Dear Mr. President,
Your faith teaches that today's celebration is marking the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem. Christians from around the world will be making pilgrimages to the tiny church of the Nativity, lighting candles and saying prayers, passing through the apartheid wall that confines Palestinians in the West Bank. When I visited this church in the shimmering heat of high summer, we walked past walls still scarred by bullet holes from 2002 gun battles between Israeli troops and Palestinian fighters. Perhaps, not being Christian myself, I failed to experience the reverence I was meant to feel for the site of Jesus' birth, but I could not separate my horror at the grotesque oppression (and it's violent legacy) of the residents of Bethlehem from my respect for the teachings of Christianity's central figure.
For all of those American Christians who are today sitting in churches, saying their prayers or singing carols, I hope that the harsh restrictions on the freedoms and opportunities of those, like Jesus, guilty of the unforgivable crime of having been born in Bethlehem are not forgotten. It seems so unjust that Christ's disciples are happily celebrating his birth when the citizens of his birthplace, Muslim and Christian alike, live under occupation in fear and confinement. Christmas may be a time of celebration, but I would hope that remembering the reason for this holiday and the ongoing (and overlong) fight for basic human rights for Palestinians might not be so easily disentangled.
I hope that you have had a good and peaceful holiday, despite the burdens of your office. As an individual with rather more control over the fate of those living in Bethlehem, I hope you, at least, have not forgotten them today.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Two well-written pieces on this can be found at Ma'an news and at Al-Jazeera. I urge all of you to read them.
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Day 93- Easter
Dear Mr. President,
Years ago, as an 18-year old traveling abroad for the first time, I found myself on a beach outside of the Hague on Easter. I remember it was cold and gray and empty, all the shops were closed, and I got horribly, horribly lost. I don't remember being afraid, which I suppose you just can't be when you're lost in a foreign country by yourself. I thought a lot about Easter and Jesus, imagining that my own wanderings throughout the strange landscape of the Netherlands were linked somehow to his own travels through the holy land. Fact or fiction, God or man, he has existed in my mind always as a wanderer.
Other, more mundane Easters have passed since then, spent waiting tables in a near-empty restaurant, being sent to the McDonald's on M street to bring back breakfast for the other bookstore employees, reading, reading, reading through the rainy hours by at home by myself. I have also learned a bit more about the historical Jesus, walked in the streets of Jerusalem, visited his birth place and tomb, the stations of the cross, the site of his temptation in the desert. I am not Christian enough to imagine him as more (or less) than human; the places that echo with his presence in Palestine did not move me as they did many of the tourists who seemed overcome by the intense resonance of the divine.
I know enough about Christianity to understand that Jesus is expected, any day now, at the Gates of Jerusalem. I know enough about his political philosophy to doubt, seriously, that he would approve of what the city has become. I'm not a Christian, so I'll be spending Easter making lattes and worrying about the earthly, mundane details of existence. However, since you are a Christian, Mr. President, I'll think of you tomorrow and hope that your own meditations on the central figure of your faith will lead you to use your considerable influence to better the conditions of those living in the places he once wandered.
Happy Easter.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Years ago, as an 18-year old traveling abroad for the first time, I found myself on a beach outside of the Hague on Easter. I remember it was cold and gray and empty, all the shops were closed, and I got horribly, horribly lost. I don't remember being afraid, which I suppose you just can't be when you're lost in a foreign country by yourself. I thought a lot about Easter and Jesus, imagining that my own wanderings throughout the strange landscape of the Netherlands were linked somehow to his own travels through the holy land. Fact or fiction, God or man, he has existed in my mind always as a wanderer.
Other, more mundane Easters have passed since then, spent waiting tables in a near-empty restaurant, being sent to the McDonald's on M street to bring back breakfast for the other bookstore employees, reading, reading, reading through the rainy hours by at home by myself. I have also learned a bit more about the historical Jesus, walked in the streets of Jerusalem, visited his birth place and tomb, the stations of the cross, the site of his temptation in the desert. I am not Christian enough to imagine him as more (or less) than human; the places that echo with his presence in Palestine did not move me as they did many of the tourists who seemed overcome by the intense resonance of the divine.
I know enough about Christianity to understand that Jesus is expected, any day now, at the Gates of Jerusalem. I know enough about his political philosophy to doubt, seriously, that he would approve of what the city has become. I'm not a Christian, so I'll be spending Easter making lattes and worrying about the earthly, mundane details of existence. However, since you are a Christian, Mr. President, I'll think of you tomorrow and hope that your own meditations on the central figure of your faith will lead you to use your considerable influence to better the conditions of those living in the places he once wandered.
Happy Easter.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
