A Day on A Hot Border

Maybe the Israeli side of the Gaza border is not where you'd think of going for inspiration on a sunny and mild autumn afternoon, but while sometimes difficult circumstances reduce us to the worst that is in us, sometimes it is in great trial that many find the better angels of their nature.  Today we met two such people.  

Michal teaches history in her local public high school.  No one should be deceived by her diminutive stature (she's clearly under five feet tall)--this is a woman of uncommon strength and resolve. She and her family live on a kibbutz near the northern border of the Gaza Strip in a community that she describes as something of a paradise.  But it's a paradise that has for the past ten years been threatened by missile fire from it's southern neighbors.  In January 2009 Michal watched the last war in Gaza, Operation Cast Lead, not on CNN, but by looking out her living room window.  From an early age, her children have known how to distinguish between an Apache and a Cobra helicopter, and between cannon and rocket fire.  On the sounds of weaponry and explosions, she says sadly, that this is "the background music they've grown up with."

To see her idyllic communal life on the kibbutz so marred by threat and to be forced to live life in a state of constant insecurity is enough to breed hatred, resentment and a desire to punish all who might be complicit. Yet remarkably she has, as an educator, devoted herself helping young Israelis understand that to see history from another's eyes is not to diminish their own story.  A couple of years back, Michal discovered a dual narrative history textbook which was jointly developed by an Israeli and a Palestinian professor along with a team of classroom teachers from both sides, and she began using it to teach a group of high school seniors the history of the past 100 years from both the Israeli and Palestinian perspectives.  Her challenge to the status quo nearly resulted in her school losing government funding, and the book is now explicitly prohibited from use in the Israeli pubic schools (similarly, after a couple of schools in the West Bank agreed to use it, the Palestinian Authority banned it there as well--tragically, this may be the only thing the two governments have agreed to in years).  Undeterred, and fully supported by her the leadership and parents in her school, Michal no longer distributes the textbook, but intends to still teach the class.  She's convinced that both sides don't have to agree to a common narrative, but they do have to learn how to listen to the other and understand that while there may be only one truth, there are often different ways of looking at it.  

Then on to they nearby agricultural community of Nativ HaA'sara where a kindly grandmother with a transfixing English accent welcomes us to her home with a fresh coffee cake.  We sit under an awning on a perfect fall day and listen to the amazing adventure that is the story of her life.  The British born Roni married an Sephardic Jew from Cairo whose family was expelled by Nassar in 1956 and found a home in Israel.  Her husband became an expert in desert agriculture and after Israel's capture of the Sinai peninsula in 1967, the family helped establish a farming there.  They enjoyed their new life in the northern Sinai beyond their wildest dreams, but when Israel and Egypt reached a peace agreement in 1979, the entire village was relocated some 30 miles north just north of Gaza City, but this time definitively inside the internationally recognized border of Israel.  And here they began a second life, much like the first, but first her husband answered his country's call to move to Cairo to apply his expertise in modern farming methods to Egyptian farmers.  This was obviously no easy thing for a man whose family's home and his father's business had been confiscated by a previous Egyptian government, and who had been forced to flee as a refugee some 25 years before.  But in the end he returned and his family followed suit and they spent five years in Egypt where they learned just how difficult peace and reconciliation is at the level of personal relationships.  Upon returning to Israel from their time in Cairo, Roni with no illusions about how difficult it is to achieve, sustain, and nurture peace, but she was more convinced than ever that the road to get there runs through dialogue and mutual respect, not through war and violence.  She has a loving family but none quite agree with her approach, though all respect her commitment. Her son tells her she misreads the situation—that “this is war and we’ve got to hit them back until they give in. The other side only understands force.  You’re dreaming, Mom, if you think anything else will work.”  With her quiet resolve she responds that he’s the one who’s dreaming if he thinks the people of Gaza will just go away and likewise the militants in Gaza are dreaming if they think she’ll go away.   The world of violence and retaliation is no doubt all too real, but she reminds us that there is another way.   And the path to true and lasting peace begins by being willing to consider the humanity of the “other.”   With a cool breeze blowing from the surrounding desert, Roni speaks to us form her home just 3km from Gaza and says about the people there:  “I want to treat them like I treat my neighbors, because they too are my neighbors.”

       

Faith and Human Rights

Do faith leaders and secular human rights activists have anything in common?  Earlier this month, we decided to find out.

For some in the human rights community, religious people are narrow minded, intolerant, and part of the problem

For some in the faith community, human rights activists are moral relativists, naïve secularists, and dismissive of transcendent truth.

Fortunately, none of those we brought together were in either of those camps.  It was a unique gathering of people of good will from both communities exploring new ways to work together and to increase collaboration in support of peace and justice for Palestinians and Israelis.

Those of us who still seek and hope for a political solution to end the conflict are a pretty discouraged lot at the moment.  But our work at Telos is predicated on the view that there is a direct link between peace, justice, and security and that this conflict will not be solved until we take seriously issues of human rights and the inherent dignity of every Israeli and every Palestinian. 

To the American Christian leaders who met with us, this conflict takes place half a world away, but they’ve found themselves strangely implicated in it.  And they’ve found it’s in some ways as divisive here at home as it is there.  The human rights activists who gathered are accustomed to working in a world that is mostly secular, but they have seen the impact, both good and bad, that American faith communities have on their own community and on their work.  And they came because they hope it can be a force for good.   And let me assure you, it can be.   It isn’t always a force for good, but it can be.  Religious faith has been an animating force in America from the beginning.

