Marlin & Sally in Jerusalem

Remember the Orphans

(I received this too late to post by Sunday, but not too late to pray on Monday.  Hope you will too.  When I read these kind of stories, I wonder what has happened to Judaism.  How can Rabbis the world over keep silent in the face of this grievous breach in Torah teaching and admonition?  Where are the Jewish prophets?  And so you know, I know these Christian Peacemakers in Hebron, and I know of none other to be more integral and honest as them.  They are telling the truth!)

Christian Peacemaker Teams in Hebron is calling for Christians around the world to make Sunday, 30 March a day of prayer for the orphans of Hebron. On 25 February 2008, the Israeli army raided all of the buildings and institutions funded by Islamic Charities and gave orphanages and boarding schools until 1 April to evacuate students. On 6 March 2008, the Israeli army again stormed storage buildings of Islamic Charities, confiscating food, children's clothing, and kitchen appliances used to prepare meals for the orphans. These centers house, feed and educate 6000 children in Hebron.

Christian Peacemaker Teams will visit the orphanages and will resist the forced expulsion of children if the Israeli army carries out the order.

Pray for the children of Hebron and for all of those affected by the actions of the Israeli army. Pray that the Israeli civil administration will rescind the order.

To learn more about the Israeli army confiscations from Islamic Charities here are links to recent articles:

Gideon Levy, " Twilight Zone / When charity ends at home"
http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/pages/ShArt.jhtml?itemNo=964067&contrassID=2&subContrassID=14      

 
Khalid Amayreh, "Palestinian Orphans protest after their facilities are raided by Israeli troops" http://desertpeace.wordpress.com/2008/03/13/palestinian-orphans-protest-after-their-facilities-are-raided-

Oakland Ross, "Hunkering down in Hebron"

http://www.thestar.com/News/World/article/350060 

Telephone Conversation

I found it on the street, just lying there on the hard stones of East Jerusalem – a cell phone with a rubber cast image of Nemo hanging from one end.  I thought, “Marlin found Nemo.”  I had a good laugh with myself over that one.  Get it?  See, Marlin was the father fish looking for Nemo, his son – never mind.

Anyway, I find a seat on a stone bench newly placed by the Israeli Municipality.  They are renovating the entire area and it is beautiful.  Come and see!  The phone is exactly like my own except that everything is in Arabic.  But the good news is that I know how this phone works and I can read enough Arabic to figure out a name or two in her contact list.  I am guessing by the Nemo thing that this phone belongs to a young girl.  I find the name Samira and I punch in a call to her.  After a few rings a young girl answers, “Hello.”

“Is this Samira?” I ask in Arabic.

“Aywa (yes),” she answers.

“My name is Abu Issa (Father of Jesus or Joshua – my Arab name.) I found this phone,” I tell her.  “Do you know whose it is?”

“Yes,” she responses, a little cautiously.  “It’s Nadia’s phone.”  She can tell by the call back name, I’m guessing, which is what I was hoping.

“Do you know where Nadia is?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says.  “Nadia is with me.”  Then I hear her talk to someone else.  She speaks rapidly in Arabic, of course, and I only understand the phrase, “your telephone.”

“Where are you?” I ask.

“By Bab Al-Amoud” (Damascus Gate).

“I’m near there,” I say.  “Wait there and I’ll bring you the phone.  I’m an old man with white hair carrying a black backpack.”

“Okay,” she says.

I begin walking toward Damascus Gate.  As I near, I see heading toward me a gaggle of six or seven young girls wearing blue school uniforms and white headscarves.  They are talking and laughing and pointing at me.  As I stop, they all gather around.  It has to be a curious sight because everyone along the street slows down to rubberneck.

One of the girls steps forward.  “Nadia?” I ask.

“No,” she says.  “I’m Samira.”

“Which of you is Nadia?”  Her identical twin steps up and stands beside her.  I smile.  “Nadia?”

“Aywa.”

“Here’s your phone.”

“Thank you very much,” she says, taking the phone.

