A Lesson in Patience on a Busy Street

I was a young seminary student then, full of enthusiasm, hopeful, and perhaps more sensitive than I realized. I was walking along Safaieh Street in Qom when a car suddenly sped past me, coming so close that for a brief moment I felt the chill of fear. Instinctively, I reacted, nothing aggressive, just a gesture meant to urge the driver to be more careful.

But the situation escalated. The driver stopped abruptly, got out of his car, and began shouting harsh, offensive words, words that were painful for anyone to hear, let alone a student wearing clerical attire. Inside me, a storm rose. My ego demanded a response, sharp, immediate, and perhaps justified. But then my eyes fell on my clerical dress, on the unspoken responsibility it carried. I chose restraint over retaliation. I apologized, turned away, and continued on my path.

Yet silence did not come easily. That night, although I had outwardly let it go, inwardly I was restless. Sleep escaped me. I replayed the incident again and again, asking myself: Did I give up my dignity? Was my silence a form of weakness?

A few days later, I found myself once more on Safaieh Street. The memory still lingered when suddenly I heard the sound of brakes. I looked up, and there he was. The same driver. He pulled over, stepped out of his car, and walked toward me. My heart tightened. I thought to myself, This time, I will respond.

But what happened next was completely unexpected.

He stopped in front of me, paused, and said calmly, “Sir… a few days ago, I behaved very badly. I was angry, but I was wrong. I came to apologize.”

For a moment, I was speechless. It felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from my heart. That apology was not only a balm for my wounded soul; it was a profound lesson. I realized that sometimes a well-placed silence, a dignified act of patience, can accomplish what no harsh reply ever could.

That day, I thought more deeply than ever about the forbearance of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him and his family). I understood that if we, as students of religion, wish to be heirs to his message, we must be prepared to endure hardship, to “drink the bitter cup” of patience on the path of ethical conduct. Preaching the faith does not always happen from a pulpit or behind a microphone; sometimes it begins quietly, on a crowded city street, with a conscious choice to remain calm.

Some Lessons from This Missionary Experience

1. Silent preaching can be more powerful than countless words: Ethical conduct and lived patience often transform hearts more deeply than sermons.
2. Religious identity carries an added moral responsibility: Those who are visibly associated with faith represent their entire tradition, even in everyday conflicts.

The fruits of patience are not always immediate, but they are lasting: Today’s restraint may awaken another person’s conscience days, or even years, later.