Top Questions About the Gospel from My Interfaith Conversations

By Dr. Tim Orr

Some of the most sacred moments of my life have taken place in quiet corners of interfaith dialogue—where theological questions are whispered more like prayers than arguments. I’ve sat across tables in mosques, university halls, refugee homes, and uber rides where the questions people ask about the gospel reveal something more than mere curiosity. They reveal the ache of the human heart—the longing to be known, healed, reconciled, and belong.

These conversations have taught me that gospel proclamation is not about winning debates. It’s about attending to the soul-level questions God has already placed in people’s hearts. And often, those questions are not what we expect.

Let me share a few of the most profound questions I’ve been asked—and how I’ve come to see them as doorways into the mystery and glory of the gospel.

“Is the gospel just about going to heaven—or is there something more?”

I used to answer this question by explaining heaven. Now, I answer it by talking about home.

I think of a conversation with a young Muslim man in Birmingham in the UK. After an hour of questions, he finally said, “But what if I don’t want paradise—I just want peace?” That hit me like a thunderclap. His longing wasn’t for gold palaces or rivers of milk—it was for rest, identity, wholeness.

So I told him, “The gospel is not just about where you go when you die. It’s about who you belong to now. Jesus didn’t come to give you a destination but to give you Himself.”

At its core, the gospel is the story of a Father welcoming prodigals home—not just to a place, but to a relationship. The goal of the gospel isn’t simply to get people out of the earth into heaven—it’s to get heaven into people so that even now, we begin living under the reign of Christ, shaped by love, mercy, justice, and peace.

What if the deeper question isn’t “Where will I go when I die?” but “Where can I be fully alive now?” The answer is Christ.

“Why did Jesus have to die? Isn’t God powerful enough to forgive without the cross?”

This is one of the most common questions I’ve heard from Muslims, but it touches something far deeper than doctrine. It touches on the question of what kind of God we believe in.

Is God the kind of God who glosses over evil with a shrug? Or is He the kind of God who enters into the human story and absorbs the cost of forgiveness Himself?

I often tell a story from my own life. Years ago, I was deeply hurt by a close friend’s betrayal. I wanted to forgive him, but every time I tried, the sting of injustice rose up again. That’s when I realized forgiveness always costs something. You either demand payment or absorb the pain yourself.

At the cross, God didn’t demand repayment from us. He absorbed it. He bore it. He didn’t choose justice instead of mercy—He wove them together. In Christ, justice is satisfied, and mercy is unleashed. The cross isn’t a loophole in God’s mercy—it’s the very proof of it.

Tim Keller once said, “The gospel is this: We are more sinful and flawed in ourselves than we ever dared believe, yet at the same time, we are more loved and accepted in Jesus Christ than we ever dared hope.”

“How can Jesus be both fully God and fully human?”

This is not just a theological problem—it’s a deeply relational one. People struggle with this question because it challenges our categories of power and intimacy. Can a transcendent God know what it’s like to be human?

Years ago, a Syrian refugee I met uh asked, “Can your God weep?” He didn’t want an argument—he wanted to know if God understood his grief.

That’s when I shared with him the story of Jesus weeping at the tomb of Lazarus. Not just a prophet who speaks truth—but a Savior who weeps with those who suffer. The incarnation is God’s answer to the question, “Does God care?”

Only in Jesus do we see a God who is not detached from our condition but immersed in it. He hungered, was tempted, felt lonely, wept, and died. And He did it not because He had to, but because He wanted to stand with us—and ultimately, stand in our place.

God did not send a messenger. He came Himself.

“How is Christianity different from all other religions?”

This question has come from many—Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, seekers. And I now see a deeper question beneath it: What makes grace different from effort?

Religion tells us what we must do, while the gospel tells us what God has done. The difference is not just intellectual—it is existential.

Several years ago, I was once told about a devout Hindu woman in the Chicagoland area. She spoke about how she wakes at 4 a.m., offers prayers, cooks food for the gods, recites mantras, and strives for purity in her thoughts—all hoping karma might tilt in her favor. When asked how she felt about her spiritual progress, she whispered, “I’m tired.”

That’s when my friend shared the words of Jesus: “Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matt. 11:28)

She began to weep.

Most religions offer a ladder to climb. The gospel offers a Savior who comes down the ladder, carries us up, and calls us His beloved. That’s the radical claim of Christianity: not that we have found God, but that God has found us.

“If Jesus is the only way, what about people who’ve never heard?”

This question often carries the most emotional weight. I’ve heard it asked through clenched fists and trembling voices. Behind it is often a deeper concern: Is your God fair?

I always begin by affirming the goodness and justice of God. He does not delight in anyone’s perishing (Ezek. 18:23). He knows every heart. He judges with perfect equity. I don’t pretend to know how God deals with every soul—but I do know how He deals with mine: through grace alone.

But I also challenge the assumption behind the question. Most people assume neutrality—that people are born innocent and need a little spiritual direction. But Scripture says we are not spiritually neutral—we are spiritually broken and rebellious before God. Because of this, we are not merely misguided—we are estranged from God.

That’s why the gospel is not just one of many helpful paths—it is the divine intervention for a human condition that no self-effort can fix. We don’t need a teacher—we need a Savior. And that’s why Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6)—not out of arrogance, but out of rescue.

Conclusion: The Gospel Isn’t Just an Answer—It’s an Invitation

In every interfaith conversation, I’ve realized that what people ultimately want is not a religion that makes the most logical sense but a God who makes the most relational sense—a God who knows their wounds, sees their striving, understands their shame, and still loves them.

The gospel is not just a system of salvation—it is the heartbeat of a Father calling His children to repent, embrace the Gospel, and have a right relationship with Him.

So whether you’re sitting in a mosque, teaching in a university, or talking with your neighbor over a backyard fence, remember: the goal is not just to answer questions but to reveal a Savior—a Savior who does not merely inform us but transforms us. A Savior who does not just get us to heaven—but gets heaven into us.

And sometimes, the deepest answers are not the ones we speak—but the ones we embody with compassion, humility, and Spirit-filled love.

Who is Dr. Tim Orr?

Tim serves full-time with Crescent Project as the assistant director of the internship program and area coordinator, where he is also deeply involved in outreach across the UK. A scholar of Islam, Evangelical minister, conference speaker, and interfaith consultant, Tim brings over 30 years of experience in cross-cultural ministry. He holds six academic degrees, including a Doctor of Ministry from Liberty University and a Master’s in Islamic Studies from the Islamic College in London.

In addition to his ministry work, Tim is a research associate with the Congregations and Polarization Project at the Center for the Study of Religion and American Culture at Indiana University Indianapolis. His research interests include Islamic antisemitism, American Evangelicalism, and Islamic feminism. He has spoken at leading universities and mosques throughout the UK—including Oxford University, Imperial College London, and the University of Tehran—and has published widely in peer-reviewed Islamic academic journals. Tim is also the author of four books.