Sara Afshari is a Research Tutor at OCMS with personal connections to Iran. Sara shares thoughtful reflections on the current crisis, shaped by both her academic work and her personal ties to the country. In this deeply considered reflection, she offers a theological framework for understanding the ongoing suffering of the Iranian people—what she describes as Iran’s “long Holy Saturday.”
1. Listening Before Speaking: Hearing a Silenced Cry
What is happening in Iran today cannot be reduced to a single protest, a breaking news cycle, or one political moment. Reports from inside and outside the country speak of intensified protests since late 2025, harsh state violence, killing, mass arrests, and a communications blackout that began in early January 2026. This blackout has not only limited verification; it has become part of the struggle itself, shaping how pain is hidden, how truth is fragmented, and how resistance must adapt.
Different narratives now compete. Human-rights organisations describe high levels of violence and repression. State media speaks of disorder, sabotage, and security threats. International bodies condemn brutality while acknowledging how little can be confirmed under conditions of enforced silence.
Yet to call this an “uprising” as if it suddenly appeared is misleading. Protest in Iran has never truly stopped. For decades, resistance has taken many forms—public and private, loud and quiet, collective and deeply personal. Moments such as the Green Movement, Women, Life, Freedom, and the current unrest are not breaks in history but intensifications of a long struggle.
One of the quieter but most profound forms of resistance has been religious disengagement and conversion. In a society where religion and state power have been fused, many Iranians have expressed dissent by stepping away from official religion altogether. Research suggests a dramatic decline in Muslim self-identification, alongside visible growth in Christian conversion both inside Iran and across the diaspora. For many, conversion has not been only a spiritual journey, but a symbolic refusal—an existential “no” to religious coercion and political control.
Churches in Europe and the UK have witnessed this movement first-hand. And this raises a deeply important question for Christians:
How do we respond faithfully—without exploiting suffering, politicising faith, or turning resistance into a evangelism strategy?
What follows is not an interpretation of headlines. It is an attempt to listen—to hear a people’s cry emerging under fear, surveillance, trauma, and silence—where even the ability to speak has become an act of courage.
2. Hope That Refuses to Die: Liberation Theology as a Lens
Liberation theology begins with a simple but dangerous conviction: God hears the cry of the oppressed (Exodus 3). Resistance, from this perspective, is not chaos or rage. It is hope refusing to disappear, refusing to die. It is the belief—sometimes whispered, sometimes shouted—that life can still be otherwise.
In Iran today, that hope shows itself in small but powerful ways:
- in the insistence on human dignity (کرامت) rather than mere reform,
- in the imagination of community under surveillance and blackout,
- in everyday perseverance—choosing to remain human when systems dehumanise.
Liberation theology also offers a warning to the church. There are two ways we often get this wrong.
The first is spiritualising suffering—turning pain into holiness without demanding justice.
The second is instrumentalising suffering—treating trauma, protest, or conversion as opportunities for evangelism rather than calls to pray and solidarity.
So the real question is not, “How can mission use this moment?” It is: How does God’s mission move toward wounded people without taking over their story?
3. Persia in the Bible: God at Work in Dangerous Places
The Bible does speak about Iran under the name Persia—and not as a footnote.
Persia (Iran) is where God works through unexpected rulers like Cyrus.
Persia (Iran) is where Esther risks her life to speak truth in the halls of power.
Persia (Iran) is where Daniel learns that prayer itself can become resistance.
Persia (Iran) is present at Pentecost, where Iranian peoples are named among those who first hear the gospel.
These stories tell us something important: God is deeply involved in places of empire, ambiguity, and danger. But they also warn us—power can liberate and destroy. God is never naïve about empire.
For Iranian Christians and our supporters today, these biblical memories frame our response to Iran not as outsiders with answers, but as witnesses called to faithfulness, courage, and patience—trusting that God can still open histories that appear sealed.
4. Living in the In-Between: Iran’s Holy Saturday
For the past months I have been working on a theology of persecution rooted in Holy Saturday. Holy Saturday is the day between crucifixion and resurrection. Death has happened. But life has not yet returned. It is a day of silence, waiting, and unresolved grief. A day when truth has no microphone and hope has no proof. This is where many Iranians now live—inside the country and across the diaspora.
The blackout, contested narratives, unverified deaths, unnamed prisoners, and grieving families are not just political realities. They are theological signs of Holy Saturday.
Holy Saturday mission refuses shortcuts. It does not rush to Easter language. It does not declare revival when people are still missing and bodies are not buried. Instead, it learns three slow disciplines:
- Truth without propaganda
- Hope without denial
- Presence without control
Mission for us Christian here is not about growth, visibility, or success. It is about staying. Staying with grief. Staying with silence. Staying without answers.
5. A Missional Framework for the Long Saturday
What We Are Called to Do Together
- 1. Stay Close: Solidarity as Our First Witness
- We choose solidarity over usefulness. We refuse to extract stories, statistics, or conversions from pain. We speak carefully. We listen longer than we talk. How we speak becomes part of our testimony.
- We advocate not to be seen, but to protect lives. We care for families of prisoners quietly. We support justice without exposing the vulnerable. And we pray—not as spectators, but as companions.
- Prayer becomes an act of nearness: naming names before God, holding the unheard, resisting despair together.
- 2. Protect Life: Nonviolence as Faithful Resistance
- Christian hope does not glorify violence or martyrdom. We commit ourselves to protecting life, refusing humiliation, and resisting injustice without becoming its mirror.
- We pray for courage without hatred, strength without domination, and wisdom to choose life even when rage feels justified.
- 3. Make Space for Healing: Trauma as a Missional Concern
- Where there is torture, imprisonment, exile, and fear, the church becomes a place of healing. Lament is welcomed. Silence is respected. Stories are held carefully.
- We pray the Psalms when words fail. We name injustice when silence is forced. Healing here is not retreat—it is resistance against dehumanisation.
- 4. Learn to Be Church Without Connection
- In blackout conditions, house churches become smaller, quieter, and more resilient. Faith is carried orally—remembered, prayed, and shared simply.
- Diaspora communities learn to become a voice for the voiceless and advocate for justice and human dignity, while at the same time protecting those inside the country. We pray with imagination, trusting that God is not limited by bandwidth.
- 5. Live Another Way: Becoming a Different Polis
In polarised and violent times, the church becomes a sign of another order—through hospitality, dignity, truth without hatred, courage without control. This is not withdrawal from justice. It is justice lived in advance.
Conclusion: Staying Until Dawn
Iran today lives in a long Holy Saturday: not silent, but silenced; not hopeless, but waiting—through protest and resistance.
This reflection has argued that Christian mission in such a moment is not about strategy, speed, or success. It is about faithful presence. Liberation theology reminds us that resistance is born from hope. Scripture reminds us that God works even in sealed tombs. Holy Saturday reminds us that waiting through protest and resistance itself can be holy.
We pray because we believe God is still present.
We stay because leaving would betray love.
We hope because resurrection has not been cancelled—only delayed.
The question is not whether Easter will come. It will come and Iranians and the land of Iran will be freed.