How can we forget the image of Bono staggering blind folded with the hand written font of religious symbol and broken letters that spoke something far louder than any lyric or music. For many it was shocking, not only was it a grammatical error in word structure...something had been put together that was, well, just humanly impossible. It shocked all religious sensibility...and our unreal religious world view.
When I was growing up, in school if the question was asked about what your faith was, the majority would be either Catholic or Protestant. The chance was remote to bump into Islamic, Jewish or any other faith. A generation later, my daughters have friends who are Islamic, Jewish, Shinto. We live undeniably in a pluralistic world of inter-faiths. Interestingly though, in this mosaic culture of faiths, there doesn't seem to be much dialog and conversation. We pretty much stay isolated in our own camps, with our own traditions and stories.
The sad thing is when we think of the others faith, its the extremes that are usually seen and heard. Its the loud bully in the playground that is usually heard the loudest above everything else. He's usually what we remember, and fear...and want no part of. The reality, although loud, it is not the only voice. There are voices of humility, mercy, compassion, reconciliation...from all sides. We must remember Love does conquer all, even the playground bully. But it will only happen when it is lived out faithfully from all sides.
I can't help but think of Gaza, this insidious battle, hatred and violence that seems almost genetic, passed from generation to generation. Simon Barrow from Eklesia says this. "Equally ignored in Christians circles is Christ's broadening and radicalization of this legal limitation of violence: "You have heard it said, 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth'... but now I say to you: love your enemies ... do good to those that curse you... bless those that persecute you." Repay hatred with love, in other words.
Whereas the lex talionis is about limiting violence, the Gospel takes the next step and seeks its abolition. Not, of course, that the churches have found this convenient, especially in cosing up to principalities and powers - where something more 'realistic' was deemed necessary. Thus the development of 'just war' thinking.
As we survey the terrible wounding of the world around us, however, the more radical demands of the rebellious rabbi Jesus surely begin to look more like the deep-healing medicine we so badly need. Amelioration of the sickness of violent hatred is not enough. It must be challenged and replaced.
For as Martin Luther King Jr pointed out, an ethic of proportionate violent response can never be enough to sustain life. Or as he bluntly put it: in the end "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth will leave us all eyeless and toothless." Gandhi said something similar. So have non-religious peacemakers.
Putting the life-affirming ethics of confronting enemies by refusing to use the tools of hatred and war is, of course, exceptionally difficult in a world where the ideology of violence has seeped deep into our institutional and personal life.
But at the very least, it surely ought to be the commitment of those who claim to follow Christ? This is why converting the church to active, interventionist non-violence and conflict transformation remains a vital priority for those who would take the Gospel seriously.
I still scratch my head when I think of this infinite God of " All " creation. Who's story we are all part, we weaved into it's very fiber...a tapestry of diversity and profound mystery. Abraham, the man who is called the Father of the Islam, Jewish and Christian faiths. Here the family tree of humanity, branches breaking, splitting in different directions. Was this corrupt error in the genetic makeup of the story...or something beyond imagination, not His...ours.
More than ever in a world that is quickly becoming isolationist, protectionist, fearful, less compassionate, violent, and mistrustful of the other. We need to coexist, share our common stories of faith, of compassion, of mercy, of hospitality, shared meals and conversation. We need to respect the other, earn each others respect...a collage of beauty, diversity...not a collision of faith.
I end with this beautiful prayer from a rabbi in Jerusalem for Gaza...see if you can find where he has weaved the thread of inter-faith shared story into the prayer.
If there has ever been a time for prayer, this is that time.
If there has ever been a place forsaken, Gaza is that place.
Lord who is the creator of all children, hear our prayer this accursed day. God whom we call Blessed, turn your face to these, the children of Gaza, that they may know your blessings, and your shelter, that they may know light and warmth, where there is now only blackness and smoke, and a cold which cuts and clenches the skin.
Almighty who makes exceptions, which we call miracles, make an exception of the children of Gaza. Shield them from us and from their own. Spare them. Heal them. Let them stand in safety. Deliver them from hunger and horror and fury and grief. Deliver them from us, and from their own.
Restore to them their stolen childhoods, their birthright, which is a taste of heaven.
Remind us, O Lord, of the child Ishmael, who is the father of all the children of Gaza. How the child Ishmael was without water and left for dead in the wilderness of Beer-Sheba, so robbed of all hope, that his own mother could not bear to watch his life drain away.
Be that Lord, the God of our kinsman Ishmael, who heard his cry and sent His angel to comfort his mother Hagar.
Be that Lord, who was with Ishmael that day, and all the days after. Be that God, the All-Merciful, who opened Hagar's eyes that day, and showed her the well of water, that she could give the boy Ishmael to drink, and save his life.
Allah, whose name we call Elohim, who gives life, who knows the value and the fragility of every life, send these children your angels. Save them, the children of this place, Gaza the most beautiful, and Gaza the damned.
In this day, when the trepidation and rage and mourning that is called war, seizes our hearts and patches them in scars, we call to you, the Lord whose name is Peace:
Bless these children, and keep them from harm.
Turn Your face toward them, O Lord. Show them, as if for the first time, light and kindness, and overwhelming graciousness.
Look up at them, O Lord. Let them see your face.
And, as if for the first time, grant them peace.
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With thanks to Rabbi Levi Weiman-Kelman of Kol HaNeshama, Jerusalem