Take the issue of race in America.  As Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice has so often said, America was born with a birth defect.  Our Founders created a system that aspired to respect the inherent dignity of all humanity and yet went on to enshrine the disenfranchisement of most adults and condemned millions to lives of slavery and cruel subjugation.

The movement to abolish slavery was largely born in churches, led by faithful Christians, and fueled by the demands of faith to love justice and literally set captives free.  And it was a devout Christian woman with a deep faith and a gift for storytelling who wrote a book called Uncle Tom’s Cabin that became an unprecedented bestseller.  It told the story of the horrors of slavery from an unabashedly religious point of view and it both inspired and offended in equal measure.  So much so that when Mrs. Stowe met President Abraham Lincoln he said “So you’re the little lady who wrote the book that started this big war.”  Harriet Beecher Stowe had seen too much and felt too implicated to remain silent and she and her fellow abolitionists helped change the American story. 

Of course the history of race relations in America is a long and complicated story, but let’s skip ahead to the 20^th century where we find an entrenched system of legal and societal separation nearly 100 years after the freeing of the slaves.  And as men and women began to push back against the oppression and the gross injustice, a movement was born that we now call the Civil Rights Movement.  And it spokesman became Dr Martin Luther King, a Baptist pastor whose deep Christian faith compelled him to preach a form of resistance that was ennobling to both the black man and the white man.  King actually listened to and lived what Jesus said as he refused to hate his enemies.  And he had real enemies. 

This movement was born and nurtured and given voice in the black church.  And it stood so firmly on the moral high ground that it was joined by Northern white Christians and by many Jewish Americans and by legions of nonreligious people all who also believed in justice and human dignity and freedom.  And this movement, which transcended race, class, and culture, also changed the American story. 

In our gathering we brought together a micro cosmic group of Israelis and Palestinians who have been unable to ignore the problems in their own societies and they are each trying to change their stories. 

And we invited faithful American Christian leaders and other activists who see that the things that happen so far away from us concern us and divide us here at home.  All know the way in which America is a part of the Israeli story and the Palestinian story and they came because they want to change our story and at the same time change theirs. 

The religious landscape in America is very diverse, and this gathering in no way represented that diversity.  But within all the major strains of American Christianity there are tremendous opportunities for constructive engagement.  Catholic social justice teaching is a rich and deep well to be mined in support of peacemaking, as is the history of social justice activism by Mainline Protestant churches.  In many ways, American evangelicals have been the problem children on this but that is changing and there is tremendous opportunity for further change as well as important theological resources to tap in to.

And there is a long history to draw on from each group of advocacy for abolition and civil rights, prison reform, orphan care, and in addressing topics like homelessness, disease, environmental degradation and the like.  Faith remains a potent force in American society and the potential for collaboration between these two communities is strong.  And as people committed to the inherent dignity of all, our ability to write a new story for ourselves and for the Israeli and Palestinian people is great.

From the Paris Express

http://www.paris-express.com/articles/2011/09/28/news/news3.txt

THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 29, 2011 Last modified: Wednesday, September 28, 2011 8:02 AM CDT Grist called an 'excellent' County Judge Friends and co-workers remember Bill Grist as an "excellent" County Judge. Grist, 79, died last week and funeral services were held Saturday at St. Benedict Catholic Church on the grounds of Subiaco Abbey. Grist served as Logan County Judge from 1991 until 1998. Early in his tenure as County Judge, Grist was instrumental in setting up the county's 911 emergency notification system. "He started out on a mission and that was to set up the 911 system," said Jill Sewell, who was 911 coordinator during Grist's eight years in office. "He was very proud of that accomplishment." Betty Fairbanks, director of the county's Emergency Medical Service, said Grist was a strong supporter of the service. "I was hired by Bill Grist," she said. "He was an excellent boss and very pro-EMS. He did everything he could to help us. He helped build our ambulance fleet and get the new equipment we needed. He was a good man to work with and was very likeable. I considered him my friend, as well as my boss." Logan County Judge Gus Young said Grist was one of the first people to come to him and offer help when he was elected to the job. "He offered me any advice I needed and I really appreciated that," Young said. "We are still getting benefits from some of the things he did as County Judge. There are several bridges in the county that we're still using because Bill Grist saw to it they were repaired." Linda Core, who served as Logan County Clerk when Grist was judge, said last week that he took care of the county's finances quite well. "He was an excellent County Judge and a good steward of the county's finances," Core said. "He really made it a point to get along and work well with other county elected officials." Charlotte Davis, who served as County Treasurer during the Grist years, remembered him as "a very good businessman and a very fine gentleman." Logan County Circuit Clerk Everly Kellar said Grist had personals qualities that endeared him to many. "He was a wonderful judge and a wonderful person," Kellar said. "We all thought the world of Judge Grist." In addition to serving as County Judge, Grist was very active in the county's Democratic party and served for a time as party chairman. "He was a force for the Democratic party," Core said. "He stirred interest on the county level and he made it a point to know people on the state level." Current county party chairman David Rush remembers Grist as someone who was very good about helping the Democratic party and about rendering service to the area. "As far as someone who gave his time to benefit the area, I don't think he can be surpassed," Rush said. "His whole life was service to his country and his state and his county. There's nobody in the county who could take his place."

