Tearing Down the Walls - Supply sermon

“Tearing Down the Walls”

By Rev SarahButeax

Supply preached by Kippy Rudy, November 9, 2014

Bath Church of the New Jerusalem

Joshua 5:13-14, Joshua 6: 1-5, 10-11, 12b, 15-16, 20-25, HS 8815

“The walls of Jericho” mean the falsities that defend evils.  Secrets of Heaven (AC) 8815

I'd like you all to relax, open your minds, and imagine something with me for a moment. Now, this may be a stretch, but I want us to imagine that we are all part of a small, no scratch that, very small—all right let's be honest, compared to everyone else we're minuscule—I want us to try and imagine that we are all part of a teeny, tiny, and yet vibrant, extremely vibrant, spiritual community. Do you think you can do that with me? Good, then let's continue.A community with its own unique language and rituals and understanding of God, a community with a long and venerable history, a community with so much to offer the world, and yet a community that could easily disappear into the annals of history if we can't somehow find a way to hold it together and face the seemingly insurmountable challenges ahead of us with absolute courage and unwavering faith—you got it? Are you with me here? Do you feel it? Good.

Then you know exactly how the Israelites felt as they entered the Prom­ised Land. After years of wandering, this tiny little band of chosen people has finally crossed the river Jordan and entered the land of Canaan. And they are ready—ready and willing to receive their divine inheritance and take possession of the land that was prom­ised to their forefather Abraham. Only, there's a slight problem. Peo­ple already live there: namely the Canaan-ites, the Hittites, the Hivites, the Perizzites, the Girgashites, the Amorites, and please don't forget the Jebusites, and, well, these people haven't gotten the divine eminent do­main memo.

So if the Israelites want this land, they're going to have to take it, and under the leadership of Joshua, this is precisely what they set out to do. They may be small and scrappy, they may have their own peculiar way of doing things and their own peculiar way of talking about the things that they do, but with God on their side there is no battle they cannot win, no people they cannot conquer, no city they cannot take.

And so the Israelites march right up to the first city, the city of Jericho, the gateway city that stands at the base of the Promised Land, and set up camp around the great wall. In accordance with the Lord's instruction, they do not attack, but rather they march.

They march around the city every day for six days. The priests carry their trumpets, the soldiers carry their swords, but no one says a word or makes a sound. Then on the seventh day, the Israelites march around the city seven times, and at the very last moment the priests blow their horns, and the people shout with all their might; the walls of the city come crashing down and Jericho is given like a gift into the hands of the Israelites is a complete and utter triumph.

But then something happens, something absolutely, unspeakably horrible. The people rush forward and put every living being—all the kings soldiers and all the kings men, yes, but also all of the civilians, the men, the women, the little children, and the tiny babies, all of the animals, the oxen and the sheep and the donkeys, the horses, the cats, and the dogs, (people, if there was so much as a hamster in Jericho that day . . .)—every living being, except for one woman and her household, are put to death by the sword.

It is a heartbreaking story, absolutely horrible, and I wish I could say it was an isolated incident within scripture, a bizarre little aberration in an otherwise unsullied narrative of divine love and mercy, but it's not. There are several such stories in the Bible, not just sto­ries of war, but stories of war wherein God commands the complete and ut­ter destruction of every living being in an enemy's territory, no matter how young or weak or vulnerable those be­ings might be.

But do you want to know what is unusual, what the really crazy thing is about this story in particular? People love it. Pastors lift the Battle of Jericho up in their sermons as a story of God's favor and awesome power. Congrega­tions and choirs sing some great songs about it. (Thank you very much by the way. Can we have a hand for the Con­vention Choir?)  And as if that weren't strange enough, we read it to our kids in Sunday School, in much the same way we read the story of Noah's ark, as if genocide was the most natural thing in the world.

Yeah. It's all a little strange when you really start to think about it, isn't it? Wipe life as we know it off the plan­et and you have the makings of an epic tragedy, but save just two of every ani­mal and you've got all the material you need for the most popular children's play set of all time. Who knew? But seriously, once you start to look at the finer details of a story like this, it re­ally is disturbing. Scholars and theolo­gians have labored long and hard to try and make sense of this one, and I could tell you a bit about what they say, only I have the strange suspicion that you would all promptly tune out.

