A Mom's Story: Why ONA is Really, Really Important

My beloved daughter, a baptized Christian, first came out to me as a lesbian when she was 12.

Beloved Daughter, Age 12

It was 2007, my first year as an ordained minister. I had accepted a call at my dream church. They mentioned to me that they had conversations many years prior about becoming Open & Affirming  (aka ONA = completely accepting of LGBT people among others), and agreed that it was too decisive, so they stopped talking about it. I understood. These conversations were hard, and we're nice and good people so why do we have to SAY it?

I remember our conversation like it was yesterday...“Mom, I think I have a crush on this girl, what do I do about it?”  My response - Um, well… are you sure? I mean, you’ve kind of chased boys ever since you were a tiny girl, this might just be a phase.”

I tried to be OK with what she was telling me, to hold my emotions in and be supportive. Because that’s what you do, you try to just love your kid. It’s God-Ordained.

There is a world of hurt out there, and your number one job is to protect your child from the hurt. And you can't be scared, or they might be scared. Loving them is the most important job you will ever be given. God is love, and love always wins, right?

New in ordained ministry, I went to a senior colleague and confided…what do I do? He gave me some sage advice but damned if I remember it. Afterwards I went to my car and cried my eyes out. I was scared for her. I wasn’t sure if her family would accept her. And I was a feeling a little sad that my perceived vision of her fairy-tale wedding would look nothing like the one I imagined for her.

Will the ugliness that I had seen in church circles scorch her? Truly, I wasn’t even sure if I would be made to choose between my child or my call. I'm ashamed by such an ugly thought.

Beloved Daughter, Age 23

Maybe she sensed the feelings that were swirling in my heart, because she went back in the closet. She stuffed her natural feelings and began dating boys, a long line, in rapid succession. Maybe she was trying to prove something to herself – or more likely, to me.

Surely if she WAS a lesbian, some at church would still love her. Some wouldn't. I took my hope from those who were personally Open & Affirming – even if my local church "officially" wasn’t.

The sweet lady with the uncle who tragically died too young from AIDS. The older woman who couldn’t be prouder of her gay son and his husband. The former submarine man who didn’t have time for anyone’s homophobic bullshit. These were my lighthouses in a storm.

When the Connecticut state law changed in 2010, I asked our deacons what I should do if someone calls me to perform a same-sex wedding. It was a valid question, and maybe as a still fairly new associate pastor a little pot-stirring was expected.

That question opened the Pandora’s box that had been closed so many years before (but not really) when the church held a round of informational sessions and decided to not vote over fears of a church split. I don't know if I ever received the full story on that period in our church's history, but it was before my time. 

The church took on a new round of study on ONA and we voted by paper ballot. The initiative passed with broad-ish support. We adopted a well-written and thoughtful statement, which was posted on our website. We were given very clear instructions that this was as far as we should go. 

The ONA Statement upset some, and those who needed to move on, did. Some who disagreed with the statement stayed, and have for the most part been respectful (although it hurts to hear rumblings about fear of become a 'rainbow flag' church - as if that's a bad thing). Some of those for whom our actions were not bold enough moved on too. 

In her sophomore year of college, at the tender age of 20, beloved daughter fell in love with a woman that tore her apart emotionally, financially and physically. She was her first. Unfortunately, the woman who was supposed to love her systematically abused her using classic techniques such as alienation and gas-lighting. My beloved daughter became too scared and unsure to “come out” to her parents due to what this woman had told her. 

Beloved Daughter & Me, Present Day

Because beloved daughter regarded me as a lukewarm LGBT advocate, she didn’t think my husband or I would truly approve of her “lifestyle”. Her abuser knew this, and used it to her advantage. At the height of the abuse beloved daughter did not speak to us for 6 months. 

I do not exaggerate when I say this period of disconnection almost killed me. More importantly, it almost killed my beloved daughter to walk away from her church and family.

The problem was, she couldn’t be 100% sure after 7 years of attending worship nearly every Sunday that we loved her for exactly who God called her to be. Would she really be safe with us? And Jesus wept.

Beloved daughter knew who she was as early as her first year of Junior PF. My husband and I didn't listen, out of fear. And we were so wrong.

Today, after a lot of work and prayer, beloved daughter is in her final year of grad school for social work. She is soon to be an intern at a domestic violence non-profit. We are so proud that she has grown in her own acceptance and wisdom and is channeling her negative experiences into helping others. She hasn't lost her faith. And we could not be prouder of her, she is amazing and healthy and strong and compassionate. Thank you, Jesus.

Please understand me when I say that for some of us, being crystal clear about naming how loving, open, accepting and welcoming we are as a community of faith is a life or death situation. Talking about it will not turn our kids gay, or make us the gay church in town. But it will make everyone who comes 100% certain that they will be safe here. Which is why yesterday I hung a rainbow flag in my office window. I hope that our community understands the urgency of our witness soon. Perhaps they will hang a flag where people can actually see it.

God is love, and love always wins, right? 

Talking to Kids About Tough Stuff... Like Homelessness

This week at MCC (if you haven’t heard) is all about Vacation Bible School! Wonder Woman, the Flash, Batman & Robin are introducing the children in our care to Bible verses and stories about Superheroes in the Bible like Jesus and Moses. This summer, I was invited to participate in our “Mission Center” (A.K.A., the Bat Cave) by teaching the children about some of my mission work.

I was given Monday and Wednesday to present to three age groups – ranging from 4 years old to fifth grade. How hard can that be? Heck, I’ve been involved with VBS since my 23 year old daughter was a little kid. No problem! Easy-peasy!

Today, the first day of VBS, I centered the conversation on the work our Senior PF did on our Chicago Mission trip. In my preparations, I kept returning to the issue of homelessness (you might have read about that in last month’s Steeple). Unfortunately, as VBS drew closer I ran out of prep time. Which led me to the unfortunate position of figuring it out on the gorgeous summer Sunday afternoon before VBS was to begin!

As the minutes ticked away I began to feel a creeping panic… exactly how do I talk to a four year old from Monroe about what it’s like to be a person experiencing homelessness? Will they get it? What is age appropriate? How do I frame the conversation without terrifying the child? And, how might the conversation shift when I would focus on older VBS participants?

For starters, kids of all ages need to know the appropriate terms. The younger ones couldn’t tell me what a mission was, but the older ones knew it had something to do with “helping people”. Then, we focused on a tent that I had set up as I told them about the tent cities of people experiencing homelessness in Chicago, and how our PF went to visit them and bring some bag lunches we had made. Not too many of the children had ever been camping, so we imagined what it might be like to live in a tent instead of a house. Where would we store food or take a shower?

Then, we talked about what they can do as a kid to help people. We brainstormed what we might put in a “blessing bag” to give to someone who needs help (with our parent’s supervision, of course). In the older group, we watched a short video of an 18 year old homeless man living in tent city and some of his struggles. And we talked about the importance of treating other human beings with dignity and respect.

What I didn’t share was Chicago’s statistics:

• Average age of a person experiencing homelessness is 9!

• There are over 80,000 people in need of permanent affordable housing

• On any given night, 2,000 youth look for a place to lay their head, but there are only 360 shelter beds to accommodate them.

• Today across our nation there are more Vietnam vets experiencing homelessness than were American casualties from that war, 1,000 of them live in Chicago

I told myself “they wouldn’t understand”, and maybe that’s true. To be honest, there is a part of me that knows I didn’t share the numbers because they make me angry. I’d rather be hopeful. Or maybe it’s because the numbers always remind me that we have such work ahead of us to really love our neighbors as we love ourselves.

