"Will Everything Sad Come Untrue?"
#92-14Presented on The Lutheran Hour on December 1, 2024
By Rev. Dr. Michael Zeigler, Lutheran Hour Speaker
Copyright 2025 Lutheran Hour Ministries
Reflections
Text: Jeremiah 33:16
So, the target reader for this book was probably a seventh-grader. Let's say he's got braces and a buzz cut, is from Oklahoma, and his name is Jared. Apparently, Jared and I have a lot in common, because I was really into this book, too. Even though I'm squarely in my forties, it's not too much of a stretch for me think like my seventh-grade self. The same seems be true for the middle-aged man who wrote the book, because he certainly knew how to think like a seventh-grader. And because this author seemed to know his audience, I thought I'd share the book with my two younger sons, even though they're both in high school now.
So, I started reading it out loud for them at dinnertime, on school nights when we didn't have something else going on. My wife also listened with us, too, though it was a bit more of a stretch for her to imagine the world through the eyes of a twelve-year-old boy. But my boys were right there with me. They had no problem identifying with the dumb things that middle-school boys do to be cool—like hocking loogies from any elevated surface or hurling reproaches at anyone who dares to insult your mama or making jokes out of anything that involves what my mama used to call "bathroom humor."
But from another perspective, the twelve-year-old main character in that book we were reading had almost nothing in common with me or my boys or Jared from Oklahoma. The character's name is Khosrou Nayeri. He is Persian, born in Iran, moved to Oklahoma at the age of eight. In the book, we meet him four years later, at age 12, as a seventh-grader in Mrs. Miller's class. He says if you saw his name on Mrs. Miller's class sheet, "it wouldn't even look like a name to you. Male or female. Elvish or Klingon." And to say it, you'd have to do some thrashing in your throat, the sound a warthog makes, like hocking a loogie.
"Khosrou," you learn in the book, isn't just the name of a character, but a real person. It's the book's author. The book is a memoir about his life, and it takes shape like a patchwork quilt, as you, the reader, overhear school reports from Khosrou—whose mom started calling him Daniel because it was a name Oklahomans might recognize. In the book we hear Daniel giving reports about his life to the other students from Mrs. Miller's seventh-grade English class. And sometimes following Daniel's story is a stretch for his classmates, because it's not just his birth-name. Almost everything about his life sounds strange, even borderline unbelievable. But Khosrou, who goes by Daniel, does truly want to identify with his audience, to help them understand—to follow the story and to believe that it's true, about how he and his mom and his sister had to escape from their homeland.
Daniel's mom, it's clear, is his hero. Back home in Iran, his mom got caught helping the underground church and "got a fatwah on her head, which means the government wanted her dead." So, she and her children became refugees. And got resettled in Oklahoma. In Oklahoma, they were dirt poor. But not in Iran. In Iran, they were rich. Not just middle-class, but a few steps back from royalty. Not just because Daniel's father was a famous dentist, and his mother was a medical doctor. But also because they're sayyed. Being "sayyed" means that you're a blood descendant of the prophet Muhammed. Now maybe for a seventh-grader in Oklahoma, that's not a big deal. But for a Shiite Muslim in Iran, it is. It means you're special, you're on a different level, you're honored. You've got it made in the shade.
But Daniel's mom traded it all when she heard about Jesus, when she believed what Christians say about Him. And she became one of them—a follower of Jesus. But when you're sayyed in Iran, that's betrayal, dishonor a hundred times worse than dropping a "yo mama" joke on the Ayatollah. And the penalty isn't just an amped-up come-back. It's a state-sponsored death warrant. Daniel's dad didn't want to come with them. He stayed in Iran and got remarried because he didn't think Jesus was worth all that. And you can hear that Daniel's still sad about it. His dad did help them escape from the country, which is something. And Daniel, he lived to tell about it. Although he did accidentally get a dried bean stuck in his nostril on the way—true story.
But in Mrs. Miller's class in Oklahoma, they're not sure what to believe from Daniel's reports because it all sounds so strange and unrelatable. But Daniel keeps working to identify with them, to speak their language, to put it in terms they can understand, even when they're too stubborn or too distracted to listen.
