The Gospel in Afghan Pashto Poetry, Proverbs and Folklore

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THE GOSPEL IN AFGHAN PASHTO POETRY,
PROVERBS AND FOLKLORE
Leonard N. Bartlotti
Bartlotti, Leonard N. (Len). “The Gospel in Afghan Pashto Poetry, Proverbs and Folklore.” In David Emmanuel Singh
(ed.), Jesus and the Cross: Reflections of Christians from Islamic Contexts (Oxford: Regnum, 2008), pp. 67-83.

THE GOSPEL IN AFGHAN PASHTO POETRY, PROVERBS AND
FOLKLORE
Leonard N. Bartlotti
Dr Leonard N. Bartlotti serves as a consultant to faith-based organizations
engaged in development work in Afghanistan, Pakistan and Central Asia
Introduction
The blood feuds, treachery and violence usually associated with the jagged
borderlands of Afghanistan are a surprising landscape in which to discover
cultural gems that reflect the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The premise of this paper
is that embedded within Muslim cultures - specifically, within the ‘folk’
literature and ‘lore’ of Muslim ethnic groups, there are significant resources for
contextualizing and telling the story of the Cross, and for peace-making, inter-
faith dialogue and reconciliation. These folk notions, narrative themes, oral
forms, and localized traditions can provide conceptual, theological, cultural
and aesthetic bridges to the hearts and minds of Muslim peoples, and an
indigenous mechanism to contest more militant, chauvinistic and hegemonic
religious understandings that may promote conflict.
Some approaches to Christian-Muslim relations foreground notions
associated with religious and communal identity and inter-faith polemics. Inter-
religious dialogue tends to involve, by definition, religious discourse and an
implicit or explicit marking of communal boundaries. Conversations on faith
issues are generally not only communal but textual, deriving from and based
upon the authority of scriptures and written interpretative traditions. Yet,
however globalised our faith discourse, inevitably authentic dialogue between
believers and faith communities must be actualized in local dialogue in specific
contexts, in relationships and faith conversations between a Self and Others in
which the unique nuances of local language, identity and custom can be
appreciated and affirmed, and the meaning of Jesus in that context can be
explored.
Folklore is related to the worldview of a culture, and as Kraft affirms, ‘one
would look to fables, proverbs, riddles, songs, and other forms of folklore for
overt and covert indications of the worldview.’1 A folkloristic approach to
Muslim cultures can help us understand the dynamics of local meaning systems
and their expressions in and through oral literature and other traditional forms.
1 Kraft, 1979: 55

76 Jesus and the Cross
An examination of the proverbs, poetry, and folklore of ethnic peoples can
uncover an ‘implicit theology…a grassroots or oral theology’ as a resource for
faith dialogue in local terms and for the indigenisation of Biblical faith.2
This paper argues for a reappraisal and re-emphasis on Islamic folklore in
the context of a broader anthropological approach to Muslim peoples. Within
ethnic folkloric traditions, followers of Jesus from any faith background may
discern images of the Cross.3 The paper presents a case study of a folkloristic
approach to Islam and ethnic contextualization of the message of the Gospel.
Instead of a ‘reflection on’ the Cross, I will look at ‘reflections of’ the Cross in
a particular Islamic context, specifically, the way concepts associated with the
Cross are reflected in the folklore of the Muslim Pashtun people of Afghanistan
and north west Pakistan. I will focus on three interrelated themes - Separation
and Reunion, Friendship and Reconciliation - as these are expressed in a
selection of Pashto poetry and folklore.
Background
The Pashtun are the largest ethnic group in Afghanistan and are the traditional
rulers of that land; Pashtuns also formed the ethnic core of the infamous
Taliban movement which controlled the country until 2001. In neighbouring
Pakistan, Pashtuns comprise a significant minority, particularly in the
treacherous mountain borderlands of the North West Frontier Province and
Baluchistan, and in the city of Karachi. The 27 million Pashtun have been
called the largest Muslim tribal society in the world.4
Pashtun identity is distinguished by certain common attributes: patrilineal
descent from a putative common ancestor, Islamic faith, and a set of
understandings, customs and behaviours associated with the traditional code of
honour and customary law called pashtunwali (or pakhto, the same name as the
language).5 Pashtuns speak of ‘doing pakhto’ and ‘having pakhto.’ This code
of behaviour and value orientations emphasise male autonomy, and egality,
self-expression and aggression, and practices like hospitality (melmastia),
2 Bediako, 1995: 59-60
3 Material for this article is drawn from research and personal conversations
with Afghan and Pakistani Muslims over a period of fourteen years (1985-
1999), when the author and his family lived and worked in the Pashtun city of
Peshawar, Pakistan, and the author’s doctoral research on Pashto proverbs,
Islam and the construction of Pashtun identity. This article is based on lectures
given in a variety of locations over the past five years, most recently in Kabul,
Afghanistan, to an inter-agency gathering of NGO leaders and workers,
November, 2004
4 Anderson, 1988: 168 and Hart, 1985: 3
5 Barth, 1981 [1969]: 103-106

