“We Refuse to be Enemies”

On his  U.S Tour in June of 2013, Daoud preached a sermon on John 14: 16-19 & 27

on three different occasions.  Many were moved by his message of refusing to be enemies even in the face of danger.  Some thought it was not quite enough.

A member of the planning committee for a church where Daoud preached, saw me on the street the day after,  and chased me for a block to say, “Daoud’s sermon was wonderful, but he had a chance to “hit it out of the park and missed it”, she said nearly out of breath and a little disappointed.

After a moment or so of listening to her words and identifying her concern, I concluded that maybe the “high” I was personally feeling from the experience the day before, was misguided. I began to feel somewhat discouraged by her assessment, and apparently, that of other members of her committee who had hoped to change the hearts and minds of the congregation with Daoud’s words and stories of injustice.  What she wanted him to share were several stories about how the Israeli imposes great restrictions on his human rights of life, liberty and happiness.  For she had traveled recently herself to the “holy land”  and was outraged as all of us are when we see for the first time, what life is like for the Israelis and Palestinians (I/P).  

As she prepared to leave me with her final thoughts, as I had only listened at that point, I said somewhat defensively, “But that is not Daoud’s way.  He doesn’t play the victim role, and for him to share the many stories he could tell,  he stood the risk of being inconsistent with his message of “refusing to be enemies”.   I left it there with her, however, she clearly wasn’t persuaded. I walked away a little unsatisfied myself.  I had also crossed a line from teacher to advocate.

When people like myself become involved with the issues of the Middle East conflict in I/P, we eventually cross a line between education and advocacy.  Education is needed to inform audiences about the gaps of information we have because of the overwhelming voice of the single narrative of the Israelis we have heard for so long.  There is a need to hear another narrative long absent from the conversation.  But at some point, the change agent emerges through the inevitable impatience that comes from such a teaching role, and the call to action is unbearable.  

At that point, the line between impartiality and “balance” has been crossed, and the activist shows up at street demonstrations and boycotts.  The advocate takes a public position, never ever able to recross the line and teach in quite the same way as before.  Of course it is not that rigid a change, as life is dynamic and in constant ebb and flow. Education, though, never really stops.   The teacher doesn’t stop teaching.  The message which was simply background history shifts to a new level of focused advocacy on the common ground of the injustice of the Israeli government’s occupation of Palestinian people and their land.  No longer is  it about avoiding a choice of one side as opposed to the other.  It’s about what we do with what we now know.  It’s about seeing all, all of us as God’s children. I wonder if the woman who stopped me, and her committee

might now begin to do the real hard work within her congregation of advocating change?  It certainly wasn’t up to Daoud to do this.

As the days have peeled away since my encounter, I have thought much about the criticism I received from the woman that day on the street near the church where Daoud had preached.  After sharing with Daoud the chance encounter with her, I felt even more strongly that he was right to stay within himself, the authentic self, although I  still wasn’t a 100% sure of what I had said.  He was.

On a recent Sunday, at my own church, after having heard Daoud preach there a few weeks before, a long time friend reached over the pew with a warm greeting, and said, “I really thought Daoud’s  sermon was wonderful, though a little understated, given his circumstances.”  She and her husband had traveled to the farm of Tent of Nations, and heard the story, and saw the human landscape that surrounds the Palestinians there.  She knew there was more that Daoud could have told the congregation.  For what he didn’t say was more powerful than a series of stories he might have said about the awful conditions under which he and his people are forced to live.  He refused to concentrate on the oppression of the occupation, and the victimhood of such control, but  instead, focused on the call to be more like Jesus did in an era of another empire of his day.

At the end of his sermon, Daoud does tell one brief story about his family being stopped by an Israeli commando patrol in full battle gear who shouted to Daoud at gun point to get out of the car, leaving his mother and wife inside, and his three children asleep on the back seat. After taking Daoud’s ID, the soldier then ordered him to empty his car into the cold of the winter night, so that a more thorough search could be done.

Daoud explained that his children would be frightened as they awoke and saw the guns. He pleaded to no avail.  As Daoud awakened his children, he spoke to them in English so that the soldiers would understand his words.  He said to his children, “You will see soldiers here and it’s ok.   They are friendly people and won’t harm you.”  After the search, and the family were allowed back into the car, the young officer said to Daoud, “Sir, I want to apologize to you.  What we did here tonight was not good.”   They parted peacefully.  The family drove away to their home in Bethlehem.  No doubt the soldier, and perhaps his comrades went away with new thoughts about the orders they were enforcing on this family and other Palestinians they might meet in the future.

On the Sunday when Doaud preached that one story was all that his audiences needed to hear at the end, because most of the sermon he had already delivered was about, our call to be ‘faithful, loving and hopeful’ in the belief for another way.  What he didn’t say and could have said, spoke volumes about his faithfulness  to the gospel.  I hope that the woman who caught me on the street that day after Daoud preached, is having second thoughts about the impact  Daoud’s sermon had on members of her congregation.  I think she’d share a different impression as I now firmly believe to be so.

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27 Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.

BP