golden ticket - or so I thought

An American passport is golden all over the world.  It opens doors, particularly here in Israel and the West Bank.  Clearing a checkpoint?  Rarely do you get a second look with the USA stamped on the front of your paperwork. English is taught in all the schools and even the street signs conveniently accommodate those of us who are American.

In the years that I have been coming to the Holy Land, I have met many Palestinians who are American Citizens. We often compare notes about different parts of the US, discuss politics, and talk about the cultural differences between the US and Palestine. I had always assumed that as American citizens, they would enjoy all the same rights and protections that I have in Israel. 

I could not have been more wrong.

Last week, at a dinner with friends here in Beit Sahour (town next to Bethlehem), I met Tony and his family, Americans who live in Texas. As the conversation progressed, Tony mentioned that he couldn't drive in Israel. "What?" I said, "How is that possible? You are an American citizen!"

It turns out that in this crazy-making occupation that people who are of Palestinian descent (grandparents who lived at some point in Palestine) must use their Palestinian Identification card and CANOT use their American passports in this country. For these American citizens, their passports are stamped, "Void in Israel, see Palestinian ID #."

What does that mean exactly?  These folks are subject to all the restrictions of the Israeli military occupation. Here is a short, but by no means comprehensive, list of what this means:

Travel Restrictions

• Cannot fly in or out of Tel Aviv. Must fly into Jordan and enter through a much more involved checkpoint at the Jordanian border.
• Cannot drive a car in Israel proper. This means they must taxi all over the country.
• Are subject to the same permissions that West Bank/Gaza Palestinians need to cross into Israel. This means an American Citizen with a Palestinian background must apply for permission to go to Jerusalem! This is true if that same American citizen needs to visit the American consulate.

Rights Denied

• No right of free speech, assembly, or movement. Things like Facebook postings that criticize Israel can make one subject to arrest and detention.
• Can be arrested and indefinitely imprisoned without charge or trial (It's called Administrative Detention).
• A child who is 12 years old or older will be prosecuted as an adult.
• House, car, and person searches allowed without provocation or warrant.
• Family owned land is subject to military seizure without compensation.
• If an American of Palestinian descent married an Arab who lived in Israel, that person would not be permitted to live in Israel with their spouse.

I asked how the US responds to this injustice.  The official response was that if you want to travel to Palestine, these are the rules. 

This is the only place in the entire world where the US government allows another government to invalidate the rights, accessibility, and protections afforded the rest of its American citizens.  This is an outrage and a national shame.  

I guess you learn something new every day.  Unfortunately, what you learn is not always so good.

Angels are Crying

Today is Friday prayers in Bethlehem. Usually, this means that many of the shops owned by Muslims are shuttered. Muslim men flock to the mosques for required prayers at noon. For those who can't attend, sermons blast from loud speakers. Families take the day off to relax and dine together.  

But today is not like the many Fridays I have spent in the West Bank. Today, tensions are running high.  People are on edge. Instead of meeting in the mosques, men are gathering in the streets and sidewalks for prayer. Rumors of violence are flying.

What is going on?


Last Friday morning, there was an attack on Israeli police who secure the area around Al Aqsa Mosque where the Dome of the Rock is located in Jerusalem. Three Arab Israeli Palestinian assailants and two Arab Israeli police officers were killed in an armed shoot-out. Israel immediately closed this holy compound last week, canceling access for Friday prayers, something that had not happened since 1969.  

Initially, the Palestinians were measured in their response. Although there were calls for a day of rage on Wednesday, not much happened in the public sphere. With Palestinian friends, we drove through some of the hots spots in the West Bank - Jenin and Nablus were both calm on Wednesday.  And yesterday, a friend guided a political tour of Hebron and all was calm.

But then Israel implemented additional security measures for people entering the site. Without the permission of Jordan, the official custodian of Al Aqsa, Israel installed metal detectors and cameras. Early this morning, and against the advice of their security forces, Israeli government officials decided to make these measures permanent. 

