Sermon - The Persistent Neighbours of Present Day Palestine

Sermon preached at the Sung Eucharist at St George’s Bloomsbury on Sunday 24th July 2022 (Year C, 6th after Trinity, Proper 12) based on the words of Luke 11.1-13. A recording of the sermon can be seen at this link.

Last week, the gospel transported us to Bethany; the town of Mary, Martha and Lazarus and by coincidence I was actually there, whilst on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land!

In today’s gospel, Jesus continues his ministry in “a certain place” somewhere between Bethany and Jerusalem. As I discovered, it’s not possible for us to follow precisely in his footsteps today - the route out of Bethany is one of many that have been permanently blocked by a separation barrier built around the border of the West Bank. 

Earlier in the week, we visited Bethlehem, where the barrier takes the form of a thirty foot high concrete wall, topped by barbed wire and surveillance turrets. The Palestinian side is adorned with graffiti, including famous murals by Banksy, which people flock to see. Our first stop was the Aida Refugee Camp, which, since 1948, has housed Palestinians displaced from what is now Israeli controlled territory. Above the gate of the camp stands a huge key, symbolising the desire of the refugees to return to the homes they left behind.

Here, we met a woman called Islam Jameel, who has lived all of her forty one years in the camp. Conditions are cramped - families often sharing one room. There is no medical centre, which has posed particular problems for Islam, whose son Mohammed suffers from a severe form of cerebral palsy. Access to services like physiotherapy are only available at great expense at private clinics some distance from the camp. 

Twelve years ago, Islam formed a collective with other mothers of disabled children. For a modest fee they invited visitors into their homes, teaching them how to prepare Palestinian cuisine and offering tours of the camp. 

In spite of setbacks caused by continuing incursions by the military, after a few years they were able to acquire larger premises, hosting whole groups of pilgrims and tourists for lunch. They published a recipe book and sell crafts at the end of each session. They pool part of their profits, using them to bulk buy expensive items such as nappies, wheelchairs and teaching resources.

Here, in the most tear-gassed place on the planet, just a few miles from the birthplace of Jesus, these Palestinian women shine as beacons of hope. 

For these persistent neighbours, their daily bread truly is a source of new life. 

Give us each day our daily bread.

 

 

Our next stop was Nazareth, where we were met by an Anglican priest who brought home the complexities of life in the Holy Land today by describing four components of his own identity. 

 

He is a product of Arabic culture and traditions, belongs to the Palestinian people, grew up in a Christian family and  holds Israeli citizenship. 

 

Arab. 

Palestinian. 

Christian. 

Israeli. 

 

The order, he explained, isn’t important - but it is vital to recognise that his identity is formed by all of these things together, even if he feels uncomfortable with particular parts at different times. He shared with us one such time.

 

 

All Jewish Israeli citizens are required to serve in the Israeli Defence Force - others are not conscripted. But over the past few years, the military have been holding recruitment fairs in Arab Israeli schools. Critics see this as a deliberate tactic to divide the Palestinian community. However, a growing number of students are volunteering to sign up. 

 

One such recruit was the son of a long-time member of the congregation who went off to study at a military academy. He was due to return to Nazareth for the start of Holy Week, but was delayed. He eventually arrived at the church half way through the service on Maundy Thursday. This Arab, Palestinian Christian clothed in the uniform of the Israeli Defence Force, came forward to have his feet washed. 

 

At that moment the heart of the priest sank. He remembered all the times when the lives of his family and those of his congregation had been made so difficult by people wearing the same uniform. He did not want to wash this young man’s feet while he wore it.

 

But there the man stood. The priest faced him; a mirror image of his own complex identity. Eventually, he knelt down and washed his feet. 

 

Here in this town where Jesus was rejected by his own townsfolk, this young man was welcomed back through an act of humility instituted by Jesus himself, in which these persistent neighbours were reconciled to themselves and each other.

 

Forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us. 

 

 

 

When we reached East Jerusalem we were introduced to Hedva, who spoke to us after dinner. 

 

Born in New York and raised in a secular family, she later joined a Messianic Jewish congregation - a branch of the Evangelical Christian church, which incorporates elements of Judaism and Jewish traditions into its faith and practice. Whilst attending the church, Hedva was persuaded to move to Israel. She had never been before and had no idea what to expect. It turned out to be nothing like the land they said she would find. She was struck by the divisions; the physical barriers, the fact that some people needed a permit to enter certain areas. 

 

She wanted to find out more, so she went to a meeting of a charity that brings together Palestinians and Jews from diverse backgrounds and facilitates dialogue. Over time, they learnt how to be honest about their differences and to share what they have in common. Praying together is an important part of the process. 

 

Hedva is aware that she is in a minority of people in Israel who want an immediate end to the hostilities, but believes only a

small percentage of like-minded people is needed to effect lasting change. She persists in her work, against all the odds. 

 

In the city where Jesus died and rose again, this persistent neighbour continues to praise God and to to build relationships with her neighbours, working for a new life for all.

 

Father, hallowed be your name.
   Your kingdom come. 

 

 

Like the neighbour in our gospel reading, these persistent neighbours in present day Palestine not only encourage and inspire us, but point beyond themselves, revealing something of the nature of God. 

 

The abundant generosity of the Muslim women in the refugee camp in Bethlehem, transforming their lives by sharing their daily bread. Love which cannot be contained by the concrete walls built around them or choked by the clouds of tear gas in the air.

 

How much more can our daily bread from God transform us? 

 

The abundant humility of the Christian priest and the young soldier in Nazareth, recognising the power of forgiving themselves and each other to open the door to a new way of seeing the complex identities we all share.

 

How much more can God’s forgiveness transform us? 

 

The abundant hope of the Messianic Jew in East Jerusalem, persisting in prayer and dialogue with her Palestinian neighbours, walking, step by step, towards a new way of living alongside one another - a new Kingdom. 

 

How much can we achieve through faith in the promise of God’s kingdom to come?

 

 

While on this trip I encountered little archaeology from the first century world of Jesus, the prayer he taught his disciples then, in that certain place, continues to transform the lives of the ‘living stones.’ 

 

And if Our Father can do this for them, what if the same is true for us?

 

Amen.