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Goodbye to a good man...for now

The following is a eulogy I delivered last Saturday at the funeral mass for my father-in-law, William C. Grist.  He served his country in the Air Force, federal civil service, and as the County Judge in Logan County, Arkansas.  A devoted wife, five children and a host of in-laws, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and friends mourn his passing.  Today would have been his 80th birthday.

I didn’t know Bill when he was a farm boy here in Logan County wearing underwear made from flour sacks, though I’ve heard lots of stories. Nor did I know him when he was a young US airman in Tripoli before Ghadaffi, or in Germany, or when he did two tours of duty in Vietnam, but I’ve heard good stories about those, too. I came into the family after the adventure and the wonders of an Alaska experience that predated statehood and shaped his family’s love for the great Northwest.  I missed the years at GSA in Auburn and met Bill first in retirement here in Paris. 

When Judi brought me home to “meet the parents” I didn’t end up in a basement room hooked up to a polygraph machine as in the movie with Ben Stiller and Robert DeNiro.  But I did end up on that first night at Grandma Gracie’s house for a supper of deer meat and a chance to meet the whole larger ‘Grist” family.  Harold and Cecil and Lila Mae were all there and so was Snooks.  And can I just say God bless Snooks who has been such a faithful friend and brother, but especially in these last months. And the same goes for Reggie, Pat and Bills 6^th child.  Some say Reggie is the problem child, but some say he’s the favorite.  Anyway, on my first night meeting the family, I was at a place where everybody told jokes and tall tales and laughed and where they all called him “William.”

One night not long after Judi and I got married, I was at home in NWA watching the local news on the little 12 inch television Bill and Pat had given us and the news anchor led in to a story from Logan County about a local charity event in which some of the prominent local men were dressing as women and participating in a “beauty-less” pageant.  No sooner had they announced the premise, when I yelled “Judi you’ve got to see this---your Dad is on TV!”  And there was Bill in a long gown and heels, wearing a wig and waving gamely at the camera with a flirtatious smile.  Now Bill was a handsome man, but he was a really ugly woman so when we called to tell him we’d seen him on TV it was no surprise to find out that he won first prize.

I did know him when he decided to abandon retirement to run for Logan County judge.  Judi and I came here on many Saturdays and stood in front of IGA or Wal Mart in Paris or Booneville and handed out campaign literature asking people to give him their vote. And though he was as yellow dog a Democrat as my own father, he was willing to look the other way and let a Republican campaign for him. This was a cause I believed in—Judi and I knew he’d be a great county judge, and he was.  I am sure that neither before nor since has anyone done better at wisely stewarding the county’s resources and no one has been more committed to serving the public good.  And he kept that job until it just interfered too much with flying and fishing and his and Pat’s ability to hit the road in their camper to see family in the Northwest and in DC.

Bill loved his family.  I’ll never forget the example he set when Pat was sick a few years back, the way he cared for her and the concern he showed for her health and well-being.  And of course the way she has returned the favor has inspired us all.  God bless you, Pat.  

And he loved his children.  Even though we’ve all been separated a lot by distance and circumstance, I always felt like I knew a lot about all of Judi’s siblings and in-laws.  And maybe more than anything else, I knew about Eddie’s life as a pilot, the current aircraft in the fleet he supervises, the places he was going and where he’d be in the days ahead.  Yes, we all know lots of stories about Eddie

He was good to all his sons-in-law and his daughter-in-law, too.  And I think from speaking to any of us you’ll see the degree of love and affection we each felt for him.  When Frank toasted him at last weekend’s wedding, we were all in tears.

But I want to speak for just a moment to his grandchildren.  As evidenced from the things you’ve said, from your Facebook postings, and from things like the look in the faces of my own children when I had to bear to them the painful news on Wednesday morning that Grandpa had left us---you loved him and you knew how much he loved you.  He joked with you and had fun with you.  He told you so stories that you were never quite sure whether to believe or not.  But he also prodded you to do your best, to become responsible citizens and productive men and women, to make the most of your opportunities.  You know how much he cared about your good grades and your achievements.  He did that because he wanted what was best for you.  And you in turn honored him with your love and affection.  Only last week we celebrated Alyson and Bryce’s wedding in Washington and it was of course no coincidence that Alyson chose to get married on Sept. 17, Bill and Pat’s 56^th wedding anniversary. She so loved her grandfather that she had asked him to officiate the ceremony.  Each of you loved and respected him and you knew he loved you. That’s a gift which can never be taken away from you for the rest of your lives.

Presentation at The Gathering

Last week I had the privilege of participating in a panel discussion about Middle East peacemaking at a conference in Florida.  My remarks follow: 

The elusive task of peace in the Middle East has been the focus of my attention for a long time now. While serving at the State Department in the post 9/11 era, I spent a good amount of time in the Middle East, and my work began to center on the Holy Land where, as we all know, Israelis and Palestinians have been fighting for more than 60 years over who controls the land.  There’s too much history to tell it all, so I’ll just begin with my first actual visit t to Jerusalem which was during the Second Intifada, which was a violent Palestinian uprising against Israeli military occupation that was wreaking havoc on both Israelis and Palestinians.  Hundreds of Israeli civilians died as suicide bombers blew themselves up in cafes, shopping malls and on public buses.  Even more Palestinians died in the Israeli military response. 

I arrived in Jerusalem amidst the violence and the chaos to see the Israelis building a security barrier as a means of self-protection, the first priority of any State.  But I also saw the way in which some were using the justifiable response of erecting a physical barrier as an opportunity to demarcate a political boundary in sensitive places. 

