Lament

At times, I feel so caught between the conflicting narratives of this place. Questions, concerns, heaviness, all wrapped up in a bit of helplessness.  My intuitive, empathic personality is deeply affected by the despair. I am also, by temperament, a hopeful person. I'm generally optimistic, forward thinking, and believe that God will always find a way in the desert. In this land where conflict is the one thing you can always count on, I often feel bi-polar, quickly shifting perspectives from hope to despondency. How do I hold all these feelings and insights without throwing up my hands and disengaging?

On Sunday, I brought this spiritual mood disorder into worship at the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Beit Sahour. Earlier in the week, we had met the church's young, vibrant, newly ordained pastor, Ashraf Tannous.  As we made our way into church, I was feeling drained from our time in Jerusalem, my heart heavy from the hopelessness of the young underemployed men there. Ashraf's clear clarion call to worship challenged me out of my stupor:

ma'unatuna min 'indi r-rab.  sani'i s-samawat wal-ard.  

(Our help is from the Lord, Creator of Heaven and Earth!)

As he chanted and preached his way through the Lutheran liturgy in Arabic, I was again reminded of the warmth, honesty, and practical wisdom of the Palestinian people - particularly the Christians in the West Bank. While hopeful, Ashraf doesn't mince words when talking about the occupation or his desire to see injustice reversed. Passionate and buoyant, he reminded me of Paul's testimony to the Corinthian Church in 2 Cor 4:7-9, 16-18:

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.  

 . . .Therefore we do not lose heart.  Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.  For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an external glory that far outweighs them all.  So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, what is unseen is eternal.  

Paul is not suggesting a form of positive thinking or even holy optimism as his orienting principle. That would be too shallow and thin.  Paul honestly names his suffering while at the same time refusing to let his situation define who he is. His identity in Christ grounds him in such a way that his circumstances can be not only endured but transcended. He will not be thwarted from God's call on his life. For him, the spotlight must remain on God's greater intention for humanity. His work is to bring the world into greater alignment with this good news.  

In other words, what Paul is modeling and what is helping me not to loose heart here is what the bible calls lament. Predominately demonstrated for us in the Psalms, lament is a prayer process grounded in vulnerably naming the crap situation one is experiencing and sees. In my case, it is daily encountering men, women and children who are suppressed and oppressed under unjust occupation and who are subjected to scourge and second class treatment. Lament addresses God in demanding relief and often retribution. It invites an openness to look beyond the circumstances, to remain more connected to the people God cares about and to ultimately trust the One who holds us all.

What I discovering is that when I lament with the suffering soul of the Palestinian people, I'm invited to recognize that something more is going on. Palestinian resilience far surpasses their scandalous circumstances. The Palestinians are an innovative, determined people who bring water to the dessert, creating something beautiful out of detritus and dust. Each of the small faith communities where I have worshipped have outreach programs. With little resources, they listen to God's call and then get on with doing their mission. No apologies, no excuses. In the words of Nike, they "just do it!"  One Palestinian refugee said to me that they take the long view of their station.  They do not focus exclusively on their current suffering, although they have to wrestle with it every day.  Instead, he said, they engage and work for longterm possibilities for their children and their children's children.  Their commitment is to the generations that follow.  

Perhaps that is why I was so blessed on Sunday to witness a baby dedication.  Let's not pretend that this baby boy has unlimited opportunities before him. As a Palestinian living in the West Bank, there are many strikes against him. By Israeli law, he will be categorized and therefore restricted by his nationality, his religion, his gender. His Palestinian community will counterbalance that message with love, education, and sacrifice to ensure his future. As a Christian, God will embrace and redeem him, uniquely gifting him and giving him purpose. No circumstances, no matter how dire, can strip him of him of his unquantifiable value as God's beloved child. This is the covenant his church will proclaim to him every day, week, and year of his life. Already at 38 days old, he is being held in the loving arms of his family of faith who know that nurturing his true calling is as essential as his need for sleeping and eating.   

Lament turns our perspective around. We complain, we lash out, we confess our despair, we acknowledge our helplessness. Then we discover something more true and honest.  After our emotions have exhausted themselves, only then do we gain the ability to recognize the small shaft of divine light in the midst of the darkness. Encouraged, we get back to work. God is calling us. We have a job to do. We need to make a more just world for little ones like him.