“Our father would have been angry,” says Samira.  “Nadia is always losing her phone.”  There is general agreement on this among all the girls.  Nadia doesn’t bother to defend herself, probably because she has no defense, but more likely because she doesn’t have to defend herself with this group of friends.  She just smiles.

“I understand,” I say.  “I’m a father too.”

They all laugh.

“Where are you from?” one of them asks in English.

“I’m from America,” I say in Arabic.  “But I live here in Jerusalem, close by here.”

“What do you do here?”

“I am a Christian,” I say.  I want them to know this and I love using the Arabic word for Christian - "Ana Masihi" (I'm Christian).  It carries with it the meaning “Messiah.” 

“I work at Saint George’s College,” I explain.  “I bring people to this place so they can see the beautiful places, and meet people like you girls.”

They know of Saint George’s College.  They go to Schmidt’s School for girls, which is just down the road from Saint George’s Anglican School.  Schmidt’s Girls’ School is famous in the city - one of the best schools in all of Jerusalem, as is the Anglican School for Girls.

We have to go, they tell me.  We are already late.

We part company, me walking into the Old City, and they down Nablus Road to their school.  As they get across the street, they all stop, turn around, and wave at me.  I wave back, of course, and the day moves forward for all of us.  And forward is the word I choose because this is a small step forward in breaking down barriers between people.  Today this group of teenage Muslim girls got to meet an American Christian who took the time to track them down and return a phone that he could have just as easily kept – happens all the time here.  I’ve lost one myself.  And I got to have a conversation with a group of teenage girls who are very much like any group of teenage girls anywhere in the world.

One small step forward for one small, older man and a group of teenage Palestinian Muslim girls. Nothing much more than nothing at all, and yet this will be the talk of the Schmidt Girls’ School today, and that’s something at least.

One Woman's Choice

(I normally do not post material from sources other than my own eyewitness accounts.  Here's an exception.  This is from friend Raymond Weiss, former RCA missionary in Basra, Iraq.  He sent it over from Christian Peacemaker Teams, an organization that sends out peacemakers willing to put themselves between waring factions for the purpose of preventing violence.  They are extraordinarily brave people.)

In the first two months of 2008, Israeli security forces killed 146 Palestinians in the Palestinian Occupied Territories and Gaza Strip (http://www.btselem.org/english/press_releases/20080228.asp). At least forty-two were bystanders, who had not participated in the fighting.

Between 28 February and 3 March, at least half of the 108 Palestinians killed by the Israeli military in Gaza, were civilians (http://www.btselem.org/english/Press_Releases/20080303.asp).

On 27 February, the Israeli military targeted the civilian Interior Ministry in Gaza, damaging nearby buildings and killing a six-month-old baby. The same day, Palestinian military groups in Gaza targeted the Israeli town of Sderot, killing a forty-seven year old civilian.

Like Jesus, we are called to take up the cross by speaking out against war, by saying that the death of any one person is too much, that violence leads to violence; it will never lead to peace.    

In the fifteenth century, Jewish and Muslim families fled Christian persecution in Spain, and came to build new lives in Hebron. For hundreds of years, until 1929, these families co-existed harmoniously.

In 1929, Muslim rioters attacked and killed sixty-seven Jews in Hebron (and wounded many others). Although some chose to participate in the riots or stand by and watch, some Muslim families sheltered and saved hundreds of their Jewish neighbors.

Just across the alley from the CPT apartment, in a building now evacuated and requisitioned by the Israeli military, the Muslim Shaheen family saved their Jewish neighbors, the Mizrahi family.

Rioters were at the door, sure that Jews were in the house. The Hajia (eldest woman of the family) went to the roof of her home, tore off her veil, and tore her clothes (a shameful act in Islam), swearing to those below that all who were in the house were her family. The rioters, horrified to be the cause of dishonor to an old, respected woman, left the area. The Mizrahis survived.

In the face of such violence the Haji refused to stand silently by.

Do we?    

