When Raymond Saba found faith, he stopped running from his past. (By Craig Herndon – The Washingon Post)

By Raymond Saba
Saturday, November 28, 1998; Page D07

I arrived in America in 1971 at age 18, penniless, knowing no English – and without a family name.

I was born in Lebanon. My father came from a prominent Christian family. He was an Army officer stationed in Syria and already was married with children when he returned to Lebanon with a young Syrian Muslim servant girl. That girl was my mother.

We lived as Muslims in Christian neighborhoods. My father was gone for months at a time, and we were abused by our neighbors. I remember my mother stumbling home, blue and bleeding, after being beaten by the men of the town who considered her a prostitute.

She used to cry out, "God, I accept my condition, but I beg you, save my children." She addressed her prayers to Allah, Muhammad, Jesus, Mary – to anyone who might help. There was no answer.

My father acknowledged me and the four other children my mother bore him and gave us his name. But after my father was shot to death by political opponents, his family legally stripped us of the right to use the name. I had no father, no name and no place in my own society.

My school was near Palestinian refugee camps. I identified with the Palestinians. They were orphans like me. The living conditions in the camps were inhuman, and in the face of such suffering, I became a hardened radical at an early age. I said, "God, if you exist, come down here, and I will show you the injustice of your creation." He did not answer.

When I arrived in America, I immediately loved it here. Americans liked me and rewarded my hard work. I became a citizen and took a new name.

One day, a friend told me he believed in Jesus. I couldn't believe he was serious, and I began mocking him and mocking Jesus. For years, he was patient. Finally, he said, "Raymond, the scriptures say, 'If they do not receive your testimony, shake the dust off your feet and walk away.' We will not discuss this again."

I was offended, and I was afraid. A door had been closed in my face.

Some time later, I read Chuck Colson's "Born Again." I didn't like Colson, not because of his role in Watergate, but because he had been part of an administration I felt had turned its back on Lebanon. I read every chapter several times, trying to find his hidden agenda. I couldn't find one. By the time I finished the book, I was convinced Colson knew God on a first-name basis. I was jealous.

I said, "God, if you really exist like this book says you do, I want to know you." Suddenly, I found myself on the floor, my face in the carpet, crying my heart out, feeling so sinful and desperate, knowing I needed this God in my life.

After about 15 minutes, I regained control. I knew God would require drastic changes in my life, and some things I wasn't willing to change. Being a businessman, I "negotiated" a deal with God. I had three conditions: no Jews, no Jesus and no returning to the Middle East.

I had hated Jews all my life. I held them responsible for the Palestinians' plight. I was willing to believe in God, but I could not believe in Jesus. Finally, I had escaped the world where my family was treated so cruelly. I would never return. Ever!

I believed God and I had a deal. I slept well that night. Within days, God began showing me visions of my past. I smelled the salt air of the Mediterranean and the orange groves where I grew up. I saw critical times in my life when I was in accidents and should have died. God was saying: "Here I was with you. There I was with you." I was overwhelmed by his faithfulness. My heart ached. He had been my friend all those lonely years, and I had never known him.

God dealt with my "conditions" one by one. While watching a videotaped interview of an Israeli official deriding Arabs, I realized the Jewish people were enslaved by their hatred the same way I had been enslaved by mine. Instead of being angry, I began to cry. In an instant, God demolished my political beliefs. The Jewish people no longer were my enemies. They were just people. I had compassion for them.

Then, while reading the Gospel of John, I was transported back to Jesus's time. I was with the disciples. I was with Him as He went to the cross, and at that moment, I realized I loved Him. He was the first leader I had ever encountered who died for His people. Jesus didn't ask His disciples to die for Him: He died for them.

And just as God changed my heart toward the Jews, He changed my heart toward the Arabs. He took away my bitterness for the violence against my family and the humiliation of losing my name. In 1997, and again in 1998, I traveled to the Middle East to tell the Arab people how much God loves them.

My wife used to say I would never get where I was going because "you're running away from your past."

But I'm not running anymore, and the hatred is gone.

Raymond Saba, 45, lives in Washington with his wife and two teenage sons. He owns a construction business and worships with other Arab Christians on Sunday afternoons at a Baptist church in Rockville.