OK, so Wednesday? That’s the day I share my sabbatical work, monitoring human rights violations in Jerusalem… with 4-11 year olds. Pray for me?

Young Adult Leaders in the Church... they exist!

Let no one despise your youth, but set the believers an example in speech and conduct, in love, in faith, in purity. (1 Timothy 4:12)
Mainline church, we've got a big problem. I don't need to repeat to you the statistics on failing and closing churches. In fact, I think that will do nothing but give you slight heartburn. I'm not going to contribute to that anxiety loop today.

I would like to name "Fear of Young Leaders" as one of the issues that is contributing to our slow demise. Here are some thoughts about how we got here:

We've assumed, for too long, a shallow understanding of the faith life-cycle. It goes something like this: Young people will leave the church as soon as they are confirmed, probably because we are too intellectual (aka boring). They will be back when they have children of their own that need Sunday school. In the meantime, we don't really count on them too much or expect them to contribute or even show up. And if they DO show up during those young adult years, we will wait until they are the respectable age of about 30 before we see them. Because young people are to be served, they don't really count.

Other things that contribute to this decline into shallowness include:
1. Expecting the right pied piper style, long-hair hippie youth director to "bring in the youth" based on their personality style and inability to age (no shade thrown at anyone that resembles this stereotype, but good luck to the youth ministry when you eventually move on!)
2. Having the best children's programming that magically draws in young families (hint: people are looking for authenticity in relationship, not perfection)

Both of these attitudes underscore our propensity to see our churches as a commodity to be consumed, rather than the body of Christ today in the world that call each one of us, no matter our age, to discipleship.

Mainliners, do you even know what happens when you let the church do what church should do and grow disciples? You get young leaders like this:

• 14 year old who decided to start a brand new photo booth at Strawberry Festival
• 17 year old trustee who will go over to the church to turn off lights and save precious stewardship $
• 18 year old deacon, who is very particular about the way we serve communion and will let you know (with love and grace) when you mess up
• 19 year old Vacation Bible School co-chairperson, on her second year of wrangling 20 volunteers and 60 children for a week in the summer
• 20 year old film student, responsible for documenting and sharing the vision of the church's spectacular Strawberry Festival
• 23 year old delegate to General Synod 31 who has served on the Christian Education Board, as Junior High adviser, as an area chair for Strawberry Festival and VBS co-chair - just to name a few
• Two Senior high youth advisers in their mid-20's, and another in his early 30's who lives an hour away that make Sunday nights with the senior high youth group a priority - it's hard to imagine a mission trip without them.(Oh, and these three have been leaders since they were teens, and have coincidentally taught me more about following Jesus than any youth ministry seminary course ever did.)

This is not an exhaustive list, but I am trying to make a point. If we want young adults to be in the church, we need to include them as equal ministry partners with adults - let's not settle for less. That includes our national setting. There should be no separation, no ageism. When we choose to infantilize 20/30 laypeople, we do so at our own peril. We stifle their discipleship. Do you think they'll care to come back in ten years when they are done cooking? They are not the "church of tomorrow", they are the church of right now. Let's treat them like it.

Child Development, MCC Style

Our church recently celebrated our 46th Annual Strawberry Festival.

This event is a cornerstone event for our community, not only for the families and friends of the Monroe Congregational Church, but for the town of Monroe itself. Over 100 vendors pack the green, bringing handmade crafts to sell. Over 3,000 visitors spend time with us, in an amazing 17 hour shortcake extravaganza, complete with music, games and delicious food (strawberries and otherwise).

The Strawberry Festival is nothing less than a marathon faith formation - trust building - community strengthening - holy season. The welcome we provide to our guests defines who we are as a people of faith.  It's like a booster shot of vitality. And we can only pull it off because most of the 'people in the steeple' make it a priority. All of us are pulled in so many directions this time of year, but last weekend proves that together, we can work miracles.

Proceeds from the Strawberry Festival allow us to be bold and generous givers in our wider community. Meet Debra, who recently graduated a Bridgeport high school and received an academic award. What an amazing accomplishment. Who knows what lies ahead for her? Will she become a doctor, or a lawyer? Or perhaps she will train to be a teacher, or maybe an engineer.

According to a 2016 CT Post Article;
"Bridgeport’s 63.6 percent graduation rate for the Class of 2015 — a sharp drop from the 71.5 for the Class of 2014 — appears to give it the lowest four-year graduation rate among school districts in the state."

Poverty affects children under the age of 18 especially hard. Kids from poorer neighborhoods are more likely to struggle academically. Perhaps this is because their parents are out of the home working a couple of minimum wage jobs just to get by. Or their electricity was cut off. Or they have to move from cheap apartment to cheap apartment to make ends meet. Maybe one of their parents is incarcerated. Or they went to bed hungry and taking tests on an empty stomach is really distracting.

Our church has sponsored Debra's family over the years through our ties with Covenant to Care, a program that connects faith organizations with a social worker working in Bridgeport. The generosity of those who give their time and efforts to our Strawberry Festival, and give money to the church through their gifts and pledges of financial support, allows our community to directly impact children like Debra enough to curtail the obstacles that systemic poverty might place in their way.

So the next time you savor the sweet taste of a fresh picked strawberry, think of the sweetness of what can be done through your faith community, and give thanks.

He's In the Army Now

Today, June 6, 2017, our 17 year old son Zachary, a junior in high school, will be inducted into the United States Army. Early enlistment was not an easy decision. It was the result of many, many hours of prayerful discernment and planning. We have been slowly sharing our news with friends and family, many of whom have expressed their concern by saying something like “and how do you feel about that?” How I feel is, well, complicated. Life’s decisions often are. But then I remember…

Our family is service-oriented. Boy Scout Troop 63, Senior PF, the Monroe Congregational Church – all have inspired Zachary to serve others. He has been personally impacted by what he has experienced on three youth group mission trips, on the CRST Reservation with Simply Smiles and by serving as a counselor at Silver Lake. He was recently recognized by the Rotary Club for the “Service Above Self” Award for the many hours of community service he has completed.

Kentucky IV

Many members of our family have served. His uncle Mike put himself through law school by serving in the Army’s ROTC, and upon earning his law degree was deployed as a JAG officer. He was stationed in Kuwait during the first Gulf War and represented service men and women. When he came home, he took a post in the defense department monitoring government military contracts before joining a private law firm.

His father Clark served in the Army’s National Reserve. Although his commitment was limited to a few weeks a summer and one weekend a month, he was able to put himself through 4 years of an undergraduate program at UCONN’s Storrs campus. Clark’s only regret was that he didn’t take advantage of the job training opportunities that were offered at the time. We even bought our first home using the GI Bill.

Earning his Life Scout

And the Army will train him in a field that is both interesting to him and employable. Our son has always been spatially oriented. Millions of hours spent playing Legos, creative designs he has made for future homes, the care he has taken in planning his Eagle project, the interest he has shown in CAD… these clues indicate that he will do well in mechanical or civil engineering. When he took the required entrance test (ASFAV) Zachary scored quite high in this area.

When I returned from Jerusalem and we had time to sit down with a recruiter (something he has done half a dozen times this year), he was told he qualified to be a Geospatial Intelligence Imagery Analyst. Zachary’s job will be to read advanced top-secret forms of mapping imagery. He will give direction to soldiers in the field as they maneuver over terrain. This will require a very high security clearance, which is transferable to the business world. He will also earn a number of college credits (about as many as an Associates Degree) during his training.