Muslim Palestinians see this as the State of Israel encroaching and taking control of their holy area. Because of regular calls from Israel's right-wing to commandeer and install a "third" Jewish temple on this site, this is not far-fetched. Palestinians fear what happened in Hebron will happen in Jerusalem. (google Hebron if you want to know more) This is an explosive issue and any change to the status quo by Israel is perceived as a threat.

Praying outside of the newly installed metal detectors 

Today, throughout the West Bank and Israel, worshippers gathered near the entrances of the Old City of Jerusalem to pray and protest. There were violent clashes not only there but here in Bethlehem as well. Tear gas, stink bombs, and bullets are used to keep the rock-throwing crowds in order.

Of course, all of this is deeply concerning. People all over the city are wondering if this is the beginning of the third intifada, a sustained violent uprising against the Occupation. And if this triggers such a conflict, it will have a brutal physical, social, and fiscal impact on the people here.

Apart from the concern for these this region, I hold a more personal concern for the many friends I have here.

Khilil and his baby girl

Khalil and his family live in Azza Camp, the smallest and most proximate refugee camp to the Bethlehem protests. He and his wife left town today with their 7-month baby over concerns that breathing the tear gas would have fatal consequences on one so young. Their other children stayed home with the grandparents in a somewhat airtight room in order to limit their exposure. Can you imagine?

Hashem and Alyan, friends of mine in the Christian Quarter of the Old City of Jerusalem, have had their shops closed by military order for much of the week.  The economic ravages of the conflict impact those who simply want to make enough money to feed their families. They have few alternatives should the situation escalate.

My dear friends in the tour industry, Iyad, Issa, and Elias to name but a few, will be reeling should the violence escalate. Even though tours never go near these types of contained protests, fear will keep many from making pilgrimages here.

That is too bad. Tonight as reports of earlier protests emerge, it is very quiet here in Bethlehem. Charlotte and I had a great dinner and went out for ice cream. We enjoyed the cool evening breeze after sweltering in daytime temps that approached 100 degrees. It really is safe and even serene here. Yes, the larger context is chaotic but the Palestinians and their legendary hospitality bring a resilient joy and warmth to their their interactions with all of us.

Angels crying - Church of the Holy Sepulchre

None of my dear friends have or will ever contribute to the violence here on the ground. Each person is peace-loving. Each one follows the call to love their enemy. They embrace the best values in their faiths - be it Muslim or Christian. And each one abhors the injustice of the occupation.  

This is a place of terrible injustice as well as a wonderful place of peaceful hospitality.  It boggles the mind.

No wonder the angels are crying.

My lament continues to decry the suffering. My prayers of praise give shape to hope that this horrible occupation cannot and must not continue.

Searching for Syria

Before the War and Now

Being with refugees has given me a small window into their suffering but the crisis is not really in focus for me. I have had a difficult time trying to get my mind around the scope of it all. Click on this website for a great overview of what's happening in Syria. I found it helpful.

Searching for Syria

Please join me in praying for Syria!

Milad

As I mentioned previously, Max and I were hosted here in Lebanon by two wonderful Syrians in their 20’s. I wrote about Fadi yesterday and now I share Milad’s story.

At 26, Milad’s entire time as a university student has been colored by the Syrian War. A top scoring high school student, he immediately entered medial school in order to become a pediatrician. But no matter how well you do in your studies, finding a pediatric residency is not easy in Damascus as most areas of the city are not safe. How can you complete all your requirements when hospitals are under siege? The combination of ongoing violence and unrest as well as few professional prospects led him to cross the border six months ago and he is now a refugee. 

Milad in his clinic next to one of the refugee camps

Milad didn’t want his newly developed skills and knowledge to go to dormant so he serves as a volunteer doctor for other refugees. His makeshift clinic is in a converted shipping container perched beside one of the many refugee camps here. When he came, the container was an empty shell. He transformed it into a healing space, fully equipped as an examination room with a limited pharmacy. 