Easter on the Mount of Olives

Easter is not about place.  Easter is about people.

Christianity is not about place.  Christianity is about people.

Jesus was not about place.  Jesus was about people.

Jesus is not about place.  Jesus is about people.

It’s early Sunday morning, dawn, and two women make their way to the place of the dead – the place of a dead friend.  His mother-swaddled body lay in the tomb of a generous Jewish man named Joseph.  The two Marys come to see the tomb, touch the tomb, the tomb that held the body of Jesus.  For grieving people, seeing is believing, even though believing is unbelievably painful.  The women can’t believe Jesus is dead.  They come to see again the place where he was buried.  For those who do not have the body of the one they love, then the body’s burial place becomes a holy place.

Jesus, of course, is not there, not in that place.  The angel tells the women that they can come and see the place, but that the place is not Jesus’ place anymore.  Jesus doesn’t have a burial place.  “Come, see the place where he lay.  Then go quickly and tell his disciples; …” (Matthew 28:7).

Come, see the place, if you must, but then go quickly and tell the disciples.  And then, just a few short verses later, Jesus is telling his disciples to “Go” and tell the people of the world.  See?  The story of Jesus is not about place.  The story of Jesus is about people.  Two women, a group of guards frozen in fear, and a pinched dozen disciples who have to be told so that they can tell the world.  “Come, see, then go quickly and tell …”

Tell what?  Tell the story of Jesus raised from the dead … from the dead!  Tell the story of God breaking into history in a way that breaks all the rules, all the formulas, all the laws of nature.  Tell of possibilities unlimited, of a God unfettered, free, set loose in the world.  Tell people of the place where this happened.  Bid them come and see if they must, but don’t dwell on the place.  Dwell on the people.  Come, see, if you must.  Then go quickly and tell … because you must!  Jesus is raised from the dead.

Easter worship on the Mount of Olives is a wonderful place to remember that Jesus didn’t seem to care a lick about place.  Jesus cared, and Jesus cares, about people.  As the preacher was preaching I was looking around at the place.  I was looking to the East, where I could see the Moab Mountains, the Dead Sea, and directly across the valley, the Jewish settlement of Ma’ale Adumiim.  More than 30,000 Jewish people live in this modern city, named from the Joshua story of the conquest of Canaan.  Ma’ale Adumiim has coffee shops, malls, a swimming pool, city water and sewer, and a system of roads to rival any, anywhere in the world – some of these roads are only for the residents of Ma’ale Adumiim.  But it is the people that come to mind for me, most of whom live oblivious to the fact that they are living on land that was stolen from other people.  The people of Ma’ale Adumiim would tell you that for the most part they just want a place to live in safety, with opportunities to prosper and grow.

Just below the settlement of Ma’ale Adumiim is the city of biblical Bethany, called El-Aziriyeh by the Palestinian people – city of Lazarus.  El-Aziriyeh is a depressed city, separated by a barrier that prevents them from prospering.  The people of El-Aziriyeh want the same thing that the people of Ma’ale Adumiim have.  They want a place where they can live in safety, with opportunities to prosper and grow.

What I was thinking as I was looking and not listening was that Jesus was raised for the people of both these cities, the Jews of Ma’ale Adumiim and the Palestinians of El-Aziriyeh.  That’s it, nothing more profound than that – Jesus was raised for the people of both these cities.  I don’t know if telling them that will make much difference, but telling you might.  So I’m telling you.  God loves both the Jews and the Palestinians.  And you and I are called to love them both as well.  We can get into the politics of this place, and we ought to, because politics is a part of life and we ignore politics at our own peril.  We can get into whose place is which place, and we ought to, because place matters, especially when people are taking places that don’t belong to them.

But ultimately, if we don’t love the people of this place with the same fierce love that the God of this place loves them, then we ought to stay out of this place.  And this is true not just of this place, but of every place.  The core of Christianity is not a place, but a person – Jesus.  And this person loved people.  This person was killed by people, buried by people, but raised by God who loves and forgives even those who didn’t know what they were doing when they did what they did to his Son.  This is the same God who loves us even when we don’t know what we are doing when we are doing the very same thing all over again, and that’s what we are doing when we put one people above another, or elevate place over people.

