Faith

I think "faith" is one of those words that gets used so much it becomes watered down and we lose track of what it actually means. At a friend's prompting, I've been thinking about faith alot lately as it relates to what I'm doing here.

But I'm having a problem with this because 1) alot of the time, even now, I'm still not sure what I'm doing here; and 2) I'm not sure what faith is.

I went to the Episcopal catechism looking for a definition and found none, but found that the catechism itself is called an "Outline of Faith." Hmm, Interesting. So does faith mean stuff we're supposed to believe?

I remember in the 60's, after the two Kennedy brothers were assassinated and there were countless stories about the tragedies of the Kennedy kids - retardation and deaths violent, tragic, and too young. Rose, their mother, was always asked how she endured this. She always said she has a strong faith. I didn't know what that meant. Did she mean faith made it not hurt so bad? Did she mean it was awful but faith told her it was somehow ok anyway? All for the best? In God's plan? I didn't know what she meant when her response to her children dying was that she had strong faith.

I know it had something to do with God, though. And I think she meant despite all that really, really bad stuff she still believed in God.

As it is frequently expressed, faith seems to be about that.....belief in something undetectable but undeniably, unwaveringly, uncontestably good. (Like wind? Electricity? Santa Claus?)

So I guess that when these terrible things happen, faith keeps us from wondering what God is up to or whether God is at all. That somehow, it's all...........what - acceptable? meaningful?

So I suppose I must be having a crisis of faith. Because this has been my struggle for much of the time I've been here. On mission, God is smack in the center of things. For some people, God is the subject, for some the object. Or the verb, or adverb, or adjective. Different for different people, but God is definitely in the narrative somewhere.

But it seems on more days than not here, God is most notable by apparent absence. Alot of bad stuff goes on here. People are being hurt badly. And other people are doing the hurting. And still more people are supporting the people who are doing the hurting, even encouraging it. Where is the ultimate good in that? Like dying children. Where exactly is God in that?

The truth is that I am an awfully lot more aware these days of the other guy - the one with horns and forked tail. I see him real clearly here.

And yet - and here's where I get real confused - I stay on here. Along with all these other people who don't like these things either. I don't know why. It's hard and it's unpleasant and it's sad and it's tiring and it's maddening and it's sickening.

I was talking to my spiritual director recently about a decision to do one thing or another and I found myself saying that one of those choices didn't seem "faithful." Where did that come from??!! I of little faith was choosing to act faithfully.

For me, in that instance, it meant acting authentically. Acting in a way true to the purpose and intention of coming here in the first place, enduring, and staying on. I don't know what that has to do with reacting to children dying, but I think it has something to do with it.

On mission, we learn that answers will rarely come. That certainty isn't likely. That comfort in your previous beliefs and values will be cold comfort. But that you just have to keep going anyway.

With faith.

Tawjihi!! And Beyond

Today is an important day in Palestine. Every year all the graduating secondary school students take a standardized national Test, the Tawjihi. This is huge. The score determines their future. Whether they get into University, and which University. Or not.

Today the scores were made known. The scores are read on the radio - everyone listens, family and friends. It's a national event. All day we heard car horns of those celebrating their sister, son, niece, nephew who did well. Those who didn't do well had a much more somber occasion. Now, as I write this, a young man sits next to me looking at all the scores published in the newspaper. His sister took the test; she did well and should get into one of the good universities.

Education is terribly, terribly important here. It is a source of great pride and honor and families do all they can to provide the best for their kids. The young man next to me is the oldest brother and much of his salary goes for his sister's education while he defers his.

There are more universities here than you might think, all rather good as far as I can tell.

I think maybe this emphasis on education here has two sources. One is historical and racial/cultural. Going back hundreds of years, when Europe was in the Dark Ages and practically living in caves, the Arab world was rediscovering the Classics and making new knowledge of their own that we still depend on today. I think this tradition is held in great esteem here and carried on.

But I wonder if a second reason is that a good education gives young people here at least some promise. There isn't much promise here and even with all the education in the world, if things don't change, it might come to naught. I have ridden with plenty of cab drivers with college educations who just can't get work. With others who have no work at all, and only their diploma at home to attest to what they tried to make of their lives.

The plight of young people here can tear at your heart. Like young people everywhere, they're full of energy and hope. Like everywhere, the young men are riding the wave of the testosterone surge, spending alot of time and energy on their hair, clothes, and being tough and cool. The young women are learning to be poised and counting on a good marriage and children.

Everything here is about the family. There is simply no comprehension of a place, like the US, where so many people choose to be unmarried and choose not to have children. People here see this as a sign of the decay of the society.

The coming together of male and female here is much, much different from the west. Save in only a few places, like Ramallah, there really is no dating as we know it in the West. A young man and woman may have time to talk, always when others are present, to get to know each other a little, find out whether there is some kind of attraction and commonality. But as far as I can tell there is not the sort of "romantic love" that we in the west think is necessary. Nor is there the emphasis on "relationship" that we have been so Oprah-ized and Dr. Phil'd about in recent years. I might be wrong but it seems to me marriage here is mostly about raising children.

I hope these kids who got their scores today, whether celebrating tonight or not, will in fact have that future of hope and promise. I believe they can if we can give it to them. If we can leave ourselves and our greeds behind for long enough to make a new way for them. Inshallah.

Homage

They were my first really good friends here. The kinds of friends you tell your secrets to.

It's been a week now since they returned to Germany. They'd been here several years and it was time for them to return to their home in Germany to begin a new journey in their lives and ministries. It's not the same without them. In some ways, the ministry is not the same. I look at the darkened windows of their flat and hear the echoes and miss them.

Since they probably don't want their names splattered all over the internet I will call them by their initials "J" and "J". They're two of the most talented people I ever knew. Musician, artist, reporter, writer and poet, iconographer, executive skills, linguists. But that's the work they do. I know them mostly as friends and companions on this strange journey.

Since being here, I've come to imagine Jesus' disciples in such different ways from before. I always thought of them in reference to Jesus, their relationship to him. But J and J have helped me to imagine and understand how the disciples might have related to each other, as well. It's tough to try and follow a path that is almost impossibly difficult, and in J and J I found fellow disciples who made the hard times so much more bearable. We talked alot and shared experiences and reactions to experiences. We prayed together - some of the times I remember best are the Evening Prayers at the Cathedral. The quiet and solitude. Sometimes the tears as we remembered some of the things that happen here and stories of people we love here.

They were my first role models as missioners and one of their great gifts to me was the importance of learning the native language. They are both unusually gifted in languages and watching them speak Arabic so beautifully but more, watching the way people here appreciate that, made me know my intention to learn is well-founded.

We went to Gaza alot together. I think it was this that made us closest. Being there in that place listening to the sad, hard stories of friends there brought us common ground that we could build on. We traveled other places, too. Times on the road and waiting at checkpoints to be able to really talk. There isn't alot of time or room here for superficialities or shallow blah blah. We got to know each other in those times.

We plan to get together in Germany in a few months. And I know they will be back here. And I know we will stay in touch and nurture our friendship. But it will always be these first days in Jerusalem, Zababdeh, Haifa, and Gaza, and almost Kufr Yasif (a private joke!) when we came to know each other that I will cherish most.

When they settle in Germany and get the computer unpacked and hooked up, they will read this. So, J and J....

Shukran ktiir. Allah ma'kum.

King of the Road

The world regularly turns upside down when you're on mission.

I'm teaching this summer at a nursing school in the West Bank. The administration of the school gave me a car to use during the course, which is a tremendous luxury and takes about an hour off the travel time I would have using public transportation. But I felt guilty about having such a luxury, so I decided to share it by giving rides to the people who frequently are walking in the West Bank.

So now after passing the checkpoint, I look for hitchhikers.

Until now, I've never, ever, not once picked up a hitchhiker. You know, dangerous.....you never know who...blah blah blah. But here, it's just folks who don't have cars. I've had some wonderful experiences. An old man I've picked up 2-3 times (elderly men are known here as "hajj" in tribute to the likelihood they might have made the Hajj to Mecca at some time. Women are "hajje") who talks a blue streak. A young boy of 16 on summer break. A family of mom, dad, and two small children. It's been a wonderful chance for me to spend some time with people I might not otherwise encounter. We speak Arabic - they're thrilled when I can maintain at least a simple conversation - and they always, without fail, invite me in for tea or coffee. It's been a real treat for me and I'm grateful for this car and the chance it gives me to encounter life here in a different way.

I wonder what makes us do these things when we're on mission? Where does this come from??!!

A retired American priest who's been here for at least 20 years was recently leaving for the States for awhile and wasn't looking forward to it. Too easy and comfortable. He was explaining all this and looked at me and said with a smile and twinkle in his eye, "Some of us like danger."

I've thought about that and I think he's right. But I don't think it's that kind of danger. I don't think it's just that we're adrenaline junkies. I think it's the danger of stepping into new experiences and daring to forego comfort, convenience, and the familiar. The danger of wondering what's on the other side of what we think we know. To become friendly with what's alien. To allow yourself to discover that the people you thought were violent and dangerous are in fact gentle, generous, and funny. And the people you thought were meek, humble, and peaceful in fact have a monstrous streak in them. To look at yourself being scared and grumpy when you're cold and tired and don't understand anything anybody is saying. And to see yourself, also, waiting at the checkpoint, when you have a choice, with those who don't.

