Fear not -- Love is born!

Christmas greetings to you from the Holy Land! We have spent the past few days amid the crowds in Bethlehem, counting down the moments to Christmas. After attending all five of the Christmas pageants at our Lutheran schools in Jerusalem, Ramallah, and Bethlehem, it was time to party! When you've gotten used to snowy, indoor Christmas celebrations in the Midwest as we have, it's surreal to walk around Bethlehem with temperatures in the 70s, cotton candy and corn on the cob for sale on every corner, and joyful music blasting from every store -- English Christmas carols mixed in with the Arab pop dance tunes we usually hear. We loved the parade of scouts, boys and girls of all ages from all the surrounding towns, marching with bagpipes, brass instruments, and drums. Not only is Christmas a religious holiday in Bethlehem, but a proud day of civic celebration for all the Christian and Muslim residents who flood into Manger square for the biggest party of the year, welcoming tourists from all over the world.
Also surreal, however, is this day of celebration in the midst of political and economic crisis. We may live in very different times than Jesus did, but the message of God's birth into a world overcome with fear is hauntingly relevant for people living here today. In his sermon at Christmas Lutheran Church in Bethlehem last night, Bishop Munib Younan lifted up the first words of the angels, "Fear not! We bring you GOOD news!" Good news in a time of poverty and occupation. News we all need to hear in the midst of a broken peace process and great suffering:

"Palestinians and Israelis today face a common enemy: fear. In the absence of justice and peace, the common demoninator is fear. Fear of the other. Fear for the future. Fear that freedom is not coming. Fear that children will grow in hatred. Fear insecurity. Fear of the occupation. Fear is our common prison that keeps us locked up in cycles of mistrust and shattered dreams."
Click here to read the full text of Bishop Younan's Christmas Message.

Bishop Younan suggested that if each of us could follow these angelic instructions to Fear Not, the rest would follow. It is not merely the actions of an "other" that hold us back from peace and creative solutions to this seemingly endless conflict. It is fear itself. What would happen if we all let go of that fear that paralyzes us?

A favorite Arabic Christmas carol, "Lailatal-Milad," or "Christmas Night," offers an answer...

On the night of Christmas, hatred will vanish.
On the night of Christmas, the Earth blooms.
On the night of Christmas, war is buried.
On the night of Christmas, love is born.

May peace be with you, no matter who you are or where you are on life's journey. God is with us!

Manger Square on Christmas Eve

Olive Juice

It is fall, and around here that means the olive harvest. And, this past weekend we had the honor of harvesting olives on the Mount of Olives. The Lutheran World Federation has over 800 olive trees on its compound atop the Mount of Olives. The 40 of us that gathered for the day of harvesting removed olives from the trees with the use of an orange, plastic hand rake, not unlike something one might see a child using in the sandbox, or at the beach. The little rakes are pulled through the branches like a comb through knotted hair. The olives that are pulled from the branches fall onto the large tarps laid below with a sound (and feel, for those unfortunate enough to be working below) of a hail storm. It was fun, the community of friends and neighbors with whom we shared this experience included American, Canadian, Palestinian, Israeli, Norwegian, Danish, Scottish, Irish, English, German, and Dutch from ages 15 months to... well, a respectable retirement age. Over the course of the day we de-olived 39 trees, filling 17 very large burlap sacks of olives. In case you weren't sure – that is a lot of olives and a lot of olive juice!

Of course, “olive juice” is much more than the delicious oil we dip our bread into at the 'Macaroni Grill'.  The ancient biblical texts prove that there is a long history of using olive oil in ritual practices be it in the temple or for for the anointing of kings and prophets (even today, we anoint people with oil at baptism). Olive oil is also good for us. Today, we know that olive oil helps to control LDL ("bad") cholesterol while raising HDL ("good") cholesterol and that it has high levels of antioxidants. But, much before science had to 'prove' things to us, people used olive oil for its healing properties. And, again, the Bible shows us this. For example, Isaiah 1:6, in describing various states of unhealthiness, describes “..and open sores, not cleansed or bandaged or soothed with oil." And, who hasn't silently mouthed 'olive juice' to someone, hoping (even if jokingly) that they would misinterpret the words as “I love you.”

Do you recall the parable Jesus tells about the man on the road to Jericho (Luke 10:25-37)? You might know it better as the story of the good Samaritan. The man is on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho when he is beaten nearly to death, stripped of his clothes and left to die. Two very religious men notice the man but avoid him and walk on past. The third man, a Samaritan, stops and takes great care of the beaten man. As John notes: "Jews do not associate with Samaritans"(John 4:9b); so, this act is significant. The Samaritan gives him clothing, an animal to ride, and even brings him to an inn and pays for his continued recovery there. But before taking him to the inn, this most unlikely of saviors bandages him, pouring soothing oil on his wounds.

