Identity

In Bethlehem there is a super modern, sophisticated restaurant on the top floor of a tall building. When I stepped out of the elevator onto the sixth floor, I walked into a ritzy looking lobby with a tall, black unoccupied front desk and a huge, intricately embellished rust-colored door. I pushed through the door into a beautiful dining area: I saw the sleek furniture illuminated by blue lighting. The black tables contrasted nicely with the classy-looking white upholstered chairs. As I looked around, I felt like I had escaped all of the hyper-conservatism and restraints of the culture. I was in Europe.

I began looking around at the other costumers and beyond them, at the ironic scenery out the windows. The atmosphere inside is ultra-western and seems inconsistent with the ancient architecture and crumbling buildings below. I felt like I was observing mayhem from the safety of a strange alternate reality. But, when I looked back again at the people in the restaurant, I realized that I had not really left anything. In fact, the diverse crowd of people was bursting with contradiction.

           

The customers were Muslim, Christian, secular, local, and foreign. With representations of each of these cultures crammed into a room together, the differences between each of them were undeniable. Here everyone has their religious affiliation on their ID card. Who they are, what they can do, who they marry is all determined by their family because their family determines their religious affiliation. So, as a matter of pride they take religious regulations and allowances extremely seriously. For example, many Christians here will drink alcohol (excessively) to prove that they are not Muslim. Muslim women cover their heads to prove they are not Christian. Actions and appearances are carefully executed to tell others who you are and who you are not. It is really fascinating.

            

So, as I sat there eating my Greek salad I watched the already distinct cultures morph into caricature-like representations of subcultures here. The Muslim couple that walked in together in an almost formal fashion--gliding across the room regally, no physical affection. They walked to a table with a nice view, sat down and proceeded to eat, smoke, chat and definitely not drink. I notice a couple walk in holding hands. How scandalous. Her head was uncovered. He was looking at her playfully. They sat down and stared lovingly into each other’s eyes as they held hands and engaged in playful conversation. It was such a contrast to the other couple, that I felt almost violated by their public affection.

           

Next, I scanned the room and noticed a large table with about 10 people—half men, half women. All of the men were sitting at one half of the table and the women at the other end. All of the women were wearing hijabs. Muslim women do not usually go out in public without a male member of their family. The next table over seated 4 uncovered women enjoying a night out. They each had a glass of wine and were brazenly talking and laughing with each other—unsupervised.

            

It seemed to me that everywhere I looked in this restaurant there were contrasts. It was almost comical. Many of the stereotypes that I heard—and was a little skeptical of—were manifesting themselves right in front of me. The restaurant was like a platform to declare one's identity to “the others.” Their appearance, food, and drink all painted an unmistakable picture of who they were.

            

It is really interesting how often we try to prove who we aren’t instead of living as we are. I see this at home too. I don’t want anyone to mistake me for a conservative so I am going to put bumper stickers on my car declaring my political views to all who see me. God-forbid people would mislabel me. We are so worried about telling people who we are not, what we don’t like, and why others are wrong that we forget who we actually are. Constructing an identity by judging and rejecting the identities of others leads to extremism. It’s like the Christians here drinking alcohol excessively to reject the identity of the Muslims. They miss the point. Instead of enjoying freedom responsibly and respectfully, they throw their freedom in the face of captives and rejoice that they aren’t the trapped. They obsess over the differences and miss out on the refreshing new friendships that diversity can facilitate.

           

Identity that is established by observing other human beings always disappoints. Instead of looking outside of ourselves and allowing God to cultivate love, respect, and patience, we become distracted by our own definition of who we are and obsess about who we aren't. We are so worried about explaining ourselves, defending ourselves, and promoting ourselves that we forget to actually become ourselves. We miss the opportunity to mature and grow into loving, selfless people.

Coffee and Kindness

           The other day my grandparents and I were supposed to meet some friends for lunch at a conference center about 30minutes away from our house. I have mentioned before how inefficient and convoluted driving directions are here. It was no different in this situation. About three different people gave me vague directions to this conference center. They all insisted that it would be easy to find; there was a huge sign and a prominent gate. I wasn’t too worried about finding the place.

            We still left our house about an hour before we had to be at the conference center—just in case we did get lost. Off we went, winding through the narrow, bumpy streets of Bethlehem. As we made our assent I began to look for the landmarks and signs that our friends described to us. I followed their directions exactly, but I couldn’t find the conference center. We drove up and down the street that we thought the building would be on a few times until we decided to ask for assistance.