We're Swedenborgians after all, and we already know that there's a spiritual sense imbued within these letters full of a higher, more personal, and surely more useful meaning. Why slum about in the historical realm when you can soar and play in the celestial one? Why torment one's self trying to make sense of the lit­eral when one can revel in the spiritual?

Why? Because real people died that day in Jericho. Real mothers lost real babies, real hus­bands lost real wives, real people lost their homes, their livelihoods, their very lives in the face of an army that thought it was carrying out God's will. And if we dismiss those people as no more than a means to an end, the literal fodder for a great spiri­tual interpretation, the only difference between us and Joshua's soldiers is not one of kind but of degree.

That is, if we look at this story and somehow convince ourselves that our ability to draw a spiritual meaning from this literal historical event some­how makes the event itself okay, then what we are effectively doing is justify­ing the slaughter. Furthermore, when we jump right to the correspondences and begin playing with spiritual inter­pretations, we miss the opportunity to question the event itself, to question what it says about God, and what it says about us, to question whether or not Joshua was even right, whether or not the slaughter was necessary.

And I'm afraid that if we miss that opportunity, then our understand­ing of Swedenborg's correspondences, however interesting they might be, is bound to become corrupted in the process.

Because, you see, if Joshua was actually wrong on the literal level to cause such destruction, then simply trans­ferring his methodology up the correspondential ladder, if you will, prob­ably won't yield better or more last­ing results for any of us. So let's take a closer look, first, at how this story is traditionally understood on the literal level, and see how a few well-placed questions on that end can add nuance to our standard spiritual understanding of this most troubling text. Are you with me? Wonderful. A little nervous? Me too, but here we go.

Traditionally, on the lit­eral level, the genocide that takes place during the Battle of Jericho is understood as an unfortunate but neces­sary means to an end. When you are as small and as unique as the Israelites were, when you have so much to pro­tect and so little to work with, then when you strike you must strike hard.

They couldn't afford to fail, nor could they afford to be compromised, so when they conquered a people they showed no mercy. They wiped out ev­ery last person they could find, every last trace of culture or religion that could possibly lead their people astray. Only then, in their minds, could they truly be safe and prosper in the prom­ised land.

And you know, on the one hand I can see their logic; however, there are still some pretty strange inconsistencies in this story that I'd like to point out to you, the first having to do with the promise itself. You'll remember that a big part of the promise given to Abra­ham back in Genesis involved the Is­raelites not just inheriting the land of Canaan but being a—what to the na­tions? A blessing.

Now, I don't know about you, but I can't quite see how killing first and blessing later is a really good strategy for fulfilling this promise. Does that seem a little off to you? Me too. And speaking of killing—and this is my sec­ond problem with the story—it's one thing to kill those who have the poten­tial to kill you—I mean even the poor, little, innocent babies could theoreti­cally grow up to exact revenge some­day—but killing all the animals seems like a needless waste to me. How could the animals have corrupted the Israel­ites I wonder?

Likewise, destroying the city itself with all its temples and art and liter­ature seems a good plan if you don't want the people to get seduced or tainted by falsities, but it's exceedingly ironic, in my humble opinion, that in their mad dash to purge the city of all corrupting influences, be they animal, vegetable, or mineral, that the one per­son they do save is—anyone remember her name?—Rahab, yes. And what did Rahab do for a living? She was a har­lot. Rahab and all the members of her "household" were spared because she had helped the Israelite spies escape, a household that included her father and mother and brothers, I'm sure, but a household that in all likelihood prob­ably included an unusually large num­ber of "sisters" as well, if you catch my drift.

And finally, there is the issue of God's part in this whole debacle, our God who we understand to be all lov­ing and all wise. I have a really hard time understanding how our God could ever approve of genocide, and, truth be told, I see a number of little signs that indicate that, at least in this story, the all-out slaughter wasn't really God's idea at all. For one thing, when God says he will give the city to Josh­ua, he does so, but he brings down the walls with music rather than warfare. Victory is achieved without one drop of blood being spilt.