His role will be to support soldiers and civilians in the field, helping keep them safe. When his service ends in four years, the 9/11 soldiers bill will cover his tuition, room and board in any state university around the country, without incurring any student debt.  This summer, we will visit some of these schools so that he will be ready to apply following his term of service. Zachary will also earn a generous signing bonus, because the Army has a difficult time finding candidates that qualify for this training and because he is committing before his senior year begins.

At MEPS, Before Swearing In

And there’s a real financial need. It’s embarrassing to admit, but due to his parents’ career and financial decisions, Zachary does not have much college savings. Thanks to the generosity of his grandfather’s annual gift at Christmas, he can just about cover one semester of books. If he were to go to college straight out of high school, the only way he could afford it is to take on a massive amount of college debt. His sister struggled with the same dilemma, which she solved with a mix of honors college scholarship, a very small student loan, a part-time job and serving as a resident assistant in the dorms of SCSU. This particular path worked for Cady, but it is not an option for Zachary.

But, as Zachary has shared his news, he has received various negative responses: “Why would you do that, you aren’t that poor!” “How could you serve, you aren’t a minority?” and (a mom's least favorite) “You’re going to get shot!” It makes me wonder… are the poorest of the poor and people of color carrying an undue burden for our nation’s security? How, my friends, is that fair?

As a pastor, I am constantly praying and working for peace and an end to violence. And some day maybe we'll all pound all of our swords into plowshares. But until that day, we need people who are willing to protect us. Life is not an action film, and most days in the military are routine. Sometimes the men and women in our armed forces carry the heavy burden of responding to acts of violence and war. In those moments, their job is to follow orders and keep people safe. It is also important to remember that the US military participates in many different humanitarian and disaster relief actions both here and around the world.

Most soldiers do not enter their work frivolously. In fact, all the veterans I know have served with a deep awareness of their responsibility. I expect no less from my son. We are proud of Zachary and the choice he has made. If praying for peace while supporting my son makes me a hypocrite, I guess that's what I am. 

Our humble request is simply that those of you who know our son support him with your good wishes and prayers. Thank you!

Grace in Galatia

a sermon preached at the Monroe Congregational Church
on May 21, 2017

An intro note: Last week we were the Jerusalem Council in Acts 15 as leaders tried to settle a conflict and figure out the identity of the early church. As the organization grew over time, tension was mounting between the "Judaizers" who believed all Gentile Christians should convert to Judaism first and leaders like Peter and Paul, who didn't think it was necessary. This letter was written BEFORE the Council occurred, and may be part of the reason why the Council was called in the first place. I tried to write a more conventional sermon, but my drafts sounded like a re-hash of what I presented last week, so I went with a reflection in the first person colored by recent experiences in the Holy Land. What WOULD someone reading this letter think about its contents?  

Galatians 1:13-17, 2:11-21

We received Paul's letter a few days ago. I don’t know quite what to think. Our friend definitely

Market (Souk),
Old City Jerusalem

sounds frustrated with us! 

I remember the days when Paul first came to visit. We were so caught up living our own lives. It’s not easy to get ahead in a province like Galatia! My family works at the market here in Lyssa, we have a booth to sell spices. Our children are trained to call out the prices and what we have available to sell. My job is to smile and greet the customers, try to talk them into buying more than they came for. And my husband, well let’s just say, he knows how to work the scale in our family’s favor. 

So there we were, right smack in the middle of our busiest sales day, when I heard this voice speaking about a new teacher, just a few feet away. It was Paul. He was in his own makeshift booth, stitching together fabric for a tent. As he worked, he told his story to the customer. 

It was the same story he hinted at in his letter… how he used to be a Pharisee and committed all types of violence against this group of people who followed this man Jesus who they believed to be the Messiah. But then he had this otherworldly experience one day on the Road to Damascus and met Jesus, which was pretty amazing since he had been crucified and died many so days before. It was compelling enough a story for me to lean out of our booth to listen.

That’s when I overheard Paul telling his customer how this encounter turned him around and changed him forever. And now he dedicates his life to spreading Jesus’ message of unconditional, radical, boundary breaking love. 

Later that afternoon, a few of us invited Paul back to tell us more. He gathered us together in the center of town after the market was closed. He convinced us that following the example of Jesus – his ways of loving God, our neighbor, ourselves, was a better way to live than what we had been doing. 

Paul had a past, a violent one. We heard all about how zealous he could be. He told us again how that one fateful day on the road to Damascus changed his life forever.

And then he told us that if we too could learn to trust in Jesus, our lives would change. We listened, and learned that devoting ourselves to living the kind of life Jesus did meant we were already right with God! We could be forgiven for the mistakes of our past (which, for some of us, was a pretty long list). We too were promised a place in God’s family as a beloved child! Because of this love, our very lives would be forever transformed. 

Then he looked right at my family and told us that cheating our customers was wrong, but that it’s not too late to make it right. How did he even know? Imagine, a God that doesn't measure out grace like it’s a precious spice sold to the highest bidder. Forgiveness is possible. Love changes everything. 

Pretty hard to believe, isn’t it?

And it was hard to accept, too, at first. We didn't understand grace. We couldn’t fathom how a God we didn't know and couldn’t see would want to give us a gift we clearly didn't deserve and couldn’t earn. None of us could live up to what Jesus did and none of us deserved the grace that comes with following him. It's just all so different than what we've grown up with.

We were used to going to the Temple of Artemis to make sacrifices and participate in rituals. For us, it was about a half day’s journey to Ephesus. You’ve heard of Artemis, haven’t you? She’s the fertility Goddess, the Huntress. The Romans call her Diana. Devotees like us come from all over the world to celebrate her. There are huge processions honoring her feast days with music, dancing, singing, dramatic presentations with priests and priestesses chanting their allegiance. I’m sure that Artemis makes a lot of money for the city, too. In fact, the largest bank in all the world right now is housed in her temple!

From the time when we were young children we were told if we didn’t worship her the way she liked she would use her mighty power to take away all the things dearest to us. Whenever something bad happened, our first thought was “I wonder what that person did to anger Artemis?” None of us wanted to be on her bad side. Who knew what might happen! 

That goes for all the other gods and goddesses too. It was so complicated keeping track of all the festivals and holy days and obligations. All to avoid being destroyed. To be honest, we lived in fear.

Then along comes this Paul to tell us about a God that is the exact opposite of the one we think we know. A God we couldn’t see, or touch. One that didn’t have a temple we could visit or statue we could worship. 

We were excited and intrigued by what Paul had to say. A few of us organized a group that got together regularly to talk about his words and pray. We’d gather at someone’s house and eat a meal together, sharing what we could. My family was happy to contribute the spices: rich zaatar, bitter herbs, precious salt all the way from the Dead Sea. Others brought roasted lamb, fresh pressed olive oil, bread or wine. 

Men, women, children – all levels of privilege and wealth sitting at the same table, gathering as equals. Can you imagine? The first time we ate together, it was terribly awkward. Who got the first pass of the hot dish? Who would say the blessing over the food? In time, we got used to it. Paul taught us that eating together was a reminder of God’s grace, and it wasn’t so important to do it the right way as it was to eat with the people God loves – which it turns out, looking around our table, is pretty much everybody. 

And we took up a collection to help those who were struggling: the widowed, the orphaned, the disabled and diseased who begged on the streets. The funny thing is, I knew the poor had always been there. My family and I were accustomed to walking past them quickly on our way to the market. But something about living as a follower of Jesus kept me from looking away now. I felt compelled to contribute, to help. Maybe it was all the love.

