Tag: peacemaking

What American Christians Get Wrong About Israel

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banksy graffiti on the wall

Graffiti art by Banksy on the dividing wall between Israel and the Palestinian Territories

Over the past month in Israel, violence has been ratcheting up towards the possibility of all-out war. I’ve noticed that Christian friends on social media have begun voicing support for Israel, or commenting on the inherent violence of Muslims. In bewildering circumstances like these, it’s easy to cling to simplistic ideas of good versus evil, typecasting individuals and societies as villains and victims. But until we deal with our unconscious biases and ignorance, we will not be able to see clearly what is happening, and we will not be able to respond effectively. A wise and faithful response to the crisis requires us to educate ourselves about the history and wider context of the conflict. As American Christians, what assumptions or beliefs may be obscuring our view?

We Equate Modern Israel with Biblical Israel

In Genesis chapter 12, God tells Abraham, “I will bless those who bless you, and curse those who curse you,” which many Christians interpret to mean that believers have a responsibility to offer unconditional political support the modern nation-state of Israel. This is an inaccurate assumption because in reality, there are important differences between the twelve tribes mentioned in the Old Testament and the nation-state of Israel. Ancient Israel was a theocracy, governed by priests based on direct revelation from God; modern Israel is a secular democracy, established through the actions of the British colonial government and the United Nations in the 1940s. Furthermore, the nation of Israel is not synonymous with the Jewish people. Not only is there a global community of Jews who have lived outside of Palestine for thousands of years, but within the nation itself, 20% of the Israeli population is Arab, and Arab Christians and Muslims across the Middle East also trace their ancestry back to Abraham.

The belief that Christians are commanded to “bless” modern Israel tends to imply a divine stamp of approval for particular Israeli policies or military actions. But instead of unconditionally supporting Israel or any other nation, we as Christians should be evaluating a government’s laws and actions through the lens of the Kingdom Jesus taught: do they result in freedom for the oppressed, or protection for the vulnerable? Do they result in the naked being clothed, the hungry being fed, and the homeless housed? Or do they result in the opposite?

We Misunderstand the Abrahamic Covenant

The Abrahamic Covenant is God’s promise to guide and protect Abraham and his descendants, and to give them the land of Canaan; they are commanded to be circumcised as a sign of faithfulness to this covenant (Gen. 15, 17). God not only promises Abraham that his descendants will become “a great nation,” but declares that “all peoples on earth will be blessed by you” (Genesis 12:3). So, the Jewish people are chosen not as a special ethnic group who are more important to God than all other people, but as a conduit of blessing for the whole world. In the Old Testament, non-Jews like Ruth and Rahab join the covenant community through faithful action, and Jesus mentions Gentiles who were cared for or healed by God even when Israel was in distress (Luke 4:25-27).

Jesus fulfills this promise by widening the covenant to include not only people of Jewish descent, but anyone and everyone who joins the family of God through faith. As the apostle Paul writes in Ephesians 2, Jesus has made Jews and Gentiles “one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility, by abolishing in his flesh the law with its commandments and regulations.” Paul goes on to say in Ephesians 3:6 that “through the gospel the Gentiles are heirs together with Israel, members together of one body, and sharers together in the promise in Christ Jesus.” God’s loving plan for the whole world has been revealed in Jesus.

We Ignore the Occupation

Israel invaded Gaza and the West Bank during the Six Day War in 1967, and continues to occupy these territories today. Having their homes demolished, losing their land, facing mass incarceration without trial, and denied equal protection under the law, many Palestinians are losing hope of things ever changing. Gaza’s 1.8 million residents live in poverty, unable to access adequate food or safe drinking water, experiencing 40% unemployment; in the West Bank, Palestinians’ water supply is often cut off or destroyed by Israeli settlers. Crossing into Israel for work, Palestinians spend hours each day waiting at security checkpoints, and in emergencies, this restricted movement sometimes means that people die before they can reach a hospital. Palestinian Christians have voiced their belief that conflict will not end until the occupation ends, and they are calling on the international Christian community to hold the State of Israel accountable for its illegal occupation of Palestinian territory.

The occupation creates an unequal society in which Israelis hold the vast majority of power, wealth, and land, and in which their safety and well-being is maintained at the expense of the safety and well-being of Palestinians. The segregated inequality in which the two groups live generates the fear, resentment, and hatred that breed violence in the first place, and the occupation is a barrier to peace because it depends upon exclusion and violence for its very existence.

We Forget about the Church’s Mission of Reconciliation

Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they are called children of God,” and the apostle Paul makes clear that a large part of the Church’s mission in the world is reconciliation. Forgiveness, enemy love, and creative nonviolence are all things that Jesus modeled and taught, and throughout history there are numerous examples of this kind of “Kingdom living” bringing peace and healing in situations of conflict. God is the source of true peace, but He brings peace into the world by working in and through human beings.

Working for peace does not mean being neutral, but it does mean that we move past tribal alliances with the people who are most like us. Peacemaking means that we stand on the side of compassion, of life, and of justice, no matter whose government or ideology we find ourselves standing against.

