“What good is anger?” I wondered as I participated in the Damascus Road Anti-Racism Process. I often avoid situations that I know will provoke my anger and agitation. For example, I haven’t watched the movie “Crash” yet because I know it will leave me feeling angry and helpless toward the injustices our society perpetuates. This combination of emotions only leads me to one thing…retreat from the world around me so that I can find a way to recover. But there’s got to be something positive I can do with this emotion of anger, right?
I’m angry for good reason…I’m angry at the injustices of racism, a social construct that was created and/or promoted whether intentionally or not by my ancestors. I’m angry that this social construct has stripped away the valuable cultural resources of my Irish and German heritage only to leave a white American identity that is wrapped up in oppressive conformity devaluing those who are not “white.” I’m angry that I have unknowingly participated in the systemic racism of our society. I’m angry that people I care about are constantly oppressed and that it feels as if there is nothing I can do to truly relieve that oppression.
I have often felt disempowered–as an introvert I felt like the underdog at times out-shined by peers whose extroversion was valued over my quiet steadfastness. But going through this anti-racism process helped me become more aware of just how much power I do have…I am in a position that asks me to tell the stories of 43 churches and 24 ministries, to help shape the types of leadership training provided for the leaders of these churches and ministries and to build relationships with and provide resources for young leaders across the country. I realize that I have more opportunity to influence than I ever imagined I could as a teenager. Though I have struggles to be heard as a young woman leader in the Mennonite Church I have to acknowledge that my voice is more likely to be heard in the broader society than that of my Black, Latina or Asian counterpart.
The weekend after I participated in Damascus Road I headed to Seattle, Wa. to attend “The New Conspirators: What in the world is God doing?”, a gathering of practitioners from four new streams of “renewal” in the church: Emerging, Missional, New Monastic and Mosaic. All but Mosaic are largely expressions of renewal in Euro-centric North American, United Kingdom, Australian and New Zealand realities. That is not to downplay the leaps and bounds each of these streams contributes toward bringing the Kingdom that Jesus spoke about into our current earthly reality.
The Mosaic stream however is a largely urban movement of new churches with a missional bent started by young leaders looking for a more multi-cultural church. These churches are young, diverse and often influenced by hip-hop culture in worship expressions.
On Saturday morning of the conference, Pastor Efrem Smith, co-author of “The Hip Hop Church” and Senior Pastor of Sanctuary Covenant Church in Minneapolis, Mn., shared with us how Martin Luther King Jr.’s vision of the “Beloved Community” requires a “Beloved Church.” Pastor Smith stuck it to his mostly white audience speaking on the issues of systemic racism I had just reflected on the weekend before. I sat amazed at how God was bringing my experiences together full circle.
“We have got to embrace and live in to our identity as God’s Beloved!!” he proclaimed. “Forget about trying to get your ‘white card’! Women, forget about trying to get your ‘man card’! We have lost so much of our selves and our cultures trying to all be alike when our only true identity is that of God’s Beloved!”
It was all I could do to hold back the tears coming to my eyes as Pastor Smith’s words spoke into my life. Suddenly I realized my response to “what good is anger?”
Anger is good when it makes you aware of things you hadn’t seen or could easily ignore before and motivates toward positive action. Moved by that sense of anger and loss, I will seek to embrace and re-discover my cultural heritage from the men and women who traveled from Ireland and Germany to escape religious persecution. With my anger, I will acknowledge that I do have power and influence and seek to promote and create possibilities for the variety of under-privileged and under-heard voices around me. More importantly with my anger I will remember that my identity lies in being God’s Beloved and will empower others to acknowledge their own identity as God’s Beloved.
Many people come to the Holy Lands trying to change the world. They come with an agenda, either to speed up the end of the world or find personal spiritual epiphany. Sometimes they try to call down justice to give the land to the Jews or create a Palestinian state. In comparison, most of the people who were born here seem to just want to live their lives in peace. In a land that has been a crossroads of trade, culture and religion for millennia, they are used to visitors coming and going with crazy ideas and absurd goals.