Sounds pretty ideal, doesn’t it? Well, it was, as long as life was good and bad things didn’t happen. But eventually, they did. People in the community had the same challenges they always had before they followed Jesus: loved ones still got sick, a neighbor’s house burnt down, our good friend was unfairly arrested right in front of our booth as a threat against the Pax Romana. 

And Paul, by then, had moved on to Syria with his missionary friends Prisca and Aquilla. He wasn’t around to counsel us, to tell us what we were doing wrong that would cause so much sadness and pain. 

I guess that's why we started listening to those traveling teachers from Jerusalem who stayed with us that one time. They too were followers of Jesus, but they told us that Paul’s teachings were incomplete. The only way we could be right with God was to give ourselves to the laws of Moses first. For some of us, that meant the next step was a painful surgery. Until then, we had to stop this custom of eating together until all were clean under the law. And forget about having women at the table, they should eat at a separate location in the kitchen, away from the men. 

Before you judge us, you have to understand that when Paul moved on, we all felt a little bit like a newborn colt standing on shifting sand. Wobbly.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, after all, Paul told us that Jesus himself was an observant Jew. We were desperate, and this was something tangible that we could do.

It makes sense why sounds so upset with us in this letter. He heard the news. We were trying to fix it, which meant that with our actions we were trying to regulate God’s grace. None of us, being Greek and Roman, knew how to follow all those laws. In learning and adopting them, our focus and energies were being exhausted. Why did we take something so simple, and make it so complicated? I don’t have an answer. Do you?

We were even more shocked in that section of his letter where Paul calls Peter out. Right in front of everyone! I’ve never met the man, but I’ve heard that Peter-Cephas-The Rock isn't someone you go up against. Paul did just that. Peter was acting like us, not honoring the good news of Jesus. Sure, it was OK for him to eat with us when he arrived in town, but as soon as James and the other leaders showed up, he was too good for us. Or we were too unclean for him. I guess if a man like Peter can make a mistake, we can too.

This much is clear to me now: we're not made right by things we do but by what God does in us. We can't be made right by even our own piousness or faithfulness or the hours we spend in prayer – even though those things can be lifegiving. God’s love is a gift – given freely. I may never understand how God could be full of that sort of Grace but I'll take it! Amen.

Conflict In Community

Conflict happens!

A sermon preached
at the Monroe Congregational Church
on May 14, 2017

Acts 15:1-21

Jesus never said it was easy to be a disciple. At least he left them tools to work with, friends and community to share the sacred work, rules intended to build up the community. It’s not that surprising that one of the very first conflicts in the early church was about who was in and who was out. The apostles, disciples and elders had to decide whether to stretch the body to include those who did not share their religious heritage, or draw a sharp distinction and create two levels of membership: Jewish Christian and Gentile Christian.

Scripture says this caused no small amount of tension, as more and more of those Gentile newcomers began showing up to worship and participate in community. The tension morphed to outright verbal conflict, with everyone picking their side of the debate. The conflict was important enough for Antioch to send a delegation to Jerusalem to try and settle it once and for all, which seems like a very expensive way to come to a decision. Eventually, as the story goes, the early church settled on grace, mercy and inclusion as shared values.

To be honest, I am conflicted about conflict. 

On the one hand, I know from experience that some measure of disagreement can be healthy. When conflict is managed from a place of love and respect it can become an impetus to change. As people come together, discuss their differences with warmth and empathy they might learn something important. Reconciliation has a sacred quality when it helps us to restore relationships. Friendships can heal. Marriages can be saved. Partnerships can be strengthened.

On the other hand, conflict also carries with it the possibility of becoming entrenched, abusive, long lasting and soul crushing. I was reminded this week of the infamous Hatfield and McCoy’s family feud. You may or may not know it began in 1870 as an argument about which of the two families owned a particular hog. What could have been managed as a tiff between neighbors became a decades-long family war, with many acts of violence committed on each side. PF learned this summer that to this day it is still being grumbled about by modern day descendants living on the Kentucky/Tennessee border!

Transforming conflict can sometimes feel darn near impossible. I want to believe that humanity can pull together to create a new, sacred world where there are no enemies. I want to believe that we can come to some agreement on the big issues that seem to fracture and divide us. But I’m not so sure anymore. The Cold War has been over for almost 30 years, but we’re still afraid of Russia. Democrats seem to be the sworn enemy of Republicans and vice versa.

Is there something in our humanity that requires us to have an enemy, a scapegoat to blame, or at the very least someone to disagree with? I wonder.

Jesus taught that humanity could expand beyond hatred and conflict into a state of justice, peace, and love.

But it’s not just Jesus who says this. Most world religions try to get us to step out of the hating our enemies and into loving them. This is not an easy task for those of us who haven’t yet reached the Buddha’s enlightened state, or felt something of Jesus’ personal connection to the Creator, or had flow through them Gandhi’s inward peace that led him to non-violent protest.

Their ideas about love were radical and stood in the face of political and economic powers that saw the need for enemies, scapegoats, and continued conflict. Seeing love as a power greater than the Empire eventually got Jesus, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King Jr., among so many others, killed.

This “love your enemies” thing that Jesus talks about so much is difficult. Remember the beatitudes? “Blessed are you who are reviled and persecuted for righteousness sake.” I think Jesus was speaking to any one of us trying to expand our love toward those with whom we are in conflict.

Love your enemies. That doesn’t mean work on changing them or even necessarily agreeing with them. Love means that you see their humanity at its core and understand that we all share something in common, even if it is not ideology. Love their humanity so that together you might collaborate on bringing God’s kin-dom to reality.

Collaboration can only happen after we see the simple similarities both sides can agree on. Of course, this means that both must be willing to even sit in the same room together. What do we share, what is it about you that is the same in me?

A conflict over resources means that we might need to stop talking about ownership and instead focus on our shared values. If we can’t agree on our values, then maybe we can agree on our identity as children of God or that we are both part of something greater than ourselves.

And if we can’t quite get there, we might go back to the basics and just take time to breathe. At that point, we are biological beings needing the same thing—air to fill our lungs and flow through our blood bringing fresh oxygen to the whole body.

Studies show that deep breathing lowers blood pressure, reduces the fight or flight instinct, and gets us into a more peaceful frame of mind. One of the pastoral counseling tricks I’ve used with struggling couples is to have them look into each other’s eyes for five minutes in complete silence. Their bodies will do something extraordinary, they will start to breathe in sync with each other. Afterwards, couples report feeling hopeful that whatever they were struggling with can be worked on as a team.
Next time you are locked in battle with your significant other, try it!

In fact, I’ll bet you can love someone – anyone - at that level.

In a deep and profound way, this can help us to see the other as human, not just as our adversary. Which can help us step out of the need to win the competition and be right.

At our core, we share biology, the need for oxygen and water and food and shelter.
At our core, we love our children (both our biological ones and the ones we encounter in this community).
At our core, then, maybe we can agree not to hurt each other, out of love for our children.
At our core, we might remember that you are beloved of God, just as I am, and God’s love is not a scarce limited commodity owned by one person or group of people; it is an abundant, impartial, ever-expanding, miraculous gift that is our responsibility to share.

It is all too human to want to call forth our enemies to try and challenge them, change them, win the argument or hurl out a good insult. But when we do, it’s a challenge to our faith.

We gather each week in this safe harbor, for an hour or so, to rest in the peace of God’s love. I don’t know about you, but I need a safe place where I can drop anchor, away from the fiery storms of Facebook and Twitter and the evening news, away from bickering partisanship, scapegoating and sworn enemies.

