Tuesday, December 18, 2012

My Christmas Break


Hello friends.

Tomorrow evening, my father, mother, and younger sister will arrive in Jordan. We will be together until December 31st -- twelve precious days. For five of those days (22nd - 27th), we will be celebrating the birth of our Lord while staying in the city where it all began: Bethlehem. I am grateful beyond words, both for the once-in-a-lifetime trip and (far more so) for the family visit.

During our time together, I will not write any new blog posts. But I'm looking forward to writing in the new year. So much has yet to be said.

Blessings upon blessings. 

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Christmas Poop



Snack-time in the deafblind unit, several days ago. I am supervising Hazem while he enjoys a banana. All of a sudden, his demeanor changes: his brow furrows, his breath quickens, he starts to sweat. He stands up abruptly, then sits down abruptly, up and down, up and down. At first, I have no idea what’s going on.

Then I realize that Hazem is pooping.

Strangely enough, Hazem had never pooped while I was working with him. I know this because I change his diapers at the end of each two-hour session. The head supervisor in the deafblind unit smells the situation and tells me that it won’t do to wait until the end of the two hours. So, Hazem and I go to the bathroom. 

For the first few weeks, changing the diapers of this 13-year-old boy felt pretty awkward. Now, I’m used to it. At least I’m used to number one... 

Immediately after I help Hazem pull down his pants and take off his diaper, both of his hands fly to his butt, and before I can intervene, Hazem’s hands and the toilet seat are covered in poop. With much effort, I manage to keep it off of his face and me. The disaster lasts ten minutes.

It’s easy to love happy Hazem. It’s harder to love pooping Hazem. 

----------

This is a Christmas story. 

God’s love for Hazem, unlike mine, does not momentarily cease when happy Hazem becomes pooping Hazem. Nor does God need to make an effort to love pooping Hazem, as I do: God effortlessly loves any and every Hazem, just as God effortlessly loves any and every human, in any and every circumstance. Because our God is love. 

And Love came down at Christmas time. 

Not far from where I now sit, Love came down and entered into the filth of childbirth, of barn animals, of sin. And then, Love died on a cross to make all things clean, all things new.

The cross... Perhaps “effortless” is not the right word. 

“Effortless” in that it is God’s nature to love, and thus God never tries to be loving. But God so willed that love, all true love, costs. Love labors. Love suffers. 

Make no mistake, friends: we serve a suffering God. 

And it is because we serve a suffering God that we can embrace and celebrate the (otherwise bizarre and disturbing) Gospel narratives of Emmanuel’s birth. 

So let’s celebrate.

Blessings on your Advent.   

Sunday, December 9, 2012

A Blessing



For the last three weeks, my friend Wil Maxey has been staying with me at the Holy Land Institute for the Deaf. 



Wil is a senior at Wheaton College, and he just finished a six-month internship in Palestine through our school’s HNGR (Human Needs and Global Resources) Program.  

I got to hang out with him a couple months ago when he visited Amman to renew his visa (mentioned in a previous post). That time together was wonderful, but far too short. I’m so grateful for this longer visit, during which we’ve been able not just to catch up, but to deepen our friendship beyond what it was at Wheaton. 

Like all visitors to the school, Wil has been put to work: he has alphabetized envelopes, dismantled shelves, supervised children, even tried his hand at being a car mechanic! Through it all, he has embodied enthusiasm and servanthood. And the rest of the school has noticed. We are all grateful for his visit. 

Because both of us are working so much, we actually don’t have a lot of time together. But even if the only time we have together comes at the very end of the day, when we’re both getting ready for bed and falling asleep, I still appreciate his presence. There’s something about sharing space with another, about being physically close to someone who understands you better than everyone else nearby does. 

God knew what He was doing when He created bodies. 

...which is good, because I personally have no idea what He was doing. 

More about that later. But now, I’m going to give my body what it wants: rest.

Blessings upon blessings.



Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Lesson from a Rose



A lovely story from the beloved Henri Nouwen...

One day, a well-dressed workaholic was walking through a beautiful city park. He had important business on the other side. For some reason, his focused gaze forward was diverted by a solitary rose near the sidewalk. 
The man stopped, approached the rose, and asked, “For heaven’s sake, can’t you make yourself useful? Why don’t you get busy and DO something?” 
After a pause suggesting innocent confusion, the rose replied, “I’m sorry sir, but I’m just here to be beautiful.” 

This short story smashes one of my most adored idols: productivity. Specifically, productivity of the mind -- measured by what I read and manifested in what I write. At times, I cling to this productivity as if it’s the purpose of my existence and the source of my worth. 