For another, although God does command the Israelites in other parts of the Bible to wipe out entire cities, in this particular passage, if you read it closely, he never once tells Joshua to kill all of the living creatures inside of Jericho. God says, "See, I have given Jericho into your hand, with its king and valiant warriors," but it is not God who commands that the Israelites put all of Jericho to death, it is Joshua.

All of which sends me back to re­consider that strange little exchange Joshua engages in with an angel days before the battle even begins. Joshua asks the angel, "Are you for us or for our adversaries?" And the angel says, "No," which is kind of a strange answer to an "either/or" question. "Rather, I indeed come now as captain of the host of the Lord," says the angel. That is, "I'm on God's side, human, not theirs, but not yours either." Joshua wanted to know if God was on their side, but what he should have been asking each step of the way is not whether God was on their side, but whether or not they were on God's.

Now, I bring all of these little quirks to your attention because I think it is extremely important for us to question scripture, to have enough respect for the literal sense of the word to wrestle with it and not accept it as simply a text for imitation or as a spring board we can utilize uncritically to reach a more interesting spiritual interpretation.

The Bible isn't always showing us who we ought to be. Sometimes it is only showing us who we already are. And in those instances, our job is not to meekly accept the charge, but to wres­tle with the image before us and, God willing, strain for something higher.

Unfortunately, most of the Swedenborgian literature that deals with this passage in particular fails to question whether or not Joshua was even right. It plows right ahead and concludes that if Joshua dealt with the evils of Jericho in this way, then we ought to deal with the evils in our own lives this way as well. But what if Joshua went overboard?

Now please understand, I'm not calling the correspondences themselves into question, but I'm questioning what we ultimately do with them. I think the correspondences Swedenborg out­lines actually stand up very well. In Se­crets of Heaven (8815) he explains that the walls of Jericho represent the lies, half truths, and rationalizations we use to justify our own evil actions, and it is clear that those walls really do need to come down if we are going to live our lives to the fullest as God intended.

If we truly want to overcome our evils, then we must, with the help of God, examine the defensive strategies we have built up around them to keep them safe, just as the spies appraised the defenses of Jericho. We need to be patient and obedient to what we know is good even when it doesn't feel right yet, just as the Israelites did when they walked about the city each day for six days wondering what the heck they were doing. And finally, we need to trust not in our own power, but in the power of God to bring the walls down on our behalf.

These correspondences are powerful and exceedingly useful. Indeed Swedenborgians, and Grant Schnarr in par­ticular in his very helpful little book, Return to the Promised Land, have put them to good use, especially around is­sues of addiction and spiritual recovery. How many of you have benefited from his work? I'm not surprised.

   

He makes it clear in his book that

if you're caught up in a web of sin or addiction, the only way to break the chains that bind you to destructive be­haviors is with the truth. With the help of God you can tear down the walls of lies that keep you going back to the bottle for solace or drugs for happiness or pornography for love, just to name a few examples.

But I think we get into trouble when we follow Joshua down the road of be­lieving we can not only rid ourselves of all the lies that give evil power over us, but succumb to the belief that with enough determination we can actually rid ourselves of evil itself once and for all. It would be nice if we could, but I don't think evil works that way any­more than God does.

At the end of Grant Schnarr's chap­ter on Jericho he writes:

After the walls fell down Israel wiped out the enemy so as not to be perverted by their immoral spiritual practices. Spiritually, the lesson is one that cannot be overstated: we must wipe out that hideous evil complete­ly. Once we expose the defect, we must show no leniency. When the walls of illusion crumble, it's time to destroy those defects before they can re-arm and destroy us. Knock them out with the sword of truth and an­nihilate them. Not until then will there be peace, (pp. 165-166)

Well, that sounds really good, and I can see a lot of usefulness in what Rev. Schnarr is saying, except for one small but pesky detail: war never leads to peace, at least not the true, just, lasting peace that we all long for.

In my experience you can make war on drugs, you can make war on ter­ror, you can make war on poverty, you can make war on most anything that is harmful, but war is, at best, only a temporary solution. Peace is not what you get when you finally destroy everything or everyone who could potential­ly harm you because that battle never ends. Peace only comes from the hard work of making peace.

Add to this the fact that, as it says in Divine Providence, the Lord does not annihilate the evils in our lives when we repent of them, but simply removes them to a place where they have no power over us, and you start to won­der, "Hey, if God doesn't destroy evil, who are we to think that we should or even could, if we wanted to?”

