Pondering Palestine Again

I realize I have a very strange relationship with my cell phone. Not my American-born IPhone with its icon user-friendly interface that clings closer than any friend. Rather it is my very simple Nokia phone that is wooing. It’s not because this phone is better than my IPhone. Quite the opposite. This phone is nearly impossible to use. Texts are sent by incessantly tapping the keypad until the right letter rotates through the display. I can’t retrieve messages or seem to access the address book. So why does it make my heart leap when I see it springing back to life after a long dormant season? It’s because reminds me that I am returning to the land of its origin:  Palestine. 

It has been a year since I was last in this Holy Land. A year since the lilting beauty of Arabic befuddled my comprehension. A year since I walked its ancient pathways and laughed and cried with friends who have welcomed me like family. A year since I led pilgrimage neophytes through the sacred paths where our Lord once walked.

A lot has changed in this year. The trunk of my soul has grown twisted and gnarled like the ancient olive trees that stand guard in Gethsemane. The changes and challenges in my work have exacted feelings that evoke Jesus’ Good Friday plea for better alternatives. All the while, new possibilities are emerging as my wise and gifted daughters have graduated college this past year and are now launching into the career-building portion of their lives. So like many years before this one, it has been a year of grief and gift, aggravation and gratitude. In other words, life has been unfolding.

And so it has been for many of my Palestinian friends. While new babies have been born, first communions received, and new homes built, my friends in Palestine still are in the numbing rhythm of the occupation. It has been a year where the political posturing for peace languishes amid the absence of any resolve for justice. They too hold the paradox of joy and injustice. Like me, like all of us, life continues to unfold for them. 

Perhaps it is this very contrast that draws me again to this part of the world. My Palestinian friends and I share the common human graces of holding out hope for our children, love for our communities, and a deep assurance that God is upholding us. And while I could make a claim to struggle and disappointment in this past year, I cannot begin to assert that I have suffered. I have choices and freedoms that are inconceivable in a Palestinian context. I and my children have opportunities and dreams that are rarely imagined much less realized for those living in the West Bank. And yet, God is calling me to go into the heart of this story, this suffering.  

And so I go to listen and love, witness and work. My faith demands that I not only love as Jesus loved but to speak up and advocate for justice for those whose humanity is compromised. I go as a visitor in this land but also a sister in Christ.  My expanded faith family is here and I come open and receptive to their wisdom. I wonder how we will all be transformed by this family reunion. Only God, our faithful father and mother, knows.