The good news is that all of that isn't the way that God wants things to be.  Once, we were fractured by resentment.  Once, we defined ourselves by fear.  Too often, we still do.  But we are God's people and we have been made to be so much more.  In Christ, we are already so much more. 

Our human tendency towards division is strong, but the roots of our God’s love is stronger.  Through the power of the gospel, we come together as one, as a people knit together by the experience of God's grace. Once we were strangers, but now we know that through God’s mercy, we can treat one another as sisters and brothers.

And because we have received mercy, it is incumbent on us to show mercy to others.  Like Peter, Paul, Barnabas and James insisted, we have been freed to love those people whom the world in all its divisiveness tells us every day we should hate.  That love doesn't make our differences and disagreements fall away, but it allows us to hear each other despite them. Simply put, we can refuse to be enemies.

Yes, that’s pretty counter-cultural. Even fantastical, and people tell me sometimes that it's maybe just a little naïve. And it certainly takes work.  Real work.

It would be so much easier to ignore the people with whom we have fundamental disagreements, to avoid them at all costs and cover our ears. It’s a challenge to honor the humanity of those who might not recognize the humanity in us. It's much harder to journey alongside people who have a different understanding of the world than we do.  But the God who called us out of depths and into the light empowers us to be a place and a people to take just this on.

Monroe Congregational Church, how are we, together, going to put LOVE to work? Amen.

You’ve Got to be Carefully Taught

Al Bustan neighborhood, Silwan, Jerusalem

Sermon preached at the
Monroe Congregational Church, UCC
On May 7, 2017

Acts 8:26-39
This is my first Sunday back with you after a sabbatical as a short-term missionary with the World Council of Churches in the Holy Land, and my head is still fresh with memories. I hope you’ll indulge me in sharing a moment that reminds me of the scripture story Gary just read for us.

One of our daily routines was to provide protective presence for Palestinian high school students attending the Al Bustan Municipal School in a village outside of Jerusalem known as Silwan. It sounds like something grand, but our work was really just to stand there with our vests on, greet the children and watch them walk up the hill to school.

That doesn’t seem hard, does it? Why travel halfway across the world to become a glorified babysitter? Why did our presence there matter?

Studies show that non-violent protective presence decreases the level of violence; people behave better when other people are watching.

And there had been a lot of acts of violence lately… teens throwing rocks at soldiers, soldiers throwing tear gas canisters and shooting rubber bullets in return. If you are a teenager who regularly walks past soldiers who you consider to be foreign occupiers you might be tempted to tell them to get the hell out. And on the flip side, if you are an inexperienced young Israeli soldier just a few years older than the students, you might retaliate in any number of violent ways.

So our non-violent, international presence was supposed to help everyone within this system of violence and retribution be a little less reactionary. That was the goal, at least.

So there we are in this village, we’re kind of new and the teens don’t know us yet. For all they know we could be Israeli settlers, come to take control of their land. We didn’t do a great job introducing ourselves, because none of us spoke much Arabic at the time. And that’s on us.

The morning started off pretty quiet, soldiers had not yet arrived. A group of teens began to gather about 20 feet away from us, whispering, laughing and looking sideways at each other. That’s when an older boy, probably about my son’s age, picked up a small stone and threw it in our direction. His friend picked up another and followed his example. The first thrower missed. The second one hit my right foot (not hard enough to hurt).

Right in that moment is when I heard the still, small voice within me say “go talk to them”.

“Hey!” I called out. “Saba Ilher” (which is Arabic for good morning)…

And I began walking up the hill towards the group of kids. When I reached them, told them what my name was “Isme, Jennifer”, that I was from America. I asked them who they were, and they responded with laughter and smiles at my faulty Arabic.

Most importantly, they put the stones down.

Now, I could have left the moment that boy aimed the stone at us, hopped on a municipal bus and returned in safety to our placement house. But listening to that inner voice, going to talk with them, was exactly what was needed to break the cycle of violence and fear.

Not forever, mind you, but at least in that moment.

In order to follow that inner voice, I had to put away my fear. Maybe that’s easier for me because I work with youth. For some reason, most middle-aged people like me usually get a little nervous around teens. Maybe that fear ramps up when the teens are Muslim and come from a rough neighborhood that has seen too much violence and poverty.

Fear fuels prejudice.

There are many kinds of prejudices that mess up the world. There is nationalist prejudice. Today there are children who will be carefully taught to hate Israelis, to hate the Palestinians, to hate the Arabs, to hate the Iraqis, to hate the Iranians, to hate the Russians, to hate the Japanese, to hate the North or South Koreans.

There is racial prejudice. People have been taught that blacks are inferior to whites, that First Nations people are lazy, that Mexicans are dirty, that Asians are taking our jobs. There are religious prejudices too.

From the time he was a little baby, Philip had been taught to be prejudiced against Gentiles like the Ethiopian Eunuch.

Just like the classic Roger’s & Hammerstein song from the musical South Pacific…

You've got to be taught to hate and fear,
You've got to be taught from year to year,
It's got to be drummed in your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a diff'rent shade,
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught before it's too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate,
You've got to be carefully taught!

Philip was carefully taught by his parents, grandparents and great-grandparents. He was carefully taught by his friends and classmates. He was carefully taught by his rabbis who quoted selected scripture that made it seem as if his prejudice was God’s will.

But all those little tiny boxes that we keep trying to separate ourselves with, God continually tries to pull us from. Philip is led by God into relationships with people who don’t know Jesus Christ, and he winds up sharing his faith. I was led into friendship by God with a group of scared Muslim teens, and we wound up sharing laughter and joy.

In the Bible reading for today, we don’t discover yet that Philip had four daughters who become prophets. Imagine their family dinners… four preachers! My poor parents just have the one, that’s more than enough suffering for one family.

Philip had been carefully taught what the role and position of women was to be. Women were property, like farm animals that were to be obedient. He was taught that women should know their position in life and accept it, that they should not speak unless they were spoken to – except in church when they should be silent. But his daughters had been anointed to spread the gospel in public.

In the Book of Acts, we find stories about men and women whose hearts are filled listening to the indwelling Still-Speaking Spirit of God inside of them. Being filled with the Holy Spirit, Philip was sensitive to the Holy Spirit’s voice inside of him: “Get up and go Philip. Philip, go to Samaria. Philip, go to Gaza. Philip, go to the black man. Philip, go to the eunuch. Philip, go to your four daughters who are prophets.”

And he listened to that inner guiding voice, too. It wasn’t merely his conscience. It wasn’t an angel with flapping feathery wings; it wasn’t an auditory hallucination; a dream or a nightmare. It was the inner guiding voice of God, the Spirit of Jesus.

Like Philip, we too can listen to the inner guiding voice as God talks with us about our marriage, our kids, changing careers, or being on the swim team. Listen. What do you hear? Amen.

Re-Entry

It is finished.

My colleagues in the initiative have (for the most part) all returned to their home countries, families and jobs. We have begun the task of unpacking, giving gifts to loved ones and appreciating the many blessings of our lives. We are putting together advocacy plans even as we take a deep breath and try to get the knots out of our backs from all the stress.

We were told during training that these people we spent so much time with would become good friends. Thanks to social media, goodbye doesn't have to mean what it once did. As long as we continue to stay connected by the tether of electronics we will be able to keep in touch over the miles. For this, I am most grateful.

We did it. I say "we" because the past three months of sabbatical have definitely been a team effort.

