In our increasingly fractured world, few topics are as urgent—or as emotionally charged—as the conversation around Islam. With headlines dominated by Middle Eastern conflict, rising concerns over radicalism, and a widespread decline in theological literacy across the West ...
By Dr. Tim Orr
In our increasingly fractured world, few topics are as urgent—or as emotionally charged—as the conversation around Islam. This article argues that the Church must engage with Islam not out of fear or hostility, but with theological clarity and compassion, drawing on insights from John Anderson's interview with scholars Mark Durie and Richard Shumack. With headlines dominated by conflicts such as the Israel-Hamas war, the Syrian civil war, and the Iranian regime’s influence across the region, rising concerns over radicalism from groups like ISIS and Hezbollah, and a widespread decline in theological literacy across the West, it’s no wonder many feel overwhelmed.
I found the interview with former Australian Deputy Prime Minister John Anderson’s recent interview with these two scholars to be timely and vital. Both serve at the Melbourne School of Theology and bring decades of thoughtful engagement with Islamic theology and Muslim communities: Durie as a Quranic scholar, linguist, and Anglican pastor, Shumack as a philosopher, scholar of Islam, and apologist. Their discussion, available on Anderson’s YouTube channel, is one of the most measured, gracious, and insightful public dialogues on Islam I’ve encountered in years, covering topics such as the global rise of religion, the role of Muhammad in Islamic theology, the integration of politics and faith in Islam, and how Christians might respond with both truth and compassion (Anderson, 2024, 0:00).
What I appreciate most about Durie and Shumack is not just their intellectual rigor, but their posture. They don’t approach the topic as outsiders throwing stones. They speak as Christians who care deeply about truth and people, calling the Church to engage Islam with honesty, discernment, and compassion. Their critique isn’t driven by fear, but by a commitment to truth. Their tone isn’t combative, but pastoral. At one point, Shumack gently remarks, "We have to be honest about the differences between Islam and Christianity, but do so in a way that respects the humanity of Muslims" (Anderson, 2024, 12:42), capturing the spirit of their approach.
In a culture that often swings between naïve tolerance—such as uncritical interfaith celebrations that ignore theological differences—and reactive fear, like blanket suspicion of all Muslims after terror attacks, voices like theirs are desperately needed. We need to think clearly about Islam—not to attack Muslims, but to understand them. And ultimately, to bear witness to the hope we’ve found in Christ—the one who said, “Love your enemies,” and then gave His life for them.
John Anderson begins the conversation with a truth often overlooked in the Western world: religion is not declining globally. It’s rising. Despite narratives of growing secularism, faith continues to shape lives, politics, and worldviews across the globe. Durie points out what many in the media miss: “We have a kind of epidemic of religious illiteracy that’s afflicted the West” (Anderson, 2024, 4:00). And it shows. Western policymakers, journalists, and academics often treat religion as a private preference rather than a public force, misunderstanding conflicts in the Middle East and failing to grasp the theological motivations behind movements like Hamas, Hezbollah, or even the Islamic State.
Shumack echoes this sentiment. He emphasizes that Islam is not merely a set of private beliefs but a comprehensive system, covering politics, law, family, and warfare. Religion shapes how people imagine the world, and that includes how Muslims engage with non-Muslims. “Our religion tells us what we think is important, how the universe operates, why we’re here,” he says. “And Islam profoundly affects how people live, think, and organize society” (Anderson, 2024, 3:15). This kind of honesty, spoken with compassion, not condemnation, makes both Durie and Shumack such vital voices.
The conversation soon shifts to the historical figure of Muhammad, the founder of Islam. Durie does not sugarcoat it: “Absolutely, Muhammad was a militaristic figure. Sacred violence is at the heart of Islam’s success” (Anderson, 2024, 6:01). This assessment may sound provocative, but it’s grounded in the historical record. After his migration (Hijrah) to Medina, Muhammad led numerous military campaigns, signed treaties, and established a theocratic state governed by divine law. His combination of religious authority and political power has no parallel in Christianity.