And the adult Daniel did the same, writing this middle-grades memoir 24 years later, trying to remember what it felt like to be in the place of his audience, to tell a story that his listener can follow, which pretty much sums up the work of the prophets in the Bible. Daniel, the new name his mom gave him, was a prophet. The Bible tells how God sent many prophets to get His people's attention, to identify with them, to put it in terms they'll understand, even when they won't listen. The prophet Daniel got sent to Babylon, and later, to the Persians. He had to learn their language and culture. The prophet Isaiah, he stayed at home, but God had him walk around naked and barefoot, to get his people's attention (see Isaiah 20). And Jeremiah, the prophet, he so identified with his people that when the Babylonians came, invading his city, he bought some land. He paid top dollar for a soon-to-be worthless plot of land in a city under siege, so that he could feel what his people were feeling, what's it's like to lose everything, yet still have a reason to hope in God (see Jeremiah 32).
The work of a prophet is to identify with your people, because you represent a God who humbles Himself to identify with us. The Bible's prophets figure big in this month leading up to Christmas—the church season called Advent. During this season, Christian communities all around the world—Presbyterian congregations in Oklahoma and underground gatherings in Iran—they'll be listening to readings from the prophets who foretold the coming of the Christ, the Messiah, the King of the Jews, and the Lord of all nations.
Now in church, we usually just hear the more identifiable bits: the prophecy about how this King would be born in Bethlehem (see Micah 5:2)—and how He would set all the wrongs right again (see Jeremiah 23:5-6), and how foreigners would come to offer Him their best gifts because He's worth it (see Isaiah 60:5-6). But if you were to listen to the whole book of one of these biblical prophets, a lot of it would sound strange and unidentifiable, maybe even unbelievable, with weird Middle Eastern-sounding names with guttural consonants, Persian and Babylonian empires with merciless armies, and a God who is angry and heartbroken because His people betrayed Him, yet still wants to reach them and restore them. You read the Bible's prophets, and they can be hard to follow, like listening to some patchwork tale of immigrant woe. But like the Daniel who was sent to Mrs. Miller's class, God sends His prophets to reach His people, to tell a true story they can follow, to prove to them that God is worth it.
Jeremiah is the prophet many Christian communities will hear from this first week of Advent. It's a short reading, just three verses, Jeremiah 33:14-16. It's short, but the words from this brief reading are worth more than gold because God promises to give His people a new name—to give them His name, actually. Even after they've refused to listen, and abandoned God, the fountain of living waters, and tried to dig reservoirs of their own, broken wells that don't hold a drop (see Jeremiah 2:13). After their dreams dry up, and the consequences of putting faith in corrupt governments come crashing down on their heads, and the lies they tell themselves are exposed, and they remember how it's all playing out just as God said it would, even then God would reach out them—to raise up the Messiah to restore them, to give His people a new name. And the name by which they will be called Jeremiah says, "The LORD is our righteousness" (see Jeremiah 33:16). In other words, God will come to set things right and put them right with Him. God will come to identify with us, to make our name His name.
See, the words from Jeremiah 33 are a repeat from earlier in the book, in chapter 23. In this earlier part, we hear another series of reports and reproaches from God that Jeremiah delivered to his people. He says they're so far gone, they don't even know God anymore. They might call themselves "spiritual" or "religious," but they're not even identifiable as God's people. They've gone after worthless dreams. They oppress the poor and disregard the orphan and the widow. They shed innocent blood and practice oppression and violence (see Jeremiah 22:16-17). And God will uproot them, so that He can replant them. God will plant them in the roots of that promised King. And this is the name by which that King, the Christ, will be called, it says in Jeremiah 23:6—"The LORD is our righteousness," the same name the people get in chapter 33. In other words, God will so identify with His people that He will take their name and their shame. He will take their sins and their insults, their distraction and sadness, and die with it, all of it, and be raised from death, so that we can have a new name—God's Name, the Name of Jesus, the Christ.
That's why Daniel's mom became a Christian. She heard the true story of the true God—the God who is not only a righteous Judge, a God who gets angry when we hurt people and hurt ourselves, but also the God who is a loving Father, who sent His only Son to so fully identify with us that He became one of us. He was born into our skin; He took our blood into His veins; He bore our brokenness in His body so that He could feel our feelings and speak our language and share a story that we can follow.