My family stood by my decision to live in a conflict zone and accompany people who don't really have a choice in the matter when it comes to security. Yes, there were dangerous moments, which is a burden I'd rather my loved ones not have to carry. On the hard days (and the easy ones) staying connected to family and friends helped me turn from despair towards hope.

I owe my husband Clark a deep debt of gratitude. He supported my decision to live in Israel/Palestine and reminded me that what I was doing was important. I appreciate my mom for listening and letting me authentically be who I am. She let me name my fears and reminded me that I am called to be brave.  My children, Cady and Zack, thrived beyond my wildest expectations - despite the occasional stresses in their lives.

And finally, the church. What can be said about a community that commits to wrapping me in prayer AND feeds my loved ones fresh, delicious homemade dinners a couple of times a week? If food is love, it is crystal clear that we are cared for and I am most grateful.

Sabbatical is supposed to be a time when lay leadership of the church is "handed back the reins", and I hope to find out more soon about how that all went for them. And I hope that the deep joy I have seen from our teens and their advisers on creating Youth Sunday this year without me will be a lasting reminder of their strength and spirituality. You did it, too!

My focus in the next month or so will be to reconnect with our elders, our lay leaders and those in crisis. Relationships are so important, and separation is really hard. Give a hug to someone close to you today. Remember the people of Israel and Palestine who are working towards a just peace and end to conflict. Commit to non-violence today in word and action, Refuse to be enemies.

4 Ways to Resist

There are all kinds of ways to deal with traumatic experiences of living day to day in a coercive environment. During my time here I've noticed that there are four distinct ways that the Palestinian people respond.

The first way, which is actually statistically quite rare here, is through violence. Unfortunately, the despair of the situation leads some to lash out in a physical way. Security forces often expect violence to come from young men in particular, who are often stopped and interrogated on their way to and from school. Violence is the reason the military targets a primary school gate by patrolling with an armored tank and a dozen fully armed soldiers. You never know when a 15 year old might pick up a rock and throw it.

A second way to respond is to ignore the occupation as much as possible. To do this, one must accept the realities of life in East Jerusalem: demolitions, road closures and checkpoints, detention and arrest and other inconveniences. Perhaps it can just be patiently waited out while the international community attempts to negotiate and solve the issues that seem to be getting worse all the time.

A third way is to become a refugee and leave Israel and the Palestinian Territories altogether. Refugees often find themselves living in places with much better opportunities, and many people thrive when not living under the yoke of occupation. Worldwide, there are 72 million Palestinian refugees (that's 1 in 3). I believe this is actually the hope of the current Israeli administration, if they could get all these Palestinians to leave they could fulfill the requirements of the "Master Plan", Israel's policy to bring the population to 70% Israeli and 30% Palestinian by the year 2020.

A fourth way is through peaceful resistance... it's

• Reproducing and adding to your family in the face of the Master Plan
• Rebuilding, after your home has been demolished by the municipal authority
• Getting an education, especially a law degree, to better represent yourself and others in the military court system
• Using your mobile phone to record soldiers stealing Palestinian flags from Christians marching in the Palm Sunday processional and posting the video to social media
• Hanging your leftover bread on a dumpster, because there is always someone hungrier than you
• Praying at the checkpoint, because the line makes you late for work and there is not enough time to pray at the mosque
• Offering hospitality to those internationals willing to stand by you, despite their countries current political actions
• Teaching your children to be proud of their Palestinian heritage
• Letting old people, women and children, cut you in line at Qalandia because the guards would not open the humanitarian gate
• Falling in love with someone from the West Bank when you are a Jerusalemite, knowing that the authorities will not grant permits for you to live with your beloved

Dear Holy Land Tourist Lady,

An infant car seat,
saved from the bulldozers

I used to be just like you. Five years ago, with my fanny pack and sensible walking shoes I trudged up the Via Dolorosa in the Old City - imagining what those last moments of Jesus' life might have been like, before the world changed. I remember the comfort of the tour bus, and how our guides were always telling us to drink more water.

I bet you paid a lot of money for this life changing trip. And I understand why... here before you is the Sunday School play set of your childhood dreams! When you close your eyes, and listen very carefully, you can imagine what it might have been like to be here when Jesus walked the earth. Did you wonder, as you passed that hill, if it was one that he walked?

Rubble from the
demolished 2-family home

Listen... your Holy Land adventure will never be complete until you come with me. Travel the dusty, narrow road just a few miles away through Silwan and up a steep hill to the village of Jabal Al Mukabbir you will find a pile of rubble. That pile of stones are no more or less holy than the ones you just saw at the Wailing Wall when you crammed in the little bits of paper prayers your church friends sent with you. Prayers for healing, prayers for comfort, prayers for peace.

This pile of stones was a two story double family house at 3:59 this morning. That's when the soldiers came and woke the ten children under 8 - they are just babies. At 4, it began to be a pile of rubble. That's when the bulldozers revved their engines and caused two sets of young parents to scramble around and try to move their small children and every last little piece of their belongings to safety outside.

The two oldest children, no more than 8,
help load items into a truck

At 6 am is when the relatives and friends began to show up, carrying their condolences and offerings to help. When we arrive a few hours later, they will have determined a system. First, they will offer you a chair in the shade of an impromptu tent. Then they will thank you for coming, and offer you a cold bottle of water. After a few minutes they tell you some of their story, and you will be given a strong cup of Arabic coffee followed by a cool and sweet mint tea.

The grandfather, the patriarch on whose land you stand, will tell you that he had a lawyer and paid the steep fines for building without a permit. "This is the Occupation, what can we do?" he says. He will point to the rubble and tell you that this is the true terrorism, and you will nod your head knowingly because it sure seems random and violent and scary to you.

Destroyed child's bike

Let me tell you, it will definitely feel a little awkward when you look in the eyes of the oldest two children who saw the bulldozers topple their home and you will see they are as strong as grown men. These boys should be in school, but since their bags and books are in the bottom of the rubble they are here to get you a chair and serve you tea instead. One of them is wearing new soccer cleats, because those were the first he could grab before running out of the house. His father says to you "my son is six, he sees his house demolished, of course he will want to start problems when he is 16!" 

Household items the family saved

When you have stayed long enough to pay your respects, you'll return to your safe place thinking that this holy land is broken. And you'll wonder if the world has any idea, and if they do, why isn't someone doing something, anything, to make it stop? And the echo of the grandfather's last words to you as you were leaving become a mantra that you cannot forget: "Thank you for coming, tell the world what you see here!"

A Tale of 2 Healthcares

Today I did something I didn't want to do... admitted I was vulnerable. I hate doing that. It's the worst. I'm supposed to be the strong one.

I've been here in Jerusalem for 50 days, and most of those 50 days have been spent walking between 4-6 miles on hard bumpy stone and up/down uneven steps. My family (and pretty much anyone who sees me on a bad day) know that from time to time my knees flare up. They have for years - it's nothing new.

We also expected that much of my time here would be spent walking, so I did the right things to prepare. On the application and in the interviews and training I disclosed that my knee pain was a potential problem, I sought medical attention from my PCP before the trip, Her verdict was that because of recent weight loss the structure of my knees had shifted, but with time and exercise I'd be fine. Walking 5 miles a day would be the BEST thing for me! So I went to physical therapy, a chiropractor and trained at the YMCA to get stronger. I must have been committed, since the co-pay and deductibles cost about $2,000.