The Gospel in Afgham Pashto Poetry 77
revenge (badal), refuge (pana) and asylum (nanawati).6
For many Pashtuns, the Pashto language also represents an important
symbol of identity and group membership, as well as functioning to transmit
systems of meaning and patterns of thought and behaviour in a variety of
domains central to Pashtun life.7 Nevertheless, Pashtuns say, ‘He is a Pathan
(Pashtun) who does Pashto, not (merely) who speaks Pashto,’8 a proverb that
cajoles Pashto speakers toward honourable and manly pakhto action.
‘Doing pakhto’ also involves the skilful use of words. Pashtun identity is
constructed and contested not only in and through social fora (the hujra or
men’s guest house; hospitality; purdah or the honorable maintenance of
domestic life), but in the verbal arena. In this context, highly valued folkloric
genres like proverbs and folk poetry are important cultural resources and
rhetorical tools for the reconstruction and negotiation of meanings associated
with Pashtunness and Pashtun identity (Bartlotti, 2000a).
Islam and Honour
In my conversations with Afghan and Pakistani Pashtun friends and
acquaintances from urban and rural contexts over the last twenty years, I have
had many opportunities, over extravagant meals and myriad cups of sweet chai,
to talk about a variety of life issues. On many occasions have my Pashtun hosts
respectfully raised questions about the nature of my personal faith. However
inquisitive, they also relish the opportunity to explain - in their own terms -
their Islamic faith. This sometimes includes cynical, humorous and anti-clerical
comments, and less than ‘orthodox’ or ‘fundamental’ understandings of ‘true
Islam.’ Pashtun ‘quoting behaviour’ in these settings may include proverbs,
poetry and stories as much if not more than Qur’anic verses.
Islam and pashtunwali, faith and honour, constitute two distinct ideologies,
moral authorities and discourses among the Pashtun. Islamic terms, idioms and
understandings are reflected in folklore, and flavour conversations and
interactions.9 Nevertheless, the boundary between Muslimness and Pashtuness,
Islamic identity and ethnic identity, is clearly marked in the content, discourse
and usage of folklore.10
Pragmatically and inductively, I discovered that, instead of foregrounding
our communal religious identities, it can be more helpful to discuss religion in
Pashtun ethnic, folkloric and cultural terms, rather than exclusively religious
(Islamic or Christian) terms. My most fruitful conversations have taken place
on the grounds of our common identity as men who enjoy the Pashtun pastime
6 Bartlotti, 2000a: 67-74. See also Caroe, 1985 and Spain, 1962
7 Bartlotti, 2000a: 74
8 Cited by Barth, 1969b: 105
9 Ahmed, 1984
10 Bartlotti, 2000b

78 Jesus and the Cross
of ‘chatting’ and ‘gossiping’ (gup lugawel) informally about anything under the
sun. Rather than emphasizing the assumed and/or ascribed labels of ‘Muslim’
and ‘Christian,’11 we talk as ‘believers’ and people of faith, men who
understand ourselves to be frail, weak human beings grateful for the mercies
and blessings of a Holy God. In such settings, Pashto folk literature and poetry,
especially proverbs, folk poetry (landay, also known as tappas), songs, and
classical poetry, have provided forms, a common language, and a traditional,
inoffensive, culturally accepted mechanism for the expression of personal
views and sentiments, including religious sentiments.
Theology and Culture
Anthropologists have argued that anthropology must inform missions.12
Theologically, the cultural and historical particularity of the Incarnation
demonstrates that ‘God has taken both humanity and culture seriously.’ The
Incarnation tells us that ‘God is not afraid of using culture to communicate with
us.’13 Thus, the Incarnation is the supreme model for ministry and for
communication.
Despite the acknowledgement of the value of proverbs, poetry and the verbal
arts, there appear to be relatively few Christian practitioners who are actively
researching and theologising using folklore in Islamic contexts. Yet in the
world of Muslim folklore and oral literature, ‘Islam’ is often a softer, gentler
reality, mellowed by local and/or Sufi understandings of God as Beloved
Friend, and by blunt critiques of official religion, its institutional expressions
and leaders.
Some writers14 encourage a deeper understanding of ‘Folk Islam.’15
Nevertheless, these studies of ‘folk Islam’ tend to focus on local and ‘occult’
beliefs and practices, rather than the ‘folk.’ The full range of genres, local
meanings and performances associated with the field of folklore studies and
embraced by the concepts of ‘folklore and folk life’ have been overlooked.16
11 In recent years, in several Asian contexts, new social movements have
emerged comprised of Muslim followers of Jesus who reject these dichotomies;
these ‘insider movements’ consider themselves Muslim (culturally and
communally) but, having experienced the love of God in Christ, have chosen to
follow Jesus. See John Travis and Anna Travis (2005)
12 Kraft, 1979, Hiebert, 1985 and Whiteman, 2004
13 Whiteman, 2004: 84
14 See e.g., Love, 2000 and Parshall, 1983
15 See e.g., proverbial stereotypes of the mulla in Pashto proverbs in Bartlotti,
2000a: 256-71
16 ‘Folk Islam’ is generally contrasted with ‘Formal Islam.’ Though the term
‘folk Islam’ is now out of favour with most Islamicists and anthropologists, it
has helped to focus attention on the spiritualistic orientation of what some have

