Christians and Muslims in Aboud

A Spring Break trip post.

The term “Palestinian Christian” puzzles many American Christians. They have assumed that to be Palestinian is to be Muslim. When they learn that Palestinian Christians actually exist, they often assume that there must be only a couple hundred of them, and they were probably converted by American missionaries a few years ago, and they are probably forced to live in hiding for fear of persecution. 

But none of these things are true. We have thousands upon thousands of Palestinian sisters and brothers in Christ, many of whom are members of Christian communities that go back hundreds of years. And while tensions between the two groups should be acknowledged, the fact of the matter is that Palestinian Christians coexist with their Muslim neighbors and have done so for centuries.

In some places, they have even thrived. 

One such place is Aboud. A Palestinian village whose population is 50% Christian, 50% Muslim. 

Our group visited Aboud on our first Sunday in Israel/Palestine. Because the village has three churches (Greek Orthodox, Catholic, and evangelical Church of God), we split up into three smaller groups, each worshipping with one of the congregations. I was assigned to the Church of God group. 

It was a small, quaint church. Around 20 adults and 30 children in attendance. The sanctuary looked like something you might see in any rural location in the States. Even the service structure was familiar.

I can think of only three major differences. First, the worship music was thoroughly Arab. Second, the visiting pastor preached on Matthew 6:16-18, in which Jesus teaches about fasting -- a topic that most pastors in the States avoid. It was a very good sermon, though.

Third, the sermon was preached by a woman.

Well, it was preached by both a woman and a man. The visiting pastor was a male, but because he was preaching to both Arabs and Americans, he did not know which language to speak in. After a minute or two of congregational conversing, it was decided that he would preach in Arabic, and the headmistress of the local Christian school would translate after each sentence. 

She stood directly beside him throughout the service, proclaiming the Gospel in English as boldly as her counterpart did in Arabic. For those of us with egalitarian convictions, it was a beautiful sight. 

After the church services ended, our whole group went to the Greek Orthodox church and talked with its priest. The building was beautiful and ancient. There are several sections of stone from several different eras, and the oldest layer dates back to the Constantinian era!

Like all other Christians with whom we spoke in Aboud, the Greek Orthodox priest absolutely renounces violence, and this renunciation has everything to do with his understanding of what it means to follow Jesus Christ. (From what I’ve observed and heard, this is true of the Palestinian church at large.) The vehemence with which this godly man decries the injustices of the Israeli occupation is paralleled by the vehemence with which he proclaims his (Christ’s) peace ethic. For those of us with pacifist convictions, it was a beautiful word. 

(Many thanks to my friend Hillary Truty, whose pictures keep this blog from putting everyone to sleep.)

While we were visiting the priest, many Christian women in Aboud were preparing a meal for our group. And what a meal it was!

That’s a pizza with half a chicken on it.

Such hospitality is part and parcel of Middle Eastern culture. And not just towards foreigners. Recently, one of the village’s elders, who was also a leader in the Orthodox church, passed away. The whole village attended his funeral, and all of the event’s catering was prepared by the village’s Muslim women. 

For all of us who yearn for reconciliation, it is a beautiful example. 

After the meal, we took a tour of the village. On its main road, we saw this sign:

“Great! Our country is actually doing some good for these people!” We were all very pleased. 

But further down the road, we found this: 

The road continues beyond this obstruction for several hundred yards, lined with countless olive trees -- an invaluable source of income for the village. 

Why was this done? 

Because several hundred yards beyond those several hundred yards, there is an Israeli settlement. A community of Israelis who are living lavishly, who are living outside of the internationally-recognized boundaries of the nation-state of Israel, who are living inside of what most people call Palestinian territory. 

We saw and heard construction equipment. Building and expansion is ongoing, as it is in many settlements. The roadblock exists to minimize Palestinian presence on the surrounding land and to impair the ability of Aboud’s residents to live on it. With such minimization and impairment comes disputability: as the settlement continues to grow, and as Israeli activity (like the creation of roadblocks) continues to damage the livelihood of villagers, Israel will be increasingly capable of contesting Aboud’s right to the land. 

The story isn’t over, of course. Perhaps Aboud will fair well in the future and remain largely unaffected by the Israeli occupation. But the beginning of the story closely resembles the stories of many other Palestinian villages. And most of these stories are Palestinian tragedies.

Let us pray that our sisters and brothers in Christ who live in Aboud experience a happier ending. 

What about the harmony that our group observed between Christians and Muslims in Aboud? This is a rare thing -- to be so supportive of each other, to be visibly united as a community. What is uniting them? 

The same thing that unites Christians and Muslims in those villages whose stories are tragedies. 

They are united by their hatred of the occupation.