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A young man trudges uphill, ignoring the view of the surrounding snow-covered mountains. Instead his eyes are locked on the feet of the man in front of him, a smuggler he has paid to guide him through minefields in the no-man’s land between two countries. The young man is slight of build, handsome, dressed as a traveler, carrying a pack on his back that holds little more than a set of good clothes. He is leaving Iran, the only home he has ever known, even though he is Afghan.

The guide crests a ridge and comes to a halt. The young man finally looks up from the path and out at the view before him. He has entered Turkey and, he hopes, a new life. His name is Reza. This is his story.

Reza’s parents fled Afghanistan as Soviet tanks rolled over their country. They settled with hundreds of thousands of other Afghan refugees in neighboring Iran. The Soviets finally pulled out, only to be replaced by civil war, then Taliban rule. Reza’s family never had a chance to return to their homeland. To this day, Reza has never seen his country.

In Iran life was not much better. Reza’s large family was very poor; his mother and father were strict Muslims. Reza tried his best to win his father’s acceptance but never succeeded. His father was well respected in their community, and men sought him out to discuss religious books. Reza carefully watched these men. He discovered that their actions never matched up to what their books taught.

Reza became disillusioned with religion as he grew up, concluding humans only invented it to make themselves feel better. He was fine without it—or at least he tried to convince himself of this.

Reza began looking for other ways to fill his inner emptiness, trying drugs, alcohol and sex. Each attempt granted only temporarily satisfaction, and left him feeling lonelier. His parents and relatives referred to him as “garbage.” One girl even left the room whenever he entered.

Reza decided to aim for material success. He had high aspirations for life in Turkey, but soon discovered the view was better from the other side of the mountains. Turkey’s economy was worse than Iran’s. Then he tried crossing into Greece but kept getting turned back. Desperate, he decided to risk his life and paddle across the Aegean in an inflatable raft. Miraculously, he landed on Greece’s shores alive.

Making his way into Athens, he met hundreds of other Afghans, most of them sleeping in a large, downtown park. It was a Sunday, and some of his new friends invited Reza to a place that served free food. They walked several blocks through streets that grew progressively narrower and dirtier. Soon there were hardly any Greeks; most people were Middle Eastern, Asian or African. The Afghan refugees passed through a gate and into a garage, climbed a flight of stairs and came through a hall into a large, clean room filled with tables and chairs. Compared to the street’s dinginess, the room was striking.

They arrived before the food was served. A man named Nader was speaking in Farsi about Jesus to a room full of Iranians and Afghans. Everyone sang a song before the traditional Iranian meal was served.

They called it the “Jesus Restaurant” because the people there were always talking or showing videos about Jesus. Reza began coming the three days a week the “Jesus Restaurant” (the Helping Hands’ Athens Refugee Center) was open. He was there for meals, English classes, videos and Sunday church service followed by a meal with the Persian Christian Fellowship.

He was coming for food, but soon he soon realized that he was coming for answers. He loved watching the movie about the man whom Islam considers a holy prophet. Reza had believed that religion was the last place to look for answers, but in Athens he found believers in Jesus who explained things differently.

Reza decided to attend the Persian Christian Fellowship every Sunday for several months. Finally, on January 28, 2002, Reza approached Nader, the leader of the Persian Christian Fellowship. “I came here for food,” he told Nader, “but I found Jesus.” Reza prayed with Nader that evening to receive Jesus as his Lord and Savior.

Reza moved into one of the Helping Hands apartments where he lived with other new believers and attended Bible studies and baptism classes. On a bright spring day in April, Reza was baptized in the Soranic Gulf. Afterward he stood on the beach, shivering in wet clothes as his friends snapped pictures. Nothing could wipe the grin off his face.

If you ask Reza about his dreams for the future, he’ll tell you he is obligated to work to send money back to his family. But he yearns to become an evangelist. One day he hopes to go to England to attend a Farsi Bible school and learn all he can about God. He hungers to testify to others that new life begins not in a new country but through Jesus.

Joanna Brenner works with Helping Hands, a ministry to refugees in Athens, Greece, that offers food, showers, clothing, Christian literature, language and computer classes, Bible studies, friendship and Jesus.

July 19, 2002