The question which initiates Jesus to tell this parable is a simple one: the Torah tells us to love our neighbor as ourselves (Leviticus 19:18); but, who is our neighbor?  The Bible is pretty clear on this point, that we are commanded not to help only those close to us, but even our enemies (Exodus 23:4-5, Proverbs 24:17, and again, quite bluntly, from Luke). Our neighbors may be near to us, or very distant; they could be our best friends, or our obvious foes; but, more often than not, our neighbors are people we have never met. There are many wounds that need soothing in this world. Some wounds are bodily, though many are emotional, and yet other wounds are the symptoms of conflict: anger, hatred or, as in the the parable, the inability to recognize humanity in the “other.” The parable suggests that one of the worst things we can do is ignore the suffering of anyone - everyone who suffers is our neighbor.

"Human suffering anywhere concerns men and women everywhere."
– Elie Wiesel (Night)

Being here in the Holy Land it seems like it would be impossible to ignore some of the suffering that happens around us. Yet, the polarization and intentional separation (both physical and social) between 'neighbors' here is astonishing. The rifts are deep (though not ancient, as often assumed). This social dichotomy makes it obvious that any peace program that fails to include reconciliation will certainly be unsuccessful. However, as Elie Wiesel acknowledges, the suffering here is not only a local problem. We are all neighbors to the people of the Holy Land. And, as people of social justice, as people of human rights, or, simply, as people of faith we are called not only to recognize suffering, but also to show compassion, to love and to do what we can to soothe the wounds of our neighbors.

The olives we harvested this week were pressed for oil at the winery mention in our earlier post. The oil was brought back to the LWF compound where it will be packaged along with locally made, hand-crafted glass bottles and shipped around the world to churches and individuals that have requested a box (or many boxes!) by providing a donation to the LWF. These individual bottles of olive oil from the Mount of Olives can then be sold (often through youth groups, Circles, or mission teams) in the local congregations. The donations received through this project are directed to the Augusta Victoria Hospital's fund for the poor, which enables the hospital to give treatment to those that may otherwise receive no relief from their ailments.

From the LWF property, on top of the Mount of Olives, we can look to one side and see the ancient city of Jerusalem; to the other side we can look out over the Judean desert towards Jericho. Here on this spot, standing on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, is a hospital serving an often voiceless population. Through the donations received, the oil pressed from the olives we harvested will help - in some small way - to soothe the wounds of a neighbor whom we will never know. Thus, through the picking of olives (or, buying the oil of those olives), we are each enabled to recognize a suffering neighbor whom we can imagine being soothed as we silently mouth the words: “olive juice.”

I Wish

I have an American colleague here who, when introduced to someone with an Arabic name, always asks what their name means. I used to think this was odd -- not something we would do back home! But in Arab culture, names are very important, and people always have an answer for my friend. Said means "happy." Amira means "princess." Du'a' means "prayer." Sura means "to travel by night." Taghreed means "singing as a bird." One of my favorite names for a boy is Issa, which is the Arabic translation of Jesus.
I noticed a while ago that people often smile enthusiastically when I tell them my name. Recently, I learned that this is because my name has a wonderful meaning in Arabic. A friend aptly named Samir (which means "entertaining companion") explained to me that Amal means "hope" or "wish," and Amali turns it into "my hope" or "my wish." I feel quite blessed every time someone repeats my name with a smile, recognizing that it has a special meaning.
But I must confess that living up to this hopeful name is a challenge to me. Am I worthy of my name these days? Does a woman named Hope complain about the dusty, hot, stale desert air that's been stuck over Jerusalem for the past week? Does Hope become more and more disappointed and cynical as she watches the peace process disintegrate? Does Hope complain on a daily basis about stress and aching muscles while neglecting the yoga and meditation that she knows will keep her healthy? Does Hope ever simply wake up in a bad mood? I sure do.
But so does everybody, right? Our names are not meant to describe an ideal person, but the unique, precious individual our parents envisioned us becoming. A name is a gift, calling us to be the best version of ourselves. Maybe this new understanding will bring me a blessing, lift me up. Instead of feeling inadequate and unworthy of my own name, I can look to it as a touchstone, bringing me back to the person I wish to become. Mindful, hopeful, open, looking forward.

A Day Off

Lord Christ, Lord Vishnu, and all the others of whatever name,
Let everyone in the world who suffers
Have a day off, putting their lips to the holy wine, to the holy waters.


