Marlin & Sally in Jerusalem

Further Thoughts on Prayer

Below is the second installment of Prayers for My Mom and Dad, by our son Joshua.

Joshua:

"So, what do/should I pray when I pray to God about my parents? I do not pray for their safety. I know that sounds horrible, but consider this. My parents knew what they were getting into when they decided to go to Jerusalem. They knew that it was not an entirely safe place. The attractiveness, if I may, of this ministry from a Christian perspective was the chance to do something in which God unquestionably takes pleasure—a chance to help an oppressed people (a people oppressed by God’s chosen people), a chance to pick up one’s cross and follow Jesus’ example of suffering for the sake of the helpless and the forgotten. It is a sacrifice, but that’s part of the blessing. If they are to truly follow Christ, then the risks need to be real. People, good people probably, are going to die unnecessarily in Israel/Palestine while my parents are working there. Why should God protect my parents any more than he protects others? Because I love them? Because of their granddaughter Emma, or their daughter Leah’s unborn child? These are good reasons, but we all have good reasons why are loved ones should be spared from harm and pain."

Prayers for Mom and Dad

I introduce to you our daughter and our son.  Leah is a school social worker in the Holland, Michigan public school system.  Leah and her husband Jory are Emma’s parents.  Leah is pregnant, due in May.  Joshua is a Ph.D. student at Duke University studying Hebrew Bible.  He is married to Kimberly Doorlag. 
I asked them each to write out a prayer for us.  Joshua included some thoughts on prayer that I thought might be worth all of us thinking through. For some, Joshua’s struggle with prayer will reflect your own.  Others of you will be surprised at his current position on prayer.  Most, we hope, will be pressed to think again about the way you approach prayer, the way you see God, and the way you see God working in the world.
Because, like his dad, Joshua is a bit long-winded, I’ve divided his reflections into two parts.  Tomorrow I’ll add the second section.  Wednesday, we’ll offer Joshua’s prayer for his mom and dad.  Thursday, Leah’s prayer.  And on Friday, a surprise!
I also reserve the right to comment and I invite you to do the same.  At the end of this blog, you can press “comment” and add your two-cents worth on prayer.  Or you may offer a prayer.  Just remember that everyone will be able to read what you write.

Joshua: 

“I want to pray for my parents because I love them and because I want to believe that God is active in their lives, especially now. Going to Jerusalem was a risk and a sacrifice. I know and respect that fact. However, I find myself struggling to settle upon what I should pray for or about as concerns my parents. Because, like most of you, I take prayer seriously, I do not pray for that which I consider trivial.  (I acknowledge different definitions of trivial.) I do not pray for grades, green lights, sunny days, loans, etc. In fact, I rarely pray for God to give or grant me anything. Asking for things in prayer seems an abuse of prayer to me.
It is not entirely clear to me how God is involved in my life. I do not think that God has mapped out my life, picking my wife and my career. That feels like micro-managing and I firmly believe that God does not micro-manage the world. As I see it, the biblical text attests to God’s involvement in the lives of a variety of individuals, but certainly not all individuals or even a majority of individuals, and certainly not all the time. Most Jews/Christians/Muslims/pagans/agnostics/etc. go through life without ever experiencing God in any tangible way. My point is this: maybe God is not directly involved in each of our lives. Maybe God works on a bigger scale, directing nations, for example, which sometimes means being a part of the life of an individual, but certainly not every individual. I know that many of us have been taught that we are to have a personal relationship with Jesus, but I must admit I have no idea what that could possibly mean. Jesus is not my buddy. I can attempt to talk with him, but in the end I’m just filling in both sides of the conversation. I can set aside all the time in the world to be with God and to listen to God, but the fact of the matter is, I don’t know when we’re together, nor do I know when God is speaking to me. That’s not to say that God is not real, or that Jesus was not raised, or that the Spirit is not active in the world. I believe each of these to be eternal truths. 
I know that to some I sound like a heretic when I speak like this, but I’m trying to bring my life experience into dialogue with the biblical text. But, I digress. I’m supposed to be talking about prayer. Then again, how one envisions God and God’s relationship to the world greatly effects how one prays.”