You may recall from an earlier post that Syrian refugees are prohibited from working. Even if Milad was granted an exception to work, the prohibitive $200,000 “license” fee would make it impossible. So he makes due with a small monthly stipend paid by an NGO that covers his basic expenses. 

Milad's clinic is open four days a week and he is the only staff. He sees both adults and children. The most common problems are respiratory challenges, gastrointestinal issues, and arthritis. Many of the children have open sores and other skin conditions. With open sewage and contaminated water in most of the camps, it is not surprising that people struggle to stay healthy. He regularly follows up on many of the babies we saw in the camps. He is kind, patient, generous – fruits of the spirit that every physician should possess.

While we were there, Milad got the good news that every refugee wants. He got permission to migrate, in this case, to Germany. As with all refuges, the amount of paperwork that he amassed for this endeavor was staggering. All the while, he had to learn and master German before his application could be considered. Imagine practicing medicine in a language you have rarely spoken. The challenges ahead are daunting on so many levels!

Milad and Max with new computers for the school

Milad’s losses are many. He leaves his mother behind in Damascus, an uneasy decision for the only son in the family. He also leaves behind a strong church community, a wonderful group of friends, and a culture that he knows and where he thrives. 

But Milad has a model for facing difficult circumstances with faith and courage. When he was just a young boy, his father was killed when a camel rammed his car in Saudi Arabia. His mother then moved back to Syria to teach grade school to support her family of two young children. Milad’s mother’s example is what inspires him to make this move to Germany. And leaving his mother is what makes this decision so painful.

My time with Milad was short but that didn’t stop us from having the most amazing and thoughtful conversations about faith and science. An ardent student of theology, he took a certificate from the Near East School of Theology in Beirut. Were his circumstances different, he likely would have pursed a divinity degree. This week at trauma camp, he winsomely engaged the kids and young adult leaders. Even though he has only been here in Lebanon 6 months, he is leaving behind his mark. 

When Max and I said goodbye to Milad, we took some time to pray together. None of us could stop the tears from flowing. With a future filled with uncertain hope and a departure that is riddled with unimaginable grief, it was difficult to know what or how to pray. I too am facing similar but not nearly as intimidating circumstances. So the prayer I've been praying became my prayer for Milad - that God would be the one constant he could count on when everything seems overwhelmingly new and foreign.

I am so deeply grateful to have met Milad. His courage, his faith, his Christ-like spirit inspire me. I consider him a dear brother in Christ.

To Know Fadi is to Love Fadi!

telling stories

For the past two weeks, Max and I have been staying with two Syrian refugees in Zahlé, Lebanon. Their apartment building is on the fourth floor above a busy street, across from the True Vine Baptist Church. Milad and Fadi are both in their 20's with very different stories. Milad, a physician, has just gotten travel papers to Dresden and will be departing for Germany within the month. Fadi, our primary host, translator and sometimes driver, is 21 and waiting for permission and a visa to go to Canada where he will restart his university studies.

Fadi's family are well-educated and strong Christian leaders in Damascus. His mother is head of InterVarsity in Syria as well as a dentist. His father is a civil engineer who ran a successful business. Now, that doesn’t matter much. There is no work in Damascus for engineers and Nahla’s dental practice is closed for safety reasons.

To know Fadi is to experience someone who is fun and engaging. When I think of him before the war, it is easy to imagine a bright future for him. His charm and exuberance for life would have served him well in business. He had every reason to believe he would succeed and flourish in this society. Before the war, Syria was a vibrant country with a growing economy, a strong tourism sector, and deep historic and cultural ties to the region. Fashion, music and sport were popular pastimes. Carefree and without many concerns, Fadi thought his future was set. University, business, a fast car, marriage and family –all seemed within reach.

volunteering as an English teacher in the refugee camp

But now the future is not as bright. Soon after he turned 15 years old, the conflict started and during his teen years it escalated into a full-fledged war. Here in Lebanon, he waits. Like many young men, his future is tied to international response and rules that are beyond his control. He can’t work. He can’t attend school. Like most 21 year olds, he has big dreams but now those dreams are on hold. He still schemes – but the options are far different from the ones available to him just a few years ago.

