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.