I recently encountered this Mary Oliver poem that expresses just the feeling I have tried to name lately: the exhaustion of living in awareness of all the suffering in this land, and the need to simply retreat once in a while to mindfully witness the pleasures that make Jerusalem so special. It's my prayer for all those observing holidays this week; for Labor Day, for the end of Ramadan, for Rosh Hashanna and Yom Kippur. As we live through these tense times, let's take a moment to taste some really good olives. Let's slide our sandals along the ancient, polished cobblestone streets that have carried so many of our ancestors on their way to pray. Let's sing (or hum) a favorite hymn in a huge, empty church with out-of-this-world acoustics. Let's eat those yummy syrupy pancakes they only sell during Ramadan. Let's smell the roses, and pet the cats who live in the garden. Let us speak only peace, and really mean it.

Harvesting Peace (and Merlot)

The Mount of Olives in Jerusalem has witnessed many battles in its history. The western slope of the hill was where the Romans camped out in 70 CE as they waited to capture Jerusalem; nearly 1900 years later, it became a key battlefield as Jordanian and Israeli armies fought to establish their border. But today, it's the home of the Lutheran World Federation's ministries and other faith-based organizations. During the summer, it's also where we play volleyball and enjoy church potlucks. How does a battlefield transform into a backyard, with olive trees, grape vines, and a volleyball court?
A lot of healing work, according to Mark Brown, LWF's representative in Jerusalem. The most visible symbol of healing is the Augusta Victoria hospital, providing care that Palestinians cannot receive anywhere else. Another is the grape harvest Tim and I participated in Friday morning. In cooperation with a local Trappist monastery, we grow Merlot grapes here, and harvest them with the help of volunteers. Yum!
At the monastery's winery, where we delivered the grapes, I discovered a beautiful garden path near the church, and this sign (above). Another arrow to follow... the way of peace.

Two Worlds

It is often thought of as an issue that needs no introduction; yet, it is an issue which few of us have ever really studied. So, we assume most of our readers are not very familiar with the details or even larger picture of the situation in the Holy Land with regard to the struggles between Israel and the Palestinian Territories. As we traverse the complicated realities of this landscape over this year in Jerusalem, we expect to learn and grow in our understanding. We hope to unravel some of these issues from time to time as we walk with the the people of this beautiful and tragic place.

On Thursday, a memorial event was held on the Hebrew University campus, for the eighth anniversary of the bombing in the cafeteria July 31, 2002. That day, a Hamas terrorist left a bomb in a backpack at lunchtime, killing nine people and injuring about a hundred. We remember it vividly, too – Tim had just returned to Chicago from Israel when the bombing occurred, and we watched the news as students and faculty were carried on stretchers from the cafeteria where Tim had eaten just days before. One friend who witnessed the attack remembers how long the fear lasted, even after the initial shock had passed. For months, no one would go near the cafeteria. Years later, the memory is still raw, and it is fitting to observe the anniversary by sharing memories and taking seriously that the wounds will never really disappear. To fear that such violence can happen anywhere, anytime, is a psychological and physical suffering no one deserves.

An extreme incident of violence such as the cafeteria bombing should cause us all to be outraged, and to commit ourselves to finding non-violent ways of solving the problems plaguing the Holy Land. But, too often, fear and grief motivate us toward taking sides rather than building bridges. We dig in our heels a little deeper, and the cycle repeats itself again and again. Noticing the prominent use of Israeli flags at this memorial event on Thursday– including a giant blue and white tent that provided shade for the mourners – we couldn’t help wondering if the memory of this attack is also being used to reinforce a more political message about the continued need for state security through military occupation. Bombings like this one are frequently cited as the motivation for the separation barrier between the Palestinians and the Israelis and why the Palestinians have limited rights compared with the citizens of Israel (such as separate/inferior roads, restrictions on movement, poor sanitation and utilities, inadequate schools, limited access to religious and business centers, and subjection to military rather than civil courts). Certainly, many Israelis hold complex views about the actions of their government and military, but to voice these opinions is unpopular – and mandatory military service for all Israelis complicates their lives even further.

The memory of this bombing has prompted us to talk about how uncomfortable it can be to live in and between these two worlds; holding in our hearts the grief of both Israelis and Palestinians. While Tim studies at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Emily works with the Lutheran schools for Palestinian students, and we live in East Jerusalem among Palestinians and the international staff of church agencies and humanitarian NGOs. It might be easier to give in to the temptation to simply pick a side, and surround ourselves with people we feel are most similar to us. It is much more challenging at times, but we have chosen to cultivate relationships within our Israeli, Palestinian, and international communities. We are called to meet each one with respect for their religious and ethnic identity; to listen to their stories; to accept their hospitality; and perhaps to offer through our friendship a safe place in this divided world to share ideas and opinions.