Imagine not just Fadi but the future of a whole generation being put on hold.

• Smoking and drinking? Who cares? A bullet may take your life any day. 
• Dreaming for the future? Why? Mandatory military service awaits. Besides, no jobs. 
• College entrance exams? Why study? There is no possibility of school. 
• Starting a family? How? No home, no work, and no money make it impossible. 

Fadi is exactly the kind of person Syria will need when it begins to rebuild. By nature, he is optimistic. His faith provides a world view that begins with love, not revenge. He is smart, generous, and believes he can and should contribute to a new Syria.

Fadi with a young
Syrian refugee from Aleppo

But I wonder what the lingering consequences of this war will have on people like Fadi. Should the war end tomorrow, the repair and rebuilding is far more than physical or fiscal. The psychological, social and spiritual scars of this war are profound. It won’t be easy to lay aside the strife that politics and religion caused in this region. It will take courageous leadership. Such men and women of impeccable caliber and wisdom have yet to emerge. I wonder if the wounded of Fadi’s generation can and will step up. 

I love this remarkable young man. I pray that God has a future for him that includes his return to Syria.

Fadi’s favorite verse: John 13:45-36

I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.

I'm afraid Max corrupted Fadi with cigars or was it the other way around?

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Getting the Feelings Out!

a painting by Izdihar Kassis, the Camp Director

This past week, Max and I were privileged to be part of a "trauma" camp for refugee teens. This overnight camp, patterned after a teenage version of VBS, gave the kids a respite from the boredom of the refugee camps, a chance for fun, and the opportunity to make new friends. Nearly 30 kids were part of the camp, a slight majority being girls. 

The theme for this "trauma" camp was Psalm 23, The Lord is my Shepherd. Each day, we looked at the meaning of various phrases, starting with the concept that God is the good shepherd who takes care of the sheep. 

The talks were interactive and allowed the kids to ask questions, express their doubts, and engage with the presenters. For many of the Muslim kids, this was new. To be allowed to express their anger towards God who allows war was surprising for most. To question whether God is good or all-powerful would be blasphemous in many contexts, including a Christian one like this. The leaders believe this is important for the kids to feel safe enough to be brutally honest about their past experiences, their faith, and their current circumstances. 

working on an art project

Beyond the group teaching/discussion time, the kids were given a chance to do projects where they created art pieces about what they were feeling. Then the kids met in small groups with trained facilitators and psychologists to share their stories and explain their artwork. In the various exercises, they were asked to see themselves as sheep. One day they were asked to depict how they felt as sheep. Another day, they were asked to draw a happy place for the sheep. Yet on another, they were told to depict the dark valley where they found themselves. 

notice the man holding a gun to the sheep

I wish I could post pictures of some of the people with their art but conservative muslims won't let their girls be photographed. Some of the images I saw: 

• Sheep confined to a black tent -  no way out. 
• Sheep within a heart
• Sheep being beheaded 
• Sheep at an oasis 
• Sheep in the middle of a desert 
• Sheep being stalked by a wolf 
• Sheep in the middle of a whole family of sheep

The follow-up stories have been heart-breaking. One child had shrapnel scares on his arm. Another spoke of digging through rubble to find family members after their home was bombed. One told about their father, a former Christian leader, who converted and joined ISIS and then abandoned the Christian mother and her children. One young lad lost both parents in the war and has no idea where the rest of his family is. Another one told about his brother who was lost at sea trying to migrate Greece. There were stories of sexual coercion, physical violence, and abandonment.

supporting one another

Some of the kids, boys as well as girls, openly cried when telling their stories. Others had a blank look on their faces. Some joked and tried to cover their pain. Even so, there was a sacred quality to these groups. They deeply listened to each other, relating their memories to the stories they were hearing. Once they get started, they had so much to tell. It was amazing to watch how supportive they were to one another. 