The truth is that the only way for either Israelis or Palestinians to achieve the freedom and safety they want is for them to recognize the humanity in each other, to understand that their well-being is tied together, and to work towards a future in which all are respected and included, regardless of their religion or ethnicity.

The New Testament makes clear that our allegiance as Christians is not to any earthly government or ethnic group, but to God and his Kingdom (Matt. 6:24, Acts 5:29). So, I don’t stand with Israel. Neither do I stand with Palestine. I stand with every human being who is angry and afraid, and I stand against the occupation which blocks their shared future.

Choosing Love Over Fear When It Comes to the Refugee Crisis

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Palestinian refugees in Damascus at Yarmouk camp, 2014

Yesterday I wrote a blog for the Huffington Post about what it means to respond as Christians to the plight of Syrian refugees.

This week, I’ve continued to read news stories about the refugee crisis–a crisis which had been unfolding for quite sometime before the Syrian civil war produced enough refugees and enough shocking images at one time to awaken our collective conscience. I attended a town hall meeting here in Vancouver last Tuesday where I learned that despite that bloody civil war and the expanding empire of ISIL, the vast majority of the world’s refugees still come from Africa rather than the  Middle East. At Kinbrace, I’ve also spent time talking with refugees and refugee claimants from Ethiopia, Nepal, Iran, Afghanistan, and other countries, and their stories remind me that even in places that don’t make the headlines, millions of people fear for their lives every day because of oppressive government regimes and armed conflict.

These stories fill me with sadness, but also with frustration and anger over the way that many of us in the West have allowed fear to prevent us from extending compassion to those who are in urgent need of our help. Hungary has now closed its borders to Syrians fleeing the conflict, and the government is arresting those who deem an illegal crossing their best bet for survival. Refugees continue to drown in the Mediterranean as “Fortress Europe” deliberately refuses to help as a matter of official policy, in order to deter further immigration. But those who are desperate enough to risk the lives of themselves and their children on the rag-tag dinghies of human smugglers will not be deterred from making these deadly voyages, because they clearly have no choice. These journeys are their last hope: either they risk losing their lives, or lose them for sure by staying where they are.

Many in Europe are afraid that the influx of Muslims will threaten the “Christian identity” of Europe, but as Giles Fraser so starkly pointed out in an article for the Guardian newspaper on September 4, the Christian identity of Europe is threatened not by Muslims, but by Christian politicians who refuse to live out the Biblical mandate to welcome the stranger and care for the oppressed.

And what about North America? Canada welcomed 19,233 government assisted refugees in 1980, but that number has plummeted to just 6,900 in 2015. Furthermore, despite the government’s promise to accept 10,000 Syrian refugees over 3 years, Canada has settled just over 1,000 Syrians so far. Meanwhile, the United States has taken in fewer than 1,000. So far, we North Americans haven’t shown ourselves to be any more hospitable than Europe.

Another security concern that has been raised is the possibility of terrorists slipping in amongst the flood of legitimate refugees seeking asylum. Security experts have already addressed the unlikelihood of this happening. Yet few people have talked about the way that welcoming refugees from Muslim countries actually offers our nations an opportunity to address the root causes of terrorism: poverty, lack of opportunity, traumatization and loss of loved ones in conflict zones, and hatred of the West due to foreign policy and military interventions which negatively impact Muslim civilians in the Middle East. This is a chance to show genuine love and concern to our Muslim neighbors, and to provide a secure future for exactly the kind of children who might otherwise be at risk for radicalization by opportunistic terrorist organizations who prey upon those who are impoverished and discontented.

As citizens of a world increasingly interconnected by economic ties, military involvement, and technology, the refugee crisis is not some distant issue from which we can pretend to be entirely separate. The current situation forces us to confront our political and military contribution to the crisis, and challenges those of us who follow Jesus to live out some of the core tenets of our faith.

Encountering the Enemy

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encountering the enemy

illustration by Seth T. Hayne for CAPC Magazine

I wrote this piece awhile back, but today my feature article for Christ and Pop Culture Magazine–on nurturing peace in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict through film–has been made available  for free.

At a moment in history where more people around the world have been displaced by violent conflict than ever before, now is the time to ask ourselves hard questions about our role in cultivating conflict or peace. Now is the time to question the narratives we tell ourselves about war, vengeance, “redemptive” violence, and enemies. The same ignorance and fear that generates war in the Middle East and Africa and pushes refugees to the shores of Europe and North America also plays out in our own society as alienation between people of different races or faiths, and as destructive relationships between individual people. Forgiveness of others’ sin, and repentance for our own, are both central to the Christian faith. So for those of us who seek to be shaped by the life of Jesus, enemy love and reconciliation should be central to our understanding of our role in the world.

As a Jew, Reena Lazar has worked towards reconciliation in Israel/Palestine by finding creative ways to bring Israeli and Palestinian youth face-to-face with “the enemy” (each other). Yet the wisdom she has accumulated in the process is applicable far beyond the scope of this particular geopolitical conflict.  Her work has much to teach us about building bridges instead of walls, regardless of the role or the part of the world in which we find ourselves. Head on over to Christ and Pop Culture to read the article.