In the Gospels, Jesus calls his disciples and they just go. I used to wonder what they expected when they did that? Now I think they didn't expect anything. I think this mission business doesn't have room in it for expectations, for measuring things that way. I think it's more about just walking on, following who/whatever called us, full-faced into what lies ahead. Not wondering who or what we'll meet there, but just meeting them. Learning that the alien which we've so carefully crafted our lives around (race, nationalism, religion) really isn't. That we can meet someone on a hot dusty road in the Occupied West Bank, find a way to communicate, and wind up sharing tea.

I've learned that on the road this summer. It's been wonderfully dangerous.

Balance

Last week I received several emails and a phone call from friends, asking if I was ok after they heard about the sad event here in Jerusalem when a man drove a bulldozer into a bus and 3 people were killed. Although it was good to receive that caring, I was confused at first. "Why are they asking about this? This stuff goes on all the time here?"

Then I realized that many people might not know that this stuff goes on all the time here. Depending on which "stuff" we're talking about and where "here" is. I was reminded that what really happens here is not well known outside. I've mentioned this in blogs before, but it seemed a good time to talk more about that. About how some sad events are exploited for political gain, how other sad events are never mentioned, and about how so many who we should be able to trust collude in all this.

The event in Jerusalem last week was plastered all over the internet and all the newspapers. I assume it also received TV coverage in the States, from the notes of concern I received. It was said a "Palestinian," who was immediately dubbed a terrorist, was responsible. That version feeds the mythology that some want to perpetrate, but I must tell you it's not true. The man was Arab and was an Israeli citizen living in Israel. His motive had nothing to do with politics or religion. He had a history of mental illness and was pissed at a man who owns the bulldozer company. He did what he did to get that man in trouble.

Sad isn't it? Just a sick man with revenge on his mind. No Palestinian, no terrorist, no politics, no religion. But it became so in callous, wanton deceit and the world responded dutifully as it always does. Poor, poor Israel, the beleaguered democracy under constant attack by these terrorists.

For balance, here's something else that's been going on the past couple of weeks........

There is a village in the West Bank called Ni'lin. The Wall is being built around it. (The Wall is the "security barrier" that isn't, but is a mechanism for land-grab and isolation of peoples). The construction, which was encircling and strangling Ni'lin as has been done in many other places including Bethlehem, was declared illegal by the World Court and ordered to be stopped. It wasn't. It almost never is. The Wall has been found illegally built many times, including by the Israel Supreme Court. Occasionally construction stops, usually it doesn't. The IDF (Israel Defence Force) screams "Security" and trumps the court.

For some time, demonstrators have been protesting the Wall in Ni'lin. Palestinians, internationals, and Israeli activists. Last week, the IDF declared the village a military danger zone, circled it with troops, blockaded all entry and exit, and put the village under curfew because the demonstrations had become "too violent". They cited rock throwing and rolling burning tires.

These are acts of violence, yes they are. But I'll pause a moment while you ponder about the forces of a nuclear power, armed to the teeth, finding rock-throwing too violent. And whether an appropriate response is to punish the entire population of the village.

Can you say "Gaza"?

When this happens and a village is put under curfew, which is one of the things that happens here which you don't hear about, it means house-curfew and the curfew is around the clock. In other words, while this order is in effect people cannot leave their houses. For anything. If they do, they are shot with rubber bullets, or tear-gassed, or their houses are invaded by the soldiers and destroyed. When people in Ni'lin were injured by the bullets and needed to go to the hospital, ambulances were not permitted entry by the IDF. This was corrected the next day when an activist called a member of the Knesset who ordered the soldiers to let the ambulance enter. I hope the child who had been shot in the neck came out ok.

The curfew has been lifted just now. The soldiers remain in place.

It's not the stories you usually hear from here is it - Salivating mad terrorists besieging a peaceful, quiet democracy. But these stories are the "stuff" that goes on here every day. People detained into their houses by armed soldiers, food and water running out, medical help denied, shot if they venture out. Democracy.

When you hear about the next sad event from here, and unfortunately you probably will, please remember the people you hear about in your prayers or thoughts of concern or however you note those things.

But also please remember the other people you're not hearing about. They need your prayers, too.

A Blog About Blogging. Sort Of

Did you miss me?

I've realized of course that I wasn't posting like I used to, but lost track of time and now notice that the date of the last blog was 6 weeks ago. Oh my!

There are a number of reasons. Partly because I've become much busier now with plenty to do, unlike those first dreadfully long, dark, cold winter months here when I wanted nothing more than to be somewhere else. Now, it seems, I live here. I have friends, lots to do, and days just started going by without my thinking about blogging. But it wasn't just about the time. I also lost the muse a bit. I felt I was saying the same thing over and over. I couldn't seem to find ways to make the blogs "interesting."

But a few friends wrote, saying they missed reading the postings (that was really nice, thank you). And in reflecting about it then, I realized that part of my responsibility here is just to witness. Not to censor it because it doesn't seem interesting, but simply to share whatever is here, interesting or not. I also realize that with more time here, "interesting" has taken on new meaning. Today I was driving from the West Bank back into Jerusalem. At the checkpoint, the soldier was sitting on a chair up on the curb above street level. His machine gun was draped lazily across his lap, muzzle pointed at me about 2 feet away. I said "Shalom", handed him my passport, he waved me on. I drove away, wondering briefly if the machine gun was loaded but not otherwise paying much attention....... Um, this is not really a normal thing. I bet it doesn't happen alot in San Antonio or Auckland. But here it is routine. One of the challenges here is to always stay alert to the horrific abnormality of this way of life. If we forget that and get used to the Occupation and oppression, we are lost.

Another thing I realized is that part of what needs to be witnessed and shared with readers is that in many ways it is the same thing over and over again. The sheer relentlessness of Occupation is one of the things that makes it so difficult. You know when you wake up every morning that it's still there. You still can't go wherever you want or do whatever you want. You will have to endure that checkpoint again today. You still have to remember to take that ID card with you. You still know that soldiers with guns control your life. And when you go to bed tonight, you know that it will be there again tomorrow. This is hard.

Maybe in other places, when it's not on the news people think it's better somehow. That it's peaceful for awhile. "Oh, no stories from Jerusalem today, that's good." No, that's not the case. We're still here. Nothing has changed. Some people have asked about the recent ceasefire. Truthfully, we didn't pay that much attention here. People hoped of course, but after 60 years everyone here knows how these things work. Mostly, these events are for show on the world stage. Events here are moving inexorably forward toward removal of the Palestinian people. Never mind what you read, that's what's really happening.

Seeing this, realizing this apparent course of events is hard. When I know the people I have come to love face a series of dead-ends and losses, it makes alot of sadness. But it also makes me need to stay here with them. How could I turn my back now?

So. Life goes on. Hours of gold, hours of lead. Interesting or not, I'll keep writing. I hope you'll keep reading.

How Many Times....?

Recently I was ready for some new tunes on my MP3 and, struck by a wave of nostalgia, I decided to see what was available from Peter, Paul, and Mary. I downloaded a few of their songs and have been listening alot the last couple weeks to "Blowin' in the Wind." Remember it? More than 40 years on and as the news of the world has unfolded lately, how fresh those "protest" lyrics still are....

People are being beaten and killed in Zimbabwe for not voting for the party in power

"How many times must a man look up before he can see the sky? How many ears must one man have before he can hear people cry?"

Countless thousands in Myanmar are dead or now homeless, hungry, and deserted while the government charged with their care only scrambles to protect its secrecy and power

"How many deaths will it take till he knows that too many people have died?"

The American President speaks to the Israeli Knesset extolling its noble democracy and valued friendship, while mere miles from where he stands 5 million people are under military occupation and subjugation by said glorious "democracy"

"How many years must some people exist before they're allowed to be free? How many times can a man turn his head and pretend that he just doesn't see?"

Promise

"Don't you know that it's worth every treasure on earth to be young at heart"

I seem to be crying alot lately. Not boo-hoo bawling, but tears coming easily. Like the heart leaking. A friend said recently if your heart doesn't break here everyday, you need your sensitivity adjusted. That's very true, but I think it works the other way, too. If your heart doesn't swell everyday, something's wrong there, too. It's a big reason that being on mission is so exhausting. Every day is a ride.

The young people here have been on my mind alot lately. There's an organization here called Kids4Peace. It's a program for Christian, Muslim, and Jewish kids and teenagers (and their parents) to come together and get to know each other, understand each other, like each other, and learn to live with each other. They spend a year in the program which includes 2 weeks at a camp in the US. Recently, they had a reunion. Many more than expected showed up, some after several years, meaning it meant an awful lot to them. I watched them reconnect and start right in where they left off, the way kids do. Several of them talked about how the program changed the way they view the world, how they're now leaders in their schools in tolerance and ecumenism. See some photos from the reunion in the slideshow.