My most meaningful experiences in the past four and a half months have not been with revolutionaries, peace activists or religious leaders. They come from the normal people who populate the towns and cities, spending time with their families, and going to work each day. These relationships are built within an atmosphere of hospitality sharing the normal parts of life—coffee, tea, falafel and shwarama. These people seem to have a greater ability to see their neighbors as human beings, not as others representing a specific religious or ethnic background.
I’ve spent a lot of time walking the routes that Jesus would have traveled regularly in the Galilee. Nazareth, Cana, and Capernaum, as well as most of the places mentioned in the Gospels, were almost inconsequential in relation to the broader ruling empire. The two largest cities of power and glory in the region—Tiberias and Sepphoris—were never mentioned in scripture. Jesus’ disciples were common peasants and laborers with mixed and ambiguous perspectives on the Roman Empire. Many of them would have spent most of their lives just trying to feed their families.
Last week my Israeli friend Maoz and I took a journalist and photographer from the Israeli Newspaper Ha’aretz on the Jesus Trail, a hiking route that we are developing to connect these places. It was a lot of fun to share some of the places of Jesus’ life with them, explaining why they were significant to his history and the Christian story. When we passed by an ancient synagogue at the ruins of Arbella, they shared pieces of their Jewish heritage with me.
Together we visited the Mount of Beatitudes, all remarking on the ugliness of the church’s interior and how much more beautiful the green paths of the countryside is in comparison. I think it all made us wonder about the difference between Jesus the Jewish peasant traveler and the Christianity that has developed since he walked these hills 2000 years ago.
I am currently taking a seminary course that explores the first century context of Jesus’ life. In my research, I am continually struck by his normalcy. Although history does indicate that his life brought revolution to western civilization, I often wonder if his intention was to be someone who would change the world. My suspicion is that he was just trying to live his life well and help a diversity of others to do the same, directing their journeys toward God.
There is a saying that if you spend a week in Israel you can write a book about your experience, and that if you stay for a month you can produce a really good article. The adage continues saying that if you stay here much more than this, you won’t even know what to say.
The longer I stay in Nazareth, the more I just want to live my life in the company of close friends, sharing the hospitable space that happens over a cup of coffee or dinner. This renews and sustains our relationships and brings us joy each day. And perhaps because they’re not trying to start a revolution, these interactions may change the world.
For many of us, the word fasting conjures up images of going without food, depriving ourselves of needed nourishment so that we can spend more time in prayer. It is not always a positive image, the idea of giving up something that is so important to life and we wonder what difference it makes when we pray? Jesus assumed his disciples would fast. In Matthew 6:16-18, he uses the word, “when”, before he gives his followers instructions about fasting.
I propose that our experience with fasting could become much more positive if we begin to view it in a different light. Jesus actually taught his disciples to anticipate it with joy by washing their faces and putting oil on their heads, an act reserved for joyous occasions. Is it possible that fasting is a way of entering into God’s presence unlike any other? Does giving to God the time and attention that we usually reserve for food or another activity change us in such a way that we can “hear” God better?
Fasting is usually associated with giving up of food, but there may be other fasts that are helpful as well. When Jesus went into the wilderness for 40 days, he went away by himself, thereby eliminating distractions of the world in which he lived. I wonder if fasting from some of the many activities in our world today, namely the media, might be a valuable fast for us living in 2008.
Rather than seeing fasting just as a denial of ones physical needs, we might begin to see it as an opportunity to enter into a closer relationship with God, an invitation to experience the graciousness of our God. Joel 2:12 helps us to see fasting in the light of our relationship with God,
“Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.”
Franconia Mennonite Conference is inviting all churches to join with the regional southeastern PA church in 40 Days of prayer and fasting during Lent, February 6 – March 21, 2008.
The purpose of this fast is threefold:
Deepen our love for God
Deepen our love for our neighbors
Seek reform in the Church and revival in our communities
For more information about the 40 Days of prayer and fasting, contact Sandy Landes, Prayer Ministry Coordinator, slandes@franconiaconference.org or 215-723-5513, ext. 121.
God is always inviting us, the church, the bride of Christ, into a closer relationship. Fasting is one of the ways we can eliminate the distractions that keep us from being close to God. You are invited to come close!
