Friday, June 27, 2008
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
April 26
I have not walked down this path in a long time. Perhaps I grew overly accustomed to composing sappy vignettes of life in a far off land and then days kept moving forward and I found myself someplace else. And the beauty of life in Upland or Des Moines is more hidden, because my eyes are weak with familiarity. Yet there is grace here. I communicate with the beauty and grace, but also the injustice and iniquity, I encountered in the Middle East through books, articles, people, discussion. They remain my strong companions. This year has been spectacular, terrible, happy, content, betrayed, upland, des moines, los angeles, minneapolis, chicago, bloomigton, engaging, miscommunication, spanish, refugees, heartbreak, new friends, responsibility, cooking, intellectl, spiritual, vulnerable, sad, bored, love. Consider yourself caught up.
This weekend I traveled cross I-80 for the wedding of a friend from my MESP semester. It was in hour 9 of 11 on our way to Ohio that I mentioned the accident. I was thanking Cecka for the note she wrote in Arabic on a big poster Bethel sent to Taylor; it was meant only and specifically for Andrew and I. It was only by coincidence that we actually saw ours names and the few Arabic words on the poster hanging outside the chapel. When I saw it my eyes welled for the one hundred millionth time that week.
Near the end of April I was strung out from long nights of homework and a series of assignmentspaperstests that had left me exhausted. Wednesday I decided to take a day off from homework. I did not know or want that break to stretch into the five day interim that would follow. At 2M’s weekly showing of LOST we saw some new faces of friends who were not regulars, but now their outfits and places on the furniture in our bedroom have become a part of my psyche. I have thought for a long time that I would write this.
Jill is a fair-weathered LOST viewer. Initially, she was intrigued by the cultural indications of the program, but then, about half way through the season when Said tortured that guy she decided she couldn’t take the intensity any longer. Jill still had a presence at our Wednesday night gatherings commenting on the commercials, serving drinks, sitting in for a minute here and there. As the program was ending on April 26 I could hear Jill in the room next door getting ready to meet Courtney to train for the mini marathon they would run in May. Jill called the Hayes House.
And then Courtney’s cell phone.
And Jess’ cell phone.
And whoever else and then Vance Maloney answered one of her calls. A Taylor van has been in an accident. Betsy was on the van. The girls are at the Maloneys praying.
Brent picks up the phone leaning back in the orange chair between the bookshelf and the windowsill. His left arm draped across the arm of the recliner and the phone in his right hand. Randy is not at home. But his wife talks to Brent. He folds his left arm across his chest nodding and making small sounds affirming that he hears her words. There was an accident tonight. Five fatalities. A catering group. Thank God that Andrew, who is a catering manager, is within plain sight. In several moments of twisted selfishness I think: there were two cars in the accident. All the fatalities were in the other vehicle, not mine. And at the same time we bow our heads to pray and tears stream down my face.
The girls hurry back to English to find the news has spread like termites attacking the very core of us. We start checking our email looking for any communication from someone in authority. Anticipating a series of emails that would inform us of our dead classmates, canceled classes, and details for five different funerals. I don’t remember why we decide to go to the chapel. On the way out the door Jill stops to call her mom, because she didn’t want her to find out from someone else. I did not understand that something like this might make the news in Iowa. I called my parents anyway. Andrew calls his parents in Minnesota; I think this is ridiculous because Minnesota is even more removed than Iowa and no one at Taylor died—the fatalities were in the other car, remember.
We arrive at the chapel and people are pouring in. It is hot. It smells rank. It is common knowledge that the chapel cannot hold the entire student body, however, it is rarely full for a regular chapel session. Tonight it is packed, people are standing along the sides of aisles and overflowing to the outside of the chapel. Brittany, Andrew, Jill and I slip up into the balcony. It is quiet. I have a headache and I am wearing too many layers. Someone made an announcement that there were five people killed, all in the Taylor van. Shock rips us wide open and is met with our initial silence. And so sometime between 9:30 and 10:00 pm the waiting ensued.
It is clear that everyone is doing the same thing. I am searching for my friends who work banquets. I am quietly asking if anyone has seen the people I love. Jill slipped downstairs to sit with the girls from the Hayes house. I think I will vomit. I walk to the bathroom where I have walked a hundred times before. I am disoriented and dizzy. My headache gets louder. I see Zack and he looks normal to me. I direct him to the area where Jill had gone. Something in his face feels relief amidst the mounting tension and he joins his friends. I continue to the bathroom. I can breathe a little bit better now. Someone did throw up, but I opted to go back upstairs and find Brittany.
I see Annie Nelson devastated at the thought of losing anyone who works in the DC with her. I hug her, but I still don’t understand what is happening around me. We are slowly finding out whose roommates did not come home by process of elimination, but we still know nothing for sure. We see groups of friends huddled together arms twisting around bodies that had a vicious tragedy to feel unfold.
I see someone gesture from the front of the chapel and watch Betsy’s closest friends file from one pew out of the chapel. I walk around the building and watch them dissolve under the pressure of the grief; they drop to the ground where they stood when they heard their worst fears confirmed. Betsy is gone. Jill is on the phone with her mom; Brittany and I hug her anyway. In the following weeks I heard Jess mention several times the fact that Betsy is dead, as if to remind herself of the fact in the midst of circumstances when that death seeped into every facet of her being. The girls did not return to the house for a long time. I saw them the next day in the same clothes. I know because I remember Courtney was wearing white pants. After a while I hugged them hoping that something unspeakable would wordlessly pass between our bodies. Later, we mowed their lawn.
Excruciating hours drag on. Someone moves to the piano we sing hymns and wait. Some students who have felt great losses speak words to us, but I feel like there is cotton in my ears. Jill, Brittany and I relocate to the left aisle of the chapel and sit on the floor there. Nearby First North, Laurel’s wing, huddles together. We are all crying. Phil arrived at some point and sat next to us on the ground. I am glad he is near. I am glad that he is just as confused as me. He prays with us. More hours pass. I do not think my eyes have anymore tears to cry, but somehow they keep coming.