Then last week I went to the opening and dedication of a new nursing school branch of Bethlehem University. I'm going to teach there this summer. It's located in a village called Qubeiba, just outside Ramallah in the West Bank. What I love about this school is it's location there in an area of particular poverty and isolation. This is one of the areas that The Wall is trying to close in and shut off from the world. All the students in the school are local kids who now have a chance for a good profession that will assure them of work, even here. At the dedication ceremony, some boys performed a dabka, a wildly energetic Palestinian dance. There are some photos of that, too.

One of the Gospel stories about Jesus' resurrection has him meet two people walking on the way to Emmaus. No one knows for sure where Emmaus was, but one of the possibilities is Qubeiba. Rebirth and promise. How fitting.

Stopping in Ramallah on the way to Qubeiba, I met a young friend I've made. He works in Jerusalem but lives in Ramallah. He doesn't have a permit to be in Jerusalem, so he goes there at considerable risk. He has had to climb over the Wall to get there; he has been beaten up by soldiers who caught him trying to enter Jerusalem. He goes there because there's more work and better pay. It's the first time I've seen him outside Jerusalem. In Ramallah, he belongs. What a pleasure to see him walking around freely, stopping to chat with friends, smiling and laughing. I wonder what will happen to him. Where will he go? What will he do? What lies ahead for this bright, ambitious young man?

A few weeks ago I met a man of 22 at a refugee camp in Bethlehem. As we chatted, he told me about back surgery he had recently. I asked what for. He said because of injuries to his back when he was tortured in prison. What??!! One night soldiers came into his house and took him to prison. During interrogations and torture he was kicked and beaten, breaking some vertebrae. Tens of thousands of Palestinians are or have been in prison. In fact, it's hard to meet someone who wasn't himself or has a family member in prison.

What will happen to these young people who are worth every treasure on earth? Perhaps conditions will change here and they will find the bright promise of futures that other young people have. I hope so because right now I can't think about the alternative. I've already cried enough today.

Family Values

Last Sunday, I went with some friends to Nazareth for the wedding of a friend of ours. Nazareth is up north, about 2.5 hours from Jerusalem. It sits atop a hill and offers spectacular views all 'round. On a clear day, as it was Sunday, you can see the mountains way off to the east in Jordan.

The wedding was beautiful and happy and lively. The church sits on one of the highest spots in Nazareth and the front entrance door looks out onto that endless, timeless view. So as the couple turned to leave the altar after their vows, they must have believed they were looking out into a bright future of promise. Inshallah.

Thankfully, both the husband and wife have permits to be in their homeland, so they will be able to live together. Alhamdu lillah (Praise God). But it isn't always so........

The next morning, we went to Gaza. I have now been there many times and each time is more difficult as we watch our friends there suffer more and more as the embargo, attacks and incursions continue. On top of all the other deprivations, on Monday two of our friends there were both dealing with Family Separations.

One man's wife went at Christmas to visit their children in Jerusalem. When she tried to return, she was told her permit was no good and she would have to get another. So far she has not been able to, so our friend in Gaza has not seen his wife since Christmas and his children since longer.

Our other friend's three children have been in Jordan studying and working for 3 years. He won't let them return to Gaza because he does not want them to be trapped there with no work or opportunities available. However, he assumed he would be able to visit them sometimes. But now it's been 3 years since he has seen them because he cannot get a permit to leave Gaza. On the day before we visited he had learned his request for a permit to attend a conference in Jordan had been denied. He was going to take his wife and they would see their children. But they weren't allowed to leave, again. They won't see them, still.

I think we can't imagine this, most of us. Not being able to see our family because we are not granted a permit to travel. It sounds like a scenario from a futuristic doomsday novel: ("here's what could happen to you if you aren't careful"). But sadly, it's the stuff of real life here. I cannot describe for you the pain of this man as he told us his story and asked, "Why can't I see my children? What have we done?" Indeed.

There are tens of thousands of Palestinian families who are separated this way. Some for years, as our friend has been. Israel does not grant them permits to live together. They become separated in various ways, often as in our friends' cases, because of travel from which return was prevented. The cited reason is "security." Always, security.

There is a danger afoot in the world. And it isn't from terrorists or extremists. It isn't even from the power-mad politicians, my usual favorites to criticize. No, the danger is from us. You and me. From us who allow those others to work their evil because we don't stop them. The danger is from our indifference, from our fear, from our self-indulgence and falling in love with our comforts, from standing down when we see things we know are wrong, from not getting involved because what can we do about it anyway.

There is absolutely no way that families being together threatens anyone's security. These thousands of people are suffering separation because power is being cruelly exercised for its own sake. And we are allowing it.

We can do much better than this.

Edges

I remember in a seminary class talking about "limnal" places. Edges. Margins. A condition of being in two places, or in no place. Often a stage in transformation. I don't remember much else about it or why it came up (hopefully the professor isn't reading this)

This mission business is funny. Funny/peculiar that is. I'm still very new at it, a little short of 6 months now, but some traits of the life seem to be revealing themselves. From day to day, you're never really sure about anything. Planning is pointless, as are Goals and Expectations. What you pay attention to in life is very different than it used to be. And you don't quite really belong anywhere. Ever a foreigner here, you also begin to feel estranged from what used to be "home".

I notice these things only lately. I notice I am less inclined to post blogs. A friend who has been here for several years now told me recently that she thinks this is part of the process and also indicative of it. You find that you seem to be saying the same things over and over, and realize nothing has changed. The Occupation is still here, people are still suffering...what new is there to say?

But it was more revealing to me that she said she believes this also indicates a separation from the people you're writing to. Your thoughts are with them less and more with the people you're among now. Living on the edge of the two places. I realize this is true. I think less and less of "home". I think more and more of my life and friends here. Gradually - very gradually - I speak more Arabic and less English during the day.

Friends recently sent me some summer clothes I had put aside before leaving the US. Opening the box when it arrived here was strange. They were my clothes but they seemed alien. I've been wearing the same 2 pairs of jeans and the same 4 or 5 shirts for nearly 6 months now - why do I need all these extra, nice shirts?? It was a glimpse at a life I hardly recognized.

I begin to think of staying on after my one-year commitment is completed. But then I remember Planning is Pointless, as are Goals and Expectations. So for now I will go on being where I am, on this edge.

Something that always puzzled me about the Gospels, and annoyed me a little, was why the Disciples seem to be such bumbling fools. They never really get it, do they? They don't understand the parables, they sleep when they shouldn't, they argue about who Jesus is and about who gets to sit next to him. Nowadays, I realize that the Disciples are my brothers. I begin to understand why they're always confused and never quite sure what's going on. They're on mission. But they keep going don't they? I think that's the point. Through all the uncertainty and confusion, they manage to keep hearing whatever is calling them on, and something - perhaps beyond all common sense or reason - will not let them go back to the life they had before.

Here we say "Inshallah". God willing.

Jerusalem Panorama

It's turned spring here and on a beautiful afternoon recently, I went walking with camera in hand. I went West which is the Israeli/predominantly Jewish side of Jerusalem. The East, where I live, is mostly Palestinian/Arab, although with more and more appropriation by Israelis occurring. These national/ethnic/religious categories can be very confusing at first.

In any case, I thought I'd show some views of the West Side, which is very, very different, when I stumbled upon a Christians for Israel rally going on. The 60th anniversary of the establishment of Israel comes up next month, so these kinds of events will become quite common soon. One wonders how much of the true situation here these visitors see, or how much they care.

In any event, enjoy the photos in the slideshow. Captions offer some commentary. Just click on the slideshow to see all photos and their captions.

Little People

As it is for many people, "Casablanca" is one of my favorite movies. Nearly every scene has become iconic, but I'm thinking today of the closing sequence at the fog-shrouded Casablanca airport. Rick Blaine (Bogart) has found nobility and is off to work in the WW II resistance movement. The story has told us that he found his way to this decision out of his unrequited love for the ineffably beautiful Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman). As we hear the scored "As Time Goes By" for the last time, Rick tells Ilsa that where he is going she can't follow and what he has to do she can't be any part of. But they'll always have Paris. Then he says that he has learned that the lives of two little people don't amount to a hill-of-beans in this crazy, mixed-up world.

This has become an ethos for us, hasn't it? That beside The Greater Good and God and Country, we don't amount to a hill of beans. And we have believed this. We have become steeped in the honor of this, in the superiority of national interest. We talk about the necessary "sacrifice" of war to make it something to be lifted up to God. We have been taught well.

One of the blessings of living in a place like this, where headlines are lived out every day, is that you can get to know what it all means to very particular individual people. You might not really understand everything that's going on, but you can see plainly what it boils down to in the lives of all the little people. And I am learning that the problems of little people DO amount to a hill of beans in this crazy mixed up world. In fact, they are what matters most. They may be all that matters.

I think of the stories of Jesus' ministry. He lived under the occupation of the Empire, but notice he doesn't talk much about national interest. He talks about people who are sick or marginalized or poor or widowed. The stories are almost all about his encounters with particular little people. People with names, people with problems. They are what is important to him. Not alot of Secretaries of State or Prime Ministers in the Gospels. In fact, it's always seemed to me that when he comes before the Empire in the form of Pilate, he hardly has time for him. I notice, though, that he has time for the two thieves beside him on their crosses. Little people. Even criminal little people. He has time for them.