My first Sunday in Indonesia, we attended Jakarta Praise Community Church. It’s a community of about 5,000 worshippers who gather on Sundays in a large auditorium in Jakarta’s Central Business District. It’s a JKI (Jemaat Kristen Indonesia) congregation, part of the global Mennonite family through Mennonite World Conference. We arrived late and had to line up at the door, ended up sitting with around 200 or so others in a foyer and watched the service through the open door and by closed circuit TV. It was really unlike any Mennonite congregation I’d ever attended before, both in size and techno-savvy.
I traveled to Indonesia before Christmas to attend a Conference on the Peace Church in the Asian Context and to connect with partner congregations in Indonesia. I visited with Troy Landis from Franconia congregation and Andre who attended Philadelphia Praise Center. I met with Dan and Jeanne Yantzi who are members of West Philadelphia Mennonite Fellowship and talked with former Mennonite Central Committee interns Nofika and Henny. It was a real privilege and gift to see the vibrancy of Franconia Conference connections literally on the other side of the world.
Before my trip, I stopped at the Mennonite Heritage Center in Harleysville (Pa) to purchase some gifts of hospitality. I took small fraktur prints by Roma Ruth, redware pottery and quilted potholders, symbols of Pennsylvania Dutch Mennonite life. I carried them carefully to Indonesia, exchanging them for intricate batik cloth and bright Balinese prints. I returned knowing a few more words in Indonesian and with a deeper understanding of the complexities that our Indonesian brothers and sisters face as they worship and work both in Indonesia and abroad.
Indonesia is the world’s largest Muslim country and the fourth most populous nation in the world, after the United States. It’s scattered across hundreds of islands and bears the scars and the fruit of years of interaction with other cultures, from Indian to Arabic, to Dutch, Japanese and US American. It’s an amalgamated nation in many ways, constructed from a plurality of island cultures and tribes. I was overwhelmed by islander hospitality frequently.
The Mennonite Church is present in various incarnations in Indonesia. Our relationships in Franconia Conference with the emerging Indonesian Anabaptist community on the East Coast have been primarily forged through ties with GKMI (Gereja Kristen Muria Indonesia), an Indonesian-originated Mennonite movement that connected with the Dutch. However, we continue to build new relationships, discovering the resonance of Anabaptist perspective with a people who have faced persecution, are committed to justice and peacemaking and searching for God in the midst of migrations.
Dutch Mennonites wondered whether those of us who would become the originating community of Mennonites in eastern Pennsylvania really needed to be migrating from their European homeland. They questioned the need, but continued to support their brothers and sisters as they streamed out of the continental interior to find places of freedom in William Penn’s colony. Indonesian Christians face much the same situation as those colonial migrating Swiss-Germans, a generalized anxiety from past persecution and occasional hostilities that remain. They sought a freedom from that persecution and anxiety in the same way, seeking passage to Philadelphia.
There is a deep resonance with our history and a deep hope for our future as we work together. Though the situations are not the same, the contemporary situation for Indonesians in the United States echoes Mennonite history. When I told the story of Indonesian Christians to the sons and daughters of Russian Mennonite émigrés in Canada, they immediately asked how it would be possible to help, insisting that its our responsibility to help persons facing persecution or the possibility of persecution to escape before it’s too late.
This Christmas Eve in Indonesia, the current president invited Christians to the government palace for dinner as an act of reconciliation and recognition. In Washington D.C., the Franconia Conference connected emerging Indonesian congregation was invited to gather at the Indonesian embassy. There is indeed a move intended as a reminder in Indonesia that the nation is open to its religious minorities, both Hindus and Christians. However, the current political climate is deeply affected by interpretations of both secularization and fundamentalism, much like the United States. It’s hard to predict future outcomes.
As Sunday evening worship began at a small Mennonite congregation in suburban Jakarta, the adhan (Muslim call to prayer) bellowed from a speaker on a nearby mosque. It was loud and overwhelmed the small space. It was the first time that I have ever been preparing for Mennonite worship as the call to prayer also beckoned. The gathered congregation didn’t notice it really and continued to move toward Christian worship. I was the only one distracted by the newness of the situation.