The 24 foot high concrete wall snakes its way through Palestinian neighborhoods in E Jerusalem in ways that separate families and cut off communities from jobs, healthcare, access to churches and mosques, and from historic patterns of life. And I was of course troubled when I saw graffiti on the wall that read “Bush’s Wall” and “Made in the USA.”  

I spent several days there, learning more firsthand about the issues I’d only read about, and then and on the many visits since then, I spent time with the real people who live there

What I found was a complicated geopolitical conflict, one that included

·      two competing national narratives

·      three historic religions with claims on sacred space

·      a complicated history littered with too much bad leadership and too many missed opportunities

·      a cycle of violence and a belief in the necessity of revenge, because to not respond is to demonstrate weakness

·      high levels of fear and insecurity

·      indefensible amounts of injustice

·      a general sense of hopelessness, cynicism and despair

·      a beleaguered but vitally important Christian presence

·      a large American role.

The role of the American government is indeed a significant one.We provide $3B/year in military support to Israel, and we are also the largest contributor to the Palestinian Authority.  And we are the de facto authors of international policy vis-à-vis the conflict

As for the American church, I found two dominant approaches:  To put it in oversimplified terms, there are strong expressions of the evangelical church which are so desirous to affirm the State of Israel and the Jewish people that they ignore the reality of the Palestinians, including the historic Palestinian Christian community

Likewise, there are those mostly in Mainline Protestant churches who so seek to identify with Palestinian dispossession and suffering that they end up delegitimizing Israel.

Neither of these approaches, though in many cases well intentioned, serves the cause of peacemaking nor sees the links between justice, peace and security. 

And having met so many of the real Israelis and Palestinians who live there, I’ve come to the conclusion that both these approaches fall short of being an authentically Christian response to people caught up in a geopolitical conflict.

And yet I also met some of the most inspiring advocates of peace and justice you could ever know. Some were Israelis, some were Palestinians.  Some were Christians, some were Jews, some were Muslims, many were entirely secular.  And some became both friends and heroes to me.

Let me tell you about a couple of friends of mine. 

The first is Danny, an American-born Jew who made aliyah to Israeli 40 years ago.  Danny is a proud Zionist who has served as an officer in the Israeli army and who has had two daughters who’ve performed service in the IDF as well.  Danny’s own family history surely have shaped his commitment to the necessity of a safe and secure homeland for the Jewish people: His father was born in Germany and, thanks to a renegade American consular official who was willing to ignore the rules, managed to escape the Third Reich in around 1940.  He made his way across Russia, through Japan, and ended up in Seattle, Washington, where he graduated high school, then before the war was over Danny’s father found himself back in Germany, but this time wearing an American uniform and fighting the Nazis.  Danny is a lawyer who has basically abandoned his practice as he devotes himself to the work of creating a Jerusalem that is respectful of the deep and historic connections of three faith communities and two national narratives.  He works tirelessly for fairness, justice, compromise, and peace for both peoples. 

And then there is my friend Daoud, whose name means David in Arabic.  Daoud is a Palestinian Christian who was in fact born in the City of David.  His family has a farm on a hilltop just outside Bethlehem in an area that is now home to thousands of Israelis who since 1967 have built towns known as settlements on all the adjacent hills.  Daoud’s farm land is coveted and several attempts have been to take it by force, but because he has Ottoman-era deeds to the property he has been able to maintain control of the property through a protracted series of court cases.  But while he retains control of his land for now, he is not allowed to erect any kind of structure on the property, nor is he permitted electricity or running water.  Daoud is a committed follower of another son of Bethlehem, and has been forced to determine if all those things said about forgiveness and loving your enemies is real or impossible nonsense.  He’s decided to take Jesus commands seriously and he lives his life in this way.  At the entrance to his farm, you’ll find stone with these words etched into it’s face:  We Refuse To Be Enemies

And since that time I have felt implicated in this conflict, both as an American and as a Christian. But what I soon discovered, perhaps the most difficult challenge is finding out how to act in ways that don’t make the problems worse.  First do no harm.  

Most Americans, and particularly most American Christians, have felt compelled to take a side in this conflict.  Most Christians identify with the Israelis on a number of fronts:

·      a shared biblical and religious heritage;

·      a sense that the creation of the modern State of Israel is necessitated after centuries of European anti-Semitism which culminated in the horror of the Holocaust;

·      a view that the Israelis are underdogs and vulnerable allies in a sea of hostile neighbors;

·      and a belief that Americans and Israelis share a similar commitment to democracy and Western values. 

·      and for some, a theology of land, covenant, and end times prophecy;

So assuming for a minute all or much of this is true, where does that leave the other indigenous people group in the land, the Palestinians?  Contrary to what we may have been told the early Zionists who came to their ancestral homeland in the late 1800s and early 1900s did not find “a land without a people for a people without a land” as the slogan goes.  The overwhelming majority of those living in the Holy Land for many centuries were Arabs, both Muslims and Christians. Some 700,000 of them were displaced in 1948 when the State of Israel was created, with over 400 Palestinian villages being entirely abandoned or forcibly depopulated.   And today while the Israelis rightly and joyfully celebrate their independence won in 1948 and their many achievements since, the Palestinians commemorate 1948 as what they call their nakba or their great catastrophe. 