Mothers

“ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT distinctions I have learned in the course of reflection on Jewish history is the difference between optimism and hope. Optimism is the belief that things will get better. Hope is the faith that, together, we can make things better. Optimism is a passive virtue; hope, an active one. It takes no courage to be an optimist, but it takes a great deal of courage to have hope”  (Jonathan Sacks, The Dignity of Difference: How to Avoid the Clash of Civilizations).

Hope is a precious commodity around here, one that you can’t buy and sell in the marketplace or out at Kenyon Jerusalem.  Hope is a gift from God, I think, and therefore, when you receive it, you pull it tightly to your chest and hold it there as you would your tiniest grandchild, with hopes that hope will seep into your starving heart.

Sally and I received the gift of hope on the return bus ride from our day at the Mall of Jerusalem – not quite the same as the Mall of America, but still, capitalism at it’s best, or worse, depending on which side of the queen-size bed you got out of this morning.  The bus was almost empty when it left the Mall.  Sally and I could use the seats in front of us for all our packages.  We couldn’t find sheets to fit our queen-size bed though – dang.  We’ll have to go back. 

A young Jewish mom sat two rows in front of us.  She, her three little ones, and the big stroller took up eight seats – four on one side of the aisle and four on the other.  Mom and the baby with their shopping bags in one set of four and the boys and stroller across the aisle in the other set of four.  The twin boys each had to have a seat on which to sit and a seat on which to put their two-year-old tiny feet.  Of course they had to lay on their backs to reach the seat with their feet, but you do what you have to in order to be a man, right?  In 15 years they’ll get to carry guns, and then they’ll be real men, but that’s another story.

As we drove toward the city, we made stops, picking up more and more people at each one.  The big bus began to fill up.  Sally and I lifted up our packages onto our laps.  The young mom began to work her children over toward her, no easy task with two-year-olds, especially when the baby is wailing.  We get to the Medical Center and the Arab mom with her sixteen-year-old son climb onto the bus.  You’ll remember them from yesterday’s story.  The only seats available are the twin’s seats.  The young Jewish mom grabs one of her sons by the upper arm and wrestles him to herself.  Now one son is left and he knows he has the upper hand, because mom has all hands in use.

Then it happens -- hope steps up and presents itself as a gift to any with eyes to see and ears to hear.  The worn and weary Arab woman reaches down and gently touches the head of the little Jewish boy, with his tiny kippa sitting precariously on top – it has Benjamin written in Hebrew on the side.  The older woman smiles, a mother’s smile, and takes the boy by the hand.  He looks up into her dark, black eyes and is mesmerized by them – the love in them, the tenderness.  He moves along with her leading and sits by his own mother.  The two women exchange looks, the Jewish woman nods, almost imperceptively, but there it is, acknowledgement of the bond – mothers.

And hope comes packaged in the acknowledgement of that bond – mothers.  I carry this precious package, along with all the others, with me off the bus and onto the streets of Jerusalem. I bring this gift across the city to our home in East Jerusalem, which can seem like another world.  I hold hope tightly to my chest so as to not let it drop onto the street.   I lay all the “buys” down on our queen-size bed, and carrying the gift of hope, I walk out of our apartment and onto the roof, which overlooks Salaah ad-Din Street, and I pray that these two mothers – Hagar and Sarah --will have done the same.

Tough Enough

Sally and I are bouncing around in a bus headed for Kenyon Jerusalem (Mall of Jerusalem).  The root of the name Kenyon is a Hebrew verb meaning “to buy.”  Yes, consumerism is alive and well in the Holy Land.

Seated across from us are an Arab mother and her son – the son age 16 or older.  He has her mouth, by the way, but not her eyes.  The four seats face each other so we are literally sitting across from them, knees to knees.  We discover later that they are on their way to the Medical Center located near the Mall.  Sally and I wonder which of them is receiving the treatments.  We think the mom.

