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first met Imad Shehadeh at a press conference — and an uncomfortable
press conference at that. Several of us in the media, along with
some Christian clergy, were sitting in a hotel room in Amman earlier
this year listening to a Catholic and three evangelical Protestants
talk about being Christian in overwhelmingly Muslim Jordan.
Shehadeh, a
tall man who would fit in on any American college campus, was describing
his work as president of Jordan Evangelical Theological Seminary,
which has had a rough row to hoe getting accreditation from the
Jordanian government. Shehadeh got the idea for the school after
noticing how few resources there were available for Christian theological
study in the Arabic-speaking Middle East. After getting his bachelor's
degree at the University of California at San Diego, and his master's
and doctorate at Dallas Theological Seminary, he returned to Jordan
to found JETS in 1990.
Just getting
government approval for the institution took him five years. He
tried operating under the auspices of a registered church, but that
was shut down. Then financial backers, impatient at the long wait,
began dropping out.
Finally, he
took a position as principal of an 800-student Christian elementary
and secondary school, which brought him into contact with influential
people who showed him the inside track on how to obtain approval
for the seminary. Through them, he learned the necessary administrative,
financial, and academic procedures for setting up such an institution
under Jordanian laws.
Thus armed,
JETS was finally launched in 1995, in rented facilities, as an educational
institution under the Ministry of Culture. At first, Muslims were
allowed to attend for the purpose of studying Christianity, but
when it became obvious some of them were converting, the government
clamped down. In 1999, the government imprisoned three such converts
(an Iraqi, a Sudanese, and an Egyptian) under wretched conditions
— then deported them. The incident was so egregious, it even
got mention in the State Department's 2000 Human Rights Report.
"They
were placed with criminals in tight quarters, sometimes as many
as 30 in one room," Shehadeh says. "During those difficult
weeks, it was very cold and they had to sleep on concrete with no
cover and were poorly fed. One of them was beaten and when he finally
got out, he was physically ill and unable to move for weeks."
Since then,
the government has tied up the 150-student seminary in bureaucratic
red tape, making it impossible for them to obtain accreditation
or even residence permits for some of their foreign students and
staff. Some of the 38 Iraqis in training there are being sent away
because of restrictions. And due to visa restrictions, this is the
last year Sudanese students can study at JETS. If the school were
accredited, visas would be much easier to come by, and the school
could also issue decrees.
But the government
this year insists that all faculty appointments — as well as
that of the president and board of directors — must be approved
by the government's Council on Higher Education. Like a state university,
JETS would be required to conduct classes on Sundays, which it does
not presently do. Worse yet, some of the more traditional Christians
in Jordan — Orthodox and Catholics — have perceived JETS
as a threat and have petitioned the government to deny them accreditation.
"They
say persecution is good for the church; well, we've had our share,"
Shehadeh says. "We're a long way from where we'd like to be
in terms of human rights." JETS is a strategic institution
amidst 270 million people in 19 Arabic-speaking countries, many
of which would never give Christian students student visas to western
countries but would allow them into Jordan. One-third of the enrollees
are women. It has gradually built up a 16,000-volume library, most
of which is in Arabic. JETS is particularly concerned with the 500,000
Iraqi refugees in Jordan, some of whom have converted to Christianity.
JETS students have helped start eight Iraqi churches.
"I pray
that the Christians in Muslim lands get the same freedom as Muslims
get in Christian lands," Shehadeh told us at the press conference.
"There are Muslim centers all over the United States but no
churches in Saudi Arabia or many of the Gulf states."
For that and
other remarks the Jordanians found inflammatory, he was later interrogated,
he said, quite harshly for his frankness. Supported by Nazarene,
Assemblies of God, Free Evangelical, Baptist, and Christian and
Missionary Alliance churches in Jordan, the seminary somehow muddles
through despite various obstacles — which are sure to mount
in the coming months and years, as the U.S. campaign against Islamic
terrorists intensifies.
Shehadeh is
hardly a Westerner himself; his parents are Palestinians, Orthodox
Christians who were driven out of Israel in 1948. His travails are
part and parcel of what Christians in the Middle East endure on
a regular basis. We got to sample this during an interview with
Akel Biltaji, then minister of tourism for Jordan. All was serene
until he was asked why Muslims were not allowed to change their
religion in Jordan. Muslims could convert to Christianity, he said
smoothly, but they must expect to suffer, if not die for their new
faith. After all, he added, Christ died for them.
One could almost
hear jaws drop around the room. He was quite cold about it.
And Jordan
is considered one of the more friendly countries toward its Christian
minority; in fact, only Lebanon is said to be freer.
I began to
realize what Shehadeh and his seminarians are up against.
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