This article, written by Iranian-American journalist Tara Jamali, was first published by Premier Christianity magazine, under the headline, ‘The Iranians stormed this church and forced its closure. But I’ll never forget the Christians I met there’, and is republished in part here with kind permission. The full article can be accessed on Premier’s website.

The cross glistened in the rays of the afternoon sun. I could see it in the distance as I made my way up Qods Street. The area was home to the University of Tehran, and college students were out and about. I took a right on Taleghani Street and slowed down as the arched windows came into view. Nearing the premises, I saw a sign on the entrance: “This church is closed due to major repairs. Please do not return.”

I closed my eyes, trying to take it all in. How could this Assemblies of God (AOG) church in the heart of the capital, once so lively and thriving, be abandoned? Its stillness contrasted with the bustle and banter from the university students a couple of streets away. Looking in their direction, I realised they were close to the age I was when I first set foot in Iran 20 years ago.

I was born in America to an Iranian Muslim family but was baptised at a Lutheran church as a child. Fortunately, my family did not mind my conversion. 

I had travelled back to Iran in 2005 after being accepted onto an English translation programme at a high-ranking university. I had gone as far as visiting the campus and finding accommodation. Everything was good to go, but it didn’t work out. Instead, I decided to pursue something closer to my heart and investigated the possibility of publishing Beyond the Darkness (Simon & Schuster, 1995), the true story of Angie Fenimore, which I had translated into Farsi. 

Angie was a victim of child abuse. She had attempted suicide in the hope of escaping her suffering but, in a near-death experience, descended into a realm of darkness and terror, only to encounter Christ. Suicide was on the rise among Iranian women, and I believed this story about overcoming trauma and embracing life would resonate with them.

I was told I may find help with my book project at the AOG church in Tehran. Established in the mid-20th century, it was one of a handful of churches built before the 1979 Islamic Revolution, after which the Iranian government prohibited the construction of new churches. There, I met Pastor Henri, who was intrigued by the topic of my book and arranged for me to visit his wife, Marina.

At their home, Marina, who is half Armenian and half Assyrian, treated me to Turkish coffee and nazook, an Armenian pastry with nuts and a cream filling. In her living room, which looks out over the garden, my eyes were drawn to a large, gold frame on the wall containing a collage of portraits.

Sensing my curiosity, Marina explained that they were all church leaders in Iran who had lost their lives for their faith. One, wearing a white Roman collar and with an intense look in his eyes, stood out. Bishop Haik Hovsepian, head of the Iranian Assemblies of God, had staunchly advocated for religious freedom. His campaign in the early 1990s to release Mehdi Dibaj, a fellow pastor who spent 10 years in prison and was sentenced to death for apostasy, received global attention. 

“Haik would preach the message that, in the church, when one member is in pain, all are in pain,” Marina said. “He took it upon himself to see that his colleague received justice.” But there was a price to pay. Days after Dibaj’s release, Haik disappeared and was later found dead. He had been stabbed repeatedly in the chest.

Marina described how others in the collage had met similar fates: Tateos Michaelian, a beloved pastor and Bible translator, was shot in cold blood in Tehran only months after Haik’s death. Dibaj was abducted and found dead in the forests of Karaj five months after his release. Bagher Yusefi, known as “the soul giver”, was hung by the neck in the woods of Gorgan two years later. And in 2005, Ghorban Tourani had his throat slit on his own doorstep. His family found his bloodied, lifeless body on their way home shortly after. Their murderers were never identified or brought to trial.

After our meeting, I remained in touch with Marina. She led women’s Bible studies in her home, and dozens of young women looked up to her as a mentor and confidante. At the time, I was living in the northern province of Mazandaran, 180 kilometres away from Tehran. Visiting Marina entailed boarding a bus at 5am to journey through the winding, mountainous road to the capital. Yet I made the trek whenever I could.

You can read the rest of the article on Premier’s website.