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