There are many things that I bring back from my encounters with our Indonesian brothers and sisters, but what stands out most is the vibrancy of faith and witness in the midst of religious otherness. The message of the Good News remains in the midst of fear and uneasiness. The message of the Good News continues to call to us . . .even in the midst of the adhan.
In the morning I often go into the old Nazareth market to buy fresh pita bread for breakfast, where a small bakery is located on the corner near the White Mosque. The bakery is a maze of clockwork conveyor belts that passes dough through the oven, depositing hot puffed pita balloons onto the tray below, where I can watch them deflate as they cool. The store is run by a hunched-over greying Muslim man with glowing eyes. He speaks English well and is always friendly when I come to buy my daily bread.
The other day when I went to get a pita pizza at the bakery, I decided to take an opportunity to practice my developing Arabic skills. I began with Marhaba (hello), and he responded, Keef halak (how are you doing?). After I replied Mabsut (good), he corrected me by stating that I should say instead, Hamdu l’Allah, meaning “Thanks be to God.”
He asked me how we should respond to this and I ventured, Allah Akbar, meaning “God is greater.” Happy with my correct reply, he went on to tell me that we should first thank God before saying we are doing well because God is greater than what we want or how we are feeling. He reminded me it is because of God that we can do well, as God is greater and we must submit with gratitude.
The White Mosque was originally constructed to foster better relations between Christians and Muslims in Nazareth. A blessing of accountability was given to the mosque, indicating that if a Muslim preacher ever spoke against the Christian community in Nazareth, the minaret would crash to the ground and destroy the building. To this day the mosque stands near the center of the Old Market, where many come to converse, trade, and interact.
I am challenged by the initiative of the Muslims of Nazareth to extend a hand of coexistent hospitality to their Christian neighbors. I am encouraged by the 138 Muslim scholars, clerics, and intellectuals who came together in October to unanimously declare the common ground between Christianity and Islam in a historic document entitled, “A Common Word Between Us and You.” Their invitation to the global Christian community is that we take Jesus’ two greatest commandments seriously, to love God and to love our neighbors.
Learning a new language is a humbling experience; one that teaches much about the contexts and cultures of our neighbors’ lives. It is a deliberate decision to learn to love what is unfamiliar and greater than ourselves, which directs our attention to God.
Choosing a humble learner’s approach is the act that begins the process of mutual understanding, the essential initial building blocks of peacemaking through transformational relationships. This is the bridge to taking the next difficult step that Jesus requires of us, to love our enemies as well as our neighbors.
By living in a place where I am required to interact with Jews, Muslims, and Christians on a daily basis in order to go about my life, I am continually learning that indeed, God is greater than our differences. Open and honest relationships, like God, acknowledge and transcend the labels we have constructed to separate ourselves from each other. The invitation to love our neighbors is open and awaiting our participation.
For more information on the letter “A Common Word Between Us and You” sent October 13, 2007 and the Mennonite Church USA response visit: Mennoweekly.org
What is missional, anyway? Is that really the right question? I mean, let’s break it down: the question implies that we don’t know what missional is. I think that’s more right than many would like to admit, myself included. But the inability to grasp missional is understandable. I spent half an hour today using Google’s search engine to find an easily understandable definition of the word “missional” and was sent down about five bunny holes before I gave up. Its not easily explained and I wonder why that is; perhaps it’s because asking what missional means is the wrong question. If so, then what is the right question?
A few weekends ago I took a trip to the northwest coast to attend the annual bi-national Mennonite young adult retreat, held this year at Oregon’s Drift Creek Camp. The theme of this year’s gathering was “What is missional anyway?” Our speakers were Mary Lou and Rusty Bonham, former pastors and missionaries and current developers of a community-based expression of faith in Portland, Oregon called Old Growth. The Bonhams challenged that thematic question during our first session. They proposed that by the end of the weekend we would have another question to replace this faulty one.