When I think about it now I cannot remember who announced the names of the students who died. There was Randy, Wynn Lembright, Dr. Habecker standing in front of us crying. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning somebody reads the list of names: Monica Felver, Whitney Cerak, Brad Larson, Betsy Smith, Laurel Erb. Wails break from the lips of friends who had been waiting to hear the worst and hoping to hear the best. The entire chapel heaved enormous sobs together. Hundreds of us feeling the grief sear our bodies. Marylou hugs me she is wearing something pink. The throbbing in my head continues. I do not remember how we decided to go home. I do not remember how I finally fell asleep, exhausted, around 3:30 am.
Thursday morning my face is swollen from crying. Chorale will sing at the chapel. I do not know what to wear. I cannot stop crying. We sing my favorite song: My Shepard. Later we will sing other songs that are eerily appropriate for the occasion. We stumble through the next days. We must remember to love each other. We have to remember to grieve with hope for a new day.
This weekend I traveled cross I-80 for the wedding of a friend from my MESP semester. It was in hour 9 of 11 on our way to Ohio that I mentioned the accident. I was thanking Cecka for the note she wrote in Arabic on a big poster Bethel sent to Taylor; it was meant only and specifically for Andrew and I. It was only by coincidence that we actually saw ours names and the few Arabic words on the poster hanging outside the chapel. When I saw it my eyes welled for the one hundred millionth time that week.
Near the end of April I was strung out from long nights of homework and a series of assignmentspaperstests that had left me exhausted. Wednesday I decided to take a day off from homework. I did not know or want that break to stretch into the five day interim that would follow. At 2M’s weekly showing of LOST we saw some new faces of friends who were not regulars, but now their outfits and places on the furniture in our bedroom have become a part of my psyche. I have thought for a long time that I would write this.
Jill is a fair-weathered LOST viewer. Initially, she was intrigued by the cultural indications of the program, but then, about half way through the season when Said tortured that guy she decided she couldn’t take the intensity any longer. Jill still had a presence at our Wednesday night gatherings commenting on the commercials, serving drinks, sitting in for a minute here and there. As the program was ending on April 26 I could hear Jill in the room next door getting ready to meet Courtney to train for the mini marathon they would run in May. Jill called the Hayes House.
And then Courtney’s cell phone.
And Jess’ cell phone.
And whoever else and then Vance Maloney answered one of her calls. A Taylor van has been in an accident. Betsy was on the van. The girls are at the Maloneys praying.
Brent picks up the phone leaning back in the orange chair between the bookshelf and the windowsill. His left arm draped across the arm of the recliner and the phone in his right hand. Randy is not at home. But his wife talks to Brent. He folds his left arm across his chest nodding and making small sounds affirming that he hears her words. There was an accident tonight. Five fatalities. A catering group. Thank God that Andrew, who is a catering manager, is within plain sight. In several moments of twisted selfishness I think: there were two cars in the accident. All the fatalities were in the other vehicle, not mine. And at the same time we bow our heads to pray and tears stream down my face.
The girls hurry back to English to find the news has spread like termites attacking the very core of us. We start checking our email looking for any communication from someone in authority. Anticipating a series of emails that would inform us of our dead classmates, canceled classes, and details for five different funerals. I don’t remember why we decide to go to the chapel. On the way out the door Jill stops to call her mom, because she didn’t want her to find out from someone else. I did not understand that something like this might make the news in Iowa. I called my parents anyway. Andrew calls his parents in Minnesota; I think this is ridiculous because Minnesota is even more removed than Iowa and no one at Taylor died—the fatalities were in the other car, remember.
We arrive at the chapel and people are pouring in. It is hot. It smells rank. It is common knowledge that the chapel cannot hold the entire student body, however, it is rarely full for a regular chapel session. Tonight it is packed, people are standing along the sides of aisles and overflowing to the outside of the chapel. Brittany, Andrew, Jill and I slip up into the balcony. It is quiet. I have a headache and I am wearing too many layers. Someone made an announcement that there were five people killed, all in the Taylor van. Shock rips us wide open and is met with our initial silence. And so sometime between 9:30 and 10:00 pm the waiting ensued.
It is clear that everyone is doing the same thing. I am searching for my friends who work banquets. I am quietly asking if anyone has seen the people I love. Jill slipped downstairs to sit with the girls from the Hayes house. I think I will vomit. I walk to the bathroom where I have walked a hundred times before. I am disoriented and dizzy. My headache gets louder. I see Zack and he looks normal to me. I direct him to the area where Jill had gone. Something in his face feels relief amidst the mounting tension and he joins his friends. I continue to the bathroom. I can breathe a little bit better now. Someone did throw up, but I opted to go back upstairs and find Brittany.
I see Annie Nelson devastated at the thought of losing anyone who works in the DC with her. I hug her, but I still don’t understand what is happening around me. We are slowly finding out whose roommates did not come home by process of elimination, but we still know nothing for sure. We see groups of friends huddled together arms twisting around bodies that had a vicious tragedy to feel unfold.
I see someone gesture from the front of the chapel and watch Betsy’s closest friends file from one pew out of the chapel. I walk around the building and watch them dissolve under the pressure of the grief; they drop to the ground where they stood when they heard their worst fears confirmed. Betsy is gone. Jill is on the phone with her mom; Brittany and I hug her anyway. In the following weeks I heard Jess mention several times the fact that Betsy is dead, as if to remind herself of the fact in the midst of circumstances when that death seeped into every facet of her being. The girls did not return to the house for a long time. I saw them the next day in the same clothes. I know because I remember Courtney was wearing white pants. After a while I hugged them hoping that something unspeakable would wordlessly pass between our bodies. Later, we mowed their lawn.