Wherever you worshiped yesterday, it is the people you worshiped with that made worship just that and nothing less than that – worship!  And if our worship is going to transcend the experience and translate into positive, God-loosed action in the world, then it begins with love of the people, and not just the people we like or identify with most naturally, but all the people so loved by God.

Mahalia

Ah Mahalia, you make me smile!  I have you front and center on my computer, and every time I look at you, you make me smile.  And I look at you a lot.  I sit with my computer on my lap and I look at you, and you make me smile.  And it is an easy smile you make on me, the kind that simply begins the moment you come into focus.  Ah Mahalia, you make me smile.

You are new, so fresh out of the womb, unblemished, untarnished, and clean both inside and out, and you make me smile.  I can see your mom in you, of course, and your dad as well, but really, Mahalia, you look like you and not like anyone else but you.  And you look so good to me.  You make me smile.

I can’t wait to meet you face to face, to touch your arms and put my finger into your hand so that you can squeeze a bond between us.  Ah Mahalia, you make me smile.  Soon I will kiss those soft, sweet cheeks, and run my finger over your eyes and nose, and I love that nose Mahalia – such a great nose.  I’m smiling now Mahalia.

Who are you, little one?  In the likeness of your mom and dad, yet made in the image of God.  Does God look like you sweet child?  Is God ever new, always fresh out of the womb, unblemished, untarnished, and clean both inside and out?  Mahalia, do you define holiness?

Ah Mahalia, you make me smile!

The trip from darkness to light was along a narrow path, wasn’t it sweetheart?  Hurt too, didn’t it?  Your mom will tell you all about it one day, but she won’t talk much about the pain for her.  Because when she tells you about the day you and she had your first good cry together, she’ll be looking right into your eyes, her eyes, and she will not remember how badly it hurt to bring you into daylight.

Your dad can’t take his eyes off you.  You think he was a worrier before you came along, well now he has something to worry about – someone who’s happiness has become more important to him than his own.  He has you.  And guess what, little one, you have him too.

Ah Mahalia, you make me smile! 

Your Nana looks at you, Mahalia, and cries soft tears, which are for her a smile from deep inside.  She travels back to your daddy's first day, and the memory of it binds you to her in ways too mysterious for a man like me to understand.

So I sit back and listen to her as I look at you, and Mahalia, I smile!

Palm Sunday Pictures

Yesterday was the yearly first Palm Sunday walk - first because Orthodox Palm Sunday is a couple of weeks away.  The walk begins at Bethphage (House of Figs) and proceeds down through Lion's Gate and into Saint Anne's Church located just inside the city walls.

The walk starts just on the other side of this wall, which separates biblical Bethany from the Mount of Olives.  This picture was taken from the Bethany side of the Separation Barrier, just five minutes from tradition's site for Lazarus's tomb.
And here they come - the procession proceeds down the Mount of Olives toward the Old City, let by four Israeli soldiers.  Tourists often remark about how odd it is to have soldiers in full battle gear leading the Palm Sunday procession, but for locals these soldiers are just part of the landscape.  They are there as a presence for the purpose of keeping order, but it does serve to put in perspective Palm Sunday in contemporary Jerusalem.  You have to wonder where the soldiers were on the first Palm Sunday walk, the one Jesus led seated on the back of a donkey.  Roman soldiers were there of course, watching the crowd as it made it's way toward the city of Jerusalem.  These Roman soldiers worried over the crowd as well, wondering if the motley crew made up mostly of children was planning celebration or revolution.  Imagine their relief when Jesus led the crowd into the Temple through the Beautiful Gate and not toward their stronghold, the Antonio Fortress, by the then Sheep's Gate.  I know, it's confusing, but stay with me.
And there they go, into the Old City, and because the Beautiful Gate is no longer there, and the Golden Gate, near where Beautiful Gate once stood was closed by one of the Muslim sultan's, the crowd passes through the gate that would have led up to the Antonio Fortress, where Pilate was no doubt staying for the dangerous time of the  festival of Passover.  Was Pilate watching too?  Who is watching this crowd?  Are they dangerous too?  It could be that we are a danger to the principalities and powers.  At the very least, we should be.  Right?  Not because we would revolt, but because we follow that first parade marshal who came riding on a donkey, unarmed except for a divine, internal resolve to redeem the world by the only means possible - his own self.  And if it meant suffering, then so be it.  And if it meant death, then so be it.  And if there was something more to come, something transcending suffering and death, something like resurrection, well then, so be it as well.  A man on a donkey rode into a city rife with corruption at every level, sold out completely to violent solutions to every problem, conflicted and factioned, and the man on the donkey knew by then that only the children would understand the significance, because only the children were willing to follow a man on a donkey rather than a man with a sword.

