Title: The Gospel According to the Taxi Driver: Learning the Unwritten Rules of Movement in the Middle East
You haven’t truly entered the heart of the Middle East until you’ve sat in the front seat of a dust-covered taxi, sweat clinging to your back, and a stranger behind the wheel starts telling you his life story—right after asking where you’re from, what you believe, and how many children you have.
In this region, transportation is more than getting from point A to point B. It’s a classroom. A confessional. Sometimes even a battleground. And the taxi driver? He’s not just a driver. He’s a gatekeeper to the culture, the streetside philosopher, and at times, your unexpected evangelist—or questioner.
Understanding how people move, and how conversations move inside those vehicles, could shape the way you do ministry more than any theology course ever could.
Lesson 1: Always Sit in the Front
In many places across the Middle East, sitting in the back seat (especially if you’re a man) is a silent declaration: I’m above you. It creates distance, both physical and relational. But slide into the front seat? That says, I see you. I’m with you. We’re equals.
This one move can change the tone of the entire ride.
I once rode with a man who was silent for the first ten minutes. But when I leaned forward and asked, “Do you think it’s harder to drive during Ramadan or normal days?” he broke out into a grin. He didn’t stop talking for the next 45 minutes—about fasting, politics, faith, marriage, and finally… Jesus. All because I sat in the front and asked a question rooted in his world.
Lesson 2: There Are No Straight Lines—Literally or Relationally
GPS might suggest a 12-minute drive. Reality says 25. Detours, checkpoints, roadblocks, and spontaneous hospitality stops are all part of the unspoken rhythm of transportation here.
The same goes for building trust. Don’t rush the conversation. If your purpose is clear, but your pace is fast, you’ll miss what’s happening underneath. Let the relationship breathe, curve, and unfold. Some of the best gospel conversations I’ve ever had happened not during a planned meeting, but in a shared car ride—often delayed, always divine.
Lesson 3: Every Driver Is a Mirror
Taxi drivers are often society’s pulse. They know the rumors before they hit the news. They hear every theory, gripe, and hope voiced in the back seat. They’ll test you too—“What do you think about Israel?”, “Are you Christian?”, “Why are you really here?”
These aren’t traps. They’re invitations. They’re trying to figure out if you’re safe. If you answer with humility and conviction, not defensiveness, you’ll often gain more than respect—you’ll gain an opening.
One elderly driver, after asking me pointedly if I was trying to convert Muslims, paused when I said, “No, but I pray for people to find the truth, just like I did.” His response? “So do I. Pray for me too.”
Lesson 4: Your Attitude Is Louder Than Your Accent
You may not speak the language well. You may never understand the madness of traffic here. But kindness, patience, and laughter? Those travel well. They’re the real currency of connection.
And don’t underestimate shared inconvenience. Getting stuck in traffic, running out of fuel, or watching goats cross a highway—these are holy ground moments, if you let them be.
The Unlikely Disciple
A foreign worker in a Gulf city took the same driver every morning for weeks. They never discussed faith—just family, food, and football. One day, the driver asked him, “Why are you always peaceful in the morning? Everyone else is angry. What are you reading?”
He handed him a printed page from the Gospel of Luke.
Weeks later, the driver returned with questions. Serious ones. A quiet faith conversation began—because a passenger practiced patience, not pressure.
Moving at the Speed of Trust
In the Middle East, how you move tells people everything about who you are. Taxis, buses, and rideshares are not interruptions. They’re invitations. They reveal character. They expose assumptions. And they offer a thousand micro-moments to show love, grace, and truth—in a space that often feels safe for honesty.
So, next time you grab a ride, don’t just pay the fare. Pay attention.
There might be a man behind the wheel who needs more than a passenger—he needs a witness.
The Basin and Towel 