Excruciating hours drag on. Someone moves to the piano we sing hymns and wait. Some students who have felt great losses speak words to us, but I feel like there is cotton in my ears. Jill, Brittany and I relocate to the left aisle of the chapel and sit on the floor there. Nearby First North, Laurel’s wing, huddles together. We are all crying. Phil arrived at some point and sat next to us on the ground. I am glad he is near. I am glad that he is just as confused as me. He prays with us. More hours pass. I do not think my eyes have anymore tears to cry, but somehow they keep coming.
When I think about it now I cannot remember who announced the names of the students who died. There was Randy, Wynn Lembright, Dr. Habecker standing in front of us crying. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning somebody reads the list of names: Monica Felver, Whitney Cerak, Brad Larson, Betsy Smith, Laurel Erb. Wails break from the lips of friends who had been waiting to hear the worst and hoping to hear the best. The entire chapel heaved enormous sobs together. Hundreds of us feeling the grief sear our bodies. Marylou hugs me she is wearing something pink. The throbbing in my head continues. I do not remember how we decided to go home. I do not remember how I finally fell asleep, exhausted, around 3:30 am.
Thursday morning my face is swollen from crying. Chorale will sing at the chapel. I do not know what to wear. I cannot stop crying. We sing my favorite song: My Shepard. Later we will sing other songs that are eerily appropriate for the occasion. We stumble through the next days. We must remember to love each other. We have to remember to grieve with hope for a new day.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
The Other Middle Eastern Country
Well, I'm back by popular demand. I'm finally home in Des Moines and several readers have complained that my blog has not had a proper measure of closure. I apologize for my delinquency. I will now attempt to summarize the events of the past 30 days or so and bring some kind of finality to this four month journey.
I believe at the time of my last post I was just finishing packing up my flat in Agouza. That next day we had the Ma'Salaama (go in peace) party and twelve of the twenty-four MESPers got on a bus and after some opposition from the tourist police (really, could we have expected anything less?) headed to the Cairo Airport for the last time. On April 27, there in the middle of the night on a familiar road in Agouza a long series of goodbyes began that would not end until I said my final goodbye to my dear friend Barrett at JFK on May 18. It was something like a breaking of the fellowship. Heartwrenching really. I hate goodbye.
Bright and early on April 28 Monica, Ulasich, Dena, Josiah, Kroeze and I got on a bus headed toward the Israeli border at Taba. The ride through the Siani desert was beautiful, easy, and uneventful. The border crossing went smoothly with only one small incident of racial profiling. The Israelis didn't believe Monica was born in Texas they actually laughed when they read her passport. What's so unusual about an Egyptian born in Texas? Or maybe its just that Texas, in general, is a funny place. They think they're a separate country.
We came in through Eliat a beach town where modern Israel is in full swing. In Israel everyone, men and women alike, serve in the military. And after you have served in the military you are allowed and even encouraged to carry guns. Let me tell you, after the modesty of Islamic Cairo it was quite a shock to see some girl in a bikini with an M16 slung over her shoulder. Welcome to Israel, everyone, where the security is for real.
We arrived in Jerusalem after dark that night and successfully navigated our way to The Hebron (formerly Tabasco--there were copyright issues) Hostel that we would make our home for the next seven days. We met Denny and Barrett there. It was rather cozy all eight of us in that little dorm. Ibrahim, the man in charge (we think), is obessesive compulsive so that works out nicely; the place is absolutely spotless. The place is located in the Muslim Quarter of the Old City and it looks something like the set of City of Heaven. Orlando Bloom really is very talented.
Gosh, we did a lot in those seven days a sunrise hike to Masada, Mt. of Olives, Dead Sea (revisited), Dome of the Rock and al-Aqsa Mosque, the Wall, Bethlehem, Ramallah and Arafat's grave, Via Dolorosa, Garden of Gethsemne, Church of the Holy sepulcher, the ramparts, Nad Yashim (Holocaust Museum), East Jerusalem, the Knesset (the very disappointing Israeli parliament building), and an Orthodox Jewish Neighborhood in West Jerusalem. Wow, I bet that was boring to read.
So here are some of my impressions of Jerusalem. The weekend we arrived just happened to be Easter and Passover, so the city was absolutely teeming with pilgrims. We were witnesses to organized religion at its best (imagine my voice dripping with sarcasm). The Church of the Holy sepulcher is located in the heart of the Old City. This single building claims to house the location of the crucifixion and the tomb. Geographically speaking this seems unlikely. Denny says its commemorative. Okay. So, we went there on Good Friday--it was packed. I won't lie there was pushing and shoving and a little bit of shouting to control the crowds swarming the tomb. I got pushed by a bishop. I suppose I was in his way, but a simple "excuse me" would have achieved the same end. All the same, who else do you know that can say they got pushed by a bishop in the Church of the Holy sepulcher on Good Friday, no less?
Walking the streets of the Old City we found ourselves behind two Orthodox Jews. We knew they were Orthodox because they dress all in black in suits reminiscent of the 15th-16th century and wear side curls. We watched one of them stop twice to spit in baskets of crosses that were being sold on the side of the road.
The Dome of the Rock is the third most holy site in Islam. It is a building that commemorates Muhamad's Night Journey to Jerusalem. Its that huge golden dome that marks the skyline in any picture you see of Jerusalem. We visited that sight one afternoon, it really was remarkable, a place of peace for the Muslims of Jerusalem who were having picnics and playing together. You could almost forget the conflict of the place. That is until a small child you just had a relatively civil conversation with throws a rock at you as you walk away (no injuries were sustained in this incident).
