Saturday, January 5, 2013

A Religious Reprimand



I’m curious to know how many have noticed that I haven’t written much about religion on this blog. If you’re wondering, rest assured that the silence isn’t an indication of danger; no one’s going to throw me in jail for mentioning Jesus in Jordan. Frankly, I’ve just had lots of other things to write about. 

And although that is still the case, I want to make a conscious effort to write more about religion in the upcoming months: about Christians in the Middle East, about inter-faith relations in Jordan, about the role of faith at this school, and about my day-to-day experiences of being a committed Christian living in a Muslim-majority context.

...So, where to begin? A story, of course... 

Supervising the children on the playground. I strike up a conversation with a stick of a 14-year-old boy named Hamzeh. He’s one of my favorites here, because he’s one of the only students who I’ve never had to reprimand. Around half a minute into our conversation, Hamzeh asks me if I am a Muslim or a Christian (a question that quite a few students have asked me). I tell him that I am a Christian. 

With a slight smile that hints at a jest, Hamzeh says, “I don’t like Christians.” 

Then he walks away. 

The smile is only somewhat comforting. Although I am fairly confident that my friendship with Hamzeh hasn’t actually been affected, I cannot help but be disconcerted by his response. 

Ten seconds later, an 18-year-old female student, a Muslim, approaches me. Her expression is stern. She tells me to follow her.

And together, we follow Hamzeh. Once we catch up to him, she taps him on the shoulder -- powerfully, with her whole hand. It’s more of a slap, actually. 

When he turns around to see who tap-slapped him, this 18-year-old girl launches into a fearsome tirade. Due to its speed and ferocity, I only understand a few signs: Muslim, Christian, friends, normal, shame on you, and tell him you’re sorry.

(Side-note: the successful performance of such rants, whether spoken or signed, seems to be a rite of passage into Arab womanhood.) 

Smothered, the poor boy apologizes. Flustered, I eagerly forgive. Satisfied, the young woman dismisses us both. 

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

We're Back!



Happy New Year, friends! I hope that your holiday celebrations were reflective, rejuvenating, and 
joy-filled.

Along with twenty other people from the school, I just returned from a day-trip to the ancient Decapolis city of Gadara (known as “Umm Qays” today), where Jesus healed a possessed man and cast the demons into a herd of pigs (Matthew 8:28-34). We celebrated the arrival of 2013 with a simple picnic lunch on a mountain that overlooks the Sea of Galilee from the Jordanian side. Delightful.   

Yesterday morning, my father, mother, and younger sister flew back to the States. As expected, our time was blessed...and, as expected, it was hard to see them leave. But the blessings of their visit far outweigh the grief I now feel. 

Two highlights from our time together. First, my family arrived the night before all of the students left for break, so they were able to meet many of the children. As Providence would have it, Mahmoud was the very first child we encountered. What a joy this was, for me and for them. 

Second, while we certainly visited many tourist locations during our five days in the Holy Land, we also experienced the land of Palestine in ways that the vast majority of tourists do not. Several lengthy conversations with the owner of our hotel, a Palestinian Orthodox Christian; a 30-minute walk around Bethlehem with a 10-year-old street kid; first-hand observation of an IDF soldier treating Palestinians unjustly (when our local bus was stopped at an impromptu checkpoint just outside of Jerusalem); Advent worship alongside Arab believers on two occasions... The list goes on. 

Suffice it to say that I am exceedingly grateful for these and many other experiences over the last week and a half. Alhamdulillah -- Praise be to God. 

The kids will return in six days. Can’t wait to see their faces again. 

Grace and Peace. 





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.