The Gospel in Afgham Pashto Poetry 79
Also unrecognized or not emphasized in discussions of ‘folk Islam’ are the
unique ethnic understandings, practices, and views of the world, self and Other
that together comprise local ‘folk’ identity. In most Christian explorations of
‘folk Islam,’ the emphasis is on ‘Islam,’ not the ‘folk.’
For Christians, the ‘anthropology of Islam’ can lead toward a more
appreciative and nuanced insight into Muslim diversity and ethnic identity. This
approach also illumines the degree to which ‘Islam’ is grounded in local social
realities and understandings. Anthropologically oriented studies of Muslim
peoples tend to avoid questions of orthodoxy and orthopraxy, and focus on
local meanings associated with Islamic symbols, the way in which Islam is
understood and practised in local contexts.17 The concern is with the ‘shared
local traditions’ and ‘particularistic interpretations’ among Muslims in a given
locale.18
In what follows, I have selected several texts that highlight themes in Pashto
folklore that provide a language for dialogue about faith, and a means to
contextualize and ‘gift wrap’ the Gospel more artfully into local Pashtun terms.
Each of these texts is at once a conceptual, theological, cultural and aesthetic
bridge to the minds and hearts of Pashtuns, and a means of theologizing in
indigenous local terms. Though derived from a (Central and South Asian)
Afghan and Pakistani context, the approach is suggestive of a more general
approach to local theologies and contextualizing the Good News of Jesus in
Islamic contexts, and of folk communication using traditional genres.
Biblically, this approach can be grounded in the ‘Wisdom tradition’ of
Scripture, which includes the Book of Proverbs, Song of Solomon, Job and
Ecclesiastes. More broadly, God’s Word in the Bible comes to us through a
variety of oral and written literary genres, including, in addition to proverbs,
songs, poetry, letters, riddles, chants, blessings, curses, covenants, genealogies,
stories, parables, etc., as well as a host of other historical-cultural and folkloric
details. In the ancient Near East, there is also evidence of a category of person
called a ‘wise man,’ for example, Daniel, who was trained in ‘the language and
literature” of the Babylonians, and to whom ‘God gave knowledge and
understanding of all kinds of literature and learning,’ as well as supernatural
insight (Daniel 1:4,17). Jesus Christ, the Master Teacher, communicated with
common people using local images, idioms and genres.
The first examples below are in the form of landay (also called tappas), a
unique form of folk poetry among the Pashtun.19 Landay is considered the
called ‘popular Islam,’ and the emotional and mystical beliefs and practices of
everyday Muslims, including issues of spiritual power (power persons, objects,
places, times and rituals) (see e.g. Love, 2000: 19-38)
17 Eickelman, 1982
18 Eickelman, 1995: 341, 339
19 The largest collection of tappas is available in two volumes; Shaheen (ed.)
1984, 1994)

80 Jesus and the Cross
oldest and most popular genre of Pashto poetry. These brief, anonymous,
highly structured folk poems tell a story in two unequally metered lines (9 +
13), and always end with the sound of the letter he. Equally popular among
men and women, landay are sung at a variety of social occasions, e.g. weddings
and times of grief, as well as in the context of daily life; though traditionally
sung without instruments, they may be sung accompanied by instruments (a
flute, or the lute-like rebab and mangay, a waterpot used as a drum), or merely
quoted in conversations.20 The themes of these poems vary widely, from
romance to religion, happiness to grief, using images from the daily social and
cultural life of the Pashtun. Also included below are sample proverbs and
sayings.
Separation and Reunion
(1) In the school (madrasah) of separation (beltun)
I read the Book (kitab) of sorrows (gham), and weep.
The theme of ‘separation’ is common in Persian poetry and that of other
Indo-Iranian languages. In Pashto, this notion is expressed by the terms judai
and beltun.
The ‘separation’ referred to in the text above depends on the situational and
linguistic context in which the words are spoken or sung, and may refer, for
example, to the separation of the Lover from the Beloved, a man from his
family (e.g. by the requirements of a job or exile due to a blood feud), or the
ultimate separation of loved ones at death.
The anonymous poet uses a distinctly Islamic term, madrasah, a religious
school, and metaphorically likens his experience of grief to one undergoing the
strict discipline of the ‘madrasah of Separation.’ In this school, the primary
textbook is not the usual ‘Book’ (kitab, the Qur’an), but the ‘Book of Sorrows.’
Here the poet employs another aesthetically powerful Pashto term, the
concept expressing emotion, gham. The term, gham, can be glossed variously
as ‘sorrow,’ ‘grief,’ ‘mournng’, ‘burden,’ ‘suffering,’ or ‘troubles,’ and is a
common theme in Pashto poetry, music, drama, and proverbs.21 Pashtuns
commonly visit each other at gham events, for example, illnesses, deaths and
times of loss. As Grima has shown, the construction of honour among Pashtun
women is associated with the endurance of suffering, and expressions of the
emotion of sorrow (gham) through stories told in the context of women’s visits
20 Aziz (2006) and ‘Hujra.net’ (2006) for a contemporary collection of
transliterated untranslated tappas
21 For proverbs using the term gham, see Rohi Mataluna (Pashto Proverbs),
Bartlotti and Shah Khattak (eds.) (2006, forthcoming)

