Well, just for fun, here is the story of the creation of the new Muslim, Mohamed Na'kist. This is a true story, hands on the Bible.
The small musty room was filled with anger and passion. Bilal Qasim's roar drowned out the rather loud moan of the wind outside; the regular pitter-patter of hail on the roof of the shack could not be heard either. "Why", asked Bilal with blood in his eyes, "why do you believe in that silly story? How can Almighty God have a son? This is absurd".
"But I do not believe in any religion.." Gunter Nyquist replied sheepishly. "Then why do you have a Christian name?" demanded Bilal, thumping the squeaky table recently aquired from the newly renovated Bakery down the road that had laid its old tables out near the garbage bin. "Why?"
"What can I do? That is the way it is! What kind of name do you expect me to have?" asked Gunter, his blue eyes starting to water.
"Now we are getting somewhere! Fill the empty space in your heart, brother. You have not been born a Muslim, but you do not have to die a Kaafir! Bismillah! Join me. Join us. Join the religion that Almighty God Himself has sent to us through his last Prophet, peace be upon him."
This went on for three weeks. Gunter's mornings were filled with visits from Bilal, his evenings with visits to the Jaallenpinschen Mosque. Imams were met, sermons were internalized, hands were shaken, and slowly, quietly, the absolute reality of the Reward took firm hold of Gunter's fevered brain.
A week later, Bilal came in a bit later than normal. After a long lunch, Bilal reached into his leather bag and pulled something out. "To help you", he said. "Read this..." he intoned, very solemnly displaying a newspaper clipping....
The small musty room was filled with anger and passion. Bilal Qasim's roar drowned out the rather loud moan of the wind outside; the regular pitter-patter of hail on the roof of the shack could not be heard either. "Why", asked Bilal with blood in his eyes, "why do you believe in that silly story? How can Almighty God have a son? This is absurd".
"But I do not believe in any religion.." Gunter Nyquist replied sheepishly. "Then why do you have a Christian name?" demanded Bilal, thumping the squeaky table recently aquired from the newly renovated Bakery down the road that had laid its old tables out near the garbage bin. "Why?"
"What can I do? That is the way it is! What kind of name do you expect me to have?" asked Gunter, his blue eyes starting to water.
"Now we are getting somewhere! Fill the empty space in your heart, brother. You have not been born a Muslim, but you do not have to die a Kaafir! Bismillah! Join me. Join us. Join the religion that Almighty God Himself has sent to us through his last Prophet, peace be upon him."
This went on for three weeks. Gunter's mornings were filled with visits from Bilal, his evenings with visits to the Jaallenpinschen Mosque. Imams were met, sermons were internalized, hands were shaken, and slowly, quietly, the absolute reality of the Reward took firm hold of Gunter's fevered brain.
A week later, Bilal came in a bit later than normal. After a long lunch, Bilal reached into his leather bag and pulled something out. "To help you", he said. "Read this..." he intoned, very solemnly displaying a newspaper clipping....