A Choice of Faith

His life changed forever when he walked into a small white church on a dusty street in Hyderabad. Amanda Sauder tells.

Born into the orthodox Muslim Pashtun tribe in Hyderabad, India, Basharat Masih remembers “a very bad childhood.” His biological mother died when he was four and he missed her love greatly. “I never, ever got any hug or expression of love from my father. I hungered for love, I hungered for affection . . . until I met Jesus.”

Basharat’s father remarried. Unfortunately, his stepmother physically, emotionally and psychologically abused him. “There was no love,” he says. “It was a prison.”

One night when just 15 years old, he and his 17-year-old brother stole some of their stepmother’s jewellery and fled. Basharat went to Bombay. There a friendly priest allowed him to sleep in the mosque in exchange for his cleaning services. To sustain himself, he illegally sold khaja, a flat, sweet bread, in the market making about one-and-a half rupees a day, until he was arrested and thrown in prison.

The priest didn’t forget him. When a Hyderabad soccer team came to Bombay for a tournament, the priest told a team member of Basharat’s plight. “You must help him; he is one of yours.” The player took him on as his assistant, and Basharat travelled with the team back to Hyderabad.
However, he didn’t go home. Instead he continued his homeless life, washing dishes in a restaurant frequented by many of his father’s wealthy friends. Inevitably one recognised 18-year-old Basharat and relayed the news to his father, insisting he bring the teenager home.
Basharat’s father refused to take him, so the friend took him into his home and enrolled him in pharmaceutical training. Once qualified, he began practising as a hospital pharmacist.

Basharat would frequently argue with the nurses over religion. “They would try to present Jesus to me as the Son of God and Saviour of the world. I’d laugh and say to myself, ‘Hey, these people are crazy. How could God, who is holy, who is one, have a son?’ ‘If God has a son, where is God’s wife and Jesus’ mother?’

“I hated this Christian doctrine,” he says, “because for a Muslim, it was blasphemy.”
But the frequent clashes didn’t keep Basharat from becoming friends with the nurses. One in particular, Sheila, was very friendly, he says. “I was trying to tell her what I believed as a Muslim, and she was trying to explain her faith [Methodist]. We came to the point where we liked each other and wanted to be life partners. But how could we? She was a Christian.”

He began to scheme. “I made evil plans to force [Sheila] to become a Muslim, planning to trap her. But God had His own plans. This plan would hurt her, and I didn’t want to, because I loved her.”

Eventually Basharat and Sheila were married in a civil ceremony, he a Muslim, she a Methodist. Then the seed of curiosity planted in Basharat’s heart germinated. Who was this Jesus? How could He be the Son of God? He wondered. He began searching for a Bible in his Urdu tongue, making unsuccessful visits to two Christian churches.

He came across a Seventh-day Adventist church [publishers of this magazine] and as it was hot and humid, the minister invited him in. Here was an opportunity to have some of his questions answered, so they talked. The minister began to tell him about Jesus, quoting His words as recorded in Matthew: “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it” (7:13, 14).

“The text hit me hard, because although I claimed to be a pious Muslim, still I wasn’t happy,” Basharat says. “I purchased an Urdu Bible and began studying the life of Jesus. I can’t explain the power that caught me when I read the Gospels, that Jesus is the Saviour of the world. And I needed Him. I longed for love—until I met Jesus.”

Basharat’s study brought him to a decision. “I decided that I wanted to follow Jesus. Nobody taught me to pray; I started praying on my own. When I was a Muslim, I used to pray five times a day. I stopped praying to Allah. Instead, I prayed five times a day to Jesus.”
Basharat called the minister asking to be baptised. He was afraid for both their lives. And for good reason. But nevertheless, Basharat and Sheila were baptised.
“It was a profound experience that I changed my name [to Basharat Iqbal Masih], meaning ‘messenger of good news.’ I was 20 at the time.”

Basharat’s life changed dramatically after his conversion: he began to lose his friends then the townspeople began to persecute him. His family were especially angry, their hatred kindled by the Islamic belief that if a Muslim is converted to another faith, that individual becomes a kaffar—an agent of Satan, no longer a follower of God. Basharat claims his family tried to have him killed on at least three occasions. “God, in His providence, obviously protected me and kept me safe,” he says. But to avoid ongoing persecution, Basharat and Sheila decided to leave town. “We didn’t know where to go; we just carried two trunks with our bedding and went to the train station.” They felt they could easily find work in a large city, so they booked to Bombay. At the town of Khandwa, partway through their trip, they had to change trains. While waiting, Sheila recalled that a friend was working in the Khandwa hospital, so they decided to make a quick visit. As they approached the hospital’s front porch, two orderlies ran out to meet them.

“Saheb, maimsaheb, follow us,” the orderlies told them, grabbing their luggage and running toward the hospital. The couple were confused, but had to follow. They came to a room set for two people. “Take a shower and get ready. Supper will be served at six,” said one.
“What’s going on?”
“We were simply told to help you to get settled in.”
Covered in soot and exhausted, they took a shower, prayed and went to bed until morning. When breakfast was served, they once again asked what was going on.
“Sir, we don’t know. But the nursing superintendent has asked to see you at eight.” Now the couple were thoroughly confused, but went to meet with the superintendent. They sat down, and she addressed them as Mr and Mrs Sharma.
“We are not Mr and Mrs Sharma.”
“You’re not?” asked the head nurse, her eyes wide open. “Then who are you?”
“I am Basharat Masih, and this is my wife, Sheila.”
There was a silence.
“Since this is a new hospital, we need nurses,” she said looking at Sheila. “Can you start tomorrow?” Then looking at Basharat, “I cannot give you an appointment, but the CEO will be back on Monday . . .”

After fleeing his home and employment, without any delay, Basharat got a new job, and Sheila also. The hospital had sent job offers to the mysterious Mr and Mrs Sharma, but it seemed that they didn’t exist. “God made that place for both of us long before we made the train journey,” he says.
Today Basharat Iqbal Masih serves as the director of pastoral care for Porter Adventist Hospital, in Denver, Colorado, USA. He is also the president of the Seventh-day Adventist Healthcare Chaplains Association (SDAHCA).

“When I think about God lifting a homeless person from the streets of Bombay, making him director of pastoral care—it’s amazing,” he says. “God is a good chess player. He knows how to move people around. Look at where God has brought me.

“My life is a life of prayer,” Basharat confides. “Talking to God is my life, it’s my breath. I cannot live without breath, and I cannot live without God. I still pray five times a day And I cannot live without breath.”

Adapted, with permission, from Adventist Review.

Basharat and Sheila have three grown children and six grandchildren. Avinash, their eldest son, is working on a master's degree in health-care administration in Boston, Massachusetts. Their second son, Arun, is a surgical pathologist in Wooster, Ohio. Their youngest, Nina, is working on her doctorate and is currently a counsellor in private practice in Palm Beach, Florida.

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