Subsequent wars followed the one in 1948, and in the intervening years many have suffered and died on both sides.  Both have missed opportunities, and both have their maximalists who can’t imagine the possibility of a shared future and whose deepest desire is the other would be driven from the land;

In short, in different ways both sides have suffered and are suffering the effects of a geopolitical conflict.  And if this is true, to borrow from Francis Schaeffer, how now shall we live?

Well, since I’ve been bold enough to suggest it’s absence, I think we should consider what a truly Christian response looks like.  Allow me to offer four points:

1.   An authentically Christian response understands the human condition. This means two things:  First, are all sons of Adam and daughters of Eve. We can neither be naïve about human nature nor about the consequence of the Fall.  Evil is real and can’t be wished away or safely ignored.  But second, we must affirm the dignity of created life.  All the people of the region are made in the image of God and thus share an inherent dignity.  The very lives of both Israelis and Palestinians are sacred to God and real cries for peace, justice and security can’t be ignored.

As University of Virginia professor Charles Marsh has put it:  “vivid realism about the human condition is more honest and clearly drawn against horizons of grace”

2.   An authentically Christian response refuses to choose a side.  To choose a side is to become a party to the conflict.  In our work at the Telos Group, we routinely take small groups of religious leaders on unique trips to the Holy Land in which we expose them to both people, their history, their culture, and to all three faith communities, but in particular to the church on the ground.  We often drive to Haifa in the north of Israel to meet with Abuna Elias Chacour, the Melkite Archbishop of the Galilee, and Abuna Chacour tells each of our groups the same thing:  “If you came here to be pro-Israel that’s fine, but don’t do it at the expense of the Palestinians; and if you came here to be pro-Palestinian, that’s good---we would welcome your solidarity, but don’t do that at the expense of the Israelis.  When you choose one side to the exclusion of the other, you are becoming a party to a conflict that’s been going on for a century, and we don’t need any more partisans in the war.”

I would say that you can’t be pro-Israeli without being pro-Palestinian; and you can’t be pro-Palestinian without being pro-Israeli. It would so much easier if the dividing lines between good and evil were geographic, ethinc, or religious lines, but as Alexander Solzhenitsyn reminds us, the line between good and evil runs through every human heart.

3.   An authentically Christian response partners with and supports those pursuing peace, justice, and reconciliation.  In spite of what you see in press accounts and in political debates, there are people on both sides who are doing the hard work of trying to figure out how to end the conflict and live in peace.  Some do the work of reconciliation; some focus on coexistence; some are advocates for justice, or for the poor; these are true peacemakers; And almost all of them are incredibly inspiring.

We should encourage them, support them, and partner with them when we can.  And we should avoid at all cost undermining them by ignoring the reality they’re pushing back against.

To do this requires committing ourselves to the gritty work of peacemaking.  Not the Rodney King why-can’t-we-all-just-get-along kind, but the kind that acknowledges differences, deals with issues of justice, forgiveness, and reconciliation, and affirms the dignity of all.

4.   An authentically Christian response is eschatologically sound. Let’s get our eschatology right.  I’m not a theologian and don’t pretend to be, but as Eugene Peterson reminded us this morning, what we think about the end helps shape how we live and act today.

This is not to say we can’t have different views about how to read Ezekiel, Daniel and John’s Revelation, and I’m not taking sides between a- pre- and post-millenialists. But if we believe that violence, war and bloodshed in the Middle East is predetermined and necessary and even a good thing, we need to balance that out with what Jesus taught us from a sermon he gave on a Galilean mountaintop.  Our views of Christ’s return should not prevent us from taking up the mandate to be peacemakers and advocates for justice. How authentically Christian is any theology that, when applied, makes us more perpetuators of conflict than agents of reconciliation?  

This is not easy work.  But as a people called to practice forgiveness, to love enemies, to be passionate for justice, to be renewers and rebuilders in a fallen world…

To be a people who believe in common grace for the common good and the flourishing of all, to be heralds for a kingdom that has come and that is coming, how can we do any other?   This to me is what it looks like to pray and work for the peace of Jerusalem.

        

I’m not suggesting that we have it within our power to bring peace to the Middle East, but if we commit ourselves to this work we can help reshape the environment in which this and other conflicts take place in a way that is conducive to the creation of flourishing societies.

Sarah's Key

Judi and I saw Sarah's Key last night. The story is on one level about a search for truth and the way in which even painful and difficult stories need to be told. And this particularly painful story arises from the Vel' d'Hiv Roundup of Parisian Jews in 1942--Nazi directed but carried out by French policemen and bureaucrats. The inhumanity of ordinary people is a part of every story related to the Holocaust, but it's never easy to watch. But this is less a story of mass tragedy than of one young girl whose life was forever altered by widespread acquiescence to cold-hearted cruelty and great evil. And yet there are grace notes along the way--in spite of the prevalence of indifference, hatred and fear, there are those who still can be shaken from their complicity to see the humanity in a child and find it within themselves to do the right things. And as the truth, long concealed, is uncovered, the consequences are painful but seem necessary and cathartic.

John Stott: A life well lived

To witness the way the non-Christian world is marking the life and passing of John Stott --http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/31/opinion/sunday/kristof-evangelicals-without-blowhards.html?hp --

is affirmation that a life marked by humility, love and service is a clearer representation of the character of God than any culture warrior can ever be.  Stott managed to hold together devotion to Christ, respect for the authority of Scripture, concern for the poor, a voice on pressing issues of the day without a partisan identity, and a rejection of materialism in an age of excess.  His life and work remind us that the Gospel is indeed good news, and when preached and lived in its fullness it transforms the poor, the outcast, and the brokenness in our fallen world. 