Every day, the boys in my group asked me if i was happy or sad in their broken English. I always asked them the same question right back. One delightful young boy never told me he was anything but sad. When I asked why, he simply shrugged his shoulders and said, "What is there to be happy about?" 

from a black heart to a loving one!

But through the week, we saw a change in some. A few that were standoffish, joined the fun and made friends. The girls in particular got into the singing. All lit up when we had a talent show one night. At every juncture, the staff affirmed their worth and you could see that all the kids blossomed with this kind of daily love. 

The healing work that began during this trauma camp week will be followed up with months of care by the team. The most severe cases will see counselors and receive meds. The girls will have the opportunity to attend an all day Saturday "camp" once a month for further education and support. All will receive follow up visits where they live in the refugee camps. 

Given the enormity of the crisis, we only saw a small number of refugee youth. 30 teens is but a drop in the ocean. But my hat is off to Izdihar and her staff who do not let the size of the problem overwhelm them. They believe they are called to love and support the kids who God brings to them. The difference they are making is remarkable. 

I wholeheartedly agree.

Rules Refugees Live By

Piecing together the what it means to be a refugee is complicated. Even though the UN oversees and manages services for refugees, the host country has a great deal to say about where refugees are located, employment possibilities and restrictions, and access for services.

Since arriving, Max and I have been told all sorts of things about refugee life. Confounding, contradictory, and very often unverifiable rules have been reported. But everything we hear confirms that refugees continue to suffer and that few possibilities exist for the future if they stay in this country.

So I thought I would provide a limited overview of some of the regulatory challenges the refugees face in Lebanon. I have tried to verify and clarify as best I can but I make no guarantees for 100% accuracy. 

A reminder that the Lebanese government has been deeply impacted by the refugee crisis. More than 1/3 of their population are now Syrians. Also, Lebanon is not a signatory to the 1951 U.N. Convention on the Status of Refugees, largely due to the presence of long-term Palestinian refugees. Also, there are historic tensions between Lebanon and Syria due to complicated and uneven responses by both sides during the Lebanese Civil War and subsequent regional conflicts. 

To deal with the current crisis, in 2015, the Lebanese government introduced new residency policies that have caused an estimated 70 percent of the nearly 2 million Syrian refugees to lose legal status. Let's unpack what this means:

Lebanese Residency Permit

Residency Requirements: Prior to 2015, Syrians were able to openly cross the border into Lebanon without visas and had the ability to renew their residency without cost. Since January 2015, any Syrian refugee who is registered with the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR)) must establish legal residency in Lebanon and pay a $200 annual fee. If they cannot pay, and most cannot, they loose legal status that puts them at risk of raids, arrest, and deportation. 
This also makes them vulnerable to exploitation without the legal recourse of being able to turn to authorities for assistance and protection. 

This is a big problem for babies born to refugee families. As refugees, they cannot return to Syria to register their children as Syrian citizens and they are unable to establish legal identity for their children in Lebanon. So these babies are without identity papers of any kind, including a prized birth certificate. This impacts their ability to return to Syria and/or to emigrate to other countries with their parents. Hundreds of thousands of children fall into this "no status" category.

Restriction of Movement:  All Syrians are subject to increased scrutiny at the security checkpoints throughout the country. But for refugees, if they return to Syria for any reason, they cannot return to Lebanon. This means they cannot visit family members who are ill or dying, check on their properties, or permanently go back home - even if the fighting in their area has stopped.

Protests in Beirut about Refugee Curfews

Banner Announcing a Curfew

Many cities impose curfews on Syrians. Here is Zahlé, the curfew is 6 pm. 

Ability to Work:  Refugees must sign a "no-work" pledge to maintain their residency status. If they break the law and find under-the-table work, the only work options open to them are in the agriculture, construction and cleaning service sectors. Average monthly income is $277, far below the minimum wage of $448. Nighty-two percent of refugees work without official permits.