I tell you those three incidents to tell you that a lot of what I saw in Jerusalem was rather unsettling. I felt perfectly safe, but the air in that city is thick with tension. So when you ask me, "how was Israel/Palestine?" And I answer, ''it was weird," that's what I am referring to. We experienced the checkpoints that are restricting Palestinian movement and saw the wall (to the Israelis "security fence" and to Palestinians "apartheid wall"). The wall is a massive cement slab marking the hills of Jerusalem, bigger than the Berlin Wall, it is costing millions of dollars per meter to build, but the Israelis claim it is temporary considering it is direct violation with International Law. An air of desperation marks the West Bank--I'm not really surprised as they are effectively being walled into a prescribed area of Israeli choosing.
We spent our last three days in the North. We rented a car and headed to Ibillin where Abuna Chacour's (the Palestinian Christian father) parish is. We spent some time with that wise man, visiting the school, and chatting with some of the volunteers at the Mar Elias Educational Institute. Abuna's goal is reconciliation between Palestinians and Jews. I have much to learn from men like him.
Next stop was Tiberas where we spent some time at the Sea of Galilee visited Capernum and the Mt. of Beatitudes. Our drives in the Galilean countryside were breathtaking. Someone remarked that they understood why Jesus chose to hang out there so much. On the morning the boys took us to the airport in Tel Aviv we stopped at Nazareth. The church there has mosaics of Mary donated from countries around the world. Interesting how the mosaics from Asia represented Mary as Asian, the Europeans see her as white, and the Africans colored her skin dark. What kind of cultural lens do I view my Christianity? Gosh, and I thought I was being so objective in this fading age of reason...
So was my journey to the "Holy Land" a spiritual experience? The answer is yes. But the answer is yes because I spent my time with these six remarkable people. Because we enjoyed nature together. Because someone strapped on the headlamp each night before bed and read to us from the Bible. Because I got to see Abuna Chacour again. Because of laughter. Because I'm memorizing the Sermon on the Mount. The sights were interesting, but they did not thrill me the way these other things did. I want to go back--there is some much more history, politics, and religion to take in. So many more people to talk to. So many more stories to hear.
That went a lot longer than expected and I haven't even brought you back to Cairo. I'll finish up on another day. Hold out just a little longer for that promised closure.
I believe at the time of my last post I was just finishing packing up my flat in Agouza. That next day we had the Ma'Salaama (go in peace) party and twelve of the twenty-four MESPers got on a bus and after some opposition from the tourist police (really, could we have expected anything less?) headed to the Cairo Airport for the last time. On April 27, there in the middle of the night on a familiar road in Agouza a long series of goodbyes began that would not end until I said my final goodbye to my dear friend Barrett at JFK on May 18. It was something like a breaking of the fellowship. Heartwrenching really. I hate goodbye.
Bright and early on April 28 Monica, Ulasich, Dena, Josiah, Kroeze and I got on a bus headed toward the Israeli border at Taba. The ride through the Siani desert was beautiful, easy, and uneventful. The border crossing went smoothly with only one small incident of racial profiling. The Israelis didn't believe Monica was born in Texas they actually laughed when they read her passport. What's so unusual about an Egyptian born in Texas? Or maybe its just that Texas, in general, is a funny place. They think they're a separate country.
We came in through Eliat a beach town where modern Israel is in full swing. In Israel everyone, men and women alike, serve in the military. And after you have served in the military you are allowed and even encouraged to carry guns. Let me tell you, after the modesty of Islamic Cairo it was quite a shock to see some girl in a bikini with an M16 slung over her shoulder. Welcome to Israel, everyone, where the security is for real.
We arrived in Jerusalem after dark that night and successfully navigated our way to The Hebron (formerly Tabasco--there were copyright issues) Hostel that we would make our home for the next seven days. We met Denny and Barrett there. It was rather cozy all eight of us in that little dorm. Ibrahim, the man in charge (we think), is obessesive compulsive so that works out nicely; the place is absolutely spotless. The place is located in the Muslim Quarter of the Old City and it looks something like the set of City of Heaven. Orlando Bloom really is very talented.
Gosh, we did a lot in those seven days a sunrise hike to Masada, Mt. of Olives, Dead Sea (revisited), Dome of the Rock and al-Aqsa Mosque, the Wall, Bethlehem, Ramallah and Arafat's grave, Via Dolorosa, Garden of Gethsemne, Church of the Holy sepulcher, the ramparts, Nad Yashim (Holocaust Museum), East Jerusalem, the Knesset (the very disappointing Israeli parliament building), and an Orthodox Jewish Neighborhood in West Jerusalem. Wow, I bet that was boring to read.
So here are some of my impressions of Jerusalem. The weekend we arrived just happened to be Easter and Passover, so the city was absolutely teeming with pilgrims. We were witnesses to organized religion at its best (imagine my voice dripping with sarcasm). The Church of the Holy sepulcher is located in the heart of the Old City. This single building claims to house the location of the crucifixion and the tomb. Geographically speaking this seems unlikely. Denny says its commemorative. Okay. So, we went there on Good Friday--it was packed. I won't lie there was pushing and shoving and a little bit of shouting to control the crowds swarming the tomb. I got pushed by a bishop. I suppose I was in his way, but a simple "excuse me" would have achieved the same end. All the same, who else do you know that can say they got pushed by a bishop in the Church of the Holy sepulcher on Good Friday, no less?
Walking the streets of the Old City we found ourselves behind two Orthodox Jews. We knew they were Orthodox because they dress all in black in suits reminiscent of the 15th-16th century and wear side curls. We watched one of them stop twice to spit in baskets of crosses that were being sold on the side of the road.
The Dome of the Rock is the third most holy site in Islam. It is a building that commemorates Muhamad's Night Journey to Jerusalem. Its that huge golden dome that marks the skyline in any picture you see of Jerusalem. We visited that sight one afternoon, it really was remarkable, a place of peace for the Muslims of Jerusalem who were having picnics and playing together. You could almost forget the conflict of the place. That is until a small child you just had a relatively civil conversation with throws a rock at you as you walk away (no injuries were sustained in this incident).