In fact, the whole weekend was one of questions: What are incarnational opportunities I have been overlooking? What would church look like if Sundays (church, the building, the services, the pastors) were reinvented? Am I living in a way that is reconciled with God, myself, others, and creation? Am I mechanically missional (lacking passion and intimacy with God)? How congruent is my lifestyle with my stated beliefs? Where am I challenged to more radically live what I say I believe?
I want people to know what missional is because I have seen and heard the beauty of that word. Missional is realizing that salt clumped together tastes nasty but if you mix it in well, throughout the batter, it adds just the right and needed seasoning. Missional is a church community that realizes that inviting people in to their church building isn’t really working so they go out and become church in their community. Missional is a person who doesn’t approach his neighbor as someone who needs to be saved but rather as one who can offer him just as much as the neighbor could offer back.
Saturday evening, as we were finishing up our sessions for the weekend, the “right” question was revealed to us: What is God’s mission and how can I be a part of it, anyway? I had heard this question before in conversations on the meaning of missional. I often wish that we would rephrase our conversation this way instead of getting caught up in the trendy church lingo of missional. What God’s mission is and how we can be a part of it is the real issue.
What is God’s mission for us, our neighbors, our community, our city, our state, our country, and the world? And how can we be a part of this mission? These are the questions I hope we can all ask ourselves and work to find the answers to, no matter how uncomfortable those answers may be.
On Friday night, I received an invitation from my friend Andrew Liemon to hand out blankets and sweaters to the homeless in Philadelphia. As we were walking through the Center City neighborhood we had some trouble finding people to give stuff to. Many homeless had been shooed into the dark corners and crevasses of the city; my guess is that this “migration” had a lot to do with city officials who want to make a good impression on the hundreds of people who come to Center City on Friday nights. During our adventures we talked about homelessness and how it’s far more complex than we’d like to admit. I wonder why society defines people by what they are without — “Home-less.”Again, at the invitation of Andrew, I rode down to Rockville, MD to photograph an evangelistic gathering coordinated by Pastor Benny Krisbianto of Nations Worship Center. It was hosted by the Chinese Bible Church of Maryland, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was told that someone very famous would be performing–a woman named Lidya Nursaid who is as well-known in Indonesia as Brittney Spears is here (but in a good way). The night before the event, she and Pastor Benny had met with the Indonesian embassy and shared the Gospel with them. A few of the officials accepted an invitation to the gathering.
As I took photos, I noticed the variety of religions and cultures represented in the audience. Though I had never heard of Lydia Nursaid, she was obviously very famous, and it reminded me how God uses art and fame to draw people to Himself. Throughout the entire weekend, I experienced an incredible amount of generosity. I realized that while it’s easy for me to be hospitable towards people I’m close to, it’s hard to extend that to people I’ve just met. Being with people from other cultures challenges me to be patient and hospitable. When we try to connect with people we don’t know, we have to communicate and this can be an awkward process. “Body language” may be 80 percent communication, but sometimes the other 20 percent can make all the difference.
After the event, I was escorted to the train station by Abraham Oetoyo, who owns a limousine company. As we were driving I learned that Abraham’s career started with a job at 7/11. I was inspired by how God blessed his faithfulness through connecting him with the right people and giving him solid ideas. When we arrived at the station I realized I had no cash with me and asked him if they accepted cards for the Metro train. He quickly pulled out his wallet and when I refused his offer of cash, he sharply responded, “We’ve got to help each other!” I accepted reluctantly, wondering how I could return his generosity.
I’ve learned this weekend that one invitation usually begets another. When Christ invites us to know him, He doesn’t just leave it there. After that initial invitation, we are called accept additional invitations to things that aren’t so comfortable. As a Euro-American Mennonite, I’ve been conditioned to decline things when they are given without strings attached, but I’ve come to realize that we’d better get used to receiving. Grace is a gift, the clothes on your back are a gift and the computer you’re viewing this through is a gift. We will spend all of eternity accepting the love of God because of one invitation. I invite you to be generous–and watch how it makes you better at receiving. Do it with more stuff than just money.
Soon it will be four months since I left my summer Ministry Inquiry Program experience in the Midwest. Before I left last May, I was never so positive, so sure about a decision in my life. The pegs fit perfectly in the holes, both squares. It was a done deal, and I was about to have the benefit of spending my summer days working in an invigorating setting.
