Such Sacred Sensations

How it feels

when a child you hardly know

falls asleep with his head on your lap;

how it feels

to dance with a deafblind boy

until you’re both exhausted;

how it heals

when you perform her sign name

and prove that you remember,

unlike her parents;

how it heals

and hurts

to tenderly hold an eight-year-old infant

who used to recoil from all touch,

like an abused dog:

Words can’t do justice

to such sacred sensations.

But our bodies can,

and my body does,

and I am thus assured

that my body is good. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.   

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.

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.”