I tell you those three incidents to tell you that a lot of what I saw in Jerusalem was rather unsettling. I felt perfectly safe, but the air in that city is thick with tension. So when you ask me, "how was Israel/Palestine?" And I answer, ''it was weird," that's what I am referring to. We experienced the checkpoints that are restricting Palestinian movement and saw the wall (to the Israelis "security fence" and to Palestinians "apartheid wall"). The wall is a massive cement slab marking the hills of Jerusalem, bigger than the Berlin Wall, it is costing millions of dollars per meter to build, but the Israelis claim it is temporary considering it is direct violation with International Law. An air of desperation marks the West Bank--I'm not really surprised as they are effectively being walled into a prescribed area of Israeli choosing.
We spent our last three days in the North. We rented a car and headed to Ibillin where Abuna Chacour's (the Palestinian Christian father) parish is. We spent some time with that wise man, visiting the school, and chatting with some of the volunteers at the Mar Elias Educational Institute. Abuna's goal is reconciliation between Palestinians and Jews. I have much to learn from men like him.
Next stop was Tiberas where we spent some time at the Sea of Galilee visited Capernum and the Mt. of Beatitudes. Our drives in the Galilean countryside were breathtaking. Someone remarked that they understood why Jesus chose to hang out there so much. On the morning the boys took us to the airport in Tel Aviv we stopped at Nazareth. The church there has mosaics of Mary donated from countries around the world. Interesting how the mosaics from Asia represented Mary as Asian, the Europeans see her as white, and the Africans colored her skin dark. What kind of cultural lens do I view my Christianity? Gosh, and I thought I was being so objective in this fading age of reason...
So was my journey to the "Holy Land" a spiritual experience? The answer is yes. But the answer is yes because I spent my time with these six remarkable people. Because we enjoyed nature together. Because someone strapped on the headlamp each night before bed and read to us from the Bible. Because I got to see Abuna Chacour again. Because of laughter. Because I'm memorizing the Sermon on the Mount. The sights were interesting, but they did not thrill me the way these other things did. I want to go back--there is some much more history, politics, and religion to take in. So many more people to talk to. So many more stories to hear.
That went a lot longer than expected and I haven't even brought you back to Cairo. I'll finish up on another day. Hold out just a little longer for that promised closure.
Monday, April 25, 2005
Sinai Liberation Day
Twice in one day. I must be avoiding packing.
Happy Sinai Liberation Day. You think I'm kidding--its a national holiday. In 1973 Sadat signed a peace with Israel and got the Sinai back; later he was shot for it. Ironic how peace works around here. Word on the street has it that Mubarak gave a seven hour speech today concerning the momentous event. Wish I could've been there.
Actually, this weekend I was at a Coptic retreat center about an hour outside of Cairo called Anafora. Saturday, was maybe one of the best days of my life. All my essays were finished and I could do nothing to plan for the next stage of life. Anafora is so granola, as Claire would say. They grow their own food, all completely organic, so that they don't have to buy bread that is subsidized by superpowers that will remain unnamed. We stayed in rooms that are shaped so that they stay cool in the day time and warm at night. Chelsea, Dina and I shared a bed that was covered by a mosquito net and pretended that we were jungle princesses. They don't use electricty, just candles. I did get eaten alive by mosquitos before I got in bed the first night, but I suppose that's the price you have to pay. We finished reading The Little Prince, and I decided that I never want to become like the grown-ups. I wish you could all come to Anafora with me; this is a place that will live in my memory representing a moment of peace.
Tommorow about half of the group will get on a plane to America and we will say a goodbye that doesn't have an "I'll see you when" on the other end. We're planning a reunion at my house someday, because I'm Egyptian and we can eat Bilila every morning at my house. After that my daddy and sister are coming. Yesss, I can wait to see them. My adventure isn't over though, my sister is joining me and six of my friends in a journey to the "other middle eastern country". Next Sunday I'll celebrate my second Easter of this year in Jerusalem. Did you know the Eastern and Western churches celebrate Easter on different days? They do.
Its time to go now. There are words to say, movies to watch, and things to pack. I just thought I'd drop a note and give you a reason to celebrate today--I mean the Sinai is as good a reason as any.
Happy Sinai Liberation Day. You think I'm kidding--its a national holiday. In 1973 Sadat signed a peace with Israel and got the Sinai back; later he was shot for it. Ironic how peace works around here. Word on the street has it that Mubarak gave a seven hour speech today concerning the momentous event. Wish I could've been there.
Actually, this weekend I was at a Coptic retreat center about an hour outside of Cairo called Anafora. Saturday, was maybe one of the best days of my life. All my essays were finished and I could do nothing to plan for the next stage of life. Anafora is so granola, as Claire would say. They grow their own food, all completely organic, so that they don't have to buy bread that is subsidized by superpowers that will remain unnamed. We stayed in rooms that are shaped so that they stay cool in the day time and warm at night. Chelsea, Dina and I shared a bed that was covered by a mosquito net and pretended that we were jungle princesses. They don't use electricty, just candles. I did get eaten alive by mosquitos before I got in bed the first night, but I suppose that's the price you have to pay. We finished reading The Little Prince, and I decided that I never want to become like the grown-ups. I wish you could all come to Anafora with me; this is a place that will live in my memory representing a moment of peace.
Tommorow about half of the group will get on a plane to America and we will say a goodbye that doesn't have an "I'll see you when" on the other end. We're planning a reunion at my house someday, because I'm Egyptian and we can eat Bilila every morning at my house. After that my daddy and sister are coming. Yesss, I can wait to see them. My adventure isn't over though, my sister is joining me and six of my friends in a journey to the "other middle eastern country". Next Sunday I'll celebrate my second Easter of this year in Jerusalem. Did you know the Eastern and Western churches celebrate Easter on different days? They do.