            I pulled over in front of a little supermarket, walked inside and asked the friendly woman at the counter for directions to the conference center. She knew exactly what I was talking about and pointed me in the direction I had come from. So, I hopped back in the car. We all carefully examined our surroundings and looked for any sign of life—cars, people, commotion. As I slowly drove down the street, I saw a large building with a gate surrounding it. As I approached the property, I saw that the large gate was opened and several cars were parked in front of the impressive, picturesque building. This could totally be it—there are cars and a huge gate! So, I pulled into the driveway and parked near the other cars. We didn’t hear or see anyone. So, I decided to run in and ask where we could find the group we were looking for (maybe they were in the back, the weather was deliciously sunny).

           As I climbed the massive stone steps, I saw beautiful landscaping and admired the breathtaking view of the Palestinian countryside. I walked up to two pretty glass doors and tried one of them. It swung open easily so I stepped inside. As I looked around, I quickly realized that this was not a conference center. I was standing awkwardly in an empty foyer, peering into an impressive living room. The TV was on and I suddenly heard a woman’s voice yell from somewhere in the house, “mein??” (who is it??). For some reason, I didn’t run out of the house. I think I was in shock—I just walked into a stranger’s house. She kept repeating herself as I tried to yell back in broken Arabic that I was looking for a conference center in the area.

            As she came down the breathtaking wooden staircase, this adorable woman’s face lit up. She rushed over to me and somehow we communicated successfully. She told me that she could show me where the conference center was. So, she guided me back out of her house and down the long driveway to the street. There she pointed in the direction of the conference center and gave me directions in Arabic (which sounded similar to the directions everyone else had given me—maybe we didn’t drive far enough). I thanked her and started back to the car.

            This cute little woman followed me back to the car and insisted, as any respectable Arab hostess would, that I stay for coffee. This woman was so sweet and happy. I couldn’t refuse. So, I leaned through the open car window to tell grandma and grandpa that we were going to stay for coffee. After wonderful hospitality, smiles, a few cups of coffee, broken English and Arabic, we thanked our hostess and began to leave. She made us wait and yelled to someone upstairs. An attractive young man who looked like he was forcibly dragged out of bed sauntered down the stairs and sat with us in the living room. He spoke a little English and said that he would drive with us to the conference center to ensure that we wouldn’t get lost. So, we followed in our car as he drove his nice BMW down the street. Thanks to this lovely family, we made it to our meeting on time and fully caffeinated. I am constantly impressed by the generosity and hospitality of people here. It challenges me to be more welcoming to others—even when it is not convenient or expected.

                                                         

Hungry. Tired. Dying.

"The disappointment caused by the West's inaction created a fertile recruiting ground for extremists, who told those who had lost their loved ones that they were their only hope"

Majed, a 26-year-old civil society activist, on the Conflict in Syria

(Reference: BBC article “Syria: The Story of the Conflict”)

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The West’s inaction and disinterest in promoting peace and finding a solution to the problem in Syria has contributed to a global refugee crisis. Millions of Syrians have been displaced by the chaotic violence in their country. These refugees have no hope and no future. What started out as nonviolent demonstrations for democracy has turned into a bitter, seemingly endless bloodbath. And the West pretends it can’t see the red.

We failed Syria when we ignored the atrocities and human rights violations that left so many homeless, fatherless, motherless, and hungry. And we are failing them again as we use their pain as pawns in our idiotic political chess match. The Syrian refugees are human beings. They are human beings who have been abused by the factions in their own country and now are being used for our country’s political game. Stop it.

Help these people.

Stop ignoring them. Stop stereotyping. Stop punishing children for the sins of a few.

Over half of the refugees are children, who have no access to education. They are a lost generation with no birth certificates and no hope. We need to stop this paranoia that absolves us from responsibility.

We have a responsibility to care for others. We have the duty to promote justice and peace in the world. We have the privilege of offering help to the helpless.

But we aren’t fulfilling our duties. We are shirking our responsibilities. We should be mortified by our prejudices. We should be ashamed of our ignorance. We should set aside our fears and pursue productive paths to peacemaking around the world.

We must realize that with privilege comes responsibility. We have a responsibility to act justly. Freezing (and practically speaking, this is what the SAFE act is doing) Syrian refugee admission into the United States is not just.

They are hungry. They are tired. They are dying. We can help.