This matters because, as Shumack explains, Muhammad is not just a spiritual teacher in Islam; he is the ultimate role model. Muslims are called to emulate him in every aspect of life. “What Reformation looks like in Islam is going back to following what Muhammad did,” Shumack says, “and that looks a lot like seventh-century Arabia” (Anderson, 2024, 20:15). While Christians look to Jesus—who refused violence and modeled sacrificial love—Muslims look to Muhammad, who used political power and warfare to spread his message. This contrast shapes not only doctrine but also how religion engages with society.
One of the most poignant parts of the conversation comes when Durie critiques the modern slogan “Islam is a religion of peace.” He notes that this phrase was virtually never used before the 20th century. It emerged as Islam attempted to adapt to modern conditions, especially in the post-colonial world (Anderson, 2024, 0:05). But is it true?
The answer depends on how one defines peace and reads Islamic texts. Both scholars explain that Islam’s primary sources—the Quran and Hadith—present a trajectory. The earlier Meccan verses are more conciliatory, emphasizing patience and forbearance. However, the later Medinan verses reveal when Muhammad had political power and include clear calls to violence. According to traditional Islamic jurisprudence, the later verses often abrogate the earlier ones, leaving the more militant passages as the final word (Cook, 2005).
In practice, this means that Islam offers a flexible ethical framework: in times of weakness, Muslims are encouraged to seek peace; in times of strength, they are commanded to advance Islam. Durie calls this the “doctrine of stages,” and it helps explain why Islam can appear peaceful in minority settings but become coercive when in power (Anderson, 2024, 28:45). This is not conspiracy theory—it’s Islamic orthodoxy.
The idea of an “Islamic Reformation” has become popular in the West, often modeled after the Protestant Reformation. Western commentators typically envision it as a process in which Islam undergoes internal critique, embraces individual conscience, and reinterprets its sacred texts in light of modern values—much like what occurred in 16th-century Europe with Christianity. However, as Durie and Shumack point out, this analogy is deeply flawed. The Christian Reformation was a return to Scripture and the example of Christ. An Islamic reformation, by contrast, is a return to the Quran and the example of Muhammad. As Ayaan Hirsi Ali once said, “If you go back to sola scriptura in Islam, you get ISIS”—a provocative statement that reflects her personal critique of Islamic texts, though it does not necessarily represent a scholarly consensus (Anderson, 2024, 18:00). That’s not an insult; it’s a sober analysis of the texts.
Both Durie and Shumack emphasize that attempts to modernize Islam—whether through Islamic modernism or attempts to fuse Islam with democracy—have largely failed. For instance, the 20th-century efforts of thinkers like Muhammad Abduh and Rashid Rida to harmonize Islam with modern science and democratic governance made little headway in transforming mainstream interpretations of Sharia. This is because the “DNA” of classical Islam is not democratic. It is authoritarian. It assumes a divinely revealed legal code (Sharia) that must be imposed, not debated. Democracy, where humans make laws, is often viewed as shirk (idolatry) in radical circles like al-Qaeda or ISIS (Durie, 2017).
If this all sounds bleak, it’s not meant to be. One of the interview's most compassionate parts is how Durie and Shumack describe everyday Muslims. Most Muslims, they stress, are not extremists. They are often sincere, peaceful, and trying to live decent lives. But many are also theologically illiterate. As Shumack puts it, “Most Muslims don’t know their religion. They’re told it’s peaceful, but they can’t base that on their texts” (Anderson, 2024, 24:28).
This creates a painful cognitive dissonance. Muslims are told Muhammad was kind and just, but when they dig into the Hadith or Sira literature, they find a very different picture. That gap often leads to either disillusionment or radicalization, especially among young Muslims seeking authenticity. For Durie and Shumack, this is where Christians must step in—not with condemnation, but with clarity and compassion.
