You Don't Need a Calling--You Need a Neighbor

YOU DON'T NEED A CALLING––YOU NEED A NEIGHBOR

BY NF STUDIO

Charlie Brill doesn’t talk about Christian–Muslim engagement like a side interest or a niche ministry for specialists. It’s the current of his everyday life.

Charlie is Director of The Ahlan Bridge, a ministry that fosters understanding and connection between Muslims and Christians. Through immersive experiences in Chicago and in the Middle East, The Ahlan Bridge helps Christians practice a surprisingly demanding discipline: listening longer than comfortable—long enough for caricatures to fade and friendship to actually form.

He also teaches ESL at Malcolm X College and is a doctoral student at Denver Seminary. But even with cross-cultural experience and advanced Arabic, Charlie is quick to insist you don’t need a résumé or a special calling to love your Muslim neighbors—you just need a neighborly faith.

“Calling almost seems to be this weird word that says it’s like a spiritual word to cancel out what I don’t want to do,” Charlie says. “I’m always on a mission to not use that word.”

The “calling” escape hatch—and the neighbor in front of you

In many Christian spaces, calling can become a holy-sounding exit ramp: That’s not my thing.

I’m not trained. Someone else is better at that. But Jesus keeps tugging us away from abstractions and back to faces and names. Not “love humanity in general,” but: Who is your neighbor? Who feels unfamiliar? Who have you been trained to fear? Who would you rather

keep at arm’s length?

Charlie’s point isn’t that engagement with Muslims is always easy. It’s that the first step usually isn’t complicated. It’s often just moving toward the person God has already placed near you.

The day Charlie said yes (before he felt ready)

Charlie traces his start not to a master plan, but to a moment on a university campus in 2011. At the University of Tulsa in his early days of vocational ministry, he found himself near a significant Middle Eastern student community. Because Tulsa is a major petroleum engineering

school—with many Middle Eastern students connected to that pipeline—Charlie and other campus ministry/nonprofit leaders in the area were invited to meet visiting Middle Eastern investors. At the meeting, one of the investors asked a blunt question:

“Are you guys hostile to Muslims being on your campus?”

Charlie recalls having no background in the Middle Eastern world, but still choosing to step toward it—“I don’t even know what I’m getting into, but this is great. I want to do it.”

That yes became Friday nights at a mosque in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma—meals, conversations, repeat visits, and steady exposure to real people. Over time, he realized something that should both humble and motivate Christians: many Muslims have never heard a clear, accurate explanation of what Christians actually believe—unless Christians are willing to show up and keep engaging.

CHARLIE’S CORE CHALLENGE IS NOT “LEARN MORE FACTS.” IT’S TO STAY PRESENT LONGER THAN YOUR REFLEXES WANT TO.

Two practices that make “love your neighbor” real

Charlie highlights two practices that have maximized the impact of his ministry:

1. Listen longer than comfortable

Charlie’s core challenge is not “learn more facts.” It’s to stay present longer than your reflexes want to.

“Can we listen longer than comfortable? When we see that check-out moment, can we intentionally turn it back on?,” he asks.

He describes how quickly we slip into “enemy mode.” We hear a headline, a political opinion, a doctrinal difference—and our bodies tense. We either check out or gear up to correct. But love looks like noticing the moment you’re about to mentally leave the conversation, and choosing to re-enter with curiosity.

Try this: the next time you feel defensive, don’t retreat or attack—ask one honest question. “Help me understand how you see that.” “What was your experience?” “What does your faith look like day-to-day?” Then stay. Understanding usually takes more than one conversation—and trust is built by returning.

2. Turn holidays into “others-days”

Open your home. Charlie and his wife have built a family rhythm of hospitality—especially toward people who are new, lonely, or overlooked.

“We say that holidays are not relatives days, they’re others days.”

One Thanksgiving, a Muslim family came over to Charlie’s home and began crying at the door—because it was the first time they’d ever been welcomed into an American home. The moment wasn’t “a ministry program.” It was simple welcome doing what it does: telling someone, you are not invisible here.

At Christmas, they welcomed another Muslim family. Charlie’s wife offered that they all read the story of Mary giving birth to Jesus together, then discussed a few simple questions—What stands out? What does this show you about God?

In Charlie’s telling, what made the night beautiful wasn’t that everyone agreed. It was that everyone participated. He says they even handed the passage and questions to one of their Muslim guests, who helped guide the group through the reading and conversation—and the

observations that emerged were fascinating.

UNDERSTANDING USUALLY TAKES MORE THAN ONE CONVERSATION—AND TRUST IS BUILT BY RETURNING.

Charlie’s day-to-day rhythm of befriending Muslims relies on movements like these:

Replace “calling” with a name. Choose one Muslim neighbor/coworker/classmate and learn their name and story.
Make the second conversation the goal. End the first talk by scheduling coffee or a walk.
Ask one honest question—then don’t correct the first answer. Practice listening longer than comfortable.
Offer one doorway of hospitality. A meal. Coffee at your table. A holiday invitation.
Share a piece of your faith without turning it into a fight. Tell your story, or read a short Scripture passage and discuss it like humans.
Bring a friend. Tell someone from church what happened—and invite them to try one small step too.

A final word about “calling”

If you feel the familiar hesitation—I’m not built for this; I don’t know enough; I’m not called—Charlie would likely tell you what his own story proves: you don’t have to see the whole path to take the next faithful step.

Or, in his words:

“I don’t even know what I’m getting into, but this is great. I want to do it.”

Maybe that’s the invitation for many of us. Not a new title. Not a new program. Just a decision to treat the neighbor in front of you as your assignment—and to start with listening and welcome.