Love One Another

“My very life is a protest.” 

–Dorothy Day

I started taking classes for the Masters in Peace Studies program here at the college. It is absolutely fascinating. We discuss influential peacemakers (Like Gandhi), the obvious lack of peace in our world, and all of our lovely baggage and frustration that arise from our own brokenness and the brokenness of the world around us.

It is a heavy class. The discussions are intense. The topic can be emotionally draining. But, the deep desire for reconciliation, peace, and fulfillment is energizing. The hunger for justice permeates every conversation; although we are a diverse group—our ages range from late 60s to me at 22 years old and each have drastically different worldviews—we are all unified in our search for answers to the mindless chaotic violence that surrounds us and the nagging whisper for justice within us.

I found the quote at the top in an essay about Dorothy Day. She worked with poor women in New York and lived an intriguing life. The author of the essay describes Day as humble and patient:

“I cannot worry much about your sins and miseries when I have so many of my own. I can only love you all…My prayer from day to day is that God will so enlarge my heart that I will see you all, and live with you all, in His love” (Day)

Dorothy Day is so cool. She literally entered into the situation of the women she was working with (she actually lived among them!). Not only did she bring about social reform and influence a ton of people, she also had the most remarkable philosophy. She realized that it was only through prayer that she could hope to love those around her. It was not her own human emotional capacity that would empower her to act selflessly and mercifully; she needed the power of God. When we live among injustice and see it’s hideous children: apathy, prejudice, violence and ingratitude—it is tempting to give up. It is tempting to simply walk away. Peace seems like a naïve response to the grotesque shriek of injustice.

Dorothy Day didn’t give up. She says that working "to increase our love for God and for our fellow man…is a lifetime job. We are never going to be finished” (Day). Day continued to pray for the strength to persevere in her labor of love to the women in New York City. She didn’t let the ingratitude of the poor or the “rotten, decadent, putrid industrial capitalist system which breeds…suffering” defeat her. Her entire life was a protest. She consistently loved the unlovable and defied the injustice and systemic prejudices around her. 

So, let’s follow Dorothy Day’s example. If we ask God for the strength to suspend judgment, show mercy, act humbly, and love those around us, our lives will also be a protest. It will upset our deeply rooted desire to be successful, powerful, influential, and appreciated. It will spit in the face of pride and fear. Instead of looking at hopeless circumstances with anxiety or anger, we will enter into the hopeless with love. Instead of pointing out weakness in others, we will show mercy. Instead of offering trite solutions to systemic evils, we can bring thoughtful, radical change to the perspective of the oppressed. We can fight the evil with humility. If we look at the world through the lenses of compassion and empathy, we will change the lives of those around us. Let your entire life be a protest.


*quotes from class handout 28 October 2015, Bethlehem Bible College

Fight The Evil

As the situation here becomes more… complicated, I have come to realize the importance and power of connection. Being connected to the community not only provides a level of security, it also humanizes a very sensationalized situation. It is weird to watch the global news channel and realize hey, that’s like 10 minutes from my house. When local news and global news are the same, it’s easy to get caught up in the hype and commotion. It’s tempting to take sides and point fingers.

The frustration and sadness of the situation is so evident here. The fighting affects the lives of human beings. Everyone suffers. Both sides experience loss and shame. The injustice is difficult to watch. It is especially difficult to see the role of religion in the midst of the conflict. As groups fight over religious sites, people die. As they taunt each other, innocents suffer. As the violence continues, the religious become fanatics. It is chilling to watch people become so deceived by ideologies that they will take their own life or the lives of others. To watch human beings kill each other is heart wrenching.

The other day I was walking past the church near my house and I saw these words written with black spray paint on the church’s wall: “Fight the Evil.” How profound. These three words go beyond blaming. They reach past the human beings involved in the situation here and into the heart of the problem: EVIL. 

Fight The Evil.

Fight the hatred that builds walls. Fight the fanaticism that leads to violence. Fight the blaming that breeds resentment. Fight the injustice that causes suffering. Fight the judgment that empowers pride.

I don’t know how this fight looks in every context, but I know those words—written on the wall of that beautiful church—are the key to changing the dysfunction in our world.  “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms” (Ephesians 6:12).

We all face hate, extremism, blame, injustice, and judgment everyday. Don’t let it take over. Don’t be unknowingly defeated by these subtle, cruel symptoms of our corrupt, diseased world. FIGHT THE EVIL.