I sit down heavily.  I am wearing my backpack -- my  black, North Face backpack – the one that screams, “I’m from the United States of America.”

“Owww,” he cried out, the white-bearded elderly man sitting behind me, and along side what had to be his grandson – both dressed in the black of the Hasidim – the Orthodox Jew.  I had clipped his bend old finger with my backpack.  He had it resting on the seat in front of him.  At first, he was angry with me.  I saw it in his eyes.  I apologized immediately and profusely.  Tilting his old head to the left, he murmured, “My problem.  I shouldn’t have had my hand there.”  Well there is that. 

Mother and son are sitting in front of us – Arab Muslims, she with her hair covered with an off-white scarf.  Grandfather and grandson are sitting behind us – Israeli Jews, heads covered with wide-brimmed black hats, the boy’s tilted slightly back on his head, and to the right, very cool.  As we learned, both mother and son, and grandfather and grandson are on their way to the Medical Center – both in need of healing.

Across the aisle from us, on our right, sit two young soldiers, dressed in the bright green fatigues and brown shoes of the Israeli military.  Both are carrying M16 automatic rifles.  To be honest, they look as green as their uniforms.  They are so young, too young is what I’m trying to say.

I watch the young Arab sitting across from me.  What a handsome young man, almost beautiful.  I see the Jewish boys in the same light, by the way, the two soldiers, the grandson accompanying his grandfather to his treatments.  Young people are so lovely, I think, so filled with potential.  But for what?

His chin slightly tucked into his chest, his dark eyes hooded, the young Arab is looking over at the two soldiers, one who is at war with acne as much as anything or anyone else.  The Palestinian youth looks his Jewish cousins up and down and his look says what he is thinking:  “Take away those big guns in your laps, and you’re not so tough.”

I think the opposite.  Take away the big guns and we’d find out that we are all tougher than we think.  Tough enough to live together and work out our differences.  The problem is that no one can take away the guns, except with bigger guns.  We have to lay down our weapons ourselves.  And I doubt this will ever happen.  So – Come LORD JESUS!  With healing in your wings, Come LORD JESUS!  COME!

Remembered

“Marlin, this is the body of Christ given for you.”  He remembered my name.

“Sally, this is the body of Christ given for you.”  He remembered her name, which means as much to me as remembering mine.

“Marlin, this is the blood of Christ shed for you.”  He hadn’t forgotten me, little, old not-very-remember-able me.

“Sally, this is the blood of Christ shed for you.”  He hadn’t forgotten her either, little, but not-so-old, and-very-remember-able she.

To be remembered is to be reminded that you are not forgotten – at least not forgotten this Sunday morning, not forgotten by this Lutheran preacher who stands before Sally and Marlin each week and talks to us the talk of God.  Ah, to be remembered – to be not forgotten.

To be remembered is to be reminded that you are walking your path with companions, friends, family and those who wish you well no matter how well they know you.  They know your name, and that’s something – that’s something pretty big, I think.

“This is my body, my blood, given for you – eat and drink remembering me.”  Ah, flesh and blood son of Mary -- real and rare and righteous -- I remember you.  I remember you remembering me and I thank you.  Ah, snow-white-haired, sharp-tongued Son of God -- risen and riding the clouds and right around the corner -- I love you.  I love you loving me and I thank you for it.  I do not forget that you have not forgotten my name, and you, with so much on your mind and with so many to remember.

“Can a woman forget her baby, or disown the child of her womb?  Though she might forget, I never could forget you.  See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands, your walls are ever before Me” (Isaiah 49:15-16).

To Joshua:  I know, my son, these verses are not about an individual, not personal in that sense, but about a people, a city – Jerusalem.  I know, and yet, there is Jesus – calling individuals by name, healing one person at a time.  Personally, I take comfort in both images of God, and am hoping, sometimes against all hope, that God is big enough to wrap the whole cosmos in his embrace, and even bigger than that, big enough to know that Marlin Peter and Marcella Faye are in there somewhere.