Daniel's mom heard this, and by grace she believed it and gratefully received Jesus' Name as her own, even when that meant she would lose everything else.
Why did she do it? Someone in Mrs. Miller's class wants to know. Why?
Because up to that point, Daniel's told us about the fancy house they had in Iran and the villages his grandfather owned and the gold and his mom's medical practice—all the amazing things she had but they don't anymore because of Jesus' Name. Why did she trade all of that? The only answer Daniel has is what his mom says when people ask. She looks them in the eye with the begging hope that they'll hear her and she says, "Because it's true." Why else would she believe it? Daniel wonders. "It's true and more valuable than seven million dollars in gold coins and thousands of acres of Persian countryside and ten years of education to get a medical degree and all your family and your home ... and even maybe your life." His mom wouldn't have made the trade otherwise.
And if you believe it's true—that the God who made and rules and owns everything identifies with you, and sent His Son to die for you and rise for you and give you His Name—then it has to take over your life. It has to be worth more than everything else because forgiveness and resurrection and new creation and eternal life with God are all included. It's either that, or Daniel's mom is insane. "There is no middle," says Daniel. "You can't say it's a quirky thing she thinks sometimes, 'cause she went all the way with it. If it's not true, she made a giant mistake. But she doesn't think so. She'll tell you—it's worth it. Jesus is better. It's true. Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again." Daniel's whole story, my story, your story, every story hinges on it. But maybe it feels unbelievable to you?
Daniel acknowledges that this is on the border of what can be believed. But he says, think about it again from his mom's perspective. His mom is practically Muslim royalty. She "was such a fierce Muslim that she marched for the Revolution." She "studied the Quran the way very few people do." And she "read the Bible and knew in her heart that it was true."
So maybe we start by accepting this fact like a yo' mama joke, Daniel continues: "If someone says, 'Yo' mama's so dumb she sold her car for gas money,' you don't say, 'Yeah, but why? Was she properly aware of the long-term consequences?' You just accept the premise that yo' mama is dumb, and we move on from there. Maybe you lay down some facts about his mama."
"My mama is not dumb, by the way," Daniel writes. "So when you're evaluating whether she's sincere in her belief or a lunatic, you should know that she's got more degrees, speaks more languages, and has seen more of the world than most people you know. And how do you know anything for certain anyway? Maybe don't be so certain all the time."
Daniel Nayeri's book, if you wanted to check it out, is titled Everything Sad is Untrue, which is kind of funny because he shares a lot of sad things in the book, and the whole thing ends in the middle of sadness. The title, you learn along the way, is a reference to a line from another book, a fantasy. At the end of that story, one of the characters is surprised at how so many of the sad things that had happened to them on their journey proved to be different than what he had thought originally. So, he wonders aloud, "Is everything sad going to become untrue?" It's worded as a question, but Daniel's title turns it into a statement, though Daniel knows that the best we can do now is make it a statement of faith and maybe to show it by the way we live in hope.
Daniel doesn't claim to know how it's possible that everything sad is going to come untrue. And I don't know either. With so much heartbreak in the universe, and so many people who just won't listen, and the possibility of sadness forever for those who keep insisting that Jesus isn't worth it—I don't know how it's possible that sadness won't overtake all of us. But like Daniel says, sharing sadness is something friends do. And, somehow, sharing it makes it less. And if God has come to share ours, how will there be any of it left in the end?
Daniel Nayeri—Khosrou—he's a real person. I've seen him in real life. He was at an event I attended last year, talking about how Christians can communicate the faith to today's youth, not just through books written for Christians, but books written by Christians for everyone. At the time, I hadn't read his book. I didn't yet appreciate his gift as a writer—how well he could identify with his target audience, to tell a story about Jesus for everyone that might have otherwise been unrelatable, to do the work of a prophet.
If I get the chance to see Daniel again, I'm going to thank him for his work. And tell him he did such a good job pretending to be a seventh-grader that he won over my ninth-grader's attention and affection right away with his joke about how his name sounds like hocking a loogie. I suppose he does know his audience. But when you think about it, it's really not that much of a stretch for a middle-aged man to make himself think like his seventh-grade self. But God, making Himself human to make everything sad become untrue, that's borderline unbelievable.
