July 17, 2006

Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Him, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples.” But Jesus answered, “I tell you, if these become silent, the stones will cry out!”
Luke 19:39-40

The stones are crying out in the Middle East this week. The landscape tells us a story, if we sit still long enough to listen. My story today is not a story that is recited throughout the world of war, terrorism, human rights violations, military occupation, or the like. I want to talk about hope. I want to talk about the lights that are glowing dimly like little stars in the wee hours of the black night that tell us a story of the potential for human joy in the midst of insufferable pain.

Sadly, before we tell of such rare beauty, we must acknowledge the fire of suffering that has refined the human spirit so finely. As I walk around Bethlehem these days and keep my work schedule at the International Center of Bethlehem (ICB), I notice two general responses in friends and colleagues to the recent war-like conditions in Lebanon and the Gaza strip: depression and indifference. The staff morale of the ICB is very low these days. Dr. Nuha Khoury, Dean of the upcoming Dar Al-Kalima College, poignantly notes, “Everybody has forgotten about the Palestinians; nobody wants them.” She knows well the rejection Palestinians face inside the State of Israel, and the similar but subtler racism from surrounding Arab nations. Others face the situation with indifference, having heard similar stories of destruction and loss of innocent life their entire lives. The stones cry out, but who is listening?

Another staff member’s daughter recently joined the youth choir at the Christmas Church and seems excessively shy for an eleven-year-old. After enquiring, I learned why. She is still frightened by an event four years ago, during the Israeli invasion and military occupation of Bethlehem, when her father was used as a human shield. Under the direction of Israeli Defense Force (IDF) soldiers, he was forced to enter homes of suspected militants, entirely undefended, prior to the soldiers. In the event of gunfire, he would be the first to go. How must she feel seeing an Israeli missile murder a busload of civilians in southern Lebanon or Hezbollah rockets launched indiscriminately toward civilians in northern Israel? The stones cry out, demanding her right to grow up happily and freely, but who is listening?

A part-time staff member at the ICB works primarily for Maan Images. “Photographers risk everything here. If you want a picture, you risk your life every time.” He refers to his colleague now hospitalized in Gaza. Attempting to document the activity and potential human rights violations of IDF soldiers, the peace activist was shot twice in the head and twice in the body. He continued taking pictures after receiving the near fatal wounds. The stones cry out for the world to know his story, what he sees and knows in the depths of his heart is wrong, but who is listening?

As choirs slowly form at the Christmas Church, I am learning that there is much ministry to be done. Can music soften the fear of a young girl? Can music bring solace to a young man who is seen as a terrorist by border patrol? Can music dull the sense of revenge for those who have lost loved ones to indiscriminate murder? My faith is waning.

But I said I wanted to talk about hope. Where is the hope in these situations? Where is the hope in the birthplace of Christian hope? I like to think of hope, or the stones crying out to which Jesus points us, as a few tiny candles lit in front of a blanket of stars. They’re not guaranteed to stay lit forever. They don’t give out much heat. But there is something deep inside you and me that somehow reflects their humble offering.

That is hope.