Dear Ravi,
I want to thank you for your ministry. Like so many countless others, I considered you a mentor from afar. I have three stories that I’d like to share with you about your ministry’s impact on my life.
The first happened over 15 years ago, in the summer between my second and third year at UCLA, when I took a philosophy class as an elective. It was about the philosophy of language, and we sought to understand what we mean when we say something like, “I don’t believe in Santa Claus.”
It was a fascinating class, but as it turns out, the goal was for us to try to understand what we mean when we say something like “I don’t (or do) believe in God.” The professor tried to be unbiased, but it was pretty clear that he was an atheist. In the end, he shook what little faith foundation I had. It didn’t help that during that season of my life, I was also running away from the Lord.
So this class left me with a great excuse to start abandoning my faith. I didn’t understand how a good, perfect God could square with the evil and suffering in the world around me. So like Jonah, I ran as far and as fast as I could.
But at the beginning of the new fall quarter, like Jonah in the belly of a fish, I somehow found myself sitting in Royce Hall for something called the “Veritas Forum.” Someone had invited me to hear a “really interesting Indian man” address God and the problem of evil.
Someone from a campus ministry did a quick intro, the lights went dim, and you walked out on stage. You started your talk by telling the story of a woman who was involved in a deep tragedy, and you brought up the question first: How can God be good?
You told another story of another tragedy, and asked the question again. Then you masterfully pivoted and started to ask us how we judge evil: By what standard are we calling something evil or good? If there is an objective standard for morality, then there must be a moral lawgiver.
You showed us clearly that this question of evil presupposes that God must exist. And by the time your 50-minute presentation was over, I was floored. I felt like you answered every question I had systematically, with grace, a touch of humor, and that fantastic Indian accent. I didn’t know that it was possible to have such a deep faith in Jesus AND be SO intelligent at the same time.
I was not only convinced that Jesus was God’s answer to evil and suffering, but I was also convicted by it. Your talk challenged my assumptions about what Christ did on the cross for me and broke my heart with God’s grace. Christ did not simply die on the cross for my sin, but he was the very answer to the evil and suffering that pervaded my own heart and life. But that’s not what left me in tears at the end of the night.
You did a Q&A afterward, as you always do, and you addressed each person’s questions seriously. You empathized with us, and you were so sympathetic, kind, clever, and even recited poetry! At the end of the evening, I don’t remember the final question, but in your answer, you told us that the Gospel is for those who are running.
Through you, the Spirit moved to put my broken faith back together. I got some CD’s of your teaching later that week, and that started me on the theological and philosophical trajectory that I am still continuing to this day.
The second story is much more recent, and it’s about the legacy of your ministry and your philosophy. I reached out to Ravi Zacharias International Ministries (RZIM) because we wanted to host an apologetics conference at our church. Through the conversations with your team, our simple conference idea transformed into an evangelistic outreach for students in Los Angeles. There was no doubt in my mind that your team’s central focus is about reaching the lost with the gospel of Jesus.
In the years since, I have learned so much from your team. Their posture and their attitude has been formative in shaping my understanding of how we address the person, and not the question.
I remember Nabeel Qureshi explaining to me that he prefers to stand during Q&A’s because it allows him to approach the side of the stage where the questioners are and to empathize with them face to face as he answered their questions. He told me that you had shown him that there’s always a bigger, broader Gospel issue behind each question, and that’s the heart that he’s trying to reach.
Your team encouraged me to take the stage at the end of one of our conferences so they could observe how I do my gospel invitation, and I was so humbled that their reason was so that they could learn from me, just a regular “youth pastor.” I’m sure you knew how much your team has done that over the years, but it’s a testimony to your heart for raising leaders that embody the humility of Christ.
Oh, how the church will miss your humble leadership as it’s something that we desperately need. In the age of social-media church leaders, you’ve raised a team of Jesus-loving evangelists who care for and respect each and every audience they address.
The last story is about a personal meeting with you two years ago at the RZIM office. I was able to spend time with you and your leadership team to learn about apologetics ministries across the nation and gain specific leadership insights from you. This meeting occurred during a difficult season of ministry for you, and I was struck by how much you longed to be with people.
Sitting with you, I was reminded again that your speaking ministry was never about the platform but about the individuals in the audience that need living water. You really pressed into us a need for an incredibly high moral standard for ourselves because the stakes are so high. You shared in private the spiritual attacks that RZIM has endured, and it served as a reminder that your ministry cost you something.
But it was the last thing you shared with us that really stuck with me. You were vulnerable enough to admit that you didn’t get the balance right when it came to your family. They sacrificed the most to enable your speaking and teaching ministry. You had tears in your eyes as you explained to us younger leaders how important it was to love our families well. Before we consider the needs of our ministries, you exhorted us: “Your children need you…You’re deluded if you think you’re the only answer to the need that’s out there.” For me, those last words are the greatest testament to your ministry — it was always about the work that Christ would do, and never about yourself.
Ravi, I’m so sorry I didn’t get a chance to finish this letter to you before you passed away. I genuinely thought there would be more time. But now you’re more whole than you ever were before. Now you’re in the presence of the King of glory, whom you served so well
while you were here on Earth. I hope that as you were welcomed into the arms of our Savior, and in the witness of so many saints before you, you heard the grand “Amen.”
One of Ravi’s favorite hymns to recite during this talks is called The Lost Chord by Adelaide Proctor.
“Seated one day at the organ
I was weary and ill at ease,
and my fingers wandered idly
over the noisy keys.
I know not what I was playing
or what I was dreaming then,
but I struck one chord of music
like the sound of a great “Amen.”
It flooded the crimson twilight
like the close of an angel’s psalm,
and it lay on my fevered spirit
like the touch of infinite calm.
It quieted pain and sorrow
like love overcoming strife;
it seemed the harmonious echo
of our discordant life.
It linked all perplexed meanings
into one perfect peace,
and it trembled away into silence
as if it were loathe to cease.
I have sought but I seek it vainly—
that one lost chord divine—
that came from the soul of the organ
and entered into mine.
It may be that death’s bright angel
will speak in that chord again;
it may be that only in heaven
I shall hear that grand “Amen.””