Would you pray with me? Dear God, Father, You sent Your Son Jesus to cross the border for us. Give us ears to hear and hearts to believe and one day eyes to see Him face to face. Because He lives and He reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.
Daniel Nayeri, Everything Sad is Untrue (a true story). Levine Querido (2020), 11.
Ibid., 15.
Ibid., 196.
Ibid., 197.
J.R.R. Tolkien, Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King.
Reflections for December 1, 2024
Title: Author Daniel Nayeri
Mark Eischer: You're listening to The Lutheran Hour. For FREE online resources, archived audio, and more, go to lutheranhour.org. Once again, here's Dr. Michael Zeigler.
Mike Zeigler: Thank you, Mark. Today I'm visiting with Mr. Daniel Nayeri, the author that I talked about in today's sermon. The book is titled, Everything Sad Is Untrue: A True Story. And I said in that message that I'd want to thank Daniel for writing this book if I had a chance to talk with him. So here's my chance! Daniel, first, thank you for joining us. And second, thank you for your book.
Daniel Nayeri: Thank you for having me. It means the world that anybody would give it time or attention. So thank you.
Mike Zeigler: So, in the sermon I mentioned that you wrote this book from your seventh-grade self-perspective. Was that hard? What kind of challenges did you face when you had to think from the perspective of your old self?
Daniel Nayeri: Yeah, yeah, it was. When I initially wrote this book, I wrote it from my adult perspective. And as a result, it didn't have a lot of those... the kind of raw energy, the emotion that a young person feels in those moments. And when it wasn't particularly good as a manuscript, I was really stuck for a while until the suggestion was made to say, okay, what if we do it from when the stuff was really emotionally overwhelming, frankly. What would it look like? And so going back, trying to remember what that was like, trying to feel those emotions again, without the tools that an adult has to manage them, I think is the biggest challenge. Jumping into the editorial part of it, my job is actually to help a young reader experience those things while also developing the tools that, thankfully, as an adult, I came to develop.
Mike Zeigler: When you think back to your seventh-grade self, how do you remember understanding your mom's faith? I talked a lot about that in the sermon. You say that your mom is the hero of this story, and clearly you admire her. You mentioned how much that cost you and your family, this great life you had back in Iran. How did you process her faith? As a seventh-grader, what do you remember about that?
Daniel Nayeri: Well, I'll tell you, and you can even go further back because when we sort of touched down in the United States, I wasn't yet in the seventh grade, I was in the second grade, right? And so the story kind of spans a chunk of time. She did not have a disastrous and horrible life. She absolutely had struggles and pains, but she had a pretty desirable experience. What she then moved toward was a much harder life and was a less desirable kind of experience of poverty and loneliness and these sorts of things.
So, as a little kid, we're kind of conditioned as kids to kind of look at things in these very practical ways, right? Like, don't trade a big candy bar for a little candy bar, you know? It's just a solid heuristic in childhood. She sort of makes this trade that looks so lopsided. And so that question was very strong in my childhood mind, right? Why did she make this trade? This, like broadly speaking, this trade of her whole life for to come over and become a refugee, to become homeless at times, having jobs that were much harder than the ones she had had, and things like that, right? So that trade just looked very lopsided. And so it causes a lot of questions. It caused us to ask "why?" a lot. And my mother's answer was never doubtful. She was never like, well, you're right. Maybe it would be nice to have been rich back there. It was just never that way. Like, she had the grin of somebody who had gotten it over on the best deal you could possibly get. She always had the sense and the certainty of what she got was far better than what she gave up.
Growing up, it was the question to answer if you wanted to understand my mother. Because there was, it became the central question of how to even interact with her, because it was such a massive pivot in her life. So to answer that question forces you of course, to address, well, what did she get? And what she got, of course, was Christ.
Mike Zeigler: Thank you for joining us. Once again, this is Daniel Nayeri. He is the author of the book, Everything Sad Is Untrue. Check it out and see what you think. Thanks for joining us, Daniel.
Music Selections for this program:
"A Mighty Fortress" arr. Peter Prochnow. Used by permission.
"Crucifer" by Sydney H. Nicholson, arr. Peter Prochnow. Used by permission.
"Savior of the Nations, Come" From Christmas Pastorale (© 1993 Lutheran Hour Ministries) Used by permission.
