Reading List: The Lion Women of Tehran

A few weeks ago, I was deciding what book I wanted to write about for my literary criticism class. Because I don’t read much fiction, I was at a loss, and my friends gave me several great suggestions. One of those was The Lion Women of Tehran, by Marjan Kamali. My friend read it on the plane to and from south Asia last year, and it came with very high recommendations from her. And, she bought it at the book store next to the coffee shop I went to as a high schooler; the nostalgia was great with this one. I ended up writing my paper about a different book, but when I finally finished this book today I was filled with a fire that I couldn’t help writing about.

The Lion Women of Tehran is a story about two Iranian women and their lives in the second half of the 20th century. These women struggled with class divisions, family trauma, and massive political upheaval. For me, this book was timely; this week in my literary criticism class we learned about feminist literary criticism, and The Lion Women of Tehran is a beautiful statement on what it means to be a woman in a culture where feminism means a lot more than who holds the door for whom. One of the main characters says it best toward the end of the book: “We should not shame women who choose to take care of home and family. As long as it’s the woman’s choice…A woman has a right to live a life of intense career ambition or one of more mellow ambition or what have you. As I say, whatever she chooses” (280, emphasis hers). For me, reading these words felt like a weight lifted off my chest. Not that it changes the way I do anything, but that it changes how I feel about myself when I choose what I do. This message was like a breath of fresh air, and was beautifully told through the lives of these women.

I could write a whole book on what this book says about feminism and what that means for the follower of Jesus. But that wasn’t the point of the book for me. For me, the most convicting element of this book was the stories of the suffering and activism and political upheaval resulting in societal carnage. I read first-hand perspectives, fiction based firmly in reality, of women raped and thrown in solitary confinement. Of fathers torn from families. Of girls beaten to death for showing a single strand of hair. Of friends thrown in prison after a careless word spoken by other friends. Of mothers denied exit from their country to visit their daughters. Not stories but reality.

And I read of video footage played in Iran of the American President sipping tea with the Iranian Shah whose regime was in place after an overthrow of the previous Prime Minister was sponsored by the US. Of that Shah’s government throwing communists into prison and tearing apart families. Of activists setting movie theaters on fire and burning everyone inside. Of the new religious tyranny’s moral police. Not stories but reality.

And I feel guilty. Because what I learn in school is that the American government has its fingers in every other government for the purpose of democracy, for the purpose of good in the world. But in the face of so much evil, where were we? I feel guilty because I know exactly where we were: pulling the strings all along. We are not the heroes of the Iranian story. We aren’t exactly the villains either, but if there is a spectrum we are definitely not hovering near the middle.

And I feel callous. How could we not know? How could we not know that on the other side of the world there were people who were distraught and alone and suffering?

And I think that perhaps we chose not to know. Because it is no less true right now that people are distraught and alone and suffering. Right now there is war in Ukraine. War in Israel and Gaza. Where is there not war? Refugees from across the world. Broken people in Central America, begging for home. “Elections” resulting in violence in many countries.

Do we not know? Do I not know? Do you not know? Have you chosen not to know? I have.

Please know that this isn’t a political statement. I don’t know what the solution is, politically or officially. I know these are all tricky situations. But if you follow Jesus, and you are sat on your butt right now and have done nothing to alleviate the suffering of those who pay the price for political negotiations with their lives, do you really follow Jesus?

“Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

“They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’

“He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’”

To know God himself is to be broken to action for those are broken. To know God himself is to be racked with deep compassion for those who know loss and sorrow and suffering. We have been given so much - eternal life - by God. And, we’ve been given the chance to KNOW him. To be in his presence and to know who he is. And this is what he is: compassionate. gracious. slow to anger. abounding in love. not treating as our sins deserve, or repaying according to our iniquities. for when we still hated him, he died for us. merciful. just. looking after orphans and widows in their distress.

And as we get to know this God, as we look at him day after day, we are transformed into his image. From one degree of glory to another. We begin to look like him.

So if you are looking into the face of God and not broken over the fact that geopolitics has very real and devastating consequences for ordinary people and not moved to action of some sort, not just to stop the suffering but to comfort and alleviate pain in the midst of it, join me in asking ourselves: Is it really the face of God that I am looking at? Or have I set up an idol of my own comfort in front of him and lied to myself about what I am really worshipping? And, if it is the face of God upon which you gaze, is there some part of you that resists transformation into his image?

Welcome to conviction and brokenness. Welcome to compassion. Welcome to joy for the comfort that the Lord has given us when we despaired of life itself. Welcome to the joy of being able to give that same comfort to others. Welcome to discomfort and sanctification. Welcome to walking in the way of Jesus.