But it’s not only an idol that I’ve worshipped for years; it’s also a hindrance to the work that God has given me this year in Jordan. Almost every day, my thoughts wander away from the here and now, wander towards the tasks, ambitions, and possibilities of the there and then. I think about a blog post I want to write, about how I might respond to an argument in a book I’m reading, about what I will study in seminary... Meanwhile, God is at work in the lives of the children around me, and I’m missing out. 

How to address the idol and the hindrance? A new philosophy: “I’m just here to be beautiful.” 

Friday, November 30, 2012

(Mis)Understanding Deafblindness



About a month ago, two young Swiss men visited the Holy Land Institute for several weeks. On one of their first days here, they had an idea: “Why don’t we make some blindfolds, find cotton balls to stuff in our ears, and then walk around the school for an hour or two? That way, we can actually experience what it’s like to be deafblind!”

But no matter how dark the blindfolds, no matter how thick the cotton, their proposed experiment was doomed to fail. This post explains why. 

Most of us who can see and hear are initially bewildered by the concept of deafblindness: we understand that the condition is profoundly life-altering, of course, but we struggle to imagine (even more so to articulate) how exactly the condition alters one’s life -- what it means to not be able to see and hear. 

Essentially, the alteration regards the ability to make observations of the world around us and the phenomenon of mental development that results from those observations. 

Just about all of our knowledge is based on sensory observations, and particularly on sight and sound (called “the distance senses”). Everything that you and I know, we know because we saw or heard things first. We compile and classify these things over time, and with the help of the rest of the brain, we eventually create ideas, syllogisms, etc. But sensory observations are always at the root. 

Deafblindness, the absence of the distance senses, constitutes a radical reduction in the spectrum of possible observations, in the number of observations actually made, and (if the remaining senses do not compensate for the absence) in the mental development that results from observations. 

Thus, deafblindness should not be associated with mental deficiency. The mind works just fine: it’s just that far less “stuff” goes into it, far less than what’s going into the mind of a person who sees and hears. But again, without sensory compensation, the deafblind person’s mental development will suffer.  

...Okay, let’s bring this back down to earth. To put it in terms of the proposed experiment, truly understanding how deafblindness affects a person doesn’t merely require the obstruction of one’s own faculties of sight and sound; it would require somehow removing from one’s mind every single observation ever made by sight and sound -- and, along with those observations, the infinitely many mental acquisitions to which they led. 

Let’s say that the two Swiss men went ahead with their experiment, that they blindfolded their eyes and plugged their ears. Let’s say that we could pluck them up from wherever they are and place them anywhere we want...your neighbor’s kitchen, for example. Let’s say that they begin to stumble around, and soon they run into your neighbor’s oven.

Like a deafblind person, of course, they use their hands to feel around the oven, making observations through touch. But what’s happening in their minds when they do this differs dramatically from what would happen in the mind of a typical deafblind child...

The two Swiss men instantaneously know that this object is designed to heat food, and they begin to search for the features that they know exist: burners on the surface, knobs on the side near the top, a handle that they can pull open; they know that each of the knobs corresponds to just one feature of the object they’re touching, and given a few minutes, they could probably figure out exactly which knob corresponds to which feature (as they would know to slowly run their hands over the stovetop, at a safe distance, and feel for heat); they know that, if they turn a knob, they must return it to its original position, because otherwise they or someone else might burn themselves later on; they know that they are standing in a room where food is cooked (which they have learned to call a “kitchen”), and they know that in such rooms there are sources of food nearby; they could search confidently for what they have learned to call a “refrigerator.”

These are just some of the conclusions that the Swiss men can reach instantaneously and subconsciously, due to their past observations of sight and sound. But not one of these conclusions is self-evident to the deafblind child. Even if her or his hand movements are identical to those of the Swiss men, this child’s observations won’t lead them to the same conclusions. Furthermore, the child is quite likely to draw conclusions that seem self-evident to her or him, but that are actually wrong (for instance, the child may assume that the oven is something to be played with, because the knobs on the side are just like the knobs on a toy in her or his bedroom). 

That’s why the proposed experiment was doomed to fail. Given our history of observations via our distance senses, we just can’t imagine what it’s really like to be deafblind. Indeed, insofar as we imagine through the creation of mental images, deafblindness is, quite literally, beyond our imagination. 

Hopefully, these words have illuminated and not confused. But if they have confused... Well, be grateful that your confusion is nothing compared to the confusion of the deafblind child who can’t understand why the oven isn’t a toy. 

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Hello Holy Land!




Several weeks ago, I had the opportunity to visit friends in Jerusalem and Bethlehem. Ever since attending the Christ at the Checkpoint conference eight months ago, I have looked forward to returning to these two cities. It was such a pleasure to walk around the Old City of Jerusalem again, to come face-to-face with the separation barrier in Bethlehem again, to converse with Palestinian Christians again.