We are inspired by individuals and organizations willing to enter the messy terrain of understanding various “sides” at once. We'd like to share an article by one of these individuals, David Gershon, who sought out reconciliation with the family of the terrorist who injured his wife in the cafeteria bombing, and the website of the organization "Parents Circle Family Forum" (PCFF) which brings together Israeli and Palestinian families that have lost loved ones in the conflict. We believe that when a lasting peace is reached, it will depend, in part, on international pressure insisting that there is room for everyone here, and that no group needs to disappear for another to feel safe.

The Anchor Church

“Are you sure this road goes anywhere?” I ask Tim as we wind our way back and forth up a steep hillside. Out the dusty window of our rental car, I am watching the buildings of Tiberias shrink like toys. This is the second gravel road we’ve tried, the first one dead-ending at a strange-looking radio tower and a few spooky shacks. We’re both getting tempted to give up, but there’s nowhere to turn around – besides, Tim has been here before, years ago, and knows that it’s all going to be worth it when we find ourselves at the top of the hill.

Focusing my eyes on the cliff ahead of us, I suddenly see that the pile of rocks up here actually has a shape, a structure. We park and walk in the blazing heat toward the ruins of a Byzantine church which must have been a precious gem in its heyday. Crumbling mosaics still decorate the floors in many places. Huge basalt bricks still outline the walls, and over them we can view the entire Sea of Galilee. And best of all, the altar is still there. Tim explains to me that this church used as its altar a first century anchor, which they believed belonged to Simon’s boat, which Jesus borrowed to preach to a multitude on the banks (Luke 5:1-11). I am filled with delight, and can’t help laughing, praying, and even doing a little yoga here on this anchor at the top of a mountain. I’m delighted at the view from so high up, at the blue sky, at the ridiculously winding road we drove to get here – and at the fact that so much of the church is intact in spite of having been abandoned after its excavation ended in the 90s. Tourists don’t usually come here – the people who live in this area didn’t even know what we were talking about when we asked how to get to the church up on the cliff. And here it is – the most spectacular religious site I’ve seen yet. I’m feeling what Alice Munro calls “the intoxication of a flash of God’s favor.”

Oftentimes when visiting one of these early churches, I wonder what the founders were thinking. The church at Kursi, which we wrote about in our earlier post, is a good example; what was it about the place where Jesus cast demons into swine that drew a community to build a beautiful church and monastery? Did they feel closer to Jesus there? Did that particular story have significant meaning for them? Or was it a site that nobody else had claimed yet? It’s intellectually interesting, but it’s a mystery to me why it was so special to them. But on this day, beholding the view above Tiberias from this church with its anchor altar, the mystery I celebrate is how the divine can burst into our lives in the most delightful, unexpected ways. How the faithful impulse of some people over a millennium ago could suddenly become transparent to me, praying over the same sea, under the same sun.

Shalom, Salaam, Peace -- Emily

Introduction

Sometimes people ask for signs; some indication that they are on the right path. Often times we are disappointed when it seems no sign presents itself as we might imagine. Other times there are so many options and we must make a decision on which path to take. But, more often, signs - if there are any - go by unrecognized.

There is a small and often overlooked archaeological site on the western side of the Sea of Galilee called Kursi. It was recognized in the 5th century as the location where Jesus cast demons into swine after which the swine jumped off a cliff and ran into the sea (Matthew 8:28-9:1, Mark 5:1-20, Luke 8:26-39). There was no town built there, just a monastery on the cliff and a church below that.
It is an interesting site with nice Byzantine mosaics, but one thing that caught our attention as we visited Kursi last weekend was a sign on the path from the church to the remains of the cliff-side monastery. Now, this was a small dirt path that snaked up the hill; but it was only one path – no forks in the road, no options for the hour-long hiking route up the cliff, just a simple dirt path that ended at the monastery. The sign was an arrow, obviously pointing in the direction of the path. But we found it funny that the sign also spelled out directions in both English and Hebrew: “follow the arrow.” That is the sort of sign we long for in our lives, isn't it? The arrow pointing us in the direction we were already heading, and blatantly explaining to us, “yes, this is the way, just follow this arrow.”

Of course, there are never are such signs in our lives, but sometimes when we have an opportunity to think about our experiences we can find points that, in retrospect, we might like to call signs. Maybe they are events that help us determine a next step in our lives, or new goals we hope to accomplish. Or, maybe they are just chance encounters that spark a new interest, or give us new insights into something we never knew we needed to know. Or, maybe, it is literally a sign that helps us solve a particular problem, like: “what should we name our blog?”

So, this blog will be our means of communicating those events, perspectives and other experiences that seem meaningful, interesting, or just fun. We welcome you to join us on our journey through this year in the Holy Land where, whether recognized or not, we hope to be:

“Following the arrows”