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A walk through the modern village, now something of an artists
colony, reveals some of what the town must once have been. The
narrow streets and haphazard building betray its origins, as do
the architectural features of most of the homes: thick walls made
of large honey-colored stones, domed roofs, stone arches over
narrow passageways to courtyards. Israeli flags and Jewish surnames
decorate the mailboxes now, and large Soviet-style cement housing
complexes loom over the town, on land that no doubt once produced
olives harvested by Ein Kerem's families. The mosque still stands,
recently restored, though the daily prayer doesn't sound. The
two Franciscan monasteries¾one marking the place of John
the Baptist's birth, the other marking the site that Mary and
Elizabeth met¾are still functioning, as are the French
and Russian monasteries. The Rosary Sisters' orphanage is still
there, as is the Greek Orthodox Church. The latter, once a parish
church, stands repaired but locked and silent. There is no need
of parish ministry here, save the one remaining Catholic family.
The place is what the rest of this land threatens to become, a
museum dedicated to the distant memory of a thriving Christian
population. Walking through this town, knowing little of its history
at the time, we still felt a great weight of sadness for what
once was and what will never be again. We pictured in our minds
the families as they must've fled, fearing for their children's
safety, expecting to return quickly, but having to start all over
again; the Palestinian civilian population paying the price of
Europe's brutal anti-Semitism, generations of family heritage
wiped out in a single night.
It's not hard to imagine, in the mingled bloodline that makes
up Palestinian heritage, that among the ancestors of Ein Kerem's
1948 refugees were some who knew young John. It seemed fitting
to walk these streets during the Advent season, because Ein Kerem's
native son was, in the words imprinted in the grotto at the Franciscan
Church, the precursor of Christ. He was preparing the way of the
Lord. The picture in our minds of this New Testament prophet is
that of the Byzantine icons, the young man with wild hair and
rough clothes, eating strange foods and saying strange things.
His was that voice in the wilderness, that lone word of true repentance
facing a tide of Pharisaic self-righteousness. His charge to the
people of God was one of self-reflection, of self-critique, of
self-awareness. His baptism was not a cleansing of the body¾anyone
who has seen the Jordan River knows that¾so much as a cleansing
of the heart. Our purity comes from our repentance, our welcome
of the Prince of Peace comes from removing the speck in our own
eye.
As these words take form back in Zababdeh, the pre-dawn call
to prayer sounds from the mosque, breaking the quiet that has
fallen over the village in the last hour or so. It has been a
stressful morning, a neighbor's house surrounded by soldiers and
lit up with flashlights and snipers' lasers like a Christmas tree.
We can only guess at what is happening, but the sounds of Israeli
gunfire, jeeps, tanks, and helicopters have woken us earlier than
we would like. Quiet has retaken the village, but the soldiers
have not yet left. The mosque's call breaks through the silence,
somehow different this morning. Its words are the same ones we've
heard five times a day since we've been here, but gone is the
distortion of a primitive sound system. It's not a familiar tune,
either. Rather, it sounds a yearning, as if calling out to God
for an end to this madness¾an end to death, an end to bloodshed,
an end to enmity.
Or perhaps that's just interfaith projection on our parts. We
are weary of this world and its violence. And we are angry with
our growing tribalism, our circling of the wagons against the
world which is our enemy. There is a need, among Western nations
and Eastern, among all of the religions of the world, to accept
John's invitation to repentance. We need a chorus of Muslim voices
crying that the intentional slaughter of civilians, in any and
all circumstances, is evil. We need a chorus of Christian voices
to silence the beating of the war drums, to stem the tide of pretense
that war is only a game, that the only blood that is precious
is Western blood. We need a chorus of Jewish voices who are willing
to speak out against the country perpetrating racism, colonialism,
and slaughter in their name. Maybe then, maybe, we can prepare
ourselves for the coming of the Prince of Peace. Prepare the way
of the Lord.
Salaam al-Masiih (the peace of Christ),
Elizabeth and Marthame
PS Elizabeth's medical tests turned out well, a clean bill of
health! We have deeply appreciated your prayers and support this
past month.
PPS The Latin School in Zababdeh, where we have served for two
and a half years, is seeking volunteer teachers. More information
is available on our website: http://www.fpc-wilmette.org/sanders/teachers.html
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