The Gospel in Afgham Pashto Poetry 81
(tapos).22
In the above poem, the lessons learned are the fateful lessons of life,
supremely the grief associated with separation from one you love. In the
textbook of life’s ‘school of separation,’ one learns the inevitability of tears.
The succinct narrative of this tappa is paralleled in the Book of Genesis
(Chapters 1-3), where God’s relationship with Adam and Eve is described in
words filled with pathos and delicate anthropomorphism. ‘They heard the
sound of the LORD God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze,
and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the LORD God
among the trees of the garden.’23
In the beginning, humankind enjoyed an intimate friendship with Almighty
God. Tragically, Adam and Eve’s wilful sin resulted not only in judicial
condemnation, but separation from God and expulsion from the Garden. By
siding with Satan and his rebellion, Adam and Eve condemned themselves and
their progeny to separation from God, fractured relationships with each other,
and a life of pain and tears. Their hearts and ours bear the inscribed memory of
love’s Garden lost. Since that time, humankind has suffered the disciplines of
‘the school of separation;’ we ‘read the Book of sorrows, and weep.’
The concept of separation and its primacy in the emotional and poetic life of
Pashtuns provides a way to speak of the concept and consequences of sin in
relational, emotional, aesthetic and narrative (each landey tells a 2-line story)
terms, in contrast with a more judicial, religious and conceptual discussion of
sin, law, and judgment. This story line of ‘separation’ and ‘love lost’ sets the
stage, for the larger Story of God’s love, and for the New Testament concept of
‘reconciliation.’ The notion of ‘reunion’ is more clearly implied in the
following landay.
(2) Separation (judayi) came, our paths became two;
I accept death, I do not accept separation!
In this poem, ‘separation’ is personified, an evil being whose arrival cruelly
separates the Lover from the Beloved, friend from friend, a dear one from his
family. When ‘Separation came,’ the Lover laments, I was torn away from the
one I love: ‘our paths became two.’
But there is a change of tone in the second line of the poem. The Pashtun
experiences not only the pain and sorrow of separation, but defiance! The
disjunction in emotion between the first and second line is best expressed by
the Pashtun concept ghairat. The notion of ghairat is at the very heart of
Pashtun culture, and captures the spirit of autonomy, pride, zeal, courage and
22 For a discussion of the concept expressing emotion, gham, in Pashtun
society, particularly among women, see Grima, 1993
23 Genesis 3:8 (NRSV 1996, c1989)

82 Jesus and the Cross
manly self-assertion associated with being Pashtun and ‘doing pakhto.’ When
insulted or challenged, ghairat wells up in the heart of a Pashtun. To be be-
ghairat (without honour) is to be shamed, weak, impotent. It is ghairat that
compels a Pashtun to defend his honour and that of his women, family and
tribe, whatever the cost, as expressed in the Pashto proverb,
(3) A Pashtun will throw himself in the fire for the sake of his honour (ghairat).
Thus, despite Separation’s power and intent to divide Lover and Beloved,
the true ghairati Pashtun cannot and will not tolerate separation. He would
rather embrace death than be separated from his Beloved: ‘I accept death, I do
not accept separation!’
In this simple, highly evocative couplet, we discover a reflection of the
profound essence of the Gospel story. When God created mankind, God the
Lover and man the Beloved lived in unity and happiness.24 But through sin and
Satan, ‘separation came.’ We were separated from God and ever since have
walked a lonely path of disobedience, darkness and sorrow. All of the violence,
revenge, selfishness, and corruption we see around us, not only in Afghanistan
but in our own countries and in the world, can be traced to humankind’s being
cut off from a nourishing love-union and life-giving relationship with Almighty
God. Because of sin and Satan, ‘separation came’ between us and God; instead
of walking together on a path of righteousness and friendship, ‘our paths
became two.’
But the second line of the landay expresses a bold truth. Someone loves us
so much that He refuses to tolerate separation. He pursues us as a Lover
pursues the Beloved. He loves us so much that he is willing to die in order for
us to be reunited. ‘God’s sovereign action is a manifestation of His own
ghayrat. As one Pashtun says, ‘God is ghayratmand.’ A Pashtun’s will to act
(ghayrat) reflects the Divine.’25 As ghairat wells up in the heart of God, it is
expressed in holy, self-sacrificing Love.
The story of the Bible can be summed up in this landay, this ‘Sacred
Romance’ on the Afghan frontier. The Redeemer (nijatkawunkey) courageously
‘accepted death’ on a Cross, and laid down His life as a voluntary blood
sacrifice (khunbaha).
In that act of holy ghairat in defiance of Satan and in radical obedience
‘unto death, even death on a cross,’ Jesus ‘becomes flesh’ as an honourable
Pashtun. ‘I lay down my life - only to take it up again. No one takes it from me,
24 Note that in Sufi poetry, man is the one pursuing God as a Lover pursues the
Beloved. In the Bible, God is the One who takes the initiative in a mission to
save and redeem and reconcile mankind to Himself. This is expressed in the
concept of missio Dei, ‘the mission of God,’ and is at the heart of the Christian
concept of mission.
25 Bartlotti, 2000b: 274