As someone committed to both truth and love, I find it deeply moving when scholars speak clearly and compassionately about the deep contrasts between Christianity and Islam. That’s exactly what unfolded in the second half of the extended conversation between John Anderson and two respected Australian scholars and friends of mine, Dr. Mark Durie and Dr. Richard Shumack. Their dialogue wasn’t a hit piece on Islam. It was far more rare and necessary: a spiritually honest conversation about who Jesus and Muhammad were—and why their differences matter profoundly today.
One of the greatest myths in our postmodern age is that “all religions are the same.” As Durie and Shumack point out, this assumption collapses when we take religious founders' lives and teachings seriously. Shumack makes the contrast explicit: Muhammad was a general, a politician, and a lawgiver who sought to impose order through divine law. He believed human beings were, by nature, capable of obeying if they simply had the right guidance. His vision of salvation was social and legal: follow the law, and you’ll create a just society (Anderson, 2024, 31:00).
Jesus, on the other hand, came not to command external obedience but to transform hearts. As Christians believe, Jesus is not merely a prophet but God in the flesh—entering the world not to conquer it by force but to redeem it through suffering love. “The sword was never going to fix the problem,” Shumack says. “Jesus came with a heart solution” (Anderson, 2024, 32:00). This difference in mission shapes the entire narrative of the Christian gospel. Jesus taught that the problem is not a lack of law, but the sinfulness of the human heart (Mark 7:20–23). No legal system can fix that.
Durie brings the conversation to a particularly poignant place: how Jesus and Muhammad responded to rejection. While the portrayal highlights a stark contrast, it's worth noting that some historians and Islamic scholars argue that Muhammad’s responses varied—sometimes showing mercy, as in the amnesty granted to the people of Mecca, and other times resorting to conflict. Including this nuance can help readers understand the complexity of historical context and interpretation. Jesus endured betrayal, denial, and brutal crucifixion—but responded with forgiveness and love. His was a kingdom “not of this world” (John 18:36). Muhammad, by contrast, responded to rejection with what Durie calls “very human” reactions—anger, revenge, and sometimes violence. The Quran itself offers comfort to believers in the form of violence against enemies (Anderson, 2024, 33:00).
This distinction may seem academic, but it’s deeply personal for many Muslims who encounter the Jesus of the New Testament. Shumack shares that one of the primary reasons Muslims convert to Christianity is the discovery of Jesus’ radically different character: his humility, gentleness, and willingness to forgive. In a world torn by tribalism and vengeance, Jesus’ call to love even one’s enemies is life-changing.
Perhaps the most profound section of the discussion comes when Anderson asks: “Who does Allah love, and who does the God of the Bible love?” While the question offers a powerful comparison, it’s helpful to note that Islamic schools of thought differ on this point. For example, Sufi traditions often emphasize God's mercy and love more broadly, while classical Sunni theology, particularly Ash'arism, stresses God's will and justice. These differences shape how Muslims understand divine love and its implications for human beings. It’s a deceptively simple question that cuts to the heart of both faiths.
In Islam, Allah loves those who love him—those who obey him. The Quran says, “Allah does not love the unbelievers” (Quran 3:32). This creates a transactional relationship: obey, and you might receive mercy. But in Christianity, God loves the world—before we obey and believe, even while we are still sinners (Romans 5:8). The difference couldn’t be starker.
Shumack shares the story of a Somali convert to Christianity who encountered just one Bible verse in school: John 3:16. “For God so loved the world…” That one phrase upended his entire worldview. “God loves all people?” he asked. In Islam, that was unimaginable (Anderson, 2024, 35:00).
Durie affirms this by highlighting the Christian view of God as Father—not just Master. In Islam, God is always transcendent and unknowable, even called “unknowable” by prominent theologians like al-Ghazali. In Christianity, God is knowable and near. He invites us into personal relationships. “Love your enemies,” Jesus taught (Matthew 5:44). In the catacombs of the persecuted early church, this was the verse most often inscribed on the walls. It shaped a civilization.