I spent the past two days in a village in the north of the West Bank where I go sometimes to work in a clinic. I stay with a family there and although their abiding hospitality will always demand that I be treated as a guest, the more I'm there the more they don't notice me. Being with them, I see what their lives are like every day. What they eat for dinner and breakfast, what they say about the current events of the day, how the Occupation affects them or doesn't, what makes them laugh and what makes them angry, what they do in the evening, what they spend their money on, who they keep company with.

The hill-of-beans ethos would say we mustn't focus on them, though. We must keep our eyes on the Big Picture, The Future, What's At Stake, Global Concerns. "Sacrifice" will be necessary. The more I am here, the more I think this is dead wrong. Some days I think it's even evil. Am I naive, do I not understand harsh reality and the way the world must work? I think I understand it very well. And I think it's a Great Big Problem.

On the road back to Jerusalem yesterday, we saw a military vehicle come to a stop and 3 soldiers jump out. Their rifles were up and pointed ahead as they began to run up the hill by the road. Just as we passed by, they began shooting at someone up the hill. We couldn't see who it was. Probably someone whose life got in the way of some national interest. And we won't find out who it was. His shooting or escape will pass by unnoticed by the world. Because his problems don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy, mixed-up world.

If these national interests and global concerns playing out here and in other parts of the world are so all-fired glorious and noble, why are so many people hurting in their wake? I think maybe all these national interests all rolled up together aren't worth even one eyelash from Hamza, or Rana, or Sabila, or Samir, or Fadi, or Ruba, or any of the other millions of little people who are being hurt here.

Easter

Sunday was Easter

Oops.......

So does anyone else stumble over the Resurrection? I mean, it isn't something that's part of our experience, is it? Yes, sure, we can see it metaphorically: "This new job really makes me feel like a new person." "My cancer is cured, I have a whole new chance at life." "I see everything in a new way now."

But it seems to me the writers of the Gospel went out of their way to describe a bodily resurrection. Jesus walks, talks, eats, and invites people to poke their fingers in his execution wounds. I don't think the writers wanted us to imagine it symbolically. They clearly meant us to believe that Jesus was dead 3 days, then rose again. So what are we to do with this in our rational, post-modern world?

I'm not prepared to say Impossible-Can't Be-No Way. After all, it wasn't that long ago you would have been burned at the stake for talking about reading this blog on that computer machine. But at the moment, resurrection is something that just doesn't seem possible to me, and I don't really want to just put it aside and accept it "on faith." I think that slips over too easily into magical thinking. For now, I'd rather stay open to possibilities, abide with not being able to figure it out, and say I just don't know.

I sure as heck hope there is resurrection, though. Today I met Rachel Corrie's father. Rachel was a 23-year old American writer who was in Gaza because she cared about what was going on there. In March, 2003, she stood in front of an Israeli bulldozer in hopes of stopping it from demolishing a Palestinian home. It didn't stop and it killed her. Her parents are here this week for the opening of a play about her. Her father told me he quit working after Rachel was killed ("How can you go back to work after someone bulldozes your daughter."). Now Rachel's parents tell her story and are trying to have her killing investigated, apparently with little success. I hope Rachel comes back to life for her family and friends. www.rachelcorriefoundation.org

I think of the young men I've met here. They're from the West Bank and are in Jerusalem illegally because they don't have permits, but they come here at risk of their lives to find work. They're like all young people. They have dreams. They want to have good work. They want to have families, to see Paris, to live rich full lives. I see their enthusiasm and between their broken English and my broken Arabic, hear their dreams. But their excited talk always fades out, knowing that none of this can happen because someone else has decided they are terrorists or militants or security threats and has forecast their futures for them. And so they live stunted lives that feel like death. I hope these young men will rise from the dead, too.

I hope it's true that The Lord is Risen! He is Risen, Indeed!

Easter in Jerusalem: Good Friday

Tradition holds that Jesus walked from his so-called trial to his crucifixion along the way now known as the Way of Pain, Via Dolorosa. Today this is a street in Jerusalem's Old City. In Jesus' time it was outside the walls of the city - death is unclean, so the sites of execution had to be outside the area where people lived and worshipped.

Along the Via Dolorosa now, "Stations" mark various events described in the Gospels as Jesus made his way. Pilgrims and worshippers walk these stations to remember and reflect on those events. No one really knows the path he took or where the events actually occurred. But it doesn't seem to matter to many. Usually the group carries a cross, which is passed from one person to another as each Station is passed. It is an act of devotion and very meaningful to those who carry the cross.

Early, early on Friday morning, I walked the stations with a group. The Stations are described below and you may follow along with the photos on the right.

STATIONS OF THE CROSS:
I. Jesus is condemned to death - "Crucify him! Crucify him!

II. Jesus receives his cross - "Take up the cross, the Savior said, if thou wouldst my disciple be"

III. Jesus falls for the first time - "Surely he has borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows, yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted."

IV. Jesus meets his mother - "Simeon said to Mary...and a sword will pierce through your own soul also."

V. Simon of Cyrene helps Jesus carry his cross - "If any one would come after me, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me."

VI. Veronica wipes the face of Jesus - "Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me."

VII. Jesus falls for the second time - "I am utterly bowed down and prostrate"

VIII. Jesus speaks to the women of Jerusalem - "Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and your children."

IX. Jesus falls for the third time - "Where were you when they crucified my Lord?"

X. Jesus is stripped of his garments - "Let us pray for those who are exposed to ridicule, who are shamed, humiliated, degraded."

XI. Jesus is nailed to the cross - "Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise"

XII. Jesus dies on the cross - "It is finished"

XIII. Jesus is taken down from the cross - "Thou does lay me in the dust of death"

XIV. Jesus is laid in the tomb - "Joseph of Arimathea...laid him in a tomb which has been hewn out of the rock; and he rolled a stone against the door of the tomb. Mary the mother of Jesus saw where he was laid.

Easter in Jerusalem: Maundy Thursday

From the joyous procession of Palm Sunday to a dark walk toward agony.

Maundy Thursday is also Holy Thursday. Maundy comes from the Latin Mandatum (order) to recognize the Commandment given by Jesus at the Last Supper: Love each other as I have loved you.

The liturgy for this day is packed and moves you toward places that are not easy to go. The service at the Cathedral here Thursday night began as usual - lots of light, opening hymn, people bustling. Then, as the liturgy unfolds we hear about the Last Supper. About that Commandment, about how one of his own is going to betray Jesus. About Jesus washing the disciples' feet, an outrageous act of radical humility and service. In the liturgy, feet of parishioners are washed. The head of the Episcopal Church in the US, the Presiding Bishop, is visiting this week. Last night, she and the Bishop of Jerusalem knelt and washed feet. See the photos in the slideshow.

This act during the service changed everything. As we watched, first in curiosity, our thoughts turned inward and our feelings went deeper. What did this mean for us last night, what did it mean then for the people around Jesus? The mood shifts. People become subdued, prayerful, somehow fearful or maybe awestruck.

After the footwashing, it becomes very quiet. The priests set about removing their outer robes, so colorful and elaborate; the hangings in the church are removed. The lights go out, one by one. The setting becomes starker, sadder, bereft. As darkness sets in we hear the beginning of Psalm 22, "My God, My God, Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me"

The service fades out...no music, no processing, everyone just turns and walks out in silence. We gather outside and begin to walk. We walk through the streets of East Jerusalem. Some people we pass on the streets stare, some pause reverently, some mock, some don't seem to notice or care. Traffic is heavier than usual as other pilgrims head where we are going - to the Garden of Gethsemane. We descend down into the Kidron Valley, cross it, then up the Mt of Olives. But we don't follow the crowd. We head down a side pathway away from the light. In a dark quiet spot, our group of about 25 stops and we share our thoughts or stand in silence; we sing; we pray. We look out across Kidron to Jerusalem. Jesus saw this view many times. That night, from the Garden of Gethsemane, just steps away from us, what was he thinking? Maybe the same thing some of us are thinking: Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.

Easter in Jerusalem: Palm Sunday

It's the week leading to Easter. This is by far the holiest of seasons for Christians in this land. Christmas is not nearly as big as in the West. I think partly because mercantilism has co-opted Christmas to some extent in the West. But more, perhaps, because people here understand much better the events noted during Holy Week. Jesus coming to Jerusalem for Passover. A local boy, one of the people's own. Not a head of state, he had nevertheless been talking about a Kingdom. But a very, very different kind of Kingdom from the one people knew as they lived under an Empire's occupation. What he was saying about justice and helping the poor, sick, widowed, and imprisoned was getting people's attention. It was getting the Empire's attention, too.

So before long he was arrested and executed. That sequence of events and the suffering it entailed is not so very foreign to the lives of many people here. The Cross enters all our lives at some time, but I think maybe people here understand the Cross in ways that perhaps we in the West cannot. So I believe these events of commemoration this week carry people here through the Cross and on to new life and hope.