The Gospel in Afgham Pashto Poetry 83
but I lay it down of my own account’ (John 10:17-18). His death was an act of
assertive self-sacrifice, an act of love, and an act of honour (obedience to death
for the glory of God). ‘I accept death, I do not accept separation!’
As is apparent in the above, distinctly religious terms and understandings are
not absent from these conversations. The point is, however, that religious terms
and themes are used in the context of folk narrative motifs, discourse and genre
that have conceptual, aesthetic and rhetorical power when used and performed
in a given local or ethnic context. The communication paradigms are more
ethnic, than Islamic; similarly, it is ethnic, not Islamic, identity that is appealed
to and foregrounded in the relationship. Jesus ‘becomes flesh’ as a Pashtun
among Pashtuns, not as an imagined ‘ideal Muslim’ or ‘Christian’ figure.
This is apparent in the use of a manifestly poetic term in the following verse
from the Pashto New Testament (Matthew 5:8):26
(4) Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see (didun) God.
The opposite of ‘separation’ is another theme common in Pashto and Persian
poetry, that of didun (Persian didar), which can be glossed as ‘reunion,’
‘meeting,’ ‘seeing,’ ‘visiting’ (face to face).
The picture is not that of a casual meeting between two people, but of a
dynamic encounter that restores the immediacy of a relationship lost due to
separation. Didun is a folk and literary notion filled with conceptual and
emotive power. For example, when a tribal Pashtun returns home after working
for two years in the Persian Gulf to make money to support his family, and
emerges from the airport to be greeted by a joyful, hugging, weeping throng -
his wife and children, father and relatives, his mother wiping away tears with
her chador, his brother placing a garland around his neck - that is didun. When
a man has been separated from his Beloved, and then, finally, sees her walking
toward him through the field, or meets her at the stream where she fills her
water pot - that encounter is didun. In faces shining with tears of recognition, in
joyful embrace, in the ‘seeing’ and ‘meeting’ and ‘reunion’ of family and
friends, the world disappears and didun happens. Those who were separated are
one again.
Astonishingly, in the verse above, the Lord Jesus promises to the ‘pure in
heart’ a supreme reunion (didun) with God Himself.
In an older version of the Pashto New Testament, the same verse was
translated much as we have it in English versions: ‘Blessed are the pure in heart
for they shall see God.’ ‘To see’ (Pashto, lidel) conveys the visual and factual
reality of ‘seeing’ someone, but in lidel, the ‘seeing’ is more black and white
than in colour, and lacks emotional and relational depth. By using didun - ‘they
shall do or have didun with God’ - the translators have captured (perhaps better
than any English translation) the blessed exhilaration and inexpressible joy that
26 Published in Lahore by Pakistan Bible Society, 1991

84 Jesus and the Cross
shall be the lot of the ‘pure in heart’ who ‘meet’ God on the last Day. His eyes
will gleam as He welcomes the pure in heart to their heavenly home. For the
pure in heart, the joys of paradise (jannat) are not sensual pleasures (as in the
common Muslim understanding), but the pleasure of reunion as the soul meets
its Beloved - didun with God. In this life, while they await and long for that
Day, followers of Jesus enjoy an intimate friendship with God in and through
His Holy Spirit - the gift of His Presence and a foretaste of what is to come.
Through the Spirit of Jesus, the ‘pure in heart’ ‘sees’ - have didun, intimate
prayerful communion with - Almighty God.
Friendship
(5) Some people seek refuge from sorrow;
As for me, I am happy to be submerged in the sorrows of my friend.
The ‘folk’ concept of ‘friendship’ provides a second reflection of the Cross
in Afghanistan. In text #5, the poet touches on two literary and cultural themes,
‘refuge’ and ‘friendship,’ as well as the contrasting emotions of ‘sorrow’ and
‘happiness.’
Friendship is a highly idealized conception in Pashtun culture.27 The Pashtun
world is a dangerous place. In the face of challenges and competition, honour
must be validated consistently through physical and verbal behaviours and
sentiments that are recognized as stereotypically ‘Pashtun.’ In this context,
Pashtuns long to find a ‘true friend.’ Qualities and behaviours associated with
understandings of true friendship include empathy and self-sacrifice, as
encapsulated in the emotive landay above.
The concept of ‘refuge’ is common in Middle Eastern tribal societies,
including traditionally pastoral-nomadic tribes like the Pashtun. Closely tied to
‘hospitality’ (melmastia), offering ‘refuge’ (pana) to strangers and anyone in
need is a core aspect of the pashtunwali code of honour: a host is honour bound
to defend a stranger or guest at the risk of his own life. Even notorious and
unscrupulous characters have found sanctuary in the Pashtun borderlands of
Afghanistan and Pakistan, to the frustration of central and provincial
governments.
An interesting illustration of the vitality of the concept can be seen in an
incident that occurred on June 28, 2005, when a team of four US Navy SEALS
were ambushed by Taliban insurgents in northeastern Afghanistan. Three men
were killed; the fourth commando, severely wounded, managed to crawl to
safety. A few days later, he was discovered by an Afghan shepherd named
Gulab, who brought the man to his Pashtun village. A village council met and
27 See Lindholm, 1982