This is not a post in which I intend to make you feel sorry for me, gentle reader. There are still many, many difficulties suffered every day by people who cannot pass a checkpoint to get to the hospital on time to deliver a baby or make their chemo appointment in the better-appointed Israeli hospitals. That's a huge issue over here.

And this post is maybe a little self-indulgent. Because my knees, ya'll? It's like hot knives with every one of the 11,000 daily steps. 1200 mg of Ibuprofen twice a day ain't cutting it. So today I caved, admitted my own vulnerability and followed my housemate's good advice to go to a local clinic.

Honestly? The whole process left me a little star-struck by the healthcare system over here - and by here, I mean the Palestinian Authority because the closest health centers to us are Arab-run. With all the news I read about the potential roll-back of the ACA in the US and how the new plan will throw 24 thousand people off, I couldn't help but share my little story in hopes that someone who can make a difference will read it and do the right thing (which is to call your Senator and ask them to block it! Right now. Don't delay!)

With that little political nugget out of the way, back to my story. My knees have been taking a beating. I've gotten some great stretches from my rock-star body builder friend, Kelsey - which helped. After this morning's 4 mile walk, I decided to visit the Al Hayat Medical Center in neighboring Sheik Jarrah to get them checked out. I even sprang for a taxi, that's how much I hurt.

Walking- no, hobbling - into the building, I was nervous about the cost, since Al Hayat doesn't take my traveler's insurance. In the US, an ER visit can cost thousands. I was also concerned about the time. It was about noon, and if I had to wait the 6 hours it takes in the states to be seen that means I'd be out in the dark, which is a no-no security risk. I had all the cash that I have left in my monthly allowance, hopefully it would be enough (or maybe they take credit cards).

I have my own history of being uninsured. When I began working full time as an associate pastor at the church I now serve as senior pastor and didn't have health insurance. It was my fault. I declined the UCC coverage because my husband had it from his work, and it would save the church money. When he lost his job a year later it took a few years of prayer and advocating for myself and my family to get Plan "C", the lowest cost/highest deductible package the wider church offers.

When your family lives paycheck to paycheck, unexpected medical bills can ruin you. Anyone who has been un (or under) insured knows what's it's like to avoid those expensive annual exams and tests and pray that your kid doesn't get something that will require antibiotics and an office visit or GOD FORBID, a cast. You live in fear of finding a lump or a new weirdly-shaped mole. You put off care as long as you can, because you KNOW you can't afford it. When you finally decide to address the issue, there's a dreadful pit-of-your-stomach-what-if-we-lose-everything kind of anxiety to deal with, so just in case you check the limit on your credit cards.

When I got there, a kind woman at the front desk asked for my information and what was wrong. There were no forms, she just needed my first and last name and date of birth and a few words about my symptoms which she printed out on a tidy computer-generated form and handed to me.

Then, she asked me to pay the doctor's consultation fee up front, which was 100 shekels, or about $27.50 USD.

Next, she told me to wait outside the emergency room. I was the second person in line, which took about 5 minutes. In the ER room, the doctor and nurse were compassionate and gave me an order for X-ray. I brought the order downstairs and was seen immediately by the technician. When he was finished, he told me to go back to see the doctor, the films were already loaded into the computer system. I was given a CD of the images to share with my doctor at home.

Cost of X-rays? 50 shekels, or about $13.71 USD.

Returning to the ER doctor's office, he told me "You are in a great deal of pain." (well, yes) This is because you have no cartilage on the inside part of your knee joints - the left is worse that the right. It's rubbing bone on bone, osteo-arthritis with some tendinitis - which is worse on the right from overcompensating. Made worse by the walking unevenly on stone. I will give you a shot so you have some immediate relief, and here are prescriptions for a muscle relaxer, an anti-inflammatory and glucosamine/chondroitin - don't worry, it's organic. Come back and see my in 10 days, or come and see one of our orthopedists, we have 3 on staff here. Maybe when you get back to the states you have surgery, that's up to you."

Cost of medications, combined? 227 shekels, or about $62.28.

If you've done the math, that's $103.49. To have, what seems like, a pretty significant diagnosis.

Time taken to arrive at this new bit of information? About an hour. In fact, the walk BACK to the placement house was probably longer than the time I spent at the clinic.

I leave you to guess what the US system would charge an uninsured person with similar needs. But here's the $5,000 dollar question (that's my guess, btw)... if occupied East Jerusalem can provide affordable, excellent health care for its residents and guests like me, why can't the United States? Please don't answer with "if you like it so much, then stay there", because that's just mean and unhelpful. Besides, thinking like that won't move us forward in a way that cares for our neighbors and "least of these" as is the call of those of us who claim the name Christian.

Oh, and BTW, I know for a fact that there are plenty of people who do not claim my religious identity but are on the same ethical path. We are are a pretty big squad, actually.

At the end of the day, the healthcare system in the US is a problem that we ALL need to come together to fix, no matter our label. Can't we do better? Shouldn't we try? 

p.s., The meds are working and I'm not scheduled for anything too strenuous in the next few days, so I'm hoping that my next 38 days are more comfortable! Your prayers are ALWAYS appreciated!!!

Wadi Abu-Hindi Bamboo School

Some ride the family donkey to school

A 20 minute drive down a remote desert road, past piles of garbage and a reeking cesspool of black water runoff from a hilltop dump, just a hundred feet past a group of tethered donkeys lies the Wadi Abu-Hindi Bamboo School. The staff of 15 provides educational services for 85 boys and girls from 1st through 9th grade living in the small Bedouin villages of Abu-Hindi and Abu-Noir.

The school is 20 years old. It was first created as a one-room tent by a teacher who still works there. A second school was built in 1998 but was later demolished by the civil administration. This, the third school, was made in partnership with an Italian NGO 'Vento di Terra' that gets very creative with building materials (you may remember my post on the Tyre school). Unlike most 'permanent' structures in this part of the world it is made of bamboo, mud and wood. It is made this way because there is a governmental injunction against building with concrete and cement.

The Bamboo School

At the Bamboo School, transportation for students and teachers is very difficult. Many of the schoolchildren walk 6 km each way from their homes to their school. They often have to pass nearby settlements where they are threatened and harassed. The journey on foot takes 2-3 hours. In the summer, it's scorching hot and in the winter it is cold and rainy, with potential flash floods. There is a sewage pipe they cross over that is frequently backed up and spills onto their path. The lucky ones are able to ride their family's donkey, but not all can afford to do this.

The headmaster of the Bamboo School has asked the Palestinian Authority for a bus, but he was told there is no money. Now, he is working with various international NGO's to see if anything can be done to fix their transportation issues. Last month, four of the teachers were arrested and interrogated for 5 hours by the police on their morning commute to school. The crime? Riding together in a carpool with an old, unregistered car on the school's long dirt driveway (which is actually perfectly legal, according to Israeli law). After the teachers paid the eight thousand shekels in fines, their case will be brought before the court on May 27th. No one knows if further fines will be levied, or if the driver will lose his license.

A Third Grader learns Mathematics

Another problem they struggle with is safety. A nearby military installation has left behind numerous unexploded ordinances and live ammunition in the fields where the children play or shepherd their family's sheep and goats. One child recently lost two fingers when he picked up a grenade, hoping to sell it for scrap iron. The teachers and the Red Crescent try to educate the students and parents about the safety risk through seminars and morning announcements, but children still pick them up.

Homework is an issue, because many Bedouin parents cannot read or write, and neither do they have the technology or electricity for their children to use. Teachers do their best to fit all the curriculum they can into the young minds of their students during the school day, but they know that assigning homework is a losing battle. Since the school's electricity is limited to half a dozen solar panels, they are unable to run all their technology at once. The nine classes take turns using the 2 laptops, a projector, and a printer.