A young girl with severe deformity of the spine.

She cannot walk and surgery is not an option here.

Access to Healthcare:  The conditions in the camps are unsanitary. Many children and adults have a variety of respiratory issues, skin conditions, infections, and diarrhea. Refugee medical care is administrated by the UNHCR. but the cost of assessment, care, and treatment is prohibitively high. What UNHCR underwrites is very restrictive. Chronic conditions are not covered - only urgent, acute and life-threatening problems are covered.  

Most of the babies I have seen were born at home because the mothers have no access to pre or post natal care. Only in the case of a life-threatening birth would an ambulance be called, and even then, the family would have no ability to pay. Any medical attention they receive is from volunteer nurses and physicians who enter the camps to provide very basic services.  

Boys in the camp who showed me their homework
They attend the school run by the local Baptist church

Access to Education: Hundreds of thousands of children have no access to education. This means few are literate or able to do simple math. With parents who are constrained by their legal status or inability to find work, many children move into the informal workforce. They work in the fields, beg on the streets, and sell trinkets for pennies. The public school system in Lebanon was already strained before the war. Now, with the influx of refugee children, they simply don't have the resources to educate these children. Since qualified teachers from Syria are barred from working, informal and rudimentary schools are springing up in near the camps. I'll write more about this in a later post.

babies, babies, and more babies!

Who can resist that smile?

One of the gifts provided by "For the Family," the Christian organization that is hosting us, is their compassion and care for babies-at-risk in the camps. So far, every day has included visits to mothers and babies who are facing challenges.

My Syrian refugee guides, Halla and Kifah, respectfully enter each dwelling with a kind hello and a gentle spirit. The mothers light up when they see them and graciously accept a bag of diapers and baby supplies. I am always introduced as a volunteer from "Amerikeya."

Praying for surgery

The little ones I have seen have  a variety of problems. One baby with Down Syndrome has heart defects that must be surgically repaired for her to have any chance at survival. One toddler has club feet. Another has an hemangioma at the base of the skull. Others suffer from heat rash and skin problems. Another has trouble breast feeding. But it is not just the babies who suffer. I have seen children who are unable to stand, some with genetic diseases, and many more disengaged from conversation with the vacant stare of traumatized memories.

Kifah with one of the babies

Halla and Kifah lovingly take each baby into their arms, engaging them, cuddling them, cooing to them. They take out their phones and take a photo to document their progress.  This helps the pediatrician, likely my friend Milad, a refugee himself, recognize the children when the doors of the make-shift clinic open during the week. 

An interview follows with the mother and, more often than not, other women in the camp community. Even without understanding the language, it is clear that they all have strong opinions on what is the best treatment approach. Notes are taken, stories shared, and prayers offered. I have been humbled when asked to pray not only for the baby but for immediate relief for the family from their suffering and for a hope for a better future.

a mother and her child

I love the simple but powerful connections with these mothers. I too have held and fretted over my own babies when they were sick. I am now a grandma who offers unconditional love to my beloved grandson. No matter our culture, class or circumstances, the love that mothers have for their children transcends any differences. The prophet Isaiah knows the power of this love and uses it to describe God's love and care for us. 

"As a mother comforts her child,so I will comfort you." Isaiah 66:13.

When the dark stories of suffering overwhelm me, I look for light wherever it presents itself. For the past few days, it has come, in part, through the deep and wide circle of mother love.

I love the spark in this little one.
Born in Lebanon as a political refugee from Egypt, she will be given no papers or birth certificate.
She is stateless which impacts her ability to leave the country with her parents.  
But even without identity papers, Miriam Noor is God's beloved!

My heart breaks . . .

My orientation to the crisis has involved following around two wonderful Syrian Christian women, Halla and Kifah. Accompanied by our driver, we have made stops all over the region to various "camps." Once there, we talk to mothers about their teenage daughters attending the upcoming trauma camp. We also visit at-risk babies for assessment, cuddle time, and provide support for the mothers.