Through the years, he was often in our parish church in Falls Church, Virginia, and I had the occasion to hear him preach there.  Once I was invited to a small lunch with Stott in the Senate Member's Dining Room in the Capitol with a few friends who also worked in the Senate.  I don't remember a lot of the substance of that day, but I will never forget the humility and graciousness of this esteemed scholar and theologian as he sat for lunch with a few young, eager American Hill staffers.  And I recall the way in which he cared about important issues of our day but seemed so far above any kind of partisanship.  Looking back, it is easy to see how his first love was Christ and his loyalty was to the Gospel and its claims far and above any earthly power, system, or political party.  It wasn't that these things didn't matter, it was just that they seemed to be held in perfect perspective.  I've since read a number of his books and commentaries on Scripture.  "The Cross of Christ" has become a yearly Lenten devotional for me.  Nothing has influenced my understanding of the kingdom of God and the proper meaning of sharing the Gospel like "Christian Mission in the Modern World."  And I have been blessed to be a part of a congregation that lived this out in a way that I could see and experience long before I ever read this book.  So much so that by the time I read it, I said "that's it!"  That's what we've been doing all these years.  And for this I am grateful to both John Stott and to his friend and my own pastor, John Yates.  

Leadership matters.  Because we see so much "through a glass darkly" as the Apostle Paul tells us (and my friend Steve Garber so often reminds me), examples are essential.  John Stott showed us a life so devoted to the claims of the Gospel that we caught a glimpse of how the transformative power of Christ could work in us to live out those impossible claims of the Sermon on the Mount.  Thanks be to God for his faithfulness and for raising up John Stott in our age. 

Reconciliation is Possible

Last week in Little Rock, I took my teenage son and my nephew through the Central High museum viewing the artifacts and hearing the stories of a world so unlike their own as to be unrecognizable: a world of separate schools, water fountains, restaurants, and theaters, all legally and socially enforced; of cruelty and visceral hatred; of the mistreatment and abuse of children because of the color of their skin; of a world in which injustice and unfairness were normative. 

To visit Little Rock Central High School is to see the pain of the past, the depth to which ordinary people can sink when hatred and self-righteousness take deep roots in human hearts.  But to visit there is also to see that transformations take place; hearts and minds can be changed; and redemption is real.  We've all seen the photo of Elizabeth Eckford, wearing dark glasses to hide the tears in her eyes, while an angry mob of her white peers follows her threateningly.  An angry young girl is on her heels, yelling at Elizabeth with an expression of intense hatred.  A child of God who has allowed herself to be a channel for invective and evil.  But if you go to the gift shop in the museum you can purchase a small print of Elizabeth Eckford 40 years later standing in front of Central HS with a white woman, and both are smiling.  Inset in the bottome corner is that same black and white photo from 1957.  The larger image those many years later after that angry young white woman grew to adulthood and repented of her misdeeds.  She called Elizabeth and asked to see her to seek her forgiveness.  One word graces the bottom of the print, and it's a beautiful word:  Reconciliation.

Once again, landing in Tel Aviv

I've just returned to Tel Aviv and processed through Ben Gurion International Airport. This visit will mark my eleventh trip to the Holy Land in the past eighteen months.  Each journey to this place is a remarkable experience, an immersion into beautiful and ancient cultures, good food and warm hospitality, and encounters with authentic peacemakers.  And yet these are blended often in equal measure with the weightiness of human depravity and fallenness, with real pain, suffering and fear, and with the lingering consequences of violence and injustice.  And then there are the occasional moments of spiritual insight and communion with the God of history.  But as N.T. Wright has said, there’s a sort of spiritual residue in these places, a lingering sense of the divine and miraculous here.

Each trip affords an opportunity to introduce more Americans to the people who inspire me, to those who live in the midst of conflict and yet, like my friend Daoud Nassar, refuse to be enemies.  To those who pursue justice and devote themselves to creating flourishing societies that respect the dignity of all.  So often the images of the Holy Land we have in our mind are of violence and hate, suffering and despair.  And God knows that this land has seen its share of these things. But in the crucible of the modern conflict many have eschewed despair, resisted the desire to exact revenge, and imagined that a better world can be achieved through the dogged pursuit of justice, truth, and peace for all. So to return again and again, as wearying as it can be on my family and on me, is a way to offer encouragement of their work and affirmation of the difficult choices they have made for the sake of peace. 

The Banality of Evil

I took a group of new friends to Yad Vashem today.  The tour guide remembered me from previous visits and suggested I might instead want to see a new exhibit devoted to the arrest and trial of Adolph Eichmann rather another visit to the Holocaust History Museum.  And so, on a day when the history hall was crowded to capacity, I set off for a section of the auditorium and in near solitude contemplated the personification of what Hannah Arendt famously termed "the banality of evil."

All the details of Eichmann's capture and arrest by Mossad agents in Argentenia in 1961 were there.  Hand drawn plans of the raid, photos of his modest and rural home outside Buenos Aires, and the ID card he was issued to work in the local  Mercedes Benz plant.  The contents of his pocket the night he was apprehended.  It was all there.