The experience wasn’t easy for me, though. I was a circular peg and I didn’t fit the square hole. I often hear of people who struggle with doubts and feelings of anger towards God after difficult or episodic experiences. I think that’s reasonable and healthy. In my case, how I invoke or call upon God is evolving. But what I am realizing is that my experience this summer will forever impact my images of God and the church.
While working with the church this summer, I realized that I like liturgy. It’s beautiful how the Eucharist blurs our economic inequalities by letting us share together without reserve. But we mess it up when we believe that what results from liturgy and worship forms is a God that we can use on our own terms to control our own reality or even to control the community itself. If we’re not careful, our forms of worship become formulaic and thus we expect God to respond accordingly. We think we have our God made in the right traditions, the right words, rightly done ritual.
I find myself believing in and worshiping a God who surprises us. Maybe more than we are comfortable with at times. After all, God does have a sense of humor, God does laugh. So why wouldn’t God surprise us? Is it not surprising that South Philadelphia is home to our conferences fastest growing congregations? This summer I was moved by listening to a student stumble through the words of a text of the Old Testament Prophets. It was the surprise of hearing a young person’s voice that shattered my images of perfect worship and opened space for God to move.
By invoking God in hopes of surprise and mystery and diversity, we make space for God to lead us into places we otherwise might not journey. We don’t need to have a flawless worship service and attempt to invoke God by doing everything “the right way.” It becomes less about what we’re doing and more about what God’s doing, and what God is doing is going to surprise us in mysterious ways.
My suspicion is that invoking the God of surprise will ultimately lead us to unity, not uniformity. I think we are on the right path. My hope is that we can continue to walk that path and that the path begins overflowing with the people journeying alongside us, the gifts God continues to surprise us with.
When I was a child, my teachers in this study came from the farm lands around Kidron, Ohio, where I was raised. They taught in my school, led discussions at church, organized the Mennonite Central Committee Relief Sale, pieced quilts and sang solid harmonies. These days, my teachers don’t generally look like me, aren’t related to me and often haven’t heard of shoofly pie. Some of them even have tattoos. But all of them—from the conservative Mennonite women who sell me Swiss cheese to my Colombian pastor friends—are reminding me about what it means to follow the risen Christ.
I was reminded of this richness of the Anabaptist tapestry a few weeks ago when I went to visit Nations Worship Center in south Philadelphia. Nations Worship is an Indonesian-speaking congregation that recently joined Franconia Conference. I had been sent there to write about them in preparation for this move toward membership. At first glance, it seemed as though we had little in common: different ethnicities, different languages and different cultures. The church has a praise band and sings choruses in Bahasa Indonesia. Hands clapped and bodies swayed with the music. Scripture was read aloud together (as is the practice each Sunday). Members are invited to give testimony about God’s movement in their lives. The sermon reflected the realities of being a foreign people in a new land. A meal was served after the service; rice and tofu and a beef soup.
I don’t speak Bahasa Indonesia and my digestive system tolerates neither gluten nor soy, so I couldn’t take communion or partake in the fellowship meal. I’m used to a pretty staid church service, one that generally doesn’t involve raising my hands in the air or anything remotely resembling dancing. Even though I joke that attending a United Methodist seminary in northern New Jersey is a form of exile, I certainly can’t relate to the challenges of being a recent immigrant. But what I found that Sunday morning was a warm grace and hospitality extended from one part of the body of Christ to another. The pastors spoke passionately about a commitment to community, stewardship, simplicity and justice as an expression of their faith. I learned how the church is trying to reach out to the the broader Indonesian community in Philly by (among other things) offering translation services.
When it came time for me to give my testimony, I stood in front of the congregation and told them that even though I could not understand much of what was said, I could feel the Spirit in that place. I waved my hands with everyone else. I declined the bread, but drank the grape juice. While everyone else prayed with words I couldn’t understand, I gave thanks for a theological language we hold in common.
It was the Jewish theologian Abraham Joshua Heschel who once said, “To be or not to be is not the question. The question is how to be or how not to be.” And that is something which cannot be learned alone; we must strive for it together.