The Gospel in Afgham Pashto Poetry 85
offered the wounded commando sanctuary. That night, Taliban insurgents
arrived and demanded that the ‘infidel’ be handed over to them. The reply by
the village chief, Shinah, was classically Pashtun: ‘The American is our guest,
and we won’t give him up as long as there’s a man or a woman left alive in our
village.’28
In the poem above, the picture is that of someone desperately ‘seeking
refuge’ from a powerful pursuer, ‘sorrow’ (gham). The first line is stated as a
truism: ‘People want refuge from sorrow,’ that is, they try to hide, seek
sanctuary from, and avoid pain, grief, trouble and sorrow.
But quite in contrast, the poet cries out in the second line, ‘I am happy
(khoshala)’ - the reverse of the emotion gham) to be ‘submerged,’ literally
‘drowned,’ ‘in the sorrows of my friend.’ The term for friend (ashna) is an
endearing word that can be used for one’s ‘darling,’ so there is a hint here of
romantic love. The dominant sentiment is that of empathetic, self-sacrificing
love.
The notion of ‘sacrifice’ or self-sacrifice is implied or expressed explicitly in
various Pashto proverbs, idioms and poetry. It is commonly understood that
‘doing pakhto’ - behaving with the ethos and manners associated with Pashtun
concepts of manliness and honour - is costly. This includes, for example, the
price of liberality and hospitality, as expressed in the following tongue-in-cheek
proverbs:
(6) May I sacrifice my head for you, but don’t ask me for a loan.
(7) May I sacrifice my home for you--but only up to the outside door.
Each of the texts above begins with an idiomatic phrase ‘May I sacrifice my
(self, head, home) for you’ (more on this idiom below), and ends with a clever
counterpoint or proviso ‘but…’
More ‘costly’ for Pashtuns is the responsibility associated with blood feuds
and revenge (badal) and the honour of women (namus). The price of protecting
the honour and reputation of one’s household and womenfolk is expressed in
the following advice,
(7) Sacrifice everything for your life, sacrifice even your life for the honour of
your women.
However, the ‘sacrifice’ of proverb texts #6 through #8 is different from the
(self) ‘sacrifice’ of landay text #5: in the latter, one does not suffer for his own
honour, so much as with and for the sorrows of another. This type of friend
does not hide or flee suffering and grief; he is willing to embrace and endure
happily the overwhelming sorrows faced by his friend. Who would not long for
28 ‘How the Shepherd Saved the SEAL’ (2005)

86 Jesus and the Cross
such a self-sacrificing friend?
The Gospels tell a similar story. Incredibly, Almighty God Himself is not
aloof from our sufferings. The miracle of love is that God comes near to take
on flesh in order to redeem us: ‘God was reconciling the world to himself in
Christ’ (2 Corinthians 5:19). Christ did not ‘seek refuge from sorrow.’ He was
called ‘the friend of tax collectors and sinners’ and ‘wept’ at the death of His
friend Lazarus (Luke 7:34; John 11:35). The night before He died, so great was
His anguish that His sweat was like great drops of blood (Luke 22:44).
Nevertheless, He chose to do the will of God. He drank for us and on our behalf
‘the cup’ of suffering, death and the wrath of God, that we his friends and
followers might drink instead the ‘cup of blessing’ (Luke 22:42; 1 Corinthians
10:16). ‘Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his
friends’ (John 15:13).
Jesus was ‘familiar with suffering’ (Isaiah 53:3), yet it was not his own
suffering He endured, but ours: ‘Surely he took up our infirmities and carried
our sorrows…. He was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our
iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his
wounds we are healed’ (Isaiah 53:4-5). On the Cross, the ‘Man of Sorrows’
(Isaiah 53:3) was ‘submerged’ in our sorrows.
(8) May I sacrifice myself for you!
The phrase introducing proverbs #6 and #7 is also used as a stand-alone
idiomatic phrase in other contexts, as in text #9 above. ‘May I sacrifice
(myself) for you!,’ says a mother to comfort and reassure a crying child. ‘May I
sacrifice (myself) for you!,’ says one friend to another to pledge his loyalty and
devotion in the face of danger, threat, or death. Again, as in earlier expressions,
behind the words is ghairat, the ethos and core value of pashtunwalit -
autonomy, bravery, pride, self-assertion, and zeal.
In 1992, I put this text to music as the theme song of a two-hour Easter
pageant, presented in Pashto and English with songs in four languages (Pashto,
Urdu, Persian and English) performed before a mostly Muslim audience in a
Pakistani city: Qurban de shum (1992). Beginning with Adam and Eve’s
sacrifices of praise in the Garden and their fall into sin, the pageant traced the
theme of sacrifice through the Old Testament and Prophets, up to the sacrifice
of Jesus, ‘The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!’ (John 1:29).
The Cross of Jesus Christ is the ultimate expression of self-sacrificing
friendship, as He says, Qurban de shum - ‘May I sacrifice myself for you!.’
(9) I am not going to heaven without my friend!
A final idiomatic phrase in this category captures the same spirit. The words
are those of a Pashtun standing before Almighty God on the Day of Judgment.
As the door to paradise opens to him, he proclaims, with the audacity and

