Understanding the Beatitudes

I have never much cared for the Beatitudes of Matthew, specifically that first one: "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." What does that even mean? I far prefer the pragmatic, action-based physical reality of Luke, "Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God." Blessed are the poor. Jesus is turning the world upside down. It makes perfect sense to a middle-class white straight aspiring peace and social justice activist.

But poor in spirit? This is much harder to define. It requires more latitude in qualification, more grace in its breadth. It's a lot harder to judge who is "poor in spirit."

But today, as I thought on many of the historical events that led to the state of modern-day Israel and Palestine, I was struck by one of the phrases I saw written on the separation wall yesterday.

"One wall, two jails."

For one of these oppressed people, that jail is that of poverty, of inequality, of injustice, and of occupation. It's easy. "Blessed are the poor."

The other people are oppressed by fear. They have been hurt. They have been killed in horrific ways that make your heart break. They are a people who have felt the terror of occupation. But now they live in a jail of fear. They've locked themselves in without a way to get out. "Blessed are the poor in spirit."

We often see the world how we choose to see it, so I've been able to ignore Matthew's Beatitudes in order to see my own beliefs and justifications become the lens through which I see the world. Today, my eyes were opened to a different understanding.

Let us pray to the God that breaks down barriers that we might be freed from each of our prisons.

David and Goliath

The young boy stood in the center of the road, his slingshot in his hand. Above him loomed the giant, a power that had defeated the boy's fathers and grandfathers. Everyone else fell back behind the boy, fearful and scared to draw too close to the giant. Yet the boy stood his ground, calling out and jeering at his enemy.

Sound familiar?

David and Goliath, anyone? 

I was struck by the role reversal. The funny thing is, it is modern day Palestinians that are referred to as Philistines in the David and Goliath story of the Old Testament. And today, while in the Aida Refugee camp outside Bethlehem, I watched from a roof as a young Palestinian boy played with a sling, aiming at telephone poles and streetlights, yelling out loud as he released stones at his targets. His actions gained the attention of the watchtower at the nearby security wall, and we watched as the gate was rolled open and an armored jeep began to roll out. The boy's friends gained courage, still yelling and jeering at the Israeli Defense Force manning the jeep.

Our group was quickly herded to the bus, as our hosts were worried about our safety.

I worry for that boy. For Palestinians in occupied territories, resistance is life, and I applaud that young boy's courage. Yet that boy will likely live his entire life in that refugee camp with no opportunity to leave, and in that situation, that frustration could turn into hatred. His heart could turn hard. How can he still have hope?

And what of those 19 and 20 year old young men and women of the Israeli Defense Force that are supposed to patrol that security wall and control the children? What about their hearts as they are charged with orders they may or may not want to carry out? How much of their fear turns into posturing with their guns and armored vehicles? What is happening to their hearts and their humanity?

The Old Testament David and Goliath had a clear winner. The modern-day story I saw today does not.  

The Sea of Galilee

There is something about a body of water

that remains unchanged

steady

consistent

ever-present

buildings, cathedrals

come and go

yet the sea remains the same

waves rolling in

over my toes

chilly and cold

I can dig my feet in

to the sand and shells

feeling the grit of the land.

Look out on the water

picture the storm

clouds overhead

wind whistling past your ears

and the world spins and your heart worries

and you are reprimanded

“Ye of little faith! Why are you scared?”

And then

“Peace, be still.”

And then, steady as the waves,

peace rolls in.  

I Awake in Fear

This is not my story, and I cannot speak FOR those who share this experience. But I do want to create an opportunity to learn their story and advocate on their behalf.

It IS real.

I awake in fear.

Each morning, every morning

I wake up

with that dull kind of chill

that reminds me that even in my sleep,

I am afraid.

I awake in fear

at the sound of voices outside

at the notion that they may be

accompanied by the fiery

engine roar of a dozer or tractor

I awake in fear

that they've finally come.

I am scared for my children

for their safety

for their future

I am scared

for how I might respond to their danger.

The stress, the worry
it tears me down
tears me apart
that short stop in my heartbeat
every time I hear the steps of boots
coming down the street.

I awake in fear

and while it has been

days, months, years

since I got the notice

I cannot let the fear go.

(There are thousands of Palestinian homes scheduled for demolition by the Israeli government. They never know when or if government workers or the military will show up at their home and forcibly evict them and charge them fines for their own eviction...) Read more at http://www.icahd.org/

Raise the Wall

How do you raise a wall?
How do you raise that security blanket
pulled up right under your chin
so you can sleep better at night?

How do you raise a policy that
safety is the top priority?
How do you raise that fear,
that idea that you need to be protected?