So perhaps the story of Jericho is here to tell us that ultimately Joshua was wrong, as are we if we think that the best way to combat evil is to obliter­ate it rather than neutralize it. War did not eternally secure the Promised Land for the Israelites back then, anymore than war is securing it for them right now. Maybe the most powerful spiri­tual lesson to be found in this passage is the knowledge that our job is not to wipe out evil, because evil doesn't work that way, and when we go after evil, too often what we really end up going af­ter is each other. No, our job is not to fight evil with force but to join with God in peacefully dismantling the lies that give evil power over us and over others. "Peace," in the words of Frederich Beuchner, "is not the absence of conflict, but the presence of love."

And believe it or not, there is actu­ally a little bit of love in this story, a modicum of mercy, if you will, an ex­ception made in the midst of Joshua's headlong rush to obliterate a people he feared would corrupt his own, and it is in her that we find redemption, not just for Joshua but for all the world. Remember Rahab, who we mentioned before, Rahab the harlot?

If there was a top ten list of people most likely to corrupt the purity of the Israelites, Rahab and her "household" would have been in the top five. But Joshua made a curious exception for Rahab and showed her mercy. He compromised to save a person of dubious character, and it was this very compro­mise that ultimately led to the great­est in-breaking of the divine upon our world.

For you see, Rahab was taken in by the Israelites, and, in time, she had a son named Boaz who grew up and married another compromised gentile girl by the name of Ruth, whose great grandson was none other than King David, whose line eventually culmi­nated in the birth of a tiny baby boy in a little town called Bethlehem by the name of Jesus. Because Rahab the prostitute was allowed to live, Jesus the messiah was able to be born.

Coincidence? I think not.

Providence? You better believe it.

So maybe the battle of Jericho is not a story that glorifies war after all, but a story that lifts up the true blessing that comes from showing mercy and mak­ing peace.

My friends, preserving one's identity as a small people and protecting one's integrity as a people set apart for God is a high calling. As such we are called to dismantle the walls of lies that pro­tect and nurture all that is evil and cor­rupt in this world. But when we do so at the expense of one another, when, in our headlong rush to destroy evil we destroy one another, then we have lost our way.

For our highest calling is not the tearing down but the building up of a new city. Not a new Jericho, but a new Jerusalem, a city built not with bricks and mortar, but with hands reaching out to one another, especially those who are other, hands that build up with love and reach out with mercy, and hands that make room, no matter what the cost, for God's love and God's light to break in upon our world. This is our calling. Amen and Amen.

Originally preached at the 184th Annual Convention, Saturday morning, July 5, 2008 at Bridgewater New Jerusalem Church, in Bridgewater, Massachusetts.

As published in “The Messenger,” by the Swedenborgian Church of North America; Volume 230 • Number 7 • September 2008

At the time of this writing, Rev. Sarah Buteux was pastor of the First Congregational Church of Hadley, Massachusetts.

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The Readings

Joshua 5:13-14, Joshua 6: 1-5, 10-11, 12b, 15-16, 20-25

¹³ And it came to pass, when Joshua was by Jericho, that he lifted his eyes and looked, and behold, a Man stood opposite him with His sword drawn in His hand. And Joshua went to Him and said to Him, “Are You for us or for our adversaries?”

¹⁴ So He said, “No, but as Commander of the army of the Lord I have now come.”

Now Jericho was shut up inside and out because of the Israelites; no one came out and no one went in. ² The Lord said to Joshua, “See, I have handed Jericho over to you, along with its king and soldiers. ³ You shall march around the city, all the warriors circling the city once. Thus you shall do for six days, ⁴ with seven priests bearing seven trumpets of rams’ horns before the ark. On the seventh day you shall march around the city seven times, the priests blowing the trumpets. ⁵ When they make a long blast with the ram’s horn, as soon as you hear the sound of the trumpet, then all the people shall shout with a great shout; and the wall of the city will fall down flat, and all the people shall charge straight ahead.” 