The Gospel in Afgham Pashto Poetry 87
infamous pride of a true Pashtun and a true friend, ‘I am not going to heaven
without my friend!’
Several years ago, I was visiting an elderly Pakistani scholar. We had
become friends, and used to sit together on his verandah, drink sweet chai and,
in between his frequent visitors, chat about all kinds of subjects.
One day, our private conversation turned to the topic of heaven. He said,
‘Inshallah (if God wills) I will go to heaven.’ ‘But,’ he said with resignation, ‘I
don’t think I’m going to make it.’ I said to him, ‘Professor sahib (sir), with
your permission, may I tell you how I know I am going to heaven?’ (In
Pashtun culture, requesting permission (ijazat) is an important sign of respect
toward adults; a guest must even ask ‘permission’ from his host in order to
leave.) I then shared briefly about Jesus’ promise that everyone who believes
in him has forgiveness of sins and eternal life. I assured him that God hears
prayers spoken in the powerful name and mediation (wasita) of Jesus - they go
straight to the Throne of God, as in the Pashto couplet,
(10) In one leap I have seen them go to the Throne of God - the prayers of a holy
man!
Not only will God hear our prayers in Jesus’ Name, but at the time of death,
his followers are assured that their souls, too, will go ‘in one leap’ to be ‘with
the Lord forever’ in Paradise!
The old gentleman listened politely and respectfully. Then he shook his head
sadly and said, ‘I’d like to go (to paradise). But I don’t think I’m going to make
it.’ In that moment, a few simple words in Pashto welled up in my heart. I
looked into his eyes and said gently but firmly in Pashto, zə janat ta nə zum be-
mulgarey - ‘I am not going to heaven without my friend!’ His eyes flooded
with tears as he stood and embraced me, ‘Mr. Len, you’re a real friend, a real
friend.’
Reconciliation
A final example of ethnic contextualization of the message for Muslims is
another custom associated the Pashtun code of honour, a practice called
nanawati.29
There is considerable variation in the meaning of nanawati and the practices
associated with it across Pashtun areas.30 While generally the term pana is used
to refer to the seeking of ‘asylum’ or ‘refuge’, nanawati (often translated
‘refuge’, and thus confused with pana) includes notions of ‘asking’, ‘begging’
29 The following material is based on the author’s research into the custom of
nanawati, as described in ‘The Pashtun Peace Ritual’ (2000, unpublished
paper)
30 Bartlotti, 2000a: 278, n.362; 347, n.416

88 Jesus and the Cross
and ‘apology’, in particular, ‘begging asylum’, or ‘begging favour or
forgiveness’, in the context of conflict.
Like most Middle Eastern and North African tribal societies, Pashtun society
is riven by blood feuds. The law of revenge exacts an enormous price. Conflicts
among Pashtun can be resolved in one of two ways. In the jirga (council)
system, a solution can be negotiated or imposed by village elders. This involves
the balancing of guilt and injuries between the parties, usually through the
payment of land, money, weapons or women, leading to (a more or less fragile)
peace between the adversaries. Among some tribes, this agreement may be
marked by laying a stone marker (tiga). Another alternative to resolving blood
feuds is the peace ritual of nanawati. By doing nanawati, the offending party
(zalim) openly admits his guilt, ‘apologizes’ and ‘begs forgiveness’ from the
offended party (mazlum).
Among some Afghan Pashtun tribes, the folk practices associated with doing
nanawati constitute it as a kind of peace or reconciliation ritual. Atayee
interprets the ‘favour’ being sought as forgiveness or ‘pardon’ and defines
nanawati as ‘the ceremony of pardon-begging.’31 Nanawati as reconciliation
ritual or ‘ceremony of pardon-begging’ restores relationships between blood
enemies, and is thus ‘a palliative to the harsh concepts of badal [revenge].’32
Certain customs and symbolic behaviours are associated with the
performance of nanawati. Initially, family elders may visit the injured family to
determine the latter’s willingness to receive the penitent offender and forgive
the offence. Given the ambiguities of meaning, intrigue and suspicion
associated with ‘doing pakhto’, gauging sincerity is not an easy task for either
party.
For petty offences, a mullah takes a sheep to the opponent’s house. For more
serious offences, nanawati consists of sending mullahs, village elders
(spingiri), or ‘people of sacred lineage’ (stana khel), along with sheep and - in
‘very grave’ cases - women with a Qur’an on their heads.33 In the case of
murder, the killer is also taken and placed at the disposal of the relatives, to
pardon or take revenge (usually the former) as they will. In one description, the
killer has a rope around his neck and grass in his mouth, a self-humiliation that
in effect says, ‘I am like the cattle of your field - you may slaughter me if you
will.’
Edwards’ description notes that the side suing for peace will ‘signal their
intention’ by ‘sending a delegation of women carrying Qur’ans and
accompanied by one or more mullahs to the compound of their enemy;’ the
women will lower their shawls in the domestic quarters, revealing their hair and
faces as they would when visiting relatives, thus signalling their male
kinsmen’s desire to negotiate and enter into friendly relations (1996: 68). This
31 Atayee, 1979: 65
32 Hanifi, 1976: 90
33 Hanifi, 1976: 65-66