But the most chilling part was seeing the man himself in archival footage of his testimony from his trail.  He was entirely unremorseful, behaving as if the though of apologizing for the deaths of so many had never occurred to him.  Unrepentant to the end, he spoke of the deaths of women and children with a chilling detachment.  Taking no responsibility for his actions, he was "just following orders."

At one point Eichmann likened himself to Pontius Pilate, caught in an unwinnable situation.  But he professed no hatred, nor showed any emotion aside from a nervous contortion of his face on occasion.  He demonstrated no ideological bent, either grand or depraved.  He may have had one, but the defense he offered was little more than to say he did what he was instructed as if there is absolution in blind obedience.  As Arendt observed when she covered the trial for the New Yorker,  Eichmann seemed not a lunatic, not even a monster or an evil villain, but more a tragically deficient man who refused to assume any responsibility for his own actions.

The Sheykh Wore Silver Shoes

Today we visited the Bedouin village of Umm el-Hierin the Negev Desert in southern Israel.  Although it's definitely a village, you won't find it on GoogleMaps, nor on any other map.  It's what's known as an unrecognized village, of which there are many in the Negev.  There are also a handful of recognized villages there.  So what difference does it make to the Bedouin, except for the fact that no one can get Mapquest directions to come see you? Unrecognized villages are not allowed access to running water, electricity or sewage services.  They are citizens of Israel.  Though not compulsory, many of their sons serve in the Israeli army.  But they must choose between abandoning their ancestral lands or living without basic services.  In our meeting with the head of the village, we found a warm and gregarious man who was deeply frustrated by his plight, yet didn't portray bitterness.  When asked questions about his views on regional events in Egypt, Tunisia, and elsewhere, or when pressed on his position on West Bank and Gaza Palestinians, he demurred, refusing to be drawn in to larger issues. He is staking his entire claim on the fact that his family has lived and farmed in this area for 500 years and that he is now a full citizen of the State of Israel, and as such he is entitled to the same rights and responsibilities of all citizens, regardless of race, religion or ethnicity.  He wants to clean water, electricity, and a flush toilet for himself, his family, and the people of his village.  Makes sense to me. 

Des hommes et des dieux--see it if you can

At long last I was finally able to see Of Gods and Men, the award winning French film from 2010 that is in limited release in the US now.  This is the amazing film story, based on real people and real events, of Trappist monks living in a monastery in rural Algeria, serving the local villagers and living in community with them as well as with each other. As the storm of the Algerian war gathers around them they are threatened by Islamist militants and suspected by corrupt military officials, and prudence and common sense would direct them to flee.  But as we see them grapple with this decision, we are privy to quiet ruminations on what it means to belong to God and do his work in the world.  At one point one of the monks reminds another that their mission "is to be brothers to all."  And we see them sustained by the daily and seasonal liturgies and practices that are rich in meaning and steeped in truth. As someone drawn to ancient and historic Christian practice, I found these scenes moving and beautiful. See it if you can.

A Truth Revealed

I once was an Ian McEwan fan.  His most famous novel, Atonement, speaks of our deep need for forgiveness.  It’s the story of a woman who, as a child, committed a selfish and spiteful act of deception which set in motion a devastating chain of events that severed family ties and destroyed the lives of people she cared about. Most unsettling is the way the story takes place in a world where her sin cannot be atoned for and the protagonist is left to reconcile her misdeeds by creating an alternative history of events, in which the adversity and trauma caused by her own actions is not fatal.  A happy ending is engineered, but in the final pages we are left to swallow the bitter pill of an unforgiving universe where some sins can never be forgiven. 

After Atonement, I read other McEwan novels, and was always taken by both his prose and his storytelling.  I was particularly moved by the haunting and simple Saturday, an account of a single harrowing day in the life of a family in post-Sept. 11 London.  But eventually, I grew weary with McEwan’s work gifted though he is.  His view of the world seemed too bleak, the weight of the darkness too heavy.

I would venture that this worldview grows out of his own belief about the role of religion in public life. Painting with a broad brush, he has been quoted as saying “Faith is at best morally neutral, and at worst a vile mental distortion. Our habits are to respect people of faith, but I think we’ve been forced to question those habits. The powers of sweet reason look a lot more attractive post-9/11 than the beckonings of faith, and I no longer put them on equal scales.”  My disagreements with these sweeping conclusions are too numerous to mention in this writing, but they do help explain his gloomy view of the world. 

But I was intrigued by his reaction to being awarded a prestigious prize at the annual Jerusalem International Book Fair.  It’s fashionable in contemporary Britain, and in much of Europe, amongst left-wing academics and artists to identify with the Palestinian cause in a way that is very one-sided. Boycotts are encouraged and visits to Israel are frowned upon. McEwan came under pressure to refuse a trip to Israel to receive the award, but he chose another path. 

In defending his decision to receive the honor in Jerusalem, he argued for engagement with those with whom you disagree.  And he most caught my attention when he observed, "I don't think Israel can prosper unless Palestine prospers."  An astute observation, and one that is equally true in the converse.  Israel cannot prosper until Palestine prospers, and Palestine cannot prosper until Israel prospers.  This is a truth many would rather avoid. But a solution to the long-running conflict can only be found in acknowledging both sides nationalistic claims and the deep and historic connections all three Abrahamic faith communities have to a place they each deem holy.  It further requires recognizing the legitimate needs of both Palestinians and Israelis to attain at least proximate justice, to live in peace and security, and to have their inherent dignity respected by the other.  