Love -- dad

The Cost of Free Speech

It is easy to have standards of free speech when it is not you who are put in danger for the free speech you practice.  It is my opinion, and it comes out of having Sally and my safety compromised, that the Danish newspaper that printed the cartoons, as well as the other papers that, in solidarity, reprinted them, acted irresponsibly, with disregard for who would suffer because of their actions.  And to what purpose, these cartoons?  Really?  To what purpose?  To make the point that doesn’t have to be made in the West, the point that has been made over and over again?  Of course, elements in Islam are violent and radical.  Who in the West needs to be convinced that suicide bombing is the product of sick minds, and to do so in the name of any God is to make God into the Devil.  What is the point of making this point at the expense of those who live and move among these very elements of Islam every day?  It only makes matters worse for those working to build bridges between cultures and faith traditions.

And what do we know of this kind of hopelessness and desperation?

Plus, these cartoons were insulting and disrespectful of the prophet Mohammed.  They implied in general something that is not generally true -- namely, that Islam is a violent religion.  I know that you are asking the question around the violent reaction to these cartoons, which seems to prove the very point the cartoonists are making.  I can only respond by challenging you to not answer this question with the simplest answer.  It is complex.  The violence is not just about the cartoons.  It goes much deeper, the cartoons are the stimulus not the root cause.  I don't pretend to know the root cause, only that it goes deeper than these cartoons.

I hope and pray that this will soon blow over, so people like Sally and me can get on with what we have come to do.  I pray that the United States’ press will not reprint these cartoons.  To do so would have severe consequences for United States’ citizens living in some Muslim countries.  I am proud of our press for her restraint so far.

I’m sorry.  I wish all this was not so.  I wish extremists weren’t so extreme and dangerous.  But they are, and they come in all shapes and sizes and out of every faith tradition, including Judaism and Christianity.  Change for Islam has to come from the inside.  The West cannot impose change upon Oriental culture, especially when we, ourselves, are in need of reformation and change.

By the way, the Jewish settlers in Hebron and other parts of the West Bank are just as radical and dangerous and violent and extreme as their counterparts in Islam.  There are not as many of them, and they don’t get the press the other does, but they are cut from the same bolt of cloth.  It’s the fabric of the white supremacist groups in the States.  It was not that long ago that white, fundamentalist Christians routinely lynched blacks, and stories abound of the price paid by anyone who mocked or stood up to them.  The heroes and heroines who did, and who did the most good, were southerners themselves, which is my point.

I admit that I might be wrong about all of this.  But I’m not!

Additional note:  Check out the following article for further perspective on this issue. 

(Edited 3/16/2006)

Humiliation

Sally and I walk toward the Old City.  We have just trudged up a long, steep hill, and now, looking with relief down the other side, we see IT.  IT is a “sidewalk checkpoint,” and IT is set up directly in front of the “Church of All Nations.”  IT is still a long way off, but we can make out a green, American-made Israeli army jeep perched sideways across the gold, stone walk-way, its front end jutting into the street.  Several young soldiers clad in army green and carrying automatic rifles are standing beside the vehicle.  There are other men gathered there as well, but we can’t make them out. We know who they are; it’s just that we can’t SEE what we KNOW.

Sally asks: “Do you have our passports?”  “Yes,” I say, patting my stomach where I carry a pack with money and passports.  Passports on board, we walk slowly down the hill, wondering if we will be stopped, knowing we probably would not.  We weren’t.  In fact, the soldiers hardly noticed us, or at least they pretend not to notice us.  They are hoping we are not peacekeepers, because peacekeepers will stop and ask them what they are doing.  They don’t like peacekeepers.  We, of course, are not peacekeepers.  We simply walk by.  But as we do, we see HIM, both of us at the same time.  We slow to a crawl, so moved by HIM.  He is sixty or more, and he stands there with his head hanging down.  It is a pathetic sight, this good man, standing there humiliated by these young soldiers who treat him with such distain and disrespect.  I expect he was born and raised in Jerusalem.  And remember, this is what he has known for most of his 60 years.  What is the culmulative affect of this kind of humiliation on a person like this older man?  And what about the young soldiers?  What does this do to them?  What kind of people do they grow up to be?