Shumack brings another essential theological concept into view: the imago Dei, the idea that all people are made in the image of God (Genesis 1:27). This is central to Western notions of human dignity, equality under the law, and freedom of conscience. Islam, by contrast, explicitly rejects the idea that humans are made in God’s image, since that would be considered shirk—associating something created with the divine (Anderson, 2024, 40:00).
But this is no minor doctrinal detail. It explains why, in the Christian worldview, even your enemy has inherent value. That enemy is still made in God’s image and deserves respect, dignity, and even love. In Islam, where submission is the highest good and enemies of the faith are often dehumanized, this moral logic doesn’t follow in the same way.
This also helps explain why Islam often struggles with dissent. Durie points out that freedom of speech and democratic values are deeply rooted in the Christian tradition’s ethic of loving one’s enemies. Without that theological grounding, societies tend toward suppressing opposition rather than dialoguing with it (Anderson, 2024, 39:30).
What’s striking about this interview is how both Durie and Shumack speak of love not as a soft, sentimental idea, but as a radical, costly commitment. “Love is always risky,” Shumack says. This echoes the biblical portrayal of God’s love most vividly seen in the crucifixion—where Jesus willingly embraced rejection, suffering, and death to reconcile a rebellious world to Himself. “Even loving people who like us back has risk” (Anderson, 2024, 43:00). But Christianity teaches that God took the greatest risk of all—loving a rebellious world—and calls us to do likewise.
Shumack quotes Abraham Lincoln: “Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?” This captures the essence of Christian redemption. God doesn’t crush his enemies—he reconciles them. That’s the gospel. That makes Jesus utterly different from every other religious figure in history. And that’s why, in a world marked by violence, revenge, and cycles of oppression, the Christian message of enemy love remains our greatest hope.
As Durie puts it, this isn’t just a historical or theological debate—it’s an existential one. “Will we follow Jesus or Muhammad?” he asks. While this framing is striking, it may come across as overly binary to some readers. The intent here is not to dismiss nuanced understandings, but to highlight how foundational beliefs about God shape one’s entire outlook on life and society. “This is a fundamental question for our age” (Anderson, 2024, 34:00). The answer shapes how we view God, treat others, and build society.
Christianity is not a call to political power or social dominance. It’s a call to die to self, forgive enemies, serve the outcast, and worship a God who loves us not because we are good, but because He is. In that sense, Christianity is not only true—it is beautiful.
A particularly gripping moment in the second half of John Anderson’s conversation with Richard Shumack and Mark Durie comes when they address a paradox that many are reluctant to confront: Why does the progressive Left, which champions LGBTQ+ rights, women’s equality, and secularism, so frequently side with Islamic causes—even in cases where the data reveals glaring contradictions? For example, Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International have documented legal discrimination against LGBTQ+ individuals and women in several Islamic countries—yet progressive movements in the West often remain silent or even supportive in such contexts. those manifestly opposed to these values? (Anderson, 2024, 1:00:14).
According to Shumack and Durie, the alliance is not grounded in logic, but in a shared antipathy toward Christianity and a mutual appeal to the language of victimhood. As Durie puts it, “Islam is intensely attuned to victimhood” (Anderson, 2024, 1:03:18). Muhammad’s narrative was framed as one of persecution, with divine justification for violence presented as a means of responding to oppression. This has created an enduring Islamic posture that regards Muslims as perpetual victims—a posture the political Left deeply resonates with.
The irony, of course, is that many left-wing activists align with a religious ideology that undermines their stated principles. For instance, progressives chant “Queers for Palestine,” oblivious—or willfully ignorant—to the fact that in Gaza, homosexuality is criminalized and punishable by imprisonment, or worse (Anderson, 2024, 1:00:51). Similarly, modern feminism is strangely silent on the status of women under Sharia-based legal systems, where their testimonies count for half that of a man’s and personal freedoms are sharply curtailed (1:01:03).