Of course, there were also some new experiences! Two highlights:

Worshipping with a Messianic Jewish congregation in the Old City...



...and participating in an olive harvest!




This is Megan Giesecke, a dear friend from Wheaton. She is also an intern with the Mennonite Central Committee’s SALT program this year, and she is working at Sabeel Ecumenical Liberation Theology Center.


This is Andrew Childress, a dear friend from the days of home-schooling and youth group. He is teaching English at a school in Beit Jala (a Palestinian community next to Bethlehem). 



Behind this fence is a segment of the separation barrier in east Jerusalem. We cannot accurately refer to this segment as a security barrier (no matter how much we might want to) for the simple reason that it is not even situated between Palestinians and Israelis: Palestinians are on both sides. The Israeli government chose to construct this segment of the wall right through a Palestinian community. Hence my word choice.  

As I said, it was such a pleasure to re-live some of the experiences from my previous trip to Israel/Palestine. But there was one experience from that trip which I was grateful not to re-live. I want to share that experience with you now. 

On our group’s final morning in the Holy Land, several of us decided to wake up early, take a taxi to the pedestrian checkpoint in Bethlehem, go through the same checkpoint that Palestinians go through on their way to work in Jerusalem, and catch a bus into the city for an early morning of exploration. 

It was a great plan, and a great morning. Except for one part. 

For those of you who don’t know, Bethlehem is a thoroughly Palestinian community in which thousands of Palestinian sisters and brothers in Christ live. But Bethlehem is also, for those of you who don’t know, a kind of prison. It is surrounded by the separation barrier, and any resident who leaves the city must pass through one of a few Israeli-controlled checkpoints. So they can come and go...just not freely.

We arrive at the checkpoint at 6:00 AM. It’s cold, and we’re relieved to see a small coffee stand nearby. The owner cheerfully refuses our money. 

Immediately, I am struck by two observations.

First, the line. 

Around five feet wide, around fifty yards long. Demarcated by metal bars on both sides. Looks like a prison, works like a cage. It is packed. Hundreds and hundreds of Palestinian men, young and old, are squeezed together, shoulder to shoulder and front to back. Like animals. Dozens of men have not yet entered the cage and are cramming to get in. Apparently, this line can start as early as three in the morning. Morning after morning after morning. 

Second, the other line.

It is right next to the first. No metal bars. No people. It is an empty and open path that leads directly to the checkpoint. 

The first line is for Palestinians. The second line is for anybody else. 


Our group walks past the Palestinians with painful ease. I make eye contact once -- never again. Not because they were trying to shame us, but because they didn’t have to. 

They live here. They have always lived here. They have worked these jobs for years and years, and they used to go to them freely, but around a decade ago the Israeli government decided to change that. Now they wake up hours earlier than is necessary, so that they can stand in a line and be treated like livestock until an 18-year-old punk with a gun gives them permission to go to work. 

These are our sisters and brothers in Christ. 

Lord have mercy on those who allow their foremost familial allegiance to be trumped by a political one. 




Sunday, November 18, 2012

The Situation Improves (While Another Digresses)



Thank you for your prayers, friends. After four days of chaos throughout the country, things finally calmed down on Saturday (http://jordantimes.com/calm-prevails-throughout-jordan-following-fuel-price-riots). Although protests will certainly continue, the pandemonium almost certainly won’t. It looks like sanity is settling in again -- one death, dozens of injuries, and two hundred arrests later. 

In light of the situation’s improvement, you might consider replacing your prayers for Jordan and me with prayers for Gaza and Israel (http://www.aljazeera.com/news/middleeast/2012/11/2012111842933654975.html). 

Prayer requests...

  • For the families and friends of the three Israelis who have died and several dozen who are wounded. May their grief move them towards God, not hatred and violence.
  • For the families and friends of the 72 Palestinians who have died and over four hundred who are wounded (the majority of whom are civilians). May their grief move them towards God, not hatred and violence.
  • Against the terrorism of Hamas, which has fired rockets towards Tel Aviv and induced widespread fear in the nation of Israel
  • Against the terrorism of Israel, which has fired rockets at obvious civilian locations (including media centers and factories) and induced widespread fear in an impoverished and oppressed people
  • For the cessation of attacks now
  • For the advancement of reconciliation soon

You might also check out these two short pieces on the conflict by a young and promising Palestinian evangelical theologian: http://muntherisaac.blogspot.co.uk/2012/11/the-employment-of-religion-in-gaza-war.html?spref=fb. And http://muntherisaac.blogspot.com/2012/11/there-are-only-losers-in-war.html 

Grace and Peace,
Willy


Thursday, November 15, 2012

The Situation

Hello friends. 

