HOW I EXPLAINED THE TRINITY TO A MUSLIM
BY YOUNGIN YOO
A day of me traveling from Chicago O’Hare to Jordan was suddenly interrupted by a sixteen-hour layover in the labyrinthine layout of Istanbul Airport. As the delay deepened and the traveler tension increased among those stranded there, one day standing by a gate stood a helpless stillness, I was among a sea of waiting passengers waiting on a soundless vigil. I saw another guy looking at the departure screen, a sad expression of fatigue on his face, and I took the chance.
“Did the flight get delayed again?” I asked in Arabic.
He faced me back, briefly taken aback at the sound of the accent in his voice just then smiled before answering with a weary smile, “Yes, sadly once again.”
Then, his eyes turned curious. “Are you perchance Muslim?”
“No,” I said. “I am a Christian studying Biblical and Theological Studies in Chicago.”
His curiosity grew, then came the question that is often at the center of the schism between our faiths. “Don’t you believe that Jesus is the Son of God?”
Rather, this was nothing abstract, not an abstract doctrine, for me, but the core of my being. “Yes,” I said. “I believe Jesus Christ is the Son of God, who died for my sins. Every one of us falls short, and I know I could never fully pay for my own failings. So Jesus did that for me. I didn't ask for it, but He did it because He loves me for who I am—someone made in the image of God.”
He looked momentarily stunned. “I’ve never met a Christian who explained it so practically,” he admitted. “My other Christian friends… They've said they go to church because they need to be good Christians.”
I considered this. “They might not yet understand the true meaning of why they go,” I offered gently. “But the Holy Spirit can transform anyone as they spend time with the Lord.”
“Maybe I get it. I don’t believe in it, but thank you for explaining. Now I understand how loving your God is.”
The conversation deepened when he revealed another common point of confusion: the Christian belief in three gods. I acknowledged the mystery, offering an analogy I had found helpful. “Imagine an artist who has a vision in their mind,” I began. “They take that vision and create a portrait—a beautiful work of art. The artist, the vision in their mind, and the portrait they create are all distinct, yet they are inseparable. The portrait comes from the artist through the vision. And God the Father is that artist, the Son is the perfect image or portrait of the Father, and the Holy Spirit is the shared love and vision between them.” I smiled. “No one can perfectly explain the Trinity, but this offers a glimpse into our belief in one God in three persons.” I gave him the green light, “Yes.”
What impressed me most was his mindfulness. He didn’t interrupt or debate anything. He was as passive as a hawk, ears intent on putting in words all he could figure out as he listened: not wanting insight that was just a new and wrong view, that would be of a kind to what he wanted to hear. Finally, he spoke. “Maybe I get it. I don’t believe in it, but thank you for explaining. Now I understand how loving your God is.”
I realized that this kind of conversation can connect even the broadest divides when we decide to let down all the brokenness in the world, and share our hearts.
His words hit me profoundly. He was not there to argue, to convert, or to be converted. He was there, in that crowded airport, willing to listen to a stranger, to genuinely try and comprehend my Christological belief—not as an adversary, but as a brother, as a friend he’d just met.
As the time flew by, our conversation drifted from theology to the simple, human things that connect us. During our endless wait for our plane ride, we shared some jokes, asked if I could pray for him and his prayer requests and of course our delayed flight, we laughed. The conversations led to the discovery of our interest in soccer, debates about our favorite players, and we exchanged life stories and lores about our backgrounds and favorite foods. It just started as a casual conversation, but it turned out to be a genuine, cheerful friendship that bloomed based on mutual respect and openness to listen. No judgment, no presupposition thoughts about one’s stereotype, but just a brotherly conversation. In that unanticipated delay, I realized that this kind of conversation can connect even the broadest divides when we decide to let down all the brokenness in the world, and share our hearts.
YoungIn Koo is a junior at Wheaton College in Wheaton, Illinois.