While calling them camps is technically correct, my assumptions about them are not. I have seen photos of the sprawling city-like camps in Jordan where thousands upon thousands are housed. Here in this region, the camps are numerous but small - sometimes a solo structure or a cluster of 20-30 tents. Most seem to be set in the middle of agricultural patches but some refugees live in crude apartments in the city of Zahle.

Today I was in "tents," simple wood-framed structures covered in tarps. Most serve as single family dwellings but a few house multiple families where up to 20 people live. Water comes from a hose connected to a water barrel. Electricity from a generator. Some have space for small gardens, others are dust bowls. Very few have creature comforts - even chairs are optional. Each has a room for sleeping, a small stove for cooking, and a roof offering protection from the elements. However, everyone seems to have TV hookup. Regardless of the living conditions, which seem universally deplorable to me, it was the stories that broke my heart.

Sometimes I listen with only my eyes and heart because there is no translator. Body language and tone of voice are telling. Other times, I hear parts of the story when someone in the room speaks a bit of English. Of course this helps give context. And on rare occasions, the story is told to me in English where the full impact is experienced and I am able to respond.

Every story is marked by violence. Bombings, destruction and economic devastation are common threads. Family separation and strife are a big part of the pain. Unfortunately, stories of murder have already made the list. And I'm only in my second day here.

Johnny

Johnny, a man of Syrian Orthodox faith, told me all about his life back home. Prosperous and respected, he lost everything in the ongoing war. As hard as that was to hear, it was the chilling story he told me about an encounter with ISIS that stood out. He and his friends were traveling on a bus when they were stopped by well-armed ISIS soldiers. At gunpoint, everyone was ordered off the bus and told to make shahada or immediate conversion to Islam by saying "There is no god but God. Muhammad is the messenger of God." If they refused, the insurgents told them that they would be killed. He told me that he feared for his life and for the safety of his family. So, although he did not believe it, he said the words and he got back on the bus.  

But the story didn't end there. Johnny told me that one of his friends refused to affirm the prophet as God's messenger and was killed right before his eyes. He is haunted by this image and is racked with guilt because he lacked courage to stand with his friend. Of all the tragedies in his life, this is the one thing that troubles him the most.  

The soul is a tender holding place where memory and shame mingle with faith. There are no easy antidotes in those shadow places. While we tearfully spoke of God's grace and forgiveness, he told me that the image of his friend's murder can never be erased. So he carries that and multiple other wounds around, burdened by guilt, shame and helplessness.    

Even so, he does not let this pain keep him from serving. He volunteers at the local school sponsored by the Baptist church. He lovingly maintains the buildings and grounds. If I heard correctly, he built much of the school himself.  

I detected little pity in the telling of his story. Mostly, he is baffled by the response of the world, the US in particular. He wonders why good and godly people like himself are not given a chance at a new life elsewhere. Even in his helplessness, he reaches out to shape the future for refugee kids by supporting the school's educational efforts. So he questions the indifference of the world to this crisis. If he can play a small part in helping these kids, why don't others? His last question pained me. "Why doesn't America care?"

I didn't have an answer - only an apology and a breaking heart.

A Future with Hope

“For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.” Jeremiah 29:11

Before I left Sunnyvale, I gave all my staff and elders a framed gift of Jeremiah 29:11. I thought it was a fitting verse to give to these leaders as they move from the interim period into the future with their new pastor, Hardy Kim. God has been preparing the church for this next season and they seem ready to embrace this next change. The transition will have its challenges to be sure, but the depth of preparation and prayer will ease this next phase in the journey.

So here on my first day in Lebanon, I was again reminded of the power of this verse – a promise that God holds our future. But for Syrian refuges relocating to another part of the world, their faith in God to hold them through this transition may be the essential component that helps them survive.

Izdihar and girls from the trauma camp

Izdihar Kassis, the founder of For the Family, invited Max Lih and me to see first-hand the refuge crisis here in Lebanon. Although there are millions of refugees here, she and her small staff run trauma camps for teens and well-baby care for infants at risk. The scale is small but the impact is life-changing. 