From the looks of the older man, he is a shopkeeper in the city, a businessman.  This is his home.  Yet he is made to get off a bus, and hand his ID papers to a disrespectful young man who is young enough to be his grandson.  And he will be detained for as long as this young man wants to detain him.  And for no reason, except the humiliation – the singular desire to keep him in his place.  This older man is not a terrorist.  He has no weapon, no bomb strapped to his chest.  Yes, Israel has a right to be secure, but this is not about security.  This is about humiliation.  It is calculated.  It is intentional.  And it is wrong.  If you had seen this proud man standing there with his head hanging down, you would agree.  This is wrong.

I think about getting out my camera and taking another picture, a close up.  But I don’t, because you are not allowed to take pictures of soldiers at checkpoints.  And why not?  Security?  No, embarrassment.  They are embarrassed. 

And they should be.  Or they are not.  And they should be.

Peace Making

Yesterday Dr. Sabella, a Palestinian Christian who has been elected to the Palestinian Legislative Council, wrote: “What is wrong with us: greeting each other with the peace greeting and yet continuing to follow the ways of war?”

In the final installment of Dr. Sabella’s reflection two days after his historic victory, Dr. Sabella challenges all three faith traditions by declaring: “We need to be truthful to our traditions of peace greeting and work diligently for peace.”

What Dr. Sabella infers is that it is hypocrisy for us to greet one another with peace while we continue to support policies that support war.

“Our Palestinian people are tired of the continuing conflict and the costs and sacrifices that the conflict has taxed them throughout decades.  The enormous obstacles, checkpoints, the separation barrier (wall) built by Israel are hindrances to the conduct of normal living to thousands of Palestinians.  While the Israeli government believes that separation is a very strong option to bring peace and security to its people, I feel like other Palestinians and Israelis that this is not the way to making peace.  One cannot make peace behind walls.  Even in the same home, when we have disagreements or we are upset with each other, can we reconcile with each other if we are sitting in separate rooms and refuse to meet in the kitchen or more safely in the sitting room?  So separation does not equal peace; it is in fact the postponement of peace.

“People on both sides want to feel secure, to live with dignity, to proceed with the more important issues of raising children, educating them, taking care of daily and life preoccupations.  These are the issues and not how to continue in a state of conflict and hostility.  Palestinians are hurt because we feel that the Israeli occupation has taken away the joy out of our lives.  Ending Israeli occupation is a necessary step towards peacemaking; with continued occupation there could be no peace.”

There are two conditions that all Palestinians and many Israelis agree upon:  The Separation Barrier must come down; and Israel must end its illegal occupation of Palestine.

On the other side there are two conditions as well: Palestine must recognize the right of Israel to exist; and there much be a strong Palestinian government that can control the various factions.

Last word from Dr. Sabella: “The traditional Middle Eastern greeting of Jewish, Christian and Moslem greeting of ‘Peace be unto you’ calls on all of us here to make it a reality.  We cannot honor our traditions of peace-greeting if we do not have a joint vision for peace to come.  We owe it to our respective nations, to our children, to families and communities to work for peace.”

May it be so.

Peace Greeting

I want to introduce you to a new friend.  He is a newly elected member to the Palestinian Legislative Council, one of seven Christians to serve in this important appointment.  His name is Dr. Bernard Sabella, Director of the Department of Service to Palestinian Refugees.  Dr. Sabella is also a professor at Bethlehem University.  Today and tomorrow, Thursday and Friday, I’m going to post portions of an article that he wrote two days after the historic Palestinian elections.  It is an inspired piece from an inspired man of peace, a kind, gentle leader committed to justice for his people.  I am honored and pleased that he is allowing me to post this writing here.