¹⁰ To the people Joshua gave this command: “You shall not shout or let your voice be heard, nor shall you utter a word, until the day I tell you to shout. Then you shall shout.” ¹¹ So the ark of the Lord went around the city, circling it once; and they came into the camp, and spent the night in the camp.

14 b They did this for six days.

¹⁵ On the seventh day they rose early, at dawn, and marched around the city in the same manner seven times. It was only on that day that they marched around the city seven times. ¹⁶ And at the seventh time, when the priests had blown the trumpets, Joshua said to the people, “Shout! For the Lord has given you the city.  ²⁰ So the people shouted, and the trumpets were blown. As soon as the people heard the sound of the trumpets, they raised a great shout, and the wall fell down flat; so the people charged straight ahead into the city and captured it. ²¹ Then they put to the sword all in the city, both men and women, young and old, oxen, sheep, and donkeys.

²² Joshua said to the two men who had spied out the land, “Go into the prostitute’s house, and bring the woman out of it and all who belong to her, as you swore to her.” ²³ So the young men who had been spies went in and brought Rahab out, along with her father, her mother, her brothers, and all who belonged to her—they brought all her kindred out—and set them outside the camp of Israel. ²⁴ They burned down the city, and everything in it; only the silver and gold, and the vessels of bronze and iron, they put into the treasury of the house of the Lord. ²⁵ But Rahab the prostitute, with her family and all who belonged to her, Joshua spared. Her family has lived in Israel ever since. For she hid the messengers whom Joshua sent to spy out Jericho.

Secrets of Heaven (AC) 8815

“The walls of Jericho” mean the falsities that defend evils.  

Heal Yourself

With permission, I share this posting from a treasured mentor:

"My thoughts on the tragedy in Newtown:

My heart hurts for the parents who have lost their children. Sunday night, Obama shared my favorite quote about parenting: 'when you decide to have a child, you make the decision to have your heart forever walk around outside your body.' Their loss is more profound than we will ever know. I pray for their courage.

This is a clarion call to all of us.

We are impacting our children, every last one of us and it's time we woke up to the epidemic that is sweeping our nation. Too many parents are distracted, too many single moms and dads don't have the support they need, too many adults have not healed their own wounds and so they pass their damage on to their children like karmic sludge. We subject our children to a culture dominated by fear (news, video games, movies) and then wonder what the dang problem is. The problem is not "out there", it's "in here".

          Here’s my wish for us all, that we:

Wake up, out of our comfortably numb state, and start to really get the horrifying legacy we are leaving with our children and on this planet.

Feel the pain we’ve been avoiding, the pain of our inner child that didn’t get what he or she needed and love that part with powerful conviction, with the ferocity of a mama or papa bear. Let go of any desire to be driven to the next distraction, drama or adrenaline rush and just be with yourself.

Take fierce, bold action, from a place of wholeness.

If you want to make an impact and not have these children (and their protectors) die in vain, then commit to healing you, to healing your own inner child. From there, you will know the exact perfect action to take. Anything before that will be saving and saving never works. It’s rooted in imbalance.

I pray you will let this tragedy be the wake up call you needed to make the difference you came here to make with your life.

Share with me your thoughts, feelings and ideas about this tragedy, the state of our disconnectedness in our country and anything else you feel you want to share….even if it’s simply an “amen sister”.

So much love,

Kristin Sweeting Morelli"

https://www.facebook.com/kristin.morelli.1?fref=ts

http://goddessrising.com

http://kristinsweetingmorelli.com/2012/12/thoughts-newtown-tragedy/

Can There Be Peace In Palestine?

This was written in response to a trip I was lucky to be part of in 2007.  I thought I would repost it as we witness renewed violence in in the Holy Land.  Regardless of what one thinks of the theology, the details remain true.

"Can There Be Peace in Palestine?

- reflections on my trip to Israel"

Alison Longstaff, August 26^th, 2007

Church of the Good Shepherd

Psalm 122: 1-9; Matthew 24:1-13

                                                                                                     

            As many of you know, I went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land this past Spring.   Because the Holy Land is not the most stable of regions, preparation for the trip included a day-long session on culture shock, cultural sensitivity and diversity, and post-traumatic-stress disorder, among other things.  In our information packets we found articles on how to recognize post-traumatic-stress disorder, both in ourselves and in our fellow travellers.  We learned that we could be affected by the general atmosphere of trauma-survival among the peoples we would be visiting.  We discussed how we should care for ourselves and each other should violence occur.  It was sobering.