Its time to go now. There are words to say, movies to watch, and things to pack. I just thought I'd drop a note and give you a reason to celebrate today--I mean the Sinai is as good a reason as any.
The Abuna
This is an essay I wrote for Conflict and Change. It might be a little out of context--its a lot of stuff I've been thinking about in life. Enjoy if you will.
Faith Like a Child
Whoever then humbles himself as this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. (Matt. 18:4)
Abuna Elias Chacour stepped into a room lined with students who had waited with excited anticipation to meet the man from Galilee and author of We Belong to the Land; they smiled, he sat down, looked around the room and told the students that their smiles meant hope. A strong advocate of peace, dignity, and justice, Abuna Chacour lives a life of conviction. Not only listening to the word of God, but also doing what it says. With that said there were many points the Abuna made that resonated truth, while other elements of his message were unsettling. It is beneficial to consider what I found to be strong points of the Abuna’s message, but I will also explore those aspects that are more difficult to accept.
Abuna Chacour often remembers the words of his father when discussing the reason for the life he lives. A statement he repeated both in his book and to the students is this: “We are not allowed to repay injustice with injustice.” Abuna went on to explain that when an injustice is committed no amount of reparations can heal the wound. The question then follows: what shall the wounded do with their pain? Each one should remember, so that the injustice will not be repeated and others’ suffering will be circumvented. This premise sets up a radical model for reconciliation and forgiveness. In other words, those wronged must forgive without forgetting. In practical terms, Abuna has not forgotten his right to return to his land in Biram, but he will not return by force or at the expense of others. He went on to describe the ability to forgive as a gift from God.
This model is righteous and just. The Abuna takes the moral high road free of any residue of vengeance that one might expect to observe. Yet, these ideas are radical and forgiveness is difficult, indeed, a favor from God. How can the Abuna expect individuals on the ground to adapt this moral high ground? This question leads to a fundamental difference between traditional western Christian belief and the Abuna’s ideas. In the face of every human being, the Abuna sees God. There is not a trace of the idea of “sin nature” anywhere in his theology. He speaks of cooperation and the global community, but in glance around the world I am confronted with pain and suffering at every turn. I do agree that man was created in the image of God. There is something sacred and unique in the fact that each face I see bears the image the Creator, and so I wrestle to reconcile the evil in the world with the status of mankind as children of God. I Corinthians 13 emphasizes the essentiality of love and hope to life on this earth, these things cannot, must not be forgotten. The Abuna told us that revenge is easier than forgiveness, but then calls mankind to a higher standard. Skepticism and the threat of mutual self-destruction cast shadows on this idealism. Perhaps the Abuna’s hope in mankind is what Jesus meant when he spoke of becoming like a child. I do not take these ideas lightly, for Abuna Chacour is a well-thought out man not only does he speak these ideals he also lives them by faith.
I am confronted with an even greater challenge when I turn to the Arab-Israeli conflict. The Abuna presented the conflict as an existential problem; he described it not as war of religion, but a war of identical claims on the land by two nations. Later, he presented a type of solution in a single statement: if the Israelis want peace and security, then they must pursue justice and dignity. If God is a God of justice, then it must follow that when justice is served then there will be peace. In this way, the Abuna presented the interests of the two sides as synonymous. Studying the conflict for a week brings me to the understanding that the interests of the two sides are not synonymous, in fact, many interests are mutually exclusive. Then, do I give up resigning the people of the area to destruction? This cannot be the answer, because the Bible calls for hope and compassion.
The proactive paradigm of Abuna Chacour is inspiring and indeed makes practical sense in this life that I am living. Chapter seventeen of We Belong to the Land is entitled: Get Up, Go Ahead, Do Something, Move! The Abuna explained that this call to action is his translation for the word “blessed” in the context of the beatitudes (Matt. 5). The problem of suffering in the world is daunting; an individual cannot alleviate the pain of mankind. And yet, this invitation to do something, to move situates the ideas of hope and justice on a micro level and in a position where progress can be achieved. When the Abuna bids me get up, go ahead, do something, move I hear the voice of Jesus calling me to follow him. He has not asked me to change the world, but he has called me beyond apathetic living. I cannot solve the problem of two nations with identical claims, but I can respond to the girl crying in the dorm room next door. I cannot write a theory for racial reconciliation in the United States, but I can go to intercity Marion and show Netnet she is loved.
Although it is more tangible to “do something” about injustice on the local level, thinking about suffering on the global level must not be forgotten. There is a place for study and compassion of areas I have never been and people I have never met. A comprehension of the larger world aids in understanding my own neighborhood in Upland, Indiana. Understanding the desperation that leads a person to use a bomb to kill himself and bystanders shows what a life void of hope looks like.
Violence, desperation, and injustice are universal, the example of Abuna Chacour, Ghandi, and Martin Luther King Jr. point to answers of peace, hope, and justice. The life of Abuna Elias Chacour is a direct response to the hope that he retains in the goodness of mankind and the justice of God. Perhaps his idealism is reflective of the foolishness of a little child, but recall, Jesus called his followers to faith like a child. Doctrinal differences aside, Abuna Chacour is living his life by the standards of the upside down kingdom that Jesus established in his followers. Struggling to understand I sojourn onward, and perchance someday I too will become like a child.
Faith Like a Child
Whoever then humbles himself as this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. (Matt. 18:4)
Abuna Elias Chacour stepped into a room lined with students who had waited with excited anticipation to meet the man from Galilee and author of We Belong to the Land; they smiled, he sat down, looked around the room and told the students that their smiles meant hope. A strong advocate of peace, dignity, and justice, Abuna Chacour lives a life of conviction. Not only listening to the word of God, but also doing what it says. With that said there were many points the Abuna made that resonated truth, while other elements of his message were unsettling. It is beneficial to consider what I found to be strong points of the Abuna’s message, but I will also explore those aspects that are more difficult to accept.