The novelist is at his best when he circumvents the ideological and other debris that clutter our hearts and minds and reveals to us a truth about ourselves and the world we live in.  McEwan endeavors to do this with his work, and he writes thoughtfully of the human experience, though in the end his readers are often left with a profound sense of meaningless and despair.  But in recognizing the interconnectedness of Israelis and Palestinians, he glimpses a vision of a more flourishing world built on mutuality, and in this he reveals to us an important truth.

Last Friday at the UN

Last Friday, the Obama Administration exercised its first veto in the UN Security Council.  In fact, this is the first time since 2006 the US has availed itself of this privilege which is reserved for permanent members of the Security Council.  A single veto is sufficient to prevent action.  The resolution in question had the support of the other 14 members of the Security Council.

Having been inside the government when decision like this are made, I have been reluctant to be too critical.  Many factors must be considered.  Our influence has weakened.  The Palestinians forced our hand.  Policymakers juggle competing demands and they operate in an imperfect world.  The most thoughtful will attempt to find the appropriate balance between the pursuit of American ideals and universal values on the one hand and naked self-interest on the other, realizing that ultimately, the latter is best served when we adhere most closely to the former.  In the end both our words and our deeds have consequences. 

What transpired last week is barely noticed in the U.S., but it scream across the front pages of the Middle East. If American wanted to act in its own interest, and if it wanted to be a true friend to Israel, there was a powerful argument to be made in favor of at least abstaining in the UNSC vote. The resolution is consistent with US policy, and our ambassador to the UN, Susan Rice, was left with the unenviable task of explaining the nearly inexplicable:  We agree with the substance of the resolution, but we disagree with the UNSC as the appropriate forum to discuss the issue.  To do so, our argument goes, would undermine efforts to restart direct negotiations between the parties. 

Perhaps there’s an argument to be made here about the utility of taking this to the Security Council, but to suggest that this makes it difficult to get the Israelis back to the table falters on at least two fronts: 1. Unless the Administration is on the verge of performing a diplomatic miracle, I see no way under the sun that this Israeli government will seriously seek a deal with the Palestinians at this moment, given the regional climate and 2. If the vote justification is based on the way this impacts the potential for direct negotiations, you could also say that, conversely, you can't get the Palestinians back to the table unless you pass a resolution, particularly in light of the way in which the Palestine Papers leak exposed the Palestinian negotiators as having been very willing to compromise on sensitive issues.  Add to that the Arab world uprising and you can argue that Palestinian leaders can in no way afford to enter back in to a negotiations process that allows the Israeli policies and actions on settlements to continually undermine the potential for a compromise while the "negotiations" are going on.  

And then there’s this: People in the Middle East see the settlement issue as one of fundamental fairness--an issue of justice.  In this moment of regional upheaval, our veto undermines our ability to talk about issues and values we believe in.  Our muddled veto justification has no credibility.  

But I also know how difficult these things are for policymakers.  To exercise a veto would have created a domestic brush fire which the Administration obviously wanted to avoid.  Many would have accused the President of selling out another friend, and not just any other friend, but one often defined as our only true ally in the Middle East.  And maybe the Administration was right to avoid the domestic fight, but our action is strangely disconnected from the roiling streets of the Middle East and the cries for justice in the region.  And we should likewise be clear that neither US interests, nor Israeli interests were served.  Nor were the values we all claim to hold dear.

Sweeping the Streets of Cairo and Becoming Responsible Actors in History

Having traveled a fair amount in the Middle East the past few years, one of the things that’s always troubled me is the garbage. Inadequate trash collection services, a symptom of unresponsive and unaccountable governments, are a part of the answer, but I’ve also seen too many people carelessly drop their litter in the street and been frustrated by the way in which these individual acts have led to a collective scar on communities and the landscape. 

And now comes this story from my morning newspaper: "In Tahrir, Cleanup Crews Herald New Day."   Having swept away their president for life, and with fresh hopes that their land has been cleansed of the repression and corruption which were a part of his long reign, the protestors and their sympathizers have now turned out in Cairo’s Tahrir Square to celebrate their achievement by cleaning up.  From the Reuters wire story we hear this: “For the first time in my life, I feel like the street is mine,” a 30 year old female engineer says as she worked to clean up litter left behind after nearly three weeks of protests.  People of all ages reportedly wore vests emblazoned with “Proudly Cleaning Egypt” on the back. Other accounts indicated that thousands came out armed with "brooms, shovels, and trash bags." Well, it really is a new day in Cairo.  

Contained in these individual and communal acts are the political seeds of responsibility and democratic self-governance.  As the Czech playwright, revolutionary, and statesman Vaclav Havel has said  “Genuine politics -- even politics worthy of the name -- the only politics I am willing to devote myself to -- is simply a matter of serving those around us: serving the community and serving those who will come after us. Its deepest roots are moral because it is a responsibility expressed through action, to and for the whole.”  The dissident philosopher who led his country's Velvet Revolution against Communism is one of the world's most insightful voices on the power of a group of people who assume responsibility for themselves and their collective story.     

With history as a guide, we all have reason to worry about whether or not the legitimate grievances of the Egyptian protestors will be met, whether their genuine hopes to live in a more fair, just and flourishing society will be fulfilled.  But it is important to note that the rising of a people which has captivated the world in recent days is entirely an Egyptian production, free from outside instigation or influence, and one of the best hints that things may turn out all right in the end lies in the newly clean streets of Cairo.