Please pray for Jordan, as violent protests and riots broke out across the country on Tuesday night, and it looks like things might be heating up instead of cooling down (if you wanna read more about it, check out http://www.aljazeera.com/news/middleeast/2012/11/2012111421456916947.html). The generally tame “Jordanian Spring” hasn’t seen anything like this before now. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens. 

Regarding Salt, the above article mentions an unsuccessful attempt to storm Prime Minister Abdullah Ensour’s home, as well as an arson attack on a civil affairs office. I should also mention that there have been other instances of unrest here: two government vehicles set on fire, a bank vandalized, the main road between Salt and Amman temporarily blocked by burning tires, and the typical traffic-stopping, mildly destructive protests. Last night, I fell asleep to shouting, sirens, and gunshots (which were probably just fired into the air at a nearby rally). 

Thankfully, things have calmed down during the day. I went downtown earlier this evening (while it was still light outside) to pick up dinner for the volunteers, and though the streets were a little less crowded than normal, nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary. 

But please pray. Against violence. For justice. 

Salam,
Willy

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Further Up and Further Out


When I was still in the States, my predominant thought on the prospect of working with deafblind children went something like this: “Won’t it be great to love on these kids, to show them the affection that they constantly long for, to touch them and hold them and see them smile in response?” 

But those thoughts were misguided: I took for granted the desire of deafblind children to be touched. 

Think about it. What would happen if a child was permanently isolated from sight and sound and largely isolated from people? What would happen if her exclusive experience of touch was a firm grip on the wrist and a cold tug in an unknown direction? What would happen if she was hit, even just once, without any warning and without ever understanding why? What would happen if she was hit often? 

What happens?

The child turns inward. 

And understandably so. It is safer.

But we know that it is also less rewarding, less fulfilling, less like life as God intends it to be. So, how do we help these beloved children of God turn outward again, open up to the world, receive real love

I don’t have much to say. The process is long and painstaking, I know that. So much damage has already been done. 

At the end of the day, it’s about establishing trust and, slowly but surely, forming a relationship. Without trust there is no relationship, and without a relationship there is no growth. 


Wednesday, November 7, 2012

This Year's Motto


I am only one,
But still I am one.
I cannot do everything,
But still I can do something;
And because I cannot do everything,
I will not refuse to do something
that I can do. 

Edward Everett Hale, friend of Helen Keller


Friday, November 2, 2012

Cruel Possession


Hazem loves music.



Along with several other children in the deafblind unit, Hazem can hear a very little bit. One of his favorite things to do is sit on a comfy sofa, hold a music-playing toy to his ear, and gently rock back and forth, mesmerized. He could do this for hours.

In fact, he used to. 

For hours. 

For days. 

For years.

Like most people, Hazem’s family had no idea how to raise a deafblind child. But they had a very good idea of the stigma that their culture places on people with disabilities and the consequent shame that it places on their relatives. No doubt Hazem’s family was relieved to discover that they could keep their son occupied and out of the way with a little hand-held electronic device. 

Though he probably didn’t sit on a comfy sofa in his house. 

But as I was saying, Hazem loves music. More than that: because music so cruelly possessed his early childhood, he is dependent on it. Or at least he was when he first came to the Holy Land Institute. Even now, though, if the teachers here allowed Hazem to listen to music all day, he would do so and wouldn’t learn or experience anything else. 

As you can imagine, then, the teachers have worked hard to wean Hazem off of music. He can only listen at certain times, and for a certain period of time. 

My fifth or sixth day in the deafblind unit. Three o’clock in the afternoon. Hazem, his primary teacher, and I are sitting on a porch swing, gently rocking back and forth. I am sitting on Hazem’s right side, the teacher is sitting on his left, and the three of us are squished closely together. 

Hazem’s right hand begins to rub my jeans on my left thigh. He is slowly running his fingers over my cell phone. And suddenly, something clicks in his mind.  

He tries to force his hand into my pocket, and I know that he isn’t allowed to do this, so I try to push his hand away, which causes him to scream, and somehow this 13-year-old boy is using more force than I am, and his fingers are going deeper into my pocket, so I stand up, forcing his fingers out, but I cannot step away and I am bent over because Hazem now has a death-grip on me, with one hand clutching my shirt near my left shoulder and the other hand clinging to my right arm, and he is crying and screaming, and somehow someway his teacher and I manage to release his grip and distance ourselves, leaving Hazem crying and screaming at the top of his lungs on the swing. 

We must give him at least five minutes to calm down. 

And he does. It used to take him a lot longer.