“And as they thus spake, Jesus himself stood in the midst of them, and saith unto them, ‘Peace be unto you.’”

Dr. Sabella writes:  “The Peace greeting of Jesus is one that imprints the soul and that challenges the spirit to be transformed into a state of peace.  Surprisingly, in the Holy Land, and in fact in the entire Middle East, the greeting that is culturally rooted is As Salamuk Aslekum in Arabic and Shalom in Hebrew.  The Arabic greeting is the exact translation of 'Peace be unto you,' while the Hebrew greeting simply translates into 'Peace.'  But the idea behind these peace greetings is that when you come to a group and when you meet a friend or any person, you need to assure him/her of your peace intentions.  You also would want to put the group, the friend and the other into a state of peace.  It is in such a state of peace that talks and discussions about issues and concerns can proceed.  Jesus came in peace and spoke peace but what do we do with our greetings of peace in the Holy Land and elsewhere in the region and the world.  While we may mean peace, in reality we are engaged in war.  We have been searching for peace for decades but there is no peace.  We have been greeting each other with Peace, but there is no peace.  What is wrong with us: greeting each other with the peace greeting and yet continuing to follow the ways of war? Are we responsible for this state of affairs or is it factors and powers outside of us and of our region that pit us against each other?  Most important, what is our responsibility as faith people to translate the peace greeting of Jewish, Moslem and Christian traditions into a reality?”

What indeed?  Tomorrow …   

Violent Arab Men

“Arab men are so violent.  Why is that Marlin?”

Behind this question lies a basic prejudice, doesn’t it?  By nature, Arab men are more violent than other men.  Be honest, some of you think this.  But have you thought it through?

Do you Michiganders remember the spring parties at Michigan State University?  Or should I say spring riots -- the cars burning, bottles being thrown at police, the date rapes reported, remember?  But of course, State students are more violent and disrespectful of authority than U of M students, right?  Do you remember when the Tigers won the World Series in 85?  Chaos reigned, and this over a game!  Of course, the rest of you are thinking, yes, but that’s Detroit, that’s Tiger fans.  We all know about Detroit, right?  We know who lives in Detroit, right?  Do you recall, remember at all, the race riots of the 60s and 70s?  Oh, but these were blacks.  Blacks are by nature more violent than whites, right?  Come on, some of you believe this.  Maybe all of us believe this a little.  And the lynching of blacks in the 40s and 50s and as late as the 60s, remember?  But these were good old boys from the south and everybody knows red necks are emotionally challenged, right?  White trash, right?  Need, I go on?  I didn’t think so.

Arab men are not violent by nature, any more or less so than any other men.  But all of us are prejudice by nature, and most of us walk around all day with blinders on, seeing only what we want to see, or only what others would have us see and believe.  The fact is there are those who stand to gain by convincing you that Arab men are violent and unstable and dangerous.  It is good for politics, and you believing this about Arab men helps to justify some political actions that are otherwise difficult to justify -- 2.5 billion dollars in aid to Israel, for one.

Arab men are not more violent by nature than any other men.  Many Arab men are angry, yes, and this I won’t deny.  Arab men are more in-your-face by culture than many American men, yes, I’ve experienced some of that.  But violent by nature in a manner different from other men, against this I will argue to my last breath. The vast majority of Arab men are not on the streets throwing stones and burning flags.  The vast majority of Arab men are not armed and dangerous.  Some are, that’s true, and you see and hear a lot about them these days.  But most are not, and it is a testimony to their restraint and civility that they are not.   

Please don’t judge all but what you see in some.  And for God’s sake – really, for God’s sake – don’t believe everything you read and see and hear.  Think things through.  And think for yourself.

"So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female God created them" (Gen. 1:27).