            Above all, we were taught, "The situation in Palestine is complicated."  We must try to withhold judgment.  We must avoid taking sides, and instead, simply keep our eyes and ears open. Apparently, westerners characteristically assume that the problems over there could be easily fixed if someone just said the right thing or took charge the right way.   It is not so.

            I was immediately struck by the warmth with which the Israelis in the airport greeted us.  They welcome all visitors.  The arrival of tourists helps them not feel so isolated nor so judged and feared and cut-off from the rest of the world.  We also met our tour guide at the airport, a Palestinian Arab Christian Israeli.

(picture: The Lion's Gate in Jerusalem. Notice how bullet-riddled it is.)

            His name was Husam, not Hussein  but Husam.  He advised us to call him "Who? Sam?" to remember the correct pronunciation.  His name was as unfamiliar in my mouth as his identity was to grasp in my brain.  An Arab Christian Palestinian Israeli. He was an Arab, which is a blood-line or ethnicity, but he was not Muslim, like many Arabs are.  He was a Christian.  There are many Christians in the Holy land still, Christians descended from the Christians who have been there since the time of Jesus.  He is Palestinian, which means his family has lived in the Palestinian territories for centuries, but he is not a terrorist.  It is terribly unfortunate that the western media has somehow gotten many of us in the Western world to equate "Palestinian" with "terrorist." It is an emotional and fearful association and entirely uneducated.  There are so many good and peaceful Palestinians. To think every Palestinian is a terrorist is as accurate as thinking that, because I am a woman and a seminarian, all women are seminarians.  (Picture: Husam [white hat] talks to some of us on the school steps. See the clear, brilliant blue of the sky.)

            And, Husam was an Israeli.  Both a Palestinian and an Israeli?  At the same time?  Yes.  He was born to a Palestinian family in Palestinian territory, but he is one of the lucky few to have an Israeli passport.  He is recognized as a citizen of Israel.  Many Palestinians are not, for all sorts of reasons, which is a huge part of the problem over there.  But he is.  So He is an Arab Israeli Palestinian Christian.  Even he doesn't know where he fits.

            There are so many ways I could describe our travels over there.  I could speak of the land, the light, and the locations.  I could describe all the many churches vying to be sitting on the "original spot where" something religious maybe happened.  I could describe the crazy mix of old and new, and the march of time in a place nearly older than time.

            But I choose to describe my observations of the people of the land, the desperate religious sincerity, and the age-old battles for dominance and control.  I choose to describe both the beauty and courage, the resilience and hope in the face of the repeated failures of the peace efforts.  And the heart-breaking violence that seems to have a life of its own.  

(Next two pictures: school children, Christian and Muslim, playing soccer together in Ramallah. Will they also grow up to kill or be killed?) 

            At no time did we witness open violence.  We were never exposed to any real danger, ever.  But we witnessed evidence of the tension everywhere we looked.  From the thick razor-wire topped walls that Israel is unremittingly erecting around section after section of Palestinian territory, to the machine gun toting soldiers, to the bullet holes riddling the walls of Jerusalem, we could not help but be aware of the tension.

            These people have lived through things I can't even imagine.  We had to pass through heavily guarded check points.  We had our bus driver yelled at by an angry Israeli guard at one check point.  We had soldiers barely out of their teens march through our bus, examining our passports, machine guns slung on their hips.  One pulled off his sunglasses, and looked just like our neighbour's son, except he had darker hair. 

            Israel is a military state, and every young person must spend two years in the army.   Imagine if we lived there.  That would be every young person you know, taught to handle guns. To shoot to kill.  To obey orders.  To see violence as a common occurrence.  Jake and Sam, Stephanie, and Megan and Kate, Heather and Joshua. . . .  Both my girls, and eventually, Jordan.  And this, not in Canada, but in a country born in the holocaust, and shaped by a lifetime of hatred and oppression.  I simply can't comprehend it.