Filmmaking, Rumi, and Permanent Residency (or in other words, August so far)

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filmmaking 2011 - gravedigging longer shot with actor everyone negotiating

Today, a piece I wrote about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict was published in the latest issue of Christ and Pop Culture. A lot of media portrays this part of the world as being locked into a hopeless gridlock of violence, but this article explores a different narrative: the creative ways that ordinary people are promoting peace by bringing “enemies” together and building relationship (surprisingly, through amateur filmmaking). For now, the full text is only available through a paid subscription, or by downloading this single issue of the magazine, “Enemies Among Us,” for $1.99. Otherwise, I’ll be sharing the article here for free once it becomes publicly available in a few weeks.

In other news, I am now a Canadian permanent resident! It’s hard to describe the relief I feel in finally becoming an “official” person in this country who can work, study, see a doctor, or cross the border freely just like anyone else. My frustrating (but still privileged) experience as an immigrant has been fairly smooth, but it gives me a deeper appreciation for the profound anxiety and instability that mark the lives of the people I know who have come to Canada as refugee claimants, or as undocumented workers whose desperate life circumstances aren’t legally recognized as reasons for them to be here.

I found out about my new status in Canada just two days after returning from an 8-day silent retreat. When I had first told people I was going on that retreat, someone joked that the next step would be to take holy orders and become a Trappist monk. I laughed, knowing that at least in my case, silent retreats have nothing to do with being holy, and everything to do with wanting to be whole.

I went on my first (much shorter) silent retreat back in December out of a recognition of how much healing I needed. I was drawn towards silence by desperation. Despite my intense fear of being alone with myself—or with God—for more than three full days, a voice from somewhere inside me whispered that perhaps I was terrified of exactly the sort of space and stillness I needed in order to make peace with the sadness, fear, and anger that I was more or less able to keep at bay in daily life. Part of me knew that I needed silence.

forest hike

I surprised myself by feeling reluctant to leave at the end of that first retreat. Me, the talkative, task-oriented extrovert who had done almost nothing for the better part of five days except sip tea, stare into the fire, and have long conversations in my mind! If anything, my longing for unbroken communion with God in the space of long, quiet days had only intensified, and I committed to going on a much longer retreat later in the year.

By the end of July, however, the part of me that had voluntarily signed up for more than a week away from normal life felt small and faint; insignificant in comparison to the part of me that was content with the day-to-day activity which often crowded out the desire for stillness, or even prayer. With travel to and from the small island where it would be held, the retreat meant spending the better part of 10 days away from Andy—by far the longest we have ever been apart during the six and a half years of our relationship—and it involved not just being away, but being completely out of contact, with everyone.

“What’s your intention for the time?” a friend asked me a few days before I left. “I don’t know,” I answered, fear rising up inside me. Wait, I don’t know why I’m going on this retreat, I thought franticly. Should I even go? I briefly considered cancelling, but couldn’t come up with a good excuse.

And yet, when I arrived, it felt like coming home. There’s so much I could share about my experience, but much of that new growth is still so raw and tender, this is the internet, and there’s only so much you can really describe to others about your deepest , most intimate, inner life anyway. I will say that the hardest thing about being in silence is not the absence of speaking, but all the emotions and thoughts and memories that come up when you spend that much time alone with yourself, without even the distraction of basic social obligations like eye contact and verbal greetings.

On the first day, the person I was meeting with for spiritual direction gave me a poem by Rumi called The Guest House:

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

I had ridden a wave of circumstantial happiness out of Vancouver, and I reflected that perhaps now I would have the chance to find out what it was like to spend time with God in silence while in a fairly peaceful, even-keeled condition instead of in the midst of emotional turmoil. But eight days is a long time, long enough for turmoil to ensue and subside, and ensue again.

Little did I know that one of the greatest gifts of my retreat would be having enough time to weather those internal storms, and to see that however intense or scary they might seem, they didn’t wash me away. I didn’t exactly manage to “meet them at the door laughing,” as Rumi advised, but after spending a few hours or a whole day in the company of shame, or anger, or sadness, or self-doubt, the “visitor” would inevitably leave and I would still be there. So would God.

The peace that I felt at those times was profound. It wasn’t the usual, flimsy happiness that depends on things going well or turning out a certain way; nor was it the conditional self-acceptance that often follows having done something well. It was that deeper awareness of the bedrock reality that the world is permeated and sustained by Love, that I am loved, and that ultimately—as medieval mystic Julian of Norwich writes—“All will be well, and every kind of thing will be well.”

In a way I couldn’t possibly have planned, those days in silence seem to have marked a boundary line between two seasons in my life: a slow season of processing my transition from India and focusing on my own healing, and  a more active season of engaging with the world more  fully again. Not abandoning prayer and stillness, or having it all together, but, you know, finding a paid job. Etcetera. I’m excited to see what this new season brings, but I am also thankful for all of the hard-won lessons I will carry forward from the season behind me.