Thursday, December 26, 2013

Bethlehem Unwrapped and exposed...God, forgive us

Boxing Day in London...Christmas lights garland through the Picaddilly Arcade. Love is in the air!  Our happy conversation and light footsteps are arrested by an unusual sight in the courtyard of St James' Church.  But I am ahead of myself...

Oh Little Town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie...

Christmas Day lies behind us.  Christ is born!  
Our reflections at church on Christmas morning remind us that Jesus of the 21st century is being born into a homeless family, an oppressed family, a poor family.  But let us not forget the families in Bethlehem, behind the wall.  Let us not forget 21st century Bethlehem completely, leaving it to fend for itself, abandoning its children to find a way in this dark world of sin on their own.  We have illuminated our festive celebrations with hope and light and joy; let us not forget turning our backs on their fears, darkness and despair.  

Today walking through London, enjoying the decorated arcades along Piccadilly, "Bethlehem Unwrapped" arrests us, interrupts our light conversation, and captures our attention.  This “ installation” by Justin Butler, Geof Thomspon, Dean Willars and Deborah Burton casts a long shadow over the St James' Church courtyard, usually a bustling marketplace. Stark, towering, imposing, boldly and brazenly interjecting Israel’s Separation Wall into the London landscape.  Mandela's words remind those who pause, "We know too well that our freedom is incomplete without the freedom of the Palestinians."

We pause.  We look.  We read.

We have not seen the Separation Wall in Bethlehem except in photos.  I have seen the Berlin Wall -- I remember visiting Checkpoint Charlie in my youth, wondering what life on the other side would be like, the side where people were not so free as me.  We have seen the wall down the middle of the doctor's office in Melmoth, South Africa, in the time of apartheid, separating the waiting room for Black Zulus with its rough wooden benches and