Emmaus

That very day two of them were going to a village named Emmaus, 
about seven miles from Jerusalem, 

and they were talking with each other 
about all these things that had happened. 

While they were talking and discussing together, 

Jesus himself drew near and went with them.   

Luke 24:13-15

Iyad, Saloom, and Johanna in Emmaus
notice the CAL sweatshirt!

A few weeks ago, on his day off, Iyad took me, along with with his kids Joanna and Saloom, to El Qubeibeh in search of one of the more authentic sites for Emmaus. To travel just 7 miles from Jerusalem, it took half a day to drive there because of multiple check points, a mandatory detour through Ramallah, and many bumpy roads through some very small Palestinian villages. It was well worth the hassle to walk on the first-century Roman road, play with the kids in the ruins of the "Emmaus" village, and pray in the fairly forsaken church there.

The Emmaus story represents a significant bookmark not only in the gospel story but in my life as well. Like the early disciples, I have often found myself baffled by reports of what Jesus is up to in the world around me. I have walked alongside many others who complained about how Jesus failed to meet their expectations. Like those early followers, how does one believe the fatalistic as well as fantastic stories that defy rational trust? When deeply discouraged, my head is often down, my spirit low as I wonder if I can trust the promises of Jesus.  And so I, like those first followers, start moving -- anywhere -- as long as it is away from the source of my disappointment. 

Johanna and Saloom in the ruins of Emmaus

In seasons like these, I am deeply drawn to incarnational and communal aspects of the Emmaus story. Jesus has a very wise and wonderful way of meeting us where we are, distorted thinking and all. He is not threatened by our discouragement nor is he judgmental about our perception of reality. Instead, he listens, asks questions, gently points us in another direction, and then reveals himself in such a way that our hearts burn and our eyes are opened to truth. Our perspective shifts dramatically and we invite Christ to stay and journey with us. We experience the deep reality of renewed relationship with him through communion. We not only draw encouragement and strength from him but are given the courage to return to the place of pain to be agents of hope by sharing our stories.  

with Johanna and Saloom in Emmaus

My sabbatical has afforded me a more intimate view of the social stigma of being Palestinian in this Jewish nationalist context. A constant undercurrent of everyday life in the West Bank, it is painful to hear the coming-of-age stories of the youth when they realize that much of the Western world perceives them to be terrorists and therefore somehow less than human. When a normal Arab teenager in Jerusalem watches someone shield their children from him out of fear, it is disheartening. When a veiled young woman hears derogatory comments directed towards her, it is demeaning. When the society constantly tells you that you cannot enjoy the full rights and freedom of citizenship, it can breed helplessness and a deep sense of marginalization. This is particularly painful when Palestinians feel so misunderstood and under-supported by America, a country that often claims a moral high ground as the defender of human rights on the world stage. 

Given these tensions, I had expected a wary reception from the Palestinians when I first crossed the border into the West Bank many years ago. I could not have been more wrong. Without fail, I am received by the Palestinians with gratitude. Whether in tourist shops, shopping at the market, or a chance meeting on the street, when I tell people that I'm currently living in Bethlehem they immediately say "thank you, thank you." It is as if they are saying thank you for coming, for seeing us as we are, for choosing to be open to another point of view. The body language changes and one is welcomed like a long lost family member. 

my family with new friends from Beit Jalla

Just last night while downing food outside a hole-in-the wall falafel joint in Beit Jalla, two men in their 20's asked my family where we were from. Before we knew it, we were sitting in an alley with them swapping stories. They magically produced tea for us to drink and then invited us into the simple home of one of many relatives who stopped by to meet and greet us. Turns out these two hospitable Muslim men were members of the Palestinian security forces, one being in Special Ops. Talk about a shift in perception! While we had to decline their gracious offer for dinner, having just eaten our fill of falafals, we departed hours later as friends. All six members of the Whaley contingent were overwhelmed by their generous invitation to stop by again. Not just words, 'thank you" is more meaningful when enacted with concrete expressions of grace. 

The "real" road to Emmaus

All of us are invited to follow Christ's example of non-judgmental journeying alongside one another. Living, loving, listening to another's joys and concerns is powerful. It validates the person and opens up conversation about distorted perceptions that might need to change. Often we are called to be catalysts for change in others and society but, more often than not, the first and most profound change begins with us. 

Like those first disciples on that ancient road, the Palestinians also challenge me to remember that deep gratitude is our response to Christ's choice to journey with us. The God of the universe chooses to identify with each and every one of us. None of us is outside of God's loving and affirming embrace. Following the Palestinian example, we should invite the stranger in, share our stories, and say thank you over and over again. 

This is the road we are meant to walk.