Shabbat, the Hebrew word for the Sabbath, begins at sundown on Friday. During this time many religious Jews in the Jerusalem area migrate to the Western Wall to offer prayers, commencing the holy day of rest and celebration.
In August I was walking through the Old City streets towards the wall among Orthodox Jews, as well as a group of young Mennonites from the United States. As we approached the Wall, we stepped back to gather our observations and hesitations. The mass of men and women clothed in black and white closer to the Wall were swirling, praying, praising and dancing in ways that looked foreign to us, yet beckoned as genuine and holy. Some wanted to approach but wondered, “What will they think of us if we go there to pray if we’re not Jewish?”
After some conversation, we imagined a young Jesus in our same situation, and it seemed obvious that he would have stepped forward. Tim and I decided to put on paper kippot and move closer. Soon we were swept up in a circle of young Jewish men, singing boisterously and dancing in a circle with arms around each others’ shoulders. There was a spiritual energy that I haven’t felt in a long time. Our hesitations were absorbed by the movement of the community.
As we walked back toward where the rest of our group had been curiously watching, an older Orthodox Jewish man approached us and said with a warm smile, “I just want you to know that you are welcome here and that God is not Jewish. And I know this because you are breathing; you are alive here with us.”
The words stuck with me. In Jewish tradition, breath is the spirit of God signified by the Hebrew word ruach, which also has linguistic connections to the wind, soul and spirit. Ancient Hebrew has no vowels, as these sounds represent the breath of God articulating language through the reader’s recitation. As a result, the communicated message is an inspired interaction with God, sculpting the meaning of scripture to speak to the context of the community.
The Holy Spirit invites us to see God moving through each other, whether expressed through our inspired words, the breath that sustains us, or the effects of the wind that fill our sails and drive us to new horizons. As Anglican Bishop John V. Taylor states, this is the “Go-Between God,” the invisible “current of communication” that streams between us when we truly recognize the presence of the other.
Over the past few years, I have felt the wind pulling me across the Atlantic and Mediterranean back to the Middle East, a place that has had significant spiritual influence on the whole of humanity as well as my personal journey. Returning has never been a matter of if, but a matter of when. And now the time has come to make the move.
Next week I will shift my location of residence to Israel to experiment with new models for how God communicates through all of us. This initiative of Franconia Conference, via Jerusalem, will seek to develop new ways to build a culture of engagement and connectivity through networking, communication and movement within the global Anabaptist community. I will be writing and adding photos regularly to http://via-global.org, so keep checking to interact as the initiative develops.
Let us all take a deep breath and invite the Spirit of God to inspire our lives with new understandings of each other whether on the way to Jerusalem or simply on the way.
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David Landis, dplandis@franconiaconference.org
Last week my Israeli friend Maoz and I took a journalist and photographer from the
The longer I stay in 
I traveled to Indonesia before Christmas to attend a Conference on the Peace Church in the Asian Context and to connect with partner congregations in Indonesia. I visited with Troy Landis from 
There is a deep resonance with our history and a deep hope for our future as we work together. Though the situations are not the same, the contemporary situation for Indonesians in the United States echoes Mennonite history. When I told the story of Indonesian Christians to the sons and daughters of Russian Mennonite émigrés in Canada, they immediately asked how it would be possible to help, insisting that its our responsibility to help persons facing persecution or the possibility of persecution to escape before it’s too late.
In the morning I often go into the old Nazareth market to buy fresh pita bread for breakfast, where a small bakery is located on the corner near the White Mosque. The bakery is a maze of clockwork conveyor belts that passes dough through the oven, depositing hot puffed pita balloons onto the tray below, where I can watch them deflate as they cool. The store is run by a hunched-over greying Muslim man with glowing eyes. He speaks English well and is always friendly when I come to buy my daily bread.
I am challenged by the initiative of the Muslims of Nazareth to extend a hand of coexistent hospitality to their Christian neighbors. I am encouraged by the 138 Muslim scholars, clerics, and intellectuals who came together in October to unanimously declare the common ground between Christianity and Islam in a historic document entitled, “
