Peacemaking on a Palestinian Porch
So much depends on what narrative we’re taught as truth
“This trip will be much different,” Peri said to me in a way that cradled both an intriguing invitation and confidence, knowing where our feet would take us and the kind of stories we would hear from those working toward peace. Though I am still processing our Pilgrimage to the Holy Land, I know that I am not the same person who left because of the people who shared their experiences and homes with us. The Pilgrimage reinforced how important it is to pay attention to the stories we hear and speak because the narratives shape how we think. They can challenge us, if we’re open, to examine how we’re living and treating others. Pilgrimages confront and expand our vision of flourishing, sometimes by seeing who benefits from one narrative and who pays the price.
You can ascend and descend cobble-stoned streets of the stations of the cross on the Via Dolorosa. You can enjoy the aroma of cardamom, fresh sesame bread, and chicken shawarma in various villages in the Holy Land without always knowing the underlying soil that still bears witness to bloodshed. You can sip mint lemonade without knowing the trauma of the ethnic cleansing and present day refugee camps with streets littered with bullet casings and empty teargas canisters.
Ironically, we pray to see the land and the places in a way that draws us closer to Jesus. That is a good thing, don’t get me wrong. They create an intersection in our mind between Scripture and place. We can envision the hills where Jesus lived, died, and was resurrected. We encounter the sacred. We see the generosity and hospitality of the Middle East that surpasses that of much of our own country.
You may pass Arab, Jewish, and Muslim people though without hearing the stories that shape who they are and what they believe. You can purchase a smooth olive wood cross or embroidered scarf without wondering whose hands crafted it. Maybe you buy the tasty olive oil without a second thought of whether it came from olive orchards taken from the Palestinians 75 years ago when the state of Israel was created.
You can leave knowing only one narrative, backed by US tax money to aid the Israeli armed services, hear gunfire and assume that it’s from terrorists, like a woman on my flight, not knowing the Israeli army is following orders to provoke, instill fear, and target Palestinian neighborhoods, demolishing schools, and bombing an apartment full of disabled people in Gaza. You can go to Israel as a tourist and leave emboldened by Israel’s far right nationalism or reacting against it because you adhere to a narrative without questioning whether
It is good, right, and true.
Reflects the teachings of Jesus.
Embodies love for God and our neighbor.
You may also participate in an ancient tradition of pilgrimage with a focus on God that wondering what stories you will hear if we’re willing to ask. I am convinced that the one thing perpetuating divisiveness is a lack of holy curiosity about another human being. You don’t have to be Anderson Cooper to ask questions. Asking people from both sides of the wall what it is like to live in the Holy Land will lead to different perspectives and reveal the beliefs shaped by that perspective.
On a recent Pilgrimage Mercy Aiken (Network of Evangelicals for the Middle East) and Peri Zahnd (co-pastor at Word of Life Church), led sixteen women through the Holy Land with the intent to hear the stories of those working toward peace in a country with as much conflict and conquest as sun-bleached stones strewn across both green hills with grazing sheep and fields with barbed wire fences and land mines.
Our group came together from various parts of the world: 3 from the UK, 2 from South Africa now living in Texas, 3 from the Navajo nation, 1 First Nations Anishnawbe, Ojibway family from Canada, and the rest from white European descent. The rich diversity and varied social history allow us to see the multiple facets of the complexity and systemic sin, as well as see how we’ve been harmed or benefited from it in our own country.
When the kind Filipino guide spoke of ancient land at the Garden of Gethsemane, he compared it to the US which “only has only a 300 year history.” I turn to Ella, sitting next to me, and whisper, “I am sorry he is not acknowledging the Navajo and the rich heritage of your ancestors.”
So much depends on what narrative we’re taught as truth.
The stories from those in the refugee camps hit home: power, privilege, and possession sabotage peace efforts and flourishing for all.
One day we hiked through a verdant valley filled with the sage colored leaves, vines, and fuschia flowers blooming along ancient sun-bleached stone to Battir, a UNESCO World Heritage site. It’s a small village known for its ancient terraced landscape, irrigation channels and Roman stone pools.The trail winds through the Wadi al-Makhrour, a valley rich with olive and almond trees, emerald spring grape leaves, shrubs, and occasional crimson poppies.
We then hiked to a village home where we had a savory lunch on Leila’s porch. Afterward, she recalled a night when teargas hit near her home and her 6 month old son got sick. They tried to get him to the hospital but were not allowed initially to get through two checkpoints. She watched as her firstborn got sicker. After four hours of pleading at the third checkpoint they were finally allowed through and went to a hospital in Jordan. Leila and her husband were not allowed to stay with their baby. Shortly after, he died.
Teary-eyed, we listened and held space for her grief. The green terraced hills from the porch overlooking the Palestinian village paled to the mountain of pain. I looked at the 3 Navajo women and wondered how Leila’s story of trauma and systemic cruelty hit them deeper than it did me.
I think about where this will end, trying not to envision what my heart fears, trying not to let despair ring louder than the steadfast work that Jewish, Muslim, and Palestinian Christians are cultivating to forge a way to live peaceably together.
Then our Ojibway friend stood up, with rouge cheeks and streams of familiar tears.
“I also lost a son.” She paused, swallowing hard sobs. We stopped and listened.
She pulled out a 4 foot by 4 foot cloth out of her bag. She continued, “A friend made this Star Quilt to help me grieve when my son died last year. He was in his thirties.
“When I was packing, the Spirit prompted me to bring it to give away and I had no idea who it would be…but it’s you.”
Elizabeth (aka Thunderbird) approaches Leila with arms extended, hands hidden under maroon folds of a quilt that’s crafted with more tears than stitches.
We witness the meeting of God’s own making, of two women who live half the world apart by oceans and man made borders, weighted by waves of loss. They become light-bearers to grief’s darkness, bonded by hearts not hardening.
We see the kingdom of God unfolding in front of us. We witness their with-ness. We all share wet faces and feel in our bones the holy fire lighting and hovering from the Spirit’s wings.
As I recall this I have this aching in my heart that’s breaking something inside. I wonder if Mary had this feeling when shepherds and gentile kings came to see Jesus.
Elizabeth and Leila embrace, bonded together with the Star quilt and all it represents.
Is this how peace is ushered in?
How many wars could end with quilts given and shared grief extended?
Global Writer’s Group
Since April of 2020 as the world closed down, the Global Writer’s Group has been meeting via zoom every Saturday, with time off only for Christmas and New Years. Early in our time together, Lisa Sharon Harper charged the group with the task of “writing a new world into existence” and over time we have truly seen this in action. We have taken on the task of changing the world, and of course what changed first was ourselves. We as a group have become better writers over this time, but also better people, finding true community in the sacred sharing of ourselves with each other and the world.
We accept members on a rolling basis: it’s never too late to join the community. Prepare to find your life changed for the better as you sharpen your writing skills and prepare to bring your words to the world.
Collectively, we have published six books, have several writers who’ve recently become agented and/or are under contract for upcoming books, and many, many journal articles over the past three years with several more books in the works.
The Narrative Gap, as coined by Lisa Sharon Harper, is the distance between the stories that we tell ourselves about ourselves, including how we got here and what it will take to make things right. In our world today, competing narratives vie for our loyalty, dividing society and the church, therefore making justice impossible. Our mission is help communities shrink the narrative gap, by identifying core issues and building community capacity so they might work toward common solutions for a just world. Here on the Freedom Road Substack, we can converse together on ways to shrink that narrative gap and help ensure everyones’ stories are told.
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