Who is following the man on the donkey today?  And where is the man on the donkey leading us?

Prayer Evangelism

Sally had walked on ahead of me.  I was locking the outside door of our apartment building.  Head down, I turned to walk up the street and on to work.  I ran right into him.

He’s a small man and old.  Over the years he has lost his teeth.  On most days he wears his false ones, but they don’t fit him very well.  Today, he chooses to go toothless.  However, in demeanor, he is anything but.  He bites.

“Where have you been,” he demands.  “I have not seen you in three years.”  This is his way of chastising me for not having the good manners to stop by his hair salon and give my regards.

“Sorry," I tell him, "but I’ve been busy taking care of people from the States.”

“Come have tea,” he says.  He takes my arm and begins pulling me toward his shop.  I nod to Sally to go ahead without me.  She does.

As soon as I am in the salon, he tells me that his youngest son is in jail.  I ask why.  “They say he throw stones at the police, but he was in the shop.  He no throw stones.  He no throw stones.”  He is shaking his bony old finger in my face as if I am somehow disputing this.  I gently reach up and take his hand in mine.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” I say.  His oldest son is sitting in the barber chair pretending to read the newspaper, but I catch him watching me in the mirror.  The old man begins to weep.  “He no throw stones.  He no throw stones.”

I do not respond.  “Fifteen soldiers come to my shop.  Fifteen."  His voice is now high pitched and vibrating.  "They have their big guns out in front of them, and their little guns on their belts.”  He demonstrates how they hold their guns.  His face takes on the the expression of authority. He is the soldier.  “They put the wrist holders (handcuffs) on my son.”  He shows me how his son was holding his hands.  I notice a scar on his left thumb.  His hands are shaking.  “What we can do?  What we can do?”  Then he mutters, “Nothing.  We can do nothing.”

“We can pray,” I offer up – rather a lame thing to say I know, but really, what to do?  What to say?

“Yes, pray to Allah.  Yes, we pray to Allah.”

“But I will pray for you and your son too.  And I pray in the name of Jesus, you know.”  The oldest son looks up from his paper and stares at me for a long moment.  I raise my eyebrows and move my head slightly to the right, a gesture that asks his permission to go on.  He nods.  “Is it alright with you if I pray in the name of Jesus.”

“Yes, yes,” he says, putting his right hand on my arm.  “Yes, pray for my son.  Pray to Jesus.  You are a good friend to us.”

So I did.  Right there in that shop I prayed for his son.  I prayed in the name of Jesus.  My hands shook as I did, as this was the boldest act I have ever done in my life.  But it seemed right to me, and so I did it.  When I finished, I looked up to see what I had done.   The son was sitting with the paper in his lap, his head bowed, and the old man was weeping.  I stood there wondering what I had just done, and what to do next.

Just then another man walked into the shop and the moment passed.  I needed to go as I had a bus full of pilgrims waiting for me.  I told them just that and moved for the door.  The old man had collected himself by now and walked out with me.  “Thank you,” he said.  “I’ll tell my son that you stopped by for tea.”