How do you raise a wall
that separates
the haves from the have-nots
the powerful from the powerless
the oppressor from the oppressed?

How do you raise an idea?
How do you raise the notion
that humanity is not created equally?
That in order to have and be let be
you must look and sound like me?

How can you raise that wall
of apartheid and power?
How can you raise a barrier
that prevents conversations
that limits opportunities?

How can we raze the wall?

my eyes were hungry

My eyes were hungry
as they searched the dark skies
and countrysides
with the innocent joy
and eagerness
of a pilgrim
new in the holy land

my eyes were hungry
sharing the low groans and growls
of my churning stomach
searching for food
both body and soul

my eyes were hungry
for vision.

what's out there in the darkness?

what's out there beyond the realm of my knowledge

or even my imagination
that I have yet to learn?

my eyes grow ravenous
as they desperately seek
hope hidden in the hills.

Challenge Day, for an adult

“If you really knew me, you’d know I’m terrified of failure. And my great fear of failure? Failing to make a difference.”

Last week, I was able to put that into words. I shared that with a group of high schoolers I’d never met. Because when you start a phrase with “If you really knew me,” you’re opening yourself up, giving up a piece of yourself you don’t share often.

I was at the local elementary school for “Challenge Day,” when about 100 high school students gather for a day of community building. I thought of it as an anti-bullying campaign. I was wrong.

“If you really knew me” was only part of the activities. We listened as our Challenge Day leaders shared their stories, connecting with youth on issues of racism, sexism, broken families, drugs, abuse. Listening to their stories made my heart hurt.

And then we split up into our small family groups, and my heart broke. We shared those “if you really knew me” statements, giving up those pieces of ourselves we cling most tightly to, scared to share. Scared to be vulnerable. But those members of my small group had the courage to  share stories with people they didn’t know well, some of them strangers. Some things they said shocked me; some scared me. I was blessed to listen to each member of my group think through and reflect on that idea, those 2 minutes being sacred space for each person. No advice given, no responses to what they said, other than to pat a shoulder or hold out a tissue for the tears streaming down their face.  No high school student should be dealing with some of the things they shared in our group.

Later in the afternoon, we did an activity called “Cross the Line.” The entire group stood on one side of a line, blue masking tape crookedly pulled across the gym floor. One of our Challenge Day leaders called out different circumstances or situations that affect the youth.

“Cross the line if you’ve ever been made fun of for your body, whether it is because they say you are too fat or too skinny, whether you are too tall or too short.”

And 60-70% of the group crosses that line. No one ever crossed that line alone at any point in the activity. And as one, those that didn’t cross the line held up their hands in the international sign language sign for love (an image that so reminded me of the Hunger Games I couldn’t help myself). Eyes met across the line. Tears started to flow. Everyone returned to the same side of the line.

And then the next prompt.

“Cross the line if you or someone you know lives in an environment where they live in fear of abuse, be that verbal, physical, emotional, or sexual.”

And so many students crossed the line. We raised our hands in recognition and solidarity. And so on, 20, 30 different prompts.

I knew some of the students crossing those lines. And I knew, albeit briefly, those students in my small family group that had just poured their hearts out in “If you really knew me.” But watching these students, many of them the same students, cross that line, 10, 15 times, for things that I have never had to deal with or experience...well, it got to me.

I watched students reach out to one another in between prompts. I watched adults break down as prompts hit home and they crossed the line sobbing. All day, our Challenge Day leaders had encouraged the adult helpers to participate fully--I don’t know that we were ready for what that would mean. We were no different than many of these students. We share many struggles.

Selfishly, I came away realizing my blessings, my luck in my idyllic upbringing. And I recognized my power and challenge to work to change what I can for those going through some of these difficult, difficult things.

I don’t think I can overstate the power of these activities. We realize we are not alone. We realize that we each carry our own baggage, struggling with our own journey. We gain an awareness and compassion for each other we might not have had before.

The final activity of the day gave the youth an opportunity to share their feelings in a letter, whether affirming the positive power of someone who has changed their life for the better, apologizing to someone they had wronged, or writing to someone who had died or moved they had never gotten closure with. Some of the youth, in front of the entire gathering, apologized to each other for disputes and struggles going on for years at a time. Others publicly recognized and thanked friends for their support and love.

I ended the day aware. Aware of my privilege, aware of the brokenness around me. I ended the day affirmed and loved. And I ended the day more sure of my role and place in this community than I have felt at any point in the last 5 months. I am not the solution, but I am a tiny part of it. And I am proud and honored to work alongside those students toward that greater, diverse, vibrant, supportive community.