Abuna Chacour often remembers the words of his father when discussing the reason for the life he lives. A statement he repeated both in his book and to the students is this: “We are not allowed to repay injustice with injustice.” Abuna went on to explain that when an injustice is committed no amount of reparations can heal the wound. The question then follows: what shall the wounded do with their pain? Each one should remember, so that the injustice will not be repeated and others’ suffering will be circumvented. This premise sets up a radical model for reconciliation and forgiveness. In other words, those wronged must forgive without forgetting. In practical terms, Abuna has not forgotten his right to return to his land in Biram, but he will not return by force or at the expense of others. He went on to describe the ability to forgive as a gift from God.
This model is righteous and just. The Abuna takes the moral high road free of any residue of vengeance that one might expect to observe. Yet, these ideas are radical and forgiveness is difficult, indeed, a favor from God. How can the Abuna expect individuals on the ground to adapt this moral high ground? This question leads to a fundamental difference between traditional western Christian belief and the Abuna’s ideas. In the face of every human being, the Abuna sees God. There is not a trace of the idea of “sin nature” anywhere in his theology. He speaks of cooperation and the global community, but in glance around the world I am confronted with pain and suffering at every turn. I do agree that man was created in the image of God. There is something sacred and unique in the fact that each face I see bears the image the Creator, and so I wrestle to reconcile the evil in the world with the status of mankind as children of God. I Corinthians 13 emphasizes the essentiality of love and hope to life on this earth, these things cannot, must not be forgotten. The Abuna told us that revenge is easier than forgiveness, but then calls mankind to a higher standard. Skepticism and the threat of mutual self-destruction cast shadows on this idealism. Perhaps the Abuna’s hope in mankind is what Jesus meant when he spoke of becoming like a child. I do not take these ideas lightly, for Abuna Chacour is a well-thought out man not only does he speak these ideals he also lives them by faith.
I am confronted with an even greater challenge when I turn to the Arab-Israeli conflict. The Abuna presented the conflict as an existential problem; he described it not as war of religion, but a war of identical claims on the land by two nations. Later, he presented a type of solution in a single statement: if the Israelis want peace and security, then they must pursue justice and dignity. If God is a God of justice, then it must follow that when justice is served then there will be peace. In this way, the Abuna presented the interests of the two sides as synonymous. Studying the conflict for a week brings me to the understanding that the interests of the two sides are not synonymous, in fact, many interests are mutually exclusive. Then, do I give up resigning the people of the area to destruction? This cannot be the answer, because the Bible calls for hope and compassion.
The proactive paradigm of Abuna Chacour is inspiring and indeed makes practical sense in this life that I am living. Chapter seventeen of We Belong to the Land is entitled: Get Up, Go Ahead, Do Something, Move! The Abuna explained that this call to action is his translation for the word “blessed” in the context of the beatitudes (Matt. 5). The problem of suffering in the world is daunting; an individual cannot alleviate the pain of mankind. And yet, this invitation to do something, to move situates the ideas of hope and justice on a micro level and in a position where progress can be achieved. When the Abuna bids me get up, go ahead, do something, move I hear the voice of Jesus calling me to follow him. He has not asked me to change the world, but he has called me beyond apathetic living. I cannot solve the problem of two nations with identical claims, but I can respond to the girl crying in the dorm room next door. I cannot write a theory for racial reconciliation in the United States, but I can go to intercity Marion and show Netnet she is loved.
Although it is more tangible to “do something” about injustice on the local level, thinking about suffering on the global level must not be forgotten. There is a place for study and compassion of areas I have never been and people I have never met. A comprehension of the larger world aids in understanding my own neighborhood in Upland, Indiana. Understanding the desperation that leads a person to use a bomb to kill himself and bystanders shows what a life void of hope looks like.
Violence, desperation, and injustice are universal, the example of Abuna Chacour, Ghandi, and Martin Luther King Jr. point to answers of peace, hope, and justice. The life of Abuna Elias Chacour is a direct response to the hope that he retains in the goodness of mankind and the justice of God. Perhaps his idealism is reflective of the foolishness of a little child, but recall, Jesus called his followers to faith like a child. Doctrinal differences aside, Abuna Chacour is living his life by the standards of the upside down kingdom that Jesus established in his followers. Struggling to understand I sojourn onward, and perchance someday I too will become like a child.
Monday, April 18, 2005
To Whom it May Concern
Sorry, to those of you this doesn't concern.
Des Moines girls. Why is it that we have fallen out of contact? I mean, I'm probably the worst--couldn't even find your email addresses a couple of months a ago when I had the desire to send you a mass email. Natalie Fatalie, thanks for your comments--I'm excited about Africa. Lisa--I didn't forget your birthday. I was in the middle of Turkey on the day and I thought of you and I remembered how at Challenge we staged your birthday and made you a cake, but it wasn't your birthday at all. Feigan, my CCU friend and I talk about you all the time, and I wonder how things are going for you at your new school--thanks for you note. Anyway the point of this is that I want you (any or all of you) to send me an email so that I can make contact with you again. I love you all.