(picture: overlooking the school's playground in Ramallah) 

            We stayed in Bethlehem first, beyond the wall.  The Palestinians nearest Jerusalem live in some of the worst conditions.  Though our hostel was spacious, clean, and quiet, we saw the rubble and neglect in the streets.  The severe water restrictions were evident in the bathrooms though never shoved in our faces.  Some of us blithely and ignorantly took our long western showers, not realizing the desperate need for every drop behind the walls.  You see,  Bethlehem, a scarce five miles from Jerusalem, is Palestinian.  It is the distance of about eight kilometres from here to the St Jacobs farmers market or from here to Sports World.  For that matter, from here to the Carmel Church, our Swedenborgian cousins.  By now, development is as continuous between Jerusalem and Bethlehem as it is between Good Shepherd and St Jacobs.  It could be one big city except the Israelis have been and still are erecting a wall all around Bethlehem, and all around Ramallah, and around many other places.  Imagine having friends who lived near the St. Jacob's farmer's market who were walled in, and never allowed to leave.  Imagine them cut off from their jobs, their doctors, their families.  Imagine trying to invite them to a wedding or a funeral, and them being refused permission to come.  This is the reality of many Palestinians in Israel.  No wonder many have resorted to violence.  Some are cut off from their family vineyards which have been their livelihood for centuries.  It is arbitrary, cruel, and they are completely powerless.  There is 70% unemployment within these walled areas.

            Seeing the conditions behind the wall and hearing the stories, it was hard not to take sides against the Israelis.  On the first day, a group of us went to visit a Christian school in Ramallah.  Because our bus and tour company had all the right passes and papers, and because tourists bring welcome dollars to Israel, our bus was allowed to traverse the two heavily guarded check points in order to make this trip.  Ramallah, yes, the Ramallah in the news, is another stone's throw out the other side of Jerusalem.  We travelled from the dusty, broken, and run-down Palestinian streets of Bethlehem into the clean, new, well watered and beautifully landscaped Israeli neighbourhoods on the right side of the wall, and then back into the pock-marked, rubble-strewn, and neglected streets of Ramallah.

            We met some of the most courageous and called teachers and volunteers at this school, as in the many other Christian centres we visited.  The school in Ramallah has several hundred pupils from Kindergarten to about grade eight.  They are Muslim and Christian.  Yes, this school welcomes Muslim children, and educates them as Muslims.  The Muslims have separate religion classes from the Christians, but also, all the children have religion together once a week, where they learn about each other's religions as well as the many other religions of the world.  The Christian and Muslim families in these Palestinian territories are bound together by their shared hardship.  They want only peace, and for their suffering to end.

(Picture: Children cluster around Debbie Lou and others of us, including our tall photographer)

            Everything looked normal.  The children's happy voices rang out from the recess yard as we sat and spoke with the head teachers.  Debbie Lou, one of our group who is a music instructor at Wilfrid Laurier, went out to mingle with the children.  When the children learned that she loved music, they wanted to sing her their songs.  One little boy sang her "his song."  The interpreter described the story to Debbie Lou as the little boy happily performed his long composition.  It was a song about his grandfather, who was taken in the night from their home, by soldiers with guns.  It was about how he would never see his grandfather again, and it went on and on.

(Picture: in the crowd is the little boy singing to Debbie Lou.)

            The teachers told us that this type of song is a form of trauma therapy for the children.  That the primary task the teachers face, daily, is helping the children deal with the precariousness of their lives.  Almost nightly, Israeli soldiers come into some part of Ramallah and arrest someone or shoot up a home, occasionally just because they can.  It is a form of intimidation.  It is meant to keep the Palestinians off balance.

            The children come to school chattering about the soldiers being on their street in the night, much the way our kids might chatter about an extra violent thunderstorm or a tornado scare.  This is normal for them.  The safest place these children have is the school.  The teachers do everything they can to help the children, Christian and Muslim together, to feel safe and loved and cared for by God.  Even so, in 2002, the soldiers came to the school during the day. They blasted open the doors and shot up the walls.  When the teachers complained to Isreali officials afterwards they were told, "No one was hurt."