English Class Poster by 9th grader Nada Hassan

Boys in particular seem to have a difficult time keeping still, and about half choose to work instead of going on to high school in neighboring Al-Azariah. Many girls graduate high school, and one student recently went on to receive teacher training at Al-Guds University. The headmaster beamed with joy telling us about her, and his dream of inspiring the rest of the children there to become teachers.

"We try to get the Minister of Education (from the PA) to explain that they should continue in the school and become teachers. Just think - you can become a teacher, and teach your children in this school!"  (Waled Abu Hilal, headmaster)

It struck me, as we were leaving, that despite all their challenges, the teachers and students here at the Bamboo School possess a hope in the future that is astounding. To be able to learn Arabic, English, Mathematics, History and Geography under such incredibly difficult psychological and physical conditions shows great strength of character. It's this attitude of thriving, despite great odds, that I've witnessed during my time here again and again and makes me think that once some peace and equality finally do break out there will be very little left to hold them back. May it be so, and may it be soon.

Thank you, Wadi Abu-Hindi Bamboo School,
for your hospitality during our visit! We'll be back!

Mid Term Orientation: A Week to Breathe Deep and Take it All In

Fatigue, in human rights advocacy, runs deep. It's not so much the physical activity, although walking 5 miles a day up and down the old city and East Jerusalem streets or standing for four hours at Qalandia checkpoint can be challenging. The tiredness is more an emotional feeling, it strikes me at the oddest moments. It creeps around on its knees, deep in my soul.

Another house demolition to report. Another stabbing or shooting setting everyone on edge. Another morning spent asking soldiers to open the checkpoint's Humanitarian gate. It's no wonder that people who do this work often burn out, fast and furious or find themselves with a new gallows-style sense of humor.

In the beginning, I dealt with stress by retreating to my room to pray or cry (usually both at the same time). I'd write, and in doing so, try to imagine a better world with an end to conflict. Lately, it's been more challenging to find optimism and hope.

Wisely, our staff here have constructed our time with a week long break from our normal duties called "Mid-Term Orientation". We all come in to Jerusalem and stay at the Ecce Homo hostel deep in the Old City - the place where we met one another 7 weeks ago. There are a variety of speakers from some of the over 400 peace-building organizations in Israel. We traveled together to Haifa, and to a small Jewish community just outside the border of the Gaza Strip.

Here is a list of some of what we encountered, I'd like you know about them so that you can read up on them yourself:

Ruth Hiller – one of the original founders of “New Profile” www.newprofile.org, a feminist group working to de-militarize society in Israel, to end Israel’s occupation of Palestinian land conquered in 1967, to generate a life-preserving, egalitarian, humane society and to uphold the right to freedom of conscience, she is deeply concerned with militarization of Israeli society and told us of her family's personal journey of having two daughters enter military service and the process of supporting four sons who refused to do so.

Sharon Dolev - from the “Israeli Disarmament Movement”  http://disarmament.org.il/english/

who told us that there are 9 nuclear armed states that are putting 1 trillion dollars a year into weapons, and reminded us that Israel possesses chem-bio-nuclear WMD before she taught us important information about how the political parties and government are set up to work in Israel, and some of the threats to safety and peace that she sees in the rhetoric.

Samar Hougha - from "The Mossawa Center" in Haifa http://www.mossawa.org/en who works with Arabic citizens in Israel and recognition of the Palestinian people’s identity by lobbying the Knesset for fair legislation, increasing International advocacy and awareness in the EU parliament and US congress, empowering Women entrepreneurs and leaders, analyzing the needs of Arab communities.

Eric Yellin, - from “Other Voice”, http://www.othervoice.org  co-author of ‘Life must go on in Gaza and Sderot’ blogsite, http://gaza-sderot.blogspot.co.il/  As we looked down on Gaza from a hilltop a few hundred meters from the border, he shared with us his impressions of living as neighbors. He believes that the reality of the current hostilities and conflict make peace impossible. His work is to convince leaders and people on both sides of the border that “The only way to make this place safe is to be at peace with our neighbors."

Osama & Mahoun - from "Combatants for Peace", http://www.cfpeace.org  an Israeli Ex-Army and Palestinian Ex-Combatant organization that has been recently nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. They send pairs of speakers out to discuss the path to peace and ways that former enemies of war may be reconciled

We also met with our embassy/consulate representatives, worked on researching issues that the Holocaust and Nakba share with each other, went to a reform synagogue for worship, and attended a choir concert together. Just hearing the perspectives of our speakers and being together with the people from the other 6 sites and our staff was the pick-me-up I needed to focus in on the next 40 days until I'm back in the states. Today we take the Sunday to plan out the week, do laundry and fill the placement fridge so we can hit the field tomorrow refreshed and ready. I hope that your Sunday is a restful one too.

Inshallah

For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope. (Jeremiah 29:11)

Bedouin Tent at Jabal Al-Baba

It's a turn of phrase that is frequently used in this part of the world, and one that I find myself saying more frequently as time passes... Inshallah.  In Arabic, it means something like, "God willing" or "If God so wills". It is the answer to so many questions...
     Is this where I catch the next bus? Inshallah.
     Can we come see you tomorrow? Inshallah.
     Do you think you'll pass the checkpoint in time? Inshallah.

Jabal Al-Baba (The Mountain of the Pope) is a small Bedouin community, located slightly northeast of Al-E'izariya, known in the New Testament as Bethany (hometown of Jesus' friends Mary, Martha and their brother Lazarus). The 300 people who live here, many of then children, are descendants of people displaced from the Negev in 1948. 

Jabal Al-Baba is one of many Bedouin communities at risk. 

Planting a tree with Attalah

In 2014, 14 homes were demolished here. Paperwork has been filed to demolish the rest of the buildings to make way for settlement growth. Due to an encroaching wall, they are no longer able to move their herds and work as shepherds - although they still keep a small number of animals. Although they live with the threat of demolition and an ever growing separation wall, they are not without hope.

A few years ago, they decided the best way to resist the pain of the occupation was to find new and creative ways to be who they are. Attalah, the community's leader, has created a kind of a "Bedouin Experience Camp" in which visitors can come and sample traditional food and stay overnight in an authentic goat-hair tent. The hope is that if Jabal Al-Baba is sustainable and brings in tourism dollars the civil authorities may change their minds and let them live in peace. Inshallah.

Attalah has become a good friend of ours, we are always provided for with such wonderful hospitality (we all think his sage tea is the best we've tasted). He invited us to plant trees with him a few weeks ago, but we had some scheduling conflicts that led us to push it off. Today, we finally had the chance to return.

What is Firas Holding?

If you look carefully at this picture you may be able to figure out what Firas is holding. Do you see what it is? It is a discarded army helmet with a portion of the top cut out. This is the container that Atallah uses as an underground planter for the tiny saplings. He is taking an item of war, and turning it into a bed of peace. Inshallah.

Here's the thing about the trees we planted. Attalah has invited each person in our group to return in a few years to check on "our tree". As the soil crumbled through our fingers, he told us that now that we have a stake in the community, we are welcome to return at any time. But I wonder, when we do - what will we find? Hopefully, we'll see a community that has been left to live their old way, with a new twist. We'll see that our trees have grown strong and tall, and that the many children have grown to be a blessing to their community. And maybe the dream that seems so far off, the dream of peace, will have crept just a little bit closer. Inshallah...