This “unholy alliance” is sustained, Durie explains, by the Left’s rejection of the Christian doctrine of original sin. While Christianity teaches that human beings are fundamentally flawed and need redemption, the Left—and classical Islam—see humanity as inherently good, only corrupted by unjust structures. “The fundamental problem is not the human being,” Durie says, “it’s unjust structures in society” (Anderson, 2024, 1:03:36). This shared anthropology helps explain the political convergence between Islamists and secular progressives.
Shumack illustrates how Islamic theology, particularly in its more conservative expressions, exploits victimhood narratives to justify violence. “Islam is oriented to victimhood,” he argues, and that ethos is often weaponized by groups like Hamas (Anderson, 2024, 1:04:40). In the Quran, Muslims are permitted—even commanded—to fight back against perceived oppression (cf. Qur'an 2:190–193). Hamas not only portrays itself as the oppressed party in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, but this framing is challenged by assessments from major human rights organizations and legal experts. Groups such as Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch have condemned Hamas for indiscriminate rocket fire on civilian populations and for using human shields—actions considered violations of international humanitarian law in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict but also seeks legitimacy through the very suffering it perpetuates.
Durie makes a critical observation: the Hamas Charter is openly genocidal, calling for the annihilation of Israel. Yet many Westerners either ignore this or rationalize it. Meanwhile, Israel—a democratic state with high human development metrics—is falsely accused of genocide. “It’s a case of projection,” Durie says. “You accuse your enemy of what you’re guilty of” (Anderson, 2024, 1:08:24).
The conversation shifts to why the Islamic world, particularly the Arab Middle East, has struggled to modernize. Shumack points out that despite Islam’s Golden Age in the 10th–12th centuries, much of that intellectual flourishing came from Christians and Jews under Islamic rule—not from Islam itself (Anderson, 2024, 1:27:24). Traditional Islamic epistemology limits worthy knowledge to what helps one be a better Muslim. This stifles innovation and creativity.
“Islamic education often discourages critical thinking,” Shumack says. “You were rebuked if you asked the wrong question” (Anderson, 2024, 1:25:00). This culture of conformity has led to a dearth of Nobel laureates, weak academic institutions, and poor governance models across much of the Muslim world.
Perhaps the most sobering part of the interview comes when Durie asserts that Islamic antisemitism is “hardwired” into the Qur’an and Hadith—not merely a modern political deviation (Anderson, 2024, 1:30:00). He cites Qur’an 5:60, which refers to Jews as “apes and pigs,” and Hadiths such as Sahih Muslim 6985, which call for their extermination. These views, Durie explains, are routinely preached from pulpits and even by parliamentarians across the Islamic world.
While European antisemitism painted Jews as hyper-powerful conspirators, Islamic antisemitism casts them as cowardly yet cunning. “It’s all been mushed up into one terrible mix,” Durie says, “and it fuels everything from mosque sermons to social media memes” (Anderson, 2024, 1:33:11).
“What makes Christianity different,” Shumack says, “is that it doesn’t just ask you to become a better rule follower. It calls you to transformation” (Anderson, 2024, 1:45:04). Christianity presents a God who absorbs suffering rather than retaliating—a radical departure from Muhammad’s model of violence in the face of rejection.
Jesus offers unconditional love, not conditional acceptance. “The God of the Bible loves sinners before they change,” Shumack says. “He doesn’t just issue commands—He offers Himself” (cf. John 3:16; Romans 5:8).
References
Anderson, J. (Host). (2024, March 17). Why the Left embraces Islam and what that reveals about our cultural crisis [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1GDH3GLY8o
Anderson, J. (Host). (2024, March). The influence of Islam and Christianity in a changing world: A conversation with Mark Durie and Richard Shumack [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1GDH3GLY8o
Cook, D. (2005). Understanding jihad. University of California Press.
Durie, M. (2017). The third choice: Islam, dhimmitude and freedom. Deror Books.
Durie, M. (2017). Liberty to the captives: Freedom from Islam and dhimmitude through the cross. Deror Books.
The Holy Bible, New International Version. (2011). Biblica.
Qur’an (M. A. S. Abdel Haleem, Trans.). (2004). The Qur’an. Oxford University Press.