The Gospel in Afgham Pashto Poetry 89
picture of women holding holy Qur’ans and crossing the line of conflict is a
moral representation of a sacred request, conjoining that which is of greatest
value to a Pashtun, his honour, represented by his women (namus), and his
faith, represented by his holy Book.
In some descriptions of nanawati, a slaughtered sheep is laid at the gate of
the injured party; if the sacrifice is taken inside, it is assumed that pardon has
been granted; if not, the gesture of apology was in vain. In the processional
description above, the sheep will be slaughtered and eaten at a meal (though the
guilty party himself does not attend), where the offended party announces his
forgiveness of the offender.
The practice of nanawati provides another bridge to the hearts and minds of
Muslim Pashtuns. One example of the power of the concept is illustrated by an
encounter I had several years ago with a Afghan Pashtun tribal leader.
Accompanied by half a dozen burly bodyguards, the distinguished Muslim
leader had attended our International Easter Celebration in a Pakistani city.
After viewing a film and hearing a message about Christ’s suffering on the
Cross, the chief asked for prayer. He was ill and in much pain. We prayed for
him in Jesus’ name, and he was healed immediately. It got his attention.
About two weeks later, I received a message, ‘The khan wants to see you.’
A colleague and I went to the chief’s house and were escorted graciously to his
private quarters. Sweet tea, cakes, and cookies were set before us in the
generous hospitality characteristic of Pashtuns. But our conversation quickly
turned to spiritual things.
The tribal leader had many sincere questions: ‘Do Christians pray and fast?
How do you worship? Do you believe in one God? What is heaven like?’ As
with many Muslims, he was not resistant to nor had he rejected the Gospel; this
dear elderly man had never really understood what Christians believe or what it
means to follow Jesus. He only knew what his own religious teachers had told
him.
Near the end of our two hour conversation, I said, ‘You have a custom called
nanawati.’ ‘Yes!’ His face brightened with recognition and appreciation.
‘Khan sahib,’ I continued, ‘you must come to God in this same way, begging
forgiveness for your sins. You must do nanawati with God. But you also need a
sheep. One of the prophets you revere, John the Baptist, saw Jesus and told the
people, ‘Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.’
The Holy Spirit’s presence filled the room as I continued. ‘As God provided
a lamb to be sacrificed in place of Abraham’s son, so God has provided a Lamb
to take away your sins - to die in your place so you can have peace and be
reconciled to God.’ We prayed together, and as I left he honored me by kissing
my cheek.

90 Jesus and the Cross
Conclusion
The presupposition of this paper is that followers of Jesus can find conceptual,
theological, cultural and aesthetic bridges to the hearts and minds of Muslims
within the folklore and folk literature of Muslim ethnic peoples. In this brief
survey, we have found conceptual, theological, cultural and aesthetic bridges to
the hearts and minds of Muslim Pashtuns. We have seen how three interrelated
themes of Separation and Reunion, Friendship, and Reconciliation are
expressed in Pashto proverbs, poetry and folkloric practice. This missiological
approach and communication challenge requires facility in linguistics,
anthropology and theology, and an ability to interpret both Scripture and
culture.
Methodologically, etic theological reflections on ethnic folklore must be
based on ethnographic data and research. That is, ‘new’ meanings and
applications cannot be divorced from, and must actually build upon, contextual
meanings determined by interaction with ‘insiders’. Practitioners seeking to use
folklore to communicate Biblical and spiritual truths must first do their
ethnographic homework. This includes understanding the connotations of terms
and what texts ‘mean’ to insiders, as well as how they are used, performed and
understood in various situational and cultural contexts. Anything less lacks
integrity and amounts to ‘using’ folklore for one’s own ends. Rather than a
pragmatic appropriation and manipulation of culture, we need to aim for a
humble, respectful and redemptive embrace of culture with an eye to common
grace and the models provided by the Incarnation and the translatability of
Scripture.
In articulating ‘a theology of culture’ Gailyn Van Rheenen concurs:34
[T]he boundary between social or cultural anthropology and theology is artificial,
constructed by modern thinking, and not founded upon biblical theology nor
reality as a whole. The disciplines of theology and anthropology must merge,
intermingle, and unify. If the dichotomies of modern thought are used, a
missiologist must become both a Christian anthropologist and a culturally aware
theologian. Anthropology cannot become Christian, nor be truly useful without
the merging of these two disciplines.
The intersection between theology and anthropology can be seen, for
example, in the account of the day of Pentecost (Acts 2), when the Spirit of
God was poured out on the new-born church, issuing in proclamation of the
Good News in the languages of the surrounding nations. Kwame Bediako
comments:35
34 Van Rheenen, 1997: 33
35 Bediako, 1995: 60

The Gospel in Afgham Pashto Poetry 91
The ability to hear in one’s own language and to express in one’s own language
one’s response to the message which one receives, must lie at the heart of all
authentic religious encounter with the divine realm…(The) deeper
significance…is that God speaks to men and women - always in the vernacular.
Divine communication is never in a sacred, esoteric, hermetic language; rather it
is such that ‘all of us hear…in our own languages…the wonders of God.
While folkloric forms have been recognized as an aspect of an
anthropological approach to mission, their importance in Islamic contexts has
been undervalued in comparison with the Qur’an or specifically religious
discourse and literature. While traditional proverbs and folk poetry do not arise
from a Christian framework or perception, the challenge is to relate theological
reflection to vernacular understandings. As Bediako affirms, ‘Taking the
vernacular seriously then, becomes not merely a cultural but also a theological
necessity. For it is only through the vernacular that a genuine and lasting
theological dialogue with culture can take place.’36
36 Bediako, 1995: 73