“Will you tell him that I prayed for him?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, “I will tell him.”

We stand there on the street, both of us lost for a moment in our own thoughts.  Then I lean down to kiss him first on one cheek and then on the other.  Neither of us have shaved, which makes for a rather strange feeling, at least for me.  The old man is shaking his head, the sadness in him oozing out of every pore.  “He’ll be alright,” I say.

“No,” he said, “he won’t.”

I frown slightly and nod my head.  “No,” I say, “probably not.  I’ll keep praying.”

“Issa?” he says with a little smile.  (Issa is Arabic for Jesus.)

“Malum,” I respond with a half grin.  (Of course.)

And he laughed.  Honest to God, he shook his head and laughed.  I don't know what to make of that laugh, but it might have been the only laugh he had all day. 

One True Religion

(Today a small treatise on a subject important to me and the work I do in this place.  Tomorrow a story to illustrate, or at least to try.  Because try is what we keep trying to do.)

Is there only one true religion, one faith that fits all?

I believe there is, and furthermore, I believe the one true religion to be mine – Christianity.

Am I right?  I  believe that I am.  I don’t know that I am right in this, but I believe it – believe it most of the time and with most of my heart.  Sometimes I believe this wholeheartedly, and these, of course, are the best of times.

I don’t say this to please anyone but myself, and my God.  I am a follower of Jesus.  I have been a follower of Jesus my entire life.  My parents and grandparents, and theirs before them were all followers of Jesus too.  Our daughter and son follow Jesus.  They are raising our grandchildren to follow Jesus as well.  I love Jesus!  I adore Jesus!  I talk about Jesus to anyone who wants to talk about anything important, and as far as I am concerned anything that is important always comes around to being about Jesus.  My entire being revolves around talking about Jesus.  I teach about Jesus to whoever wants to learn what I believe the Scriptures want to teach about Jesus.  Nobody here in this place questions my loyalty to Jesus.  And I do mean nobody.  I am transparent, vocal and stubborn about my faith in Jesus as Lord of the Universe.  As concerns the birth, life, death, resurrection, ascension, and return of Jesus, I do not compromise!

And yet, I am respectful of others’ faith.  I respect the Jewish person who believes in the God of his/her mothers and fathers just as strongly as I believe in Jesus. I respect the Muslim who is every bit as passionate about his/her faith as I am about mine.  I respect them.  In fact, those who are most passionate are the ones I respect the most.  And I find they respect me as well, that most people do not respect someone who is not serious about his faith.  And I am extremely serious about my faith in Jesus as Lord. 

I talk with them.  I listen to them.  I try to influence them toward a fresh look at Jesus.  They try to influence me as well.

I struggle most with Muslims, mostly because most of my contact is with Muslims.  Ninety-eight percent of my neighbors are Muslim.  Islam seems to me like the Johnny-come-lately of the three monotheistic traditions.  I read the Qu’ran and it seems more than a bit farfetched to me, more than a bit made-up to fit the need of Muhammad to make a place for himself and his people.  The Jewish people read the New Testament in exactly the same way as concerns us.  I humbly recognize this, put away my sword, and try to listen to my Muslim neighbors as they try to convince me of the missing chapters in my story of God.  I nod my head in understanding of what they believe, and then I tell them what I believe.  And they listen back.  I call that evangelism.  Guess what, so do they!

I’m trying to understand so that I can be understood.  I’m trying to listen so that I can be heard.  I’m asking my friends, colleagues and anyone else who reads this little blog, to try along with me – struggle along with me.

I believe the struggle pleases the one true God who loves the whole world, and wants the whole world reconciled, first with him, and then with one another.

I believe that reconciliation is possible only in Jesus, and that it is the followers of Jesus who must lead the way in humble listening, respectful talking, and most of all in steadfastly supporting one another as we do.

One Sure Hope

Yesterday, a Palestinian gunman murdered eight Jewish seminary students.  Many more are wounded.  A neighbor to the Seminary killed the gunman.

