bookshelves filled with Islamic texts and commentaries.

I looked at the awards and certificates hanging on the walls.

I looked at the photographs of me with various government officials and religious leaders.

All of it meant nothing now.

All of it was wood and hay and stubble that would burn up when the fire of God’s truth touched it.

I opened the drawer of my desk and took out a piece of paper.

I wrote a short letter to the mosque council.

I said that I was resigning from my position as Imam for personal reasons.

I did not give details.

I just said I could no longer continue in this role.

I signed the letter and left it on the desk.

Then I walked out of the office and locked the door behind me.

That evening, I went home and had dinner with my family like it was a normal night.

We ate rice and stew and talked about ordinary things.

My wife mentioned that her sister was coming to visit next week.

My daughter talked about her wedding plans.

My sons talked about school and sports.

I sat there listening and smiling and pretending that everything was fine.

But inside, I was screaming.

Inside, I was already saying goodbye to all of them.

After dinner, I told my wife I needed to leave very early in the morning for my trip to Mashhad.

I said I would be gone before she woke up, so I was saying goodbye now.

She kissed me and told me to travel safely.

I hugged my children one last time.

I held them tight and tried to memorize the feeling of their arms around me.

Then, I went to my study and closed the door.

I packed a small backpack with just the essentials, a change of clothes, some food, my Bible wrapped in a plastic bag, the cash I had collected, and a USB drive where I had saved some important documents and photos of my family.

That was all I was taking from my entire life.

Everything else I was leaving behind.

I could not sleep that night.

I lay in bed next to my wife, listening to her breathing.

I thought about all the years we had spent together, 25 years of marriage, 25 years of sharing a life.

And now, I was about to walk away from it all.

I wanted to wake her up and tell her the truth.

I wanted to explain everything.

I wanted to tell her about Jesus and the visions and the mission I had been given, but I knew I could not.

It would put her in danger.

So, I let her sleep.

At 4:00 in the morning, I quietly got out of bed.

I picked up my backpack and walked out of the bedroom.

I stopped at the door and looked back at my wife sleeping peacefully.

I whispered, “I love you.

Forgive me.

” Then, I walked through the house, stopping at each of my children’s rooms.

I looked at them sleeping in their beds.

I prayed over each of them.

I asked Jesus to protect them and provide for them and one day help them understand why I had to leave.

Then, I walked out of my house for the last time.

I closed the door quietly behind me and stood on the street in the darkness.

The sun had not come up yet.

The whole city was still asleep.

I took one last look at my home.

Then, I turned and started walking.

I met Kazem at a predetermined location on the western edge of Tehran.

It was a small garage behind a mechanic’s shop.

There were three other people there waiting to make the crossing.

Two young men in their 20s and a woman in her 30s.

Kazem did not introduce us, and we did not ask each other questions.

Everyone who was trying to escape Iran had their own reasons and their own secrets.

It was better not to know too much.

Kazem loaded us into the back of a covered truck.

He told us to stay quiet and stay hidden under some blankets and boxes.

He said we would be driving for about 6 hours to get close to the border area.

If we were stopped at any checkpoints, we needed to remain completely silent.

If the police found us, we would all be arrested.

The truck started moving and we began the journey toward the Turkish border.

I sat in the darkness under a blanket with my backpack clutched to my chest.

My heart was pounding.

I kept thinking about my family waking up in a few hours and discovering I was gone.

I kept thinking about my wife calling my phone and getting no answer.

I kept thinking about the moment when they would realize I was not coming back.

The drive took longer than 6 hours because Kazem had to take backroads to avoid major checkpoints.

We stopped once so everyone could use the bathroom and stretch.

We were in a remote area surrounded by mountains.

The landscape was beautiful, but I could not enjoy it.

I was too nervous.

We got back in the truck and kept driving.

Finally, around 2:00 in the afternoon, we arrived at a small village near the border.

Kazem told us to get out and follow him.

He led us to a house where an old woman gave us some food and tea.

She did not speak to us.

She just served the food and left.

Kazem explained the plan.

We would rest here until nightfall.

Then, we would begin the crossing.

It would take about 8 hours of walking through the mountains.

The terrain was rough and dangerous.

We needed to follow his instructions exactly.

If anyone fell behind or made noise or tried to go their own way, they would be left behind.

He was not being cruel.

He was just being realistic.

This was a life or death situation and there was no room for mistakes.

We all nodded that we understood.

As the sun began to set, Kazem gave us each a small flashlight and told us to only use it if absolutely necessary.

We left the house and started walking into the mountains.

If the path was steep and rocky, within an hour, my legs were burning and my lungs were gasping for air.

I was 52 years old and not in good physical shape.

I had spent most of my adult life sitting in offices and standing in pulpits.

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