And, oh, how they remember! The first event of the week was Palm Sunday. To remember the way Jesus did it, thousands of people gather on the Mt. of Olives at Bethphage and process down the Mt of Olives, across the valley, and into Jerusalem. It's a wondrously joyful procession. Alot of music, alot of laughing, alot of joy in reliving the way that that man came into town a long time ago and turned the world upside down.

I'll let the photos in the slideshow take it from here. I hope they capture some of the joy for you.

What Would Jesus Do?

It's difficult to know how to write about the situation in Gaza. You don't have to be here very long to realize that the facts here are very different from what most of us in North America have been led to believe. And the longer you're here, the more you realize the depth of the differences. Maybe one way to write about the situation, then, is to share some facts. Not spin, not grudges, not religious rhetoric, not mythologies (which play such a huge role in how people perceive this place). Facts. If you'd like to find the documentation and/or know more facts, I commend two resources in particular: The Israeli Information Center for Human Rights in the Occupied Territories (http://www.btselem.org/) and the Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions (http://www.icahd.org/). The UN website is also a good resource, but it takes alot of patience and persistence to get at what you want.

It's good to start with basics. The bedrock fact here, without which you can't get anywhere in understanding, is that the state of Israel was made in a place that was already inhabited. By Palestinians. For 2000 years it had been under the control of one empire or another and during all that time, Jews were present as a rather small minority, less than 10%. Between the World Wars the area was under control of the UK. That period was marked by growth of the Zionist movement. The Zionists sought a Jewish homeland in hopes of providing unassailable security. After WW II, with fresh images of the concentration camps in mind, much of the world consented that a Jewish state should be established. Palestine was chosen as the place, without consent of the inhabitants, and the UN created a partition plan that would divide the land into a Jewish state and a Palestinian state. But while the UN dithered, waves of Jewish immigration occurred and Zionist troops began to conquer the place. Among these troops, by the way, was the Irgun led by Menachem Begin. Amont the tactics used by Irgun were massacres, assassinations, and bombings (most famously the King David Hotel here where 92 occupants died). Today, Irgun would be known as a "terrorist organization". This is another important fact to keep the perspective about how "patriots" and "terrorists" can morph back and forth very easily depending on the historical context and point of view.

In any event, that conflict of 1947-'48 drove thousands of Palestinians out of the land as their homes were destroyed or confiscated. Many moved to an area west of the Jordan River which was then in the country of Jordan. It's known today as the West Bank. The state of Israel was declared in May 1948. It will celebrate its 60th anniversary this year. The Palestinians will mark the date also, but know it as Al Nakba "The Shame".

Many Palestinians remained in the new state of Israel and had citizenship, but were subject to different laws and practices in employment, housing, and educational opportunities. Then in 1967, fearful about its security, Israel invaded Jordan and established an occupation of the West Bank. Eventually, Jordan withdrew and the West Bank is no longer part of that kingdom. The Occupation of the West Bank continues to this day and is illegal under every international law. Israel does not use the word "Occupation" but refers to "disputed territories". But even George Bush, in his feckless visit here in January, spoke of the "Occupation".

Here are some snapshots of these 40 years of Occupation:

...Residents of the Occupied Palestinian Territories have no citizenship. They carry ID cards issued by the Israeli government.

...since 1967, 18,000 Palestinian homes have been demolishedby order of the Israel Ministry of the Interior. The occupants are not compensated or offered replacement services. The police and bulldozers show up one day and destroy the house.

...A Wall is being constructed between Israel and the West Bank. Its stated purpose, security, is clearly not its purpose as it meanders in and out of the border area, usurping an increasing proportion of Palestinian-owned land. 80% of the Wall is built on Palestinian-owned land without compensation to the owners. The Wall brings under Israeli control 70% of the water resources of the area and prime farming land. It separates towns and villages from the surrounding area, locking residents in because no Palestinian can move anywhere within the West Bank without a permit.

...There are more than 500 checkpoints within the West Bank, miles away from Israel. They control movement of the population and access to jobs, schools, and families. They do not provide a security function.

..."Settlements" of Israeli citizens are established all over the West Bank. It is illegal under international law for an occupying force to import its citizens into the occupied territory. Israel says it is not building new settlements or adding to the existing ones. This is a lie. I visited several settlements last week and the construction is booming. The land for these settlements is confiscated from the Palestinian owners without compensation.

(Incidentally, these activities go on without international rebuke or sanctions because the US has used its Security Council veto power to block every such attempt. The US voting record is public information if you'd like to check.)

...The settlements are landscaped with olive trees which were confiscated from the Palestinian owners without compensation, uprooted, and replanted. Olives are the only real industry Palestine has and loss of these trees adds to the economic servitude of the people. Keeping these landscapes flourishing in a desert - and in the midst of a drought - requires huge amounts of irrigation. The settlement of Ma'ale Adumim near Jerusalem uses 5 times its share of water on a per capita basis.

...Palestinians in Jerusalem live mostly in East Jerusalem. They pay 35% of taxes to the municipality and receive about 10% of the benefits. About 2% goes to education. There are no municipal playgrounds or parks in E Jerusalem. There are 35 municipal swimming pools in W Jerusalem, there are 0 (zero) in E Jerusalem. There is no trash pickup in E Jerusalem. (Some people like to point to how "dirty" the Palestinians are.......how would your neighborhood look with no trash pickup for 40 years?)

...Since last summer Gaza's borders have been tightly controlled; it is nearly impossible for anyone to leave. Exports are not allowed so people there depend completely on what they receive from Israel. Unemployment is near 80%. 80% of people earn less than $2/day.

...40 items are allowed into Gaza. Apples are 1 item, bananas are 1 item.....obviously 40 items will not provide much of a life

...80+ medicines are not allowed into Gaza including most anesthetics

...Electrical power is under Israeli control and is now cut off for some portion of every day

...Different from what you've probably heard, in this current siege 70% of casualties have been civilian. About 20% have been children. Another 1 month-old baby was killed last night.

This story is much deeper than these few facts. The world is presented with the story that Israel is only defending against attack. This is really not accurate. Israel, created in a land that belonged to someone else, subsequently invaded and occupied additional land. The aggressor, the attacker, cannot by definition be defending itself against resistance to that aggression. If I attack you, and you respond by hitting me and I then kill you in turn, have I killed you "in defence"?

Everyone knows the story of Jesus driving money changers from the Temple. But only the Gospel of John describes Jesus as taking a whip to it. Most of us don't like this act of violence from Jesus. It makes us squirm. It disturbs our myth about him. In a service last week where this verse was read, I saw the Palestinians there nod their heads in understanding. One young Palestinian man spoke about how difficult it is for him to restrain himself from violence as he lives under this occupation.

I found myself nodding my head, also. This is not a comfortable place to be in; ie, understanding, perhaps even sympathizing, at a gut level why people become violent here. But in this land you soon realize how much damage is being done by not coming to terms with the truth; by not acknowledging injustices no matter who perpetuates them, or whether they violate our mythologies and shrink our comfort zone. As the priest at the service said, it's good to acknowledge this anger so we can turn it into righteous energy.

The violent resistance we see featured on the news because it fits our mythology will continue to come from only a very small proportion of the 4 1/2 million other Palestinians. Those other millions will continue to endure this with their humor, their generosity, their faith, and their patience in the face of wanton, blatant and unapologetic injustice. I hope more and more of us will join them in speaking out, stating the facts, and working peacefully for the justice that must inevitably come.

The Cost of Things

I was talking to a friend in the States on the phone recently and he commented that I sounded tired. I responded quickly that, yes, I was and began to list reasons: not sleeping well, different diet, different routine, blah blah blah, then just let out, "You know, it's really hard being here."

I had known I was tired but hadn't thought about it too much till then. So I began to (in that way introverts have). Figured it was all the physical factors....walking more, not sleeping well, etc etc. Then I realized I've been here nearly 4 months and all those things should be resolved. Then a couple of other ex-pats commented without prompting how they are always tired, too. Then I noticed that everybody looks tired here.

I don't think I expected this: the physical toll of being here. I'm not sure why it is. I recall the Gospels' description of Jesus' night in Gethsemane just before his arrest. He goes off by himself awhile and when he goes back to the disciples (I think for some soul-sharing), they're asleep. He's annoyed: Can't you stay awake even now??? I don't think their fatigue is the point of the story, but it's on my mind now.

There is physical expenditure for the people who live here to be sure: poor diet, extremes of heat and cold, carrying everything and walking alot, hard work or, more exhausting, no work and hours of ennui. But I think the toll comes from the other forms of duress and I am able to share some of those experiences with them. Moving around, or trying to, is most tiring. A day through 4 or 5 checkpoints wears you down, even when you don't have to leave the car. The waiting, the soldiers shining flashlights in your face looking at you like you're crap, taking and examining your passport, looking in your bags. The sheer existence of the checkpoints and what they mean. The anger and sadness in people. The despair. My anger and sadness.

But it's not just on certain occasions, it's all the time. It's the reality of living in some places under certain conditions. My friend Jesse, working in South Africa, described it as "emotional and mental battering." It feels like getting beat up. It is getting beat up.