Des Moines girls. Why is it that we have fallen out of contact? I mean, I'm probably the worst--couldn't even find your email addresses a couple of months a ago when I had the desire to send you a mass email. Natalie Fatalie, thanks for your comments--I'm excited about Africa. Lisa--I didn't forget your birthday. I was in the middle of Turkey on the day and I thought of you and I remembered how at Challenge we staged your birthday and made you a cake, but it wasn't your birthday at all. Feigan, my CCU friend and I talk about you all the time, and I wonder how things are going for you at your new school--thanks for you note. Anyway the point of this is that I want you (any or all of you) to send me an email so that I can make contact with you again. I love you all.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
The "g" is Silent
There are gnats everywhere. The "g" is silent, one of the girls so kindly informs me. Yes, I know the "g" is silent. What you don't know is that I love to mispronounce words, it gives me a strange kind of joy. That was a tangent. I was telling you about gnats. There are clouds of them everywhere I was walking around at dusk today and I just kept my hand at the level of my eyes to shoo them away. They are seeping into every proverbial nook and cranny of our flat; their dead bodies lay scattered in our kitchen, bathrooms, and bedroom. Emily thinks they're a remnant of the plague. At least they're not cockroaches; we found a couple of those last week and I screamed. Not sure why. Just did.
I hung out with my Aunt Amani the other day. We visited the "Middle East Map Makers" located on the second floor of an unmarked building. Up winding stairs a little man sits at his desk surrounded by maps measuring and sketching with tremendous care. He asks visitors to sit down in his tiny office and exchange pleasantries. A good time was had by all.
Sick a gnat just fell off the ceiling and down my shirt.
Next we visited a bookstore that was eerily similar to Barnes and Noble except with an Egyptian twist. Then we were headed to a hafla (party) in Zamalek at my Uncle Fouad's place. That's when we were distracted by the flat that my dad lived in as a kid and my parents lived in right after they were married. It was in shambles, because they are redoing it, but I stood there imagining the young couple making the small space a home and my heart was glad. There was a Harley-Davidson chilling in the lobby of the building and I smiled. Next we headed down an alley near the flat where we happened to run into the man who used to dress up as Santa Clause at Christmas time for the benefit of my dad and his sister (Amani). The weird thing is he doesn't look like he could be more than fifty, but he has to be because he was an adult when my dad was a kid. Unsolved mysteries of Cairo.
There was a man selling chicks on the street the other day. Yep, little bouncy balls of yellow feathers for sale. Later that day I found out that one of the boys had bought two of the small chickens and took them home as pets (Are pets allowed? Not sure). The chicks were named Peeps and Momken they were fast friends, that is until one night when the boys brought the chicks to a MESP gathering. They were the life of the party until Peeps, at least we think it was Peeps, met his untimely demise under the crushing weight of an unsuspecting foot. Good thing I wasn't in the room when his guts splattered everywhere, there may have been more screaming.
Here's something I hate: Empty dorm rooms. This will all be over soon. Flashbacks to a cold December night standing in the English parking lot. I hate the concept of moving out--maybe that explains my aversion to packing. At least we'll live together again soon.
Welcome home Costa Rica. You and your family are on my heart and it cries for you.
Goodbye and Goodnight. As Margaret would say P in the ME.
I hung out with my Aunt Amani the other day. We visited the "Middle East Map Makers" located on the second floor of an unmarked building. Up winding stairs a little man sits at his desk surrounded by maps measuring and sketching with tremendous care. He asks visitors to sit down in his tiny office and exchange pleasantries. A good time was had by all.
Sick a gnat just fell off the ceiling and down my shirt.
Next we visited a bookstore that was eerily similar to Barnes and Noble except with an Egyptian twist. Then we were headed to a hafla (party) in Zamalek at my Uncle Fouad's place. That's when we were distracted by the flat that my dad lived in as a kid and my parents lived in right after they were married. It was in shambles, because they are redoing it, but I stood there imagining the young couple making the small space a home and my heart was glad. There was a Harley-Davidson chilling in the lobby of the building and I smiled. Next we headed down an alley near the flat where we happened to run into the man who used to dress up as Santa Clause at Christmas time for the benefit of my dad and his sister (Amani). The weird thing is he doesn't look like he could be more than fifty, but he has to be because he was an adult when my dad was a kid. Unsolved mysteries of Cairo.
There was a man selling chicks on the street the other day. Yep, little bouncy balls of yellow feathers for sale. Later that day I found out that one of the boys had bought two of the small chickens and took them home as pets (Are pets allowed? Not sure). The chicks were named Peeps and Momken they were fast friends, that is until one night when the boys brought the chicks to a MESP gathering. They were the life of the party until Peeps, at least we think it was Peeps, met his untimely demise under the crushing weight of an unsuspecting foot. Good thing I wasn't in the room when his guts splattered everywhere, there may have been more screaming.
Here's something I hate: Empty dorm rooms. This will all be over soon. Flashbacks to a cold December night standing in the English parking lot. I hate the concept of moving out--maybe that explains my aversion to packing. At least we'll live together again soon.
Welcome home Costa Rica. You and your family are on my heart and it cries for you.
Goodbye and Goodnight. As Margaret would say P in the ME.
Friday, April 15, 2005
Schedule
I'm coming back someday. You need a lab science to graduate. Be in my classes.
BIB272 Inductive Study of the Bible 3.0 MWF 11:00-11:50
CAS340 Intercultural Comm-CC-WR 3.0 MWF 9:00-9:50
SPA101 Elem Spanish 4.0 MTWF 1:00-1:50
CHE100 Chem for Living 4.0 MWF 2:00-2:50
CHE100 Lab 0.0 T 8:00-9:50
HIS385 Am Conts. Dev:Inst Powers 3.0 MWF 3:00-3:50
BIB272 Inductive Study of the Bible 3.0 MWF 11:00-11:50
CAS340 Intercultural Comm-CC-WR 3.0 MWF 9:00-9:50
SPA101 Elem Spanish 4.0 MTWF 1:00-1:50
CHE100 Chem for Living 4.0 MWF 2:00-2:50
CHE100 Lab 0.0 T 8:00-9:50
HIS385 Am Conts. Dev:Inst Powers 3.0 MWF 3:00-3:50
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