As is the case whenever innocents are targeted, this is a deplorable, despicable and barbaric act, and those are just a few of the words that come to mind.  For those of us who live and work among Palestinians this act serves to discourage us to the point of wanting to throw up our hands and just give up.  The celebrations in Gaza only intensify these urgings.

What hope is there for any change?

Only one, but that one hope is our sure hope, our only hope, I think.  The hope of the world is Jesus.  This we believe.  This we profess.  This one sure hope is what we cling to during days like today.  It is all we have, really, but it is enough.  It is enough.

The Palestinian Christian community will not be celebrating these killings.  The Palestinian Christian community will be praying for the families of the victims, as well as for the family of the man who chose this course rather than the path less traveled here – the path of nonviolence and reconciliation.

The longer that Sally and I are here, the stronger our belief that the message of Jesus, along with his faithful walk to the cross, and God’s fierce response of resurrection, are the reasons we must not - indeed cannot - throw up our hands and quit.  Rather we must continue to live lives that offer an alternative to violence, and we must continue to tell the story of Jesus to our neighbors and anyone else who will listen.

The story of Jesus is the only story that offers an ending that is not bathed in blood.  The story of Jesus is the story of one man, one righteous man, willing to shed his blood for the redemption of the whole world.  This one man, this one Son of God, is our hope – Sally’s and mine – but far greater than just that, this one man, is the hope of all humankind.

It is enough.

Telling A Different Story

By Ann V. Staal
Reformed Church in America Representative
Churches for Middle East Peace

Many thanks to Marlin and Sally for allowing me space on their blog to promote Advocacy Days, sponsored by Churches for Middle East Peace in Washington DC, April 20-22, 2008.  Advocacy Days is an event designed to help you learn how to share what you have learned from Marlin and Sally about the situation in Israel and Palestine with your members of Congress - and then to give you the opportunity, along with other participants from 23 denominations, to speak to your House and Senate offices in person. 

Sunday night of Advocacy Days is dedicated to worship and fellowship; Monday to speakers and workshops that help you learn more about Middle East issues and US policy; and on Tuesday conference participants will attend a Congressional prayer breakfast and then visit the offices of their representatives to share what they have learned.  More information about this conference, titled “Calming the Storm,” is available at:  www.cmep.org

I know that many RCA members are wary of advocacy activities, fearing that the church is getting involved in politics or that speaking up will be divisive.  But there is an important difference between a church that backs a particular party or candidate and Christian voices who help illuminate and educate our representatives about the importance of justice, community and peace.

After having lived in Israel for six years and Washington DC for five, I read the Bible full of wonder at how the stories we tell reverberate politically through the centuries: What if Abraham had kept Hagar in the family, rather than casting her out?  What if David, when God had blessed him richly, had enjoyed his prosperity and worked for harmony within his family and his kingdom rather than reaching out for more?  What if the self-righteous citizens of Jerusalem had reflected on Assyrian victories and instead of being smug had returned to doing justice, loving mercy and walking humbly with their God?

The stories we tell today will also echo on in our children and grandchildren.  Do we allow the Christian story to be told by those who say the cycle of oppression and retribution in Israel and Palestine is unbreakable – even God’s will?  Do we remain silent while others preach that friendship with Israel means arming and pressing her towards Armageddon?   Or do we have another story that needs a voice in Washington DC: a story that respects the lives and well-being of every one of Abraham’s children, that seeks justice and security for all inhabitants of the Holy Land, that hunts for actions that embody our words of peace?

If Marlin and Sally’s insightful blog stories have moved you to wonder how you can also speak peace, I encourage you to share what you have learned with your friends and church – and especially with the policy-makers who represent you, by joining us at the 2008 CMEP Advocacy Days. 

If you plan to attend, please let me know at ann.staal@verizon.net so I can arrange for RCA participants to meet, work and speak together.

Seeking peace,
Ann V. Staal
RCA board representative
Churches for Middle East Peace