Four years ago, the group reached out to a family that had come from a region in Syria that has been run by ISIS. In terms of religion, this family was part of an extreme Islamic set. When they came to Lebanon, Christians showered them with love and support. The teenage girls attended one of the trauma camps where healing began. Eventually, the entire family put their faith in Christ. Their families back home were not happy. Shunning and threats followed. For safety reasons, the UN is now relocating the family to Norway.

I was invited into their home for final goodbyes and a time of prayer before they left for a country where they know no one, don’t speak the language, and have no community. Everything thing that awaits them there is new including the climate. The only continuity in their lives will be their new-found and deepening faith in Christ.

 a tearful and prayerful goodbye
as the girls and their family move to Noway

I know the plans I have for you . . .

I was struck by contrast between transition the Sunnyvale church is facing and the change this family is facing. I was reminded of the transition that I am about to make to Ohio. In each situation, we are asked to put any anxiety we have about the future into God’s hands. The depth of faith required might be quite different but the God who holds us all is up to the task.

The crisis is enormous, the challenges are overwhelming, and for many, the future is chaotic and uncertain. And yet, the family of faith reaches out and refuses to let despair have the last word. The Christians, many of whom are refuges themselves, are loving and lending aid in Christ’s name. For those who are facing unimaginable odds, it is a concrete expression that God’s plans does involve provision and possibilities.  It may only be a small sliver of hope but their faith encourages them that a small speck is all you need to keep moving forward.

Worship in Reverse

Worship is always a bit of a challenge when it is conducted in a language that you don’t understand. While the songs are often different and the sermon unintelligible, there are still rhythms and rituals that prompt you. If you are open to it, the community, no matter how foreign, can carry you along in their love for God.

The Presbyterian Church in Zahle, Lebanon

It was fitting that this first day in Lebanon began with worship in a Presbyterian Church. Like other Arab Christian congregations I have seen, the men and women sang and prayed with passion. The first song we sang was a standard: How Great Thou Art. While they sang in Arabic, I belted out this familiar hymn in English. The Lord’s Prayer was easy to pick out too. Abana allazy fe al samawat /Our Father who art in heaven . . .

But my favorite moment was when communion was offered. When the bread is broken, the cup shared, we all speak the same language of need and love. The difference was the sweet taste of cardamon that perfumed the bread and the red wine standing in for Christ’s blood.

Try and read the music!

But some differences are jarring. It took me a while to figure out how to find the hymns in the hymnal because while you read Arabic from right to left, the numbers are written like we write them, from left to right. And then when trying to sing, I was completely flummoxed because the musical notation is also written opposite to ours - right to left! Worship in reverse!

Most of us prefer worship in the genres and liturgies we know. We critique and are annoyed when something or someone unfamiliar is unexpectedly introduced. Today, I was distracted by the dissonance and was eager for the end of the service to come. 

The Presbyterian Hymnal in Arabic

I found this curious. I fondly remember worshipping under similar circumstances when I lived in Palestine on sabbatical years ago. I also remember tears streaming down my face when I worshipped with an Arab Christian congregation in Nazareth a year ago. Perhaps the demands and busyness of past few weeks have numbed my soul to the Spirit’s disruptive work. 

Even though I wished for an end to the service, I was also aware of a longing to return. I will have one more Sunday in Lebanon, and two more in Palestine. I expect these other services will serve as further invitations to embrace and enter into the worship at a deeper, non-verbal level.

Psalm 95 prompted me to consider the warning . . . 

O that today you would listen to his voice! Do not harden your hearts, as at Meribah, as on the day at Massah in the wilderness.  vs 7-8

while the beginning of the Psalm spoke the invitation I need to head . . .

O come, let us sing to the Lord; let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation! Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving; let us make a joyful noise to him with songs of praise!  vs 1-2

The true reversal in worship is the one that is needed in me.

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