            "No one was hurt."  Imagine if a huge explosion rocketed those doors off their hinges and a mass of armed soldiers stormed in screaming and ordering everyone onto the floor, and then proceeded to shoot up our walls and windows.  Then after yelling at us all and calling us names like filthy terrorists, vile English, dirty Canadians, and threatening to kill us and our families, for several hours, they left. ? !  "No one was hurt," simply doesn't adequately describe the shock we all would have sustained

(picture: One of our Canadian peace-workers, one of the seminary professors, and the brave head teacher of the school.)

            Just looking at the blast-blackened and twisted front doors would be enough to bring all of the emotional trauma back.  And we would be left to pick up the shattered glass, and see our dear sanctuary all bullet-riddled, and try to decide how to go on.

            This is one tiny piece of one tiny reality in all of the stories and sights we heard.  I haven't even told you about the three empty dialysis chairs awaiting children who would never show up that day at the hospital.  The guards at the check-points refused three children permission to come get their dialysis treatments at the hospital.  It makes no sense.  Three children, who would be dead in two days if they are not allowed through the wall to the hospital for their treatments.  That was four months ago.  Are any of them still alive?

            If I think too much about it all, I get choked up.

(picture: The head teacher and some students.)

            The same day that we visited that hospital, we went to the holocaust museum.  We only had a half-hour for the museum, which needed at least three.  I could barely take it in.  I sat and wept and wept.  That night, tempers erupted in our group.  There was shouting and accusations resulting in withdrawal and tears.  We were all dealing with more than we could handle.  The scope of the human on human abuse and horror was more than we were capable of comprehending.  We were shattered.

(Picture:The school pastor looks on and our Canadian tour director talks to the head teacher.)

            We are very sheltered here in Canada.  And we kid ourselves if we think we are incapable of the behaviours we heard of and saw in Israel.  Everyone of us, under the same conditions, would exhibit much the same behaviours.  Just witness the small violence of barking, hurtful accusations that arose in our tiny, peaceful, Canadian group after the one day of witnessing the hospital and the holocaust museum.  We were overwhelmed.  The helplessness and grief had to pour out somehow.  We were able to apologize and heal within 24 hours.  These people are dealing with a legacy of trauma and violence that spans generations, crosses cultures, and touches every one of us.  It's not going to be a simple fix.

            Though it is understandable, the fact of the holocaust does not give Israel a right to bully and oppress the Palestinians.  A battered wife will take a long time, a LONG time before she will trust a man to treat her kindly.  How much more is Israel a battered wife?  The horror of the generations of abuse must work its way out somehow, and it will take time.

            "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem. . . .  How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not ready." (Matt 23:27)

            Before we become too depressed by the stories we've explored together today, before we decide that it is all hopeless and horrible, let's remember that God was born into this very place.  He did not and will not give up on us, though He himself, his beauty and love and truth was spoken into this darkness and treated much the same way.  Standing with and bearing the horror, and still staying open to love is the way out.  And I need not go to Israel to do this work.  I can find it readily in my own family and neighbourhood, and yes, even in our church.

            When you and I work to face and, without passing on the harm, express and release the hurts and little traumas and small betrayals we face within our lives here and now, we are helping to strengthen the great global consciousness of peace and forgiveness.  It has long been known that abuse will be passed on and on until someone is strong enough to stop the transmission.  The abuse will stop when the human race is ready and strong enough and conscious enough to stop it.  AND, what you and I do in our hearts, here and now, today, makes a difference.  Forgiving my brother, my sister, my father, for abuses and hurts in my family, is the way I help the world move toward forgiveness. (picture: watching the children at play)

            Yes, there are many active and hands-on ways we can try to help in Israel.  They need help.  They particularly need volunteers who speak Arabic.  I can put you in touch with any number of ways to provide support and caring if you feel called.

            But more than that, you and I can stand, hand in hand, and believe in peace and forgiveness.  You and I can look fearlessly into the horror and hopelessness and speak love into the darkness.  We are not alone in the desire for peace.  We have God on our side.  And God is infinitely patient and infinitely healing.  If our hearts break at the sights and stories, God's heart breaks a thousand times more.  But while we become weighed down by hopelessness, God has never given up and never will give up.  He knows what He's doing.  Nothing, absolutely nothing is hopeless in God's care.

            As we read in Jeremiah:

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)

            Thank you for listening.  Amen.

Special music  Calling All Angels    by Jane Siberry