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Taking Shape
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9 August 2009 What does it mean to live as a community shaped by Christ’s heart? Our first Sunday in Jerusalem, John and I attended the English-speaking service of the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, which is located within the walls of the Old City. It’s a small sanctuary, built of cut stone, simple and lovely. The pastor John had hoped to see was vacationing in the states, and their intern, Mike Powell was preaching. Mike shared the story of a trip from Damascus, Syria, that he and his wife took in a rented car–the typical rental that does not come equipped with a GPS and a bottomless gas tank. Long story short, they were searching for a particular archaeological site, had run out of food and were nearly out of gas. They stopped at the only place remotely available to them–a very modest-bordering- poor–family home not far off a road never intended for a rental sedan. First the family’s patriarch filled their gas tank; then he insisted that Mike and his wife stay for tea, spread out before them on carpets laid on the ground of the family’s home. Then they stayed for dinner. They swapped stories, delighted in the antics of the host family’s children, and sang songs. They danced. They stayed the night. And the next day after breakfast, the patriarch accompanied them to the archaeological site they had planned to visit, and gave them a personal tour. In the short space of about 12 hours, total strangers had broken bread together and formed a community. The talk that characterized their time together focused on building up that community; the bitterness and slander that often seems to characterize Christian and Muslim interactions, at least as we see it in much of our media, was absent. And at least from the perspective of Lutheran intern Mike Powell and his wife, the time they spent with their Muslim hosts in that Syrian desert, was a time of grace, a time when Muslim and Christian alike lived together–however briefly–as children of the same loving God. What does it mean to live as a community shaped by Christ’s heart? When we first read the instructions to the Christian community in Ephesus that make up this morning’s scripture, grace isn’t exactly the first word that comes to mind–at least not to my mind. The instructions are about as interesting as announcements mumbled over a high-school intercom. But like those high school announcements, they do serve a point. The concerns raised in the book of Ephesians speak to the ethical implications of our common faith. Although they are directed toward the behaviors of the faith community’s relationships within the gathered church, they remind us that when we are the scattered church, our behaviors as critical as our behavior when we are the gathered church. It would have been self-defeating, but Mike and his wife could have chosen to turn down the patriarch’s offer of tea. They could have responded arrogantly or dismissively to the foods they were served. Or to sleeping on rugs. They could have spoken to their hosts in ways that belittled or abused or tore down. But they didn’t. And because they didn’t, the miracle of community took form in such a powerful way that it touched those of us who weren’t even present on that remote bit of Syrian wilderness. In the same way, grace also marked the community that developed while John and I were guests of the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem. For nine days, we met daily with faculty of the Institute, plus the dozen other American Christians invited to take part in the two-year Christian Leadership Institute. Three members of the American Jewish Committee, which co-sponsored the program, were with us as well. We reflected on readings from the Torah, Mishnah, and Talmud; we listened to lectures on some aspect of the material we’d just studied. We ate together. On Shabbat, we worshiped in a contemporary Reformed service, and broke bread in the homes of two of the faculty. It isn’t that we weren’t acutely aware of the differences in perspective on issues and experiences that violently and brutally scar that holy land. But I believe we also entered into our time together with an assumed respect for the gifts that each member of the community brought to the table. The academic setting could not have been more different than the home in the wilderness which sheltered and nourished Mike Powell and his wife. But many of the characteristics were the same. With apologies to all those from Missouri, our Jewish studies were not approached with the“show me” attitude: show me that you have something worth offering, and I might judge it to be worthy of my attention. Instead, the fundamental recognition was that in the position of “other,” each member brought something to the table that no other person could bring, and that “otherness” was worthy of equal respect across the board. That respect allowed us to create common ground as we explored scripture, shared common meals, and visited sites holy to Jews and Christians. Our last five days in the region were spent with IRD–International Relief and Development–the organization that Arthur and Jasna Keys created. We saw first-hand the consistently-excellent work they have produced combining USAID resources with Palestinian expertise and labor: beautiful new schools, roads, and water systems. And just as consistently, our Palestinian hosts treated us with respect and extravagant hospitality. One evening in Ramallah, I was seated next to Lubna, one of the dwindling number of Palestinian Christians in Ramallah. She is acutely aware of the dramatic shift in religious practice that has taken place in her lifetime, in her community. Only she and her parents remain in Palestine–her sisters and brothers have all emigrated. It is Lubna’s analysis that the profound decrease in the Christian presence in Palestine and Israel is a significant factor contributing to the changes that have affected all communities. Positions and prejudices have become hardened, as though the cartilage has been worn away, and all that remains is bone on bone. I believe Lubna’s analysis is right on target, and that it speaks to our lives together as a faith. community, and to our witness within the broader community, wherever that may be. We Christians are shaped by Christ’s heart. We are called to live each day, in each setting, in each community, as imitators of Christ, as God’s beloved children, living among God’s other beloved children. This means that we don’t mark our turf with walls at borders or between communities. It means instead that we open our hearts and welcome the stranger, not as a means of converting Jews and Muslims, but because that is the truth of who we are. It means that we allow Christ’s transforming heart into our own hearts and lives. As we do so, healthy communities take form through God’s grace. |