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!