Now, here's the really weird part. True, I've never been tired like this before, but I've also never been alive like this before. This soul work is hard, yeah, but where else would I be right now? Nowhere. This is where I need to be. I've been given the currency to pay the cost.

Gotta run, it's almost 9 and I can't keep my eyes open. 'Night.....

The Least of These

"Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me" (Matt 25:40)

I was walking on the street yesterday when a woman stopped me and asked for money because her baby is in the hospital sick and she doesn't have money to pay. She gave me a photocopy of the hospital admission note. The baby described in the notes is sick, indeed. It only took a second to see from the notes what I needed to see, but I appeared to study it for longer as the thoughts went through my head: Is this a scam? Can I give her enough to really make a difference? But I wanted to use that money for______

It was one of those moments that God, with that quirky sense of humor, makes you put up or shut up. I have been thinking alot lately about the inequality of resources in the world that contribute to making life here so difficult (that difficulty is the next blog - stay tuned). Then, whammo, here's my chance to help right the balance. What was I going to do?

Well, I gave her some money, quite a bit actually. And why not? I had been to the money changer earlier in the day and so I had a pocketful of cash. What was I going to do with it? Get a nice bottle of wine? Download some more tunes onto my MP3? Get that new hotplate for my flat? Fly to Rome for a getaway weekend in the spring? None of those is bad. In fact, they're pretty healthy I'd say. But I don't think they stack up that well against a sick baby in the hospital. This woman needed the money; I have it and she doesn't. It seems like simple math, doesn't it?

Yet, my response was not spontaneous. I had to struggle with that inclination to keep the money as "mine". Mine, not yours. I worked hard for it, why can't you?

But one of the many things I'm learning here is the disparity of opportunities in the world. We're not that aware of it on a widespread scale in North America. Sure, we have pockets of poverty but we usually manage to explain those things away. What you learn here is that most of the world is very, very different, and it's not because of individual effort or merit. It's just a different world over here. People can't "just" go out and earn it. Here in Palestine, for example, people are not allowed to move around freely, so the job market in the area they're restricted to fills up very quickly. The poverty from unemployment then affects educational opportunities, quality of health care, and so on. And it's not just the political environment. Many countries have few natural resources and they can't afford to buy them, so no heat, cars, lights, etc. Life gets hard very fast. Although we see pictures of these things on TV in North America, I don't think we know what it's like. At least I didn't.

My friend Julie says There is plenty in the world to go around if we would only let it. This place is just one example of what happens when we don't let it, when "mine" gets out of control. My land, my security, my religion.

One of the famous Gospel stories is about the rich young man who asks Jesus what he has to do to have eternal life. Jesus says to follow the commandments. The man says he does that. Jesus says then, in that radical way he has, "Go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me." The man goes away, "for he had many possessions." I wonder what happened to that man? Did he shrug the episode off and go buy Spurs season tickets and a new HDTV? Or did he grieve his decision for the rest of his life? Or did he think it over and later go sell everything and follow Jesus?

We don't know what happened to the man, but it's an interesting story isn't it? Interesting the choice he had (Eternal life/new IPhone?....eternal life/new IPhone?) and the choice he made. Stark, huh? So I think we sometimes spiritualize it: Oh, Jesus didn't really mean to get rid of everything, it was just a metaphor for spiritual wealth.

Here, in this place, I'm not so sure.

Babel

I had my first German class last night ("Ich komme aus den USA"). This is such an international city, everyone speaks at least two languages and many speak 4 or 5, flipping easily among them in the course of a single conversation. I have developed language-envy. So the Arabic classes I've been taking for a month didn't seem enough and I signed up for German, too.

The Arabic is beginning to work a little. It's a difficult language, but I'm putting enough words together now to have simple 2-3 sentence conversations. I love the people here, they are always so helpful and of course I'm learning alot from the immersion experience. The other night I went to get a schwarma sandwich from a shop who know me now and the owner helped me do the whole transaction in Arabic. Schwarma and a 10-minute Arabic lesson....Priceless. I think that some Palestinian people feel that the world has shunned them, so there are many people here who are receptive to someone who actually wants to live here and learn to speak.

A few people here still speak Aramaic, the language that Jesus used. There's a church here where the caretaker will recite the Lord's Prayer in Aramaic. It's quite a moving experience to hear it. This church lays claim, along with other sites, to housing the Upper Room where the Last Supper occurred. Inside the church is a portrait of Mary that legend has was painted by St Luke. In the bottom right corner of the portrait is a small depiction of the baby Jesus, but painted as an adult because Luke only knew him as an adult. It is a stunning and astonishing face and your chills tell you it might just be accurate.

A photo shop in the Old City sells amazing photos taken by the owner's father in the 1930's (www.eliaphoto.com). I have one of a Palestinian man standing in a wheat field, the wheat just coming up to his knees. He is lean from hard work and poverty. He has a beard and mustache and his skin is dark. He wears a linen robe and his head is wrapped against the heat. He holds a bunch of wheat in his right hand that he probably just cut. He stands tall and the camera has caught him in a pause. His head is inclined slightly down as he gazes absently in thought. I imagine he is thinking of a parable to tell people to help them understand something better. I imagine this could be Jesus.

People who come here almost always say they never hear the Gospels the same way again. They hear the passages about mustard plants, the River Jordan, and trying to grow crops in rocky soil in a completely different way. A journey on foot from Galilee to Jerusalem can now be seen as difficult, treacherous and harrowing. The wind that can cause a sudden storm on the Sea of Galilee to frighten the disciples in their boat is a new reality.

For me, being here has made me see Jesus as he must have been. That man in the photo. Lean, poor, unkempt, probably dark-skinned. And he didn't speak my language. I bet we all imagine Jesus speaking our language, don't we? It's natural that we would. As I know the people here a little better every day and affection grows for them, and as I realize that Jesus looked more like them than me, I also try to begin to understand the language he spoke. Like the Palestinian people here now, Jesus lived under occupation. Among soldiers and guards. So much of Jesus' talk in the Gospels is about justice, mercy, peace, righteousness. In this new language I'm learning, "justice" in my large beautiful church in San Antonio is a very different word from the one I hear standing in line at a checkpoint.

A friend sent me a quote recently that wonders whether we can see the image of God in a person who looks different than we do. Our immediate reaction is, Well of course we can, no problem. What does Jesus look like for you? What language does he speak?

More Truth-Telling

A beloved friend of mine wrote me an email after my last posting about Gaza. He served as a doc in the US Army in Iraq and he pointed out that he had to take care of people who were killed by rockets like those fired from Gaza into Israel and he wanted to remind me that they were shot off by teenagers, too. That the death and destruction didn't depend on who was responsible and weren't excused by it.

He is right. My blog seemed to discount those rockets; as though they're sugar-coated just because it might be teenagers who fired them or specifically Palestinian teenagers. The rocket firings are frequent and they do cause damage. Just recently a young Israeli boy lost his leg from a rocket injury. His life and his family's were brutally changed.

I was aware of a kind of "imbalance" in that blog. It was intentional, although I hope not malicious. People experience this place very differently. What has stood out most for me is that the truth of it is so hard to come by. Everyone wants to make it simple and cleancut. Life is easier then, isn't it? We know who the good guys and bad guys are and who to support and who to condemn. Terrorists. Racists. Victims. Heroes. All very easy to line up for or against. We sleep better. We can watch the Super Bowl without worrying about these messy situations and without worrying whether there are people somewhere who are suffering because of our action or inaction. That's no fun.

So what I want to try to do with this blog is point out different perspectives that come from living here, with and among real people - not stereotypes. These labelings are really poisoning us. They are tearing us out of our humanity and taking us places we really don't want to go. For example, Gee it's a real shame that the little girl in Gaza was wounded by shrapnel but she brought it on herself because her parents live in that terrorist state. Or it's a real shame that that little Israeli boy lost his leg but he brought it on himself because his parents are apartheid rascists.

When we just want to be comfortable and keep things neat and clean and in line with our myths, we start believing partial truths. What I hoped to do with the blog, perhaps clumsily, was offer a more complete truth about Gaza - What is actually happening there from a humanitarian standpoint. I wanted you to meet some people there who have been affected by the current strangulation policy. I wanted to force you not to fall back on stereotypes when you hear things about Gaza. Readers may then find the situation justified or not, but let them at least do so in truth.

St Paul wrote a letter urging his readers to tell the hard truth with love. We hear alot about that in church - speaking hard truths. But it means nothing unless we also listen to the hard truth. Like, "Wow, I don't want to believe that, it bothers me. But it's true and it's not right and I want to speak out against it."

My friend spoke the hard truth to me in love. I listened and am going to work hard to see both sides in the future. I hope readers will do the same.

Truth-Telling

When you exit the security terminal to enter into Gaza, you face a large no-man's land to cross on foot. A good 100 meters across where no one is allowed without security clearance, so the space is completely empty before you reach vehicles and people off in the distance. There are always a few Palestinian men waiting to help carry luggage across. It's the only work they have. We always let them carry everything, even a light briefcase or purse, so they will have earned the shekels we're going to give them anyway.

Walking across this space - a bombed out road of ruts, holes, rocks, and barbed wire - is a good chance to hear the truth from these men about what's going on in Gaza.

Here are some truths I learned during my fourth visit there on Wednesday.

...the blockade and restrictions that were in the news a few weeks ago continue. At that time there was a flurry of attention and outrage in the media. Then, the world got distracted with something else and lost interest, but nothing changed about the restrictions. Gaza has been shut up and squeezed since it was declared hostile territory last summer and with each new episode the restrictions just get ratcheted up and attain a new plateau. In case you're wondering, things get worse for the people, not better. Electricity is cut off for some time every day. There is no pattern to it. So a load of clothes may be have to sit in the washer for a day or two until the power comes back and laundry can be finished. No one keeps any food that has to be refrigerated - when food is available. Hospitals have generators but they need fuel which is also restricted so only some services can be run at any time; for example, no heat or sterilizing if we have to run the operating room

...foods continue to be restricted - you know, those pesky security risks from milk and bananas. Prices have risen 2, 3, 4 times for the foods available.

...at the hospital we visited in Gaza City we met a girl who had surgery to remove the shrapnel in her leg from a recent Israeli attack. Have you noticed that the injuries and fatalities from these attacks are always reported as "10 militants and others were injured in the attack"? I guess she was an "other". I guess she was collateral damage to get these "militants". Her photo is in the slideshow. She is smiling because she was to be discharged the next day; she likes school and is anxious to get back.

...another girl in the photos was burned on her head. With no electricity, more people are making fires to heat water for baths, for example. This girl was burned when some of the hot water fell on her

...the chapel at the hospital was bombed a few years ago. An F16 (Made in the USA) came in low and released its missile. There is a hole in the ground inside the chapel just beside the altar. We had a service in the chapel. Eucharist at an altar beside a bomb crater is a different kind of experience. There are photos on the right.

...Hamas is usually not responsible for the rockets launched into Israel. Sometimes it's teenagers who are paid by others to shoot them off. Groups or individuals other than Hamas are mostly responsible. Sometimes the kids just do it on their own. Have you ever known a teenage boy who did something reckless and thoughtless? These are some of the "militants" who go with the "others"

The stated purpose of the siege on Gaza is to force the people to overthrow Hamas. This will never happen. Never. Ever. The more severe restrictions get, the more the people of Gaza resist. You and I would do the same. It's a cruel irony that the US government officials who go around the world shooting off their mouths about democracy and God's intention that all people should be free are supporting a policy that is trying to kick a race of people into submission, as though they were stupid, unruly animals.

Gaza is a Rwanda in-the-making. I hope some of you will be goaded into some action to try and prevent this.

"My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" (Psalm 22)

And How Was Your Day, Dear?

A few days ago I wrote about things here threatening to become "ordinary." After yesterday, I'm thinkin' maybe not.

I went to Bethlehem to follow through on some plans I'd made there a few weeks ago. Then I'd gone to meet people at the Al Rowwad Cultural Center in Aida Camp in Bethlehem. I'd gone there to explore possibilities for some peds clinic work in the West Bank that the Director of the Center is involved in. During my previous visit there one of the volunteers at the Center told me about a boy she had met with severe lung disease and asked me to see him at a future time. I went yesterday to do that.

After benignly passing the checkpoint into Bethlehem (they don't seem to care who goes into the West Bank, just who goes out), I waited for my friend to pick me up. Mahmoud, a boy about 10 or so, struck up a conversation. He sells postcards at the checkpoint to help support his family. His father was killed 3 years ago.

With my new postcards in hand, my friend picked me up and we went to the Center where I watched a group of kids learning a dance. The cultural center teaches dance, art, photography, theater to children in Aida Camp. The programs are not specifically geared toward traumatized kids, but most are, so the creative activities there are doubly beneficial. Aida is one of three refugee camps in Bethlehem. I've written about the refugee camps in a previous blog - they are hard places. We don't really have an analogous situation in the west. Since we're not occupied and all.....

We went on to the home of the boy I was to see. "A" is 18 and has a congenital immune deficiency. Complications and consequences of that over the years have led to severe lung disease that now has caused secondary heart disease. He has become oxygen-dependent and bed-bound. We wanted to see whether it might be possible to make a program for him to use a portable respiratory device and have at least a few hours a day of mobility and some kind of pleasure in life.

A physical therapist went with us. His 16 year-old nephew was killed two weeks ago by soldiers. Soldiers entered the camp at night (it's always at night), broke into a home looking for weapons of mass destruction, took over the home and in the sequence of events the boy was shot. The reason for these incursions, which are very frequent and which you never hear about, are often about looking for "weapons." Odd, but they never seem to find any. People are frequently killed in these incursions. They're innocents who are in the vicinity and of course you never hear about them either.

When we entered the home, A's brother was tending to him. The brother, I'd guess about 20 or so, just got out of prison a week ago. Another weapons thing. Thousands of Palestinians are in prison. I have not yet met a Palestinian family that doesn't have, or had, a family member in prison. (These are of course actual, official prisons, as opposed to the usual conditions for many people here.)

A's condition is very, very serious. He won't live long. We talked about a physical therapy program that we hope will help a little, then we sat and talked with the family about how things are with them.

Driving back to the checkpoint to return to Jerusalem, we passed a celebration in the streets for another young man just released from prison.

I took the bus back to where I live. It was an Arab bus because I live in East Jerusalem. (There are separate bus systems). On the way, an Israeli man threw a rock that hit the bus and shook his fist at us. Glad it was just a rock. Alot of people here have alot of anger.

Checkpoints, young men in prison, mourning for slain family members, working the checkpoint selling postcards when you're a child, being sick where little is available to you........

That's how it is here alot of the time. Another day at the office

What Are You Doing Here?

"Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, 'What are you doing here, Elijah?'" (I Kings 19:9)

I like this scene. Elijah is on the lam from Jezebel's troops, having said all kinds of politically incorrect things about her and her gods, and wanders into a cave where God asks him this question. Now I think God knows what Elijah is doing there and asks the question to make Elijah stop and really think about what he's up to.

It's an interesting question because the answer can go in many different directions depending on which word is emphasized: "What", "you", "doing", or "here". Try it....interesting, huh?

I've been working on the "doing" part lately. This long-term mission business is a tricky one. It's one thing if you fill cavities and fix rotten teeth all day, or teach someone to read and write, or drill water wells. Those things have clearcut, tangible effect. But what if you don't do any of those things? Then, what are you doing here?

For a number of reasons, the "work" I came here to do hasn't quite taken shape, so it's really made me get to that Elijah-in-the-cave place of taking a hard look at the mission. Before I came here I pompously wrote about how important just "presence" would be. That's a great theological construct, isn't it? Sounds great......Being present, standing up with people, supporting them, blah blah blah. But what does that actually look like? Now 3 months on, I'm not sure. Because at the end of the day the people here will go back to their cold homes, try to find something to eat, and wake up tomorrow to checkpoints still in place. I don't know that they'll be all that thrilled about my "presence," which didn't affect any of that. How much of this is just imperialism with a feel-good twist?

And yet. And yet. Somehow, I know it's not just about doing or fixing. My friend Jesse has written much more eloquently than I can about this, but outside the rational logic of it I feel certain there is something valuable about being on mission even when we're not doing anything. Maybe it's not about any specific help, maybe it's more about lining up with the forces of life against the forces of destruction. Maybe it's about living something out even when you don't understand it. Maybe it's simply about not being able to figure everything out and learning to live with that. Or is this just more theological construction?

This is a recurring topic of conversation for many of us here. I think it's probably a healthy conversation, even when it gets a little cynical. There are things at stake, but more than that I feel like we ought to be always on the lookout for getting hijacked by unconscious motivations. The Empire does alot of that in places like this and people suffer from it. So I hope that continuing to at least try to answer God's question - whether answers come or not - will keep us alert and in sight of the people we're supposed to be here with and for.

What are you doing here?

Ordinary Time

There are two times of the Christian liturgical year known as "Ordinary Time." These are periods that do not fall within one of the major seasons that note momentous events of Jesus' life: Advent, Easter, or Pentecost, for example.

Now nearly three months on here, it's beginning to feel like Ordinary Time. That is a good thing in many ways. I underestimated what it would be like just to settle in to a new and radically different culture. It takes enormous energy and wears you down to have to re-learn how to ride a bus, find a bookstore, buy something in the market, know what you're buying in the market, and on and on. So some ordinary time promises to bring a sense of belonging or at least absence of such struggle.

Yet I sense there's a trap in this. This is no ordinary place. Missioners don't go to ordinary places; we go to places like South Africa, Kenya, Dominican Republic, Uganda, India, Palestine. I think if it becomes ordinary, we have stopped seeing.

It's probably ok for some things to become ordinary: I haven't seen a movie or TV show since November (except BBC World News), have rarely ridden in a car, haven't eaten an enchilada or a steak, don't know what the latest electronic gadget is, don't get much paper mail, have only a vague idea about the campaign.....

But I don't want other things to become ordinary: the calls to prayer, trash in the streets, covered women, not understanding anything anybody is saying, checkpoints, people's sorrow, resistance, Gaza

I've received some feedback on some postings that anger or sadness shows, and concern about this has been expressed. The concern is gratefully received, but how would it be possible not to be angry or sad living in the middle of the kinds of injustices and struggles that are a commonplace? Not gun-totin' anger or depression-type sadness, I hope, but a reaction that says I see this and think it's wrong and want to help to try to find another way.

If there comes a time when you don't hear the anger or sadness, will you let me know? I think it will be time to come home then.

Winter Doldrums

Snow. Jerusalem. Not a good combination.

It began to snow here Wednesday, continued through the day and night and into Thursday morning when the sun returned. Most has melted now, but there is still a little left. The snow was pretty heavy, probably several inches, and it was a dense wet snow. The temperature never varied much from freezing, so although it stayed on the ground it did so as slush. Two steps and the feet are soaked. Walking through a snowcone. No one here has galoshes because they're not needed, so everyone wraps plastic grocery bags around their shoes to walk about. Practical, cheap, but so lacking in style points.

Snow is rather rare here and it's quite an occasion. Everything closes.........no, really, everything. What was interesting to me is that there's not even a question about it. Snow = close; no mention of how much or if or whether to open later in the day. It's snowing, we're closed and will be till it stops.

Everyone seems to enjoy it. It's rare enough that many children have never seen it, so there are quite a few snowmen around and snowballs to dodge. The fun is all homebound, though, because many people are really sort of afraid of it....they're not about to drive or even walk far.

Take a look at the photos in the slideshow. The snow-covered Old City is quite a sight.

This event seemed to be a capstone for what's been a severe winter so far. It's been cold since November and I think it seems colder than the temperature suggests because nearly everything is built of stone which looks great but is cold and damp. Also, heating is yet another cost on an already embattled economy so very few buildings are heated much. I've been cold since November. I'm just now getting used to seeing people inside buildings wearing coats, gloves, hats, and scarves. The only places reliably warm are the hotels that serve Westerners.

Why don't the Gospels tell us how cold it is here?

As luck would have it my appointment for a new visa was on the day it snowed. Of course the Interior Ministry was closed, so now I have to go back and hope they will fit me in (not a guarantee here, by any means. Actually, nothing is a guarantee here). I am here so far on the 90-day permit that tourists get when they come into the country. It expires in 2 weeks and if I don't get an extended visa by then I'll have to leave the country and return in order to start the 90-day clock over, so I'll have time to continue pursuing the draconian visa process. If I have to leave, I'm thinking south, I'm thinking warm. There are a couple resorts in Egypt on the Red Sea and Gulf of Aqaba that sound nice.

Ah, the life of a missioner. Never a dull moment. But...at least I don't have to pick leaches off Bogie like Hepburn did in "The African Queen".

Hope you're warm where you are.

Reality Check

This morning I joined a group of people in convoy to Gaza to take food to the people there and to demonstrate against the blockade. We formed up in Jerusalem early in the morning. Four buses full and many cars. The event was sponsored by several Israeli organizations - yes, Israeli - and the people who gathered were wonderfully mixed. Jews, Arabs, all ages, many internationals, religious and secular. We drove to Gaza through a hard rain which cleared as we approached Erez Crossing. Erez, in the north of Gaza, is the only crossing normally open, but of course has been closed the past several days since the blockade was put into effect. You have recently heard about Rafah, the southern crossing into Egypt opened by the people a few days ago. We paused just short of the crossing to wait for other groups to arrive from around the country. When everyone was there we went on foot toward the crossing terminal. Needless to say, soldiers and police were everywhere, but the demonstration was completely nonviolent and there were no confrontations of any kind. There are photos in the slideshow at the right.

We had two large trucks of food and supplies. We were not allowed into Gaza, of course, nor was the food. A legal proceeding had been initiated and the Supreme Court will decide tomorrow whether the food can enter......

A court will decide whether food can be given to people who have nearly none because a government has decided 1 1/2 million people must be punished for the actions of some. What kind of people are we becoming?!?!

I haven't posted anything here in awhile because after the Bush visit, it was hard to find words. This place is sometimes a clinical laboratory in anger management. Everyone here knows that the visit with its talk of "peace process" was a performance; a shell game to distract the world from noticing what really goes on here. Now, the sad events in Gaza ought to make that abundantly clear, but still the efforts to obfuscate go on. We're told that the blockade of food, medicine, electricity, fuel is to force the people of Gaza to refute Hamas. This is such a flagrantly stupid thing to say it's hard to believe anyone actually says it. More about that in a future post.

What's going on here is an occupation. Pure and simple. There is no "conflict" for which "peace talks" are needed. There is one group here with all the power, money, weapons, and control. There is another group who is oppressed and controlled and has no power, weapons, money, or control. Who cannot go to work without showing an ID. Who cannot travel without enduring checkpoints. Who can only eat what is allowed in. Who only have light and heat if the other group says they can have light and heat. It is as though you called in the National Guard when your two-year-old has a temper tantrum in order to "negotiate a peace agreement" and to protect yourself against the "security threat" of flying stuffed bunnies. The power relationship here is just about like that.

Missiles are being fired out of Gaza onto Israeli land, yes they are. Some Palestinians resist being occupied and some of them make very bad, very destructive choices about how to react. But when did it become ok to punish the 1 1/2 million other people who live in the same vicinity? When did it become ok, under any circumstances, to starve people? When did we suspend international law, not to mention human decency?

The brutal, inhuman actions in Gaza have been justified on the basis of "security." In my time here, although brief, I have traveled by myself in the heart of the West Bank on buses full of Palestinians. I have encountered Hamas troops in the streets of Gaza. I have never been threatened or made to feel afraid or been afraid.

You know who makes me afraid? People whose ravenous gluttony for power leads them to starve children for the sake of "security," "national interest," and "geopolitical considerations." Those are the people I think should be watched.

Wilderness

I went to the Dead Sea Saturday. It's only a 30 minute drive from Jerusalem. In the 30 minutes, you drop from the hills of Jerusalem several hundred meters to the lowest spot on earth. The temperature rises 10 degrees C, to 20 (nearly 70 F). Shirtsleeves after the wet cold of Jerusalem was a treat!

There were very few people. We went to a "nature preserve", really just a park for picnicking. Sat at the beach for awhile and did as the locals do, covering ourselves with the rich, dark mud that is supposed to be therapeutic. Feels great. See the slideshow. We stumbled upon a path going up the hillside that surrounds the Sea and had a great climb with a spectacular view of the entire Sea, the surrounding landscape, and Jordan on the other side.

This is one of the areas where John the Baptist hung out. "The Wilderness." And it is. The landscape is harsh, dry, and barren. The hills are steep, rocky, and rough, pockmarked with caves like the one where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found just a few miles away. It's a hard place. John the Baptist wore camel skin, a leather belt, and ate locusts and honey. In the times of the Gospels, the Wilderness represented a place of trial and testing. Of harshness and suffering, pain and death, a place to grow through adversity.

The trip to the Dead Sea was the first time I'd spent out of a city. It was peaceful and relaxing and refreshing. For just a while, we could forget the conflict and what it is doing to people. When we returned to Jerusalem it was the city that seemed harsh and difficult, full of threatening energies and suffering.

The City and its "civilization" became the Wilderness on Saturday. But no prophet was there.

Anno Domini

The very beginning of this new year holds two anniversaries I will note: my 60th birthday and two months here in Jerusalem.

60... WHATTHEHELL am I doing here?! I should be home in a recliner making rootbeer floats for the grandkids I should have and watching Oprah. Instead I'm traipsing around the West Bank and Gaza. Still crazy after all these years, I guess.

Both anniversaries seem the blink of an eye and at the same time without beginning. I can barely remember getting here on Nov 15 and now it's somehow or other becoming a kind of home. Settling in.

During the time of preparation and discernment before coming here, there was alot of reflection about being aware of God's presence: "Where did I see God today?" Now, I find that I don't think about God much......oops, can a missionary say that??? What I mean is I don't think about God much. Being here is becoming being engaged, being involved, being aware, being part of what's happening here. Happening in the simplest, most ordinary of ways.

I pay more attention to how Jesus moved around here. Not alot of theological discourse going on there. It seems like he talked alot more about what people should be doing. I love his Kingdom of God stories: "The Kingdom of God is like..." Then an example everyone could grab onto - "Oh yeah, I get that."

I made my third trip to Gaza on December 31. I kept thinking about those stories. The Kingdom of God is like a man in Gaza who has no bread and prays every day that his house isn't missiled tonight, but graciously welcomes a visitor from America to his home for lunch.

At this time early in 2008 when we make resolutions and plans about the coming year, I invite you again to imagine your Kingdom of God. Is this it? If not, make a resolution to do one thing this year to move in that direction. Anything. Write a check to support something you think is right; write a letter to a decision-maker; volunteer; go on mission; give money to someone who needs it; stop being mad at somebody; stop being mad at yourself; say hello to a stranger; give some of the clothes or stuff you don't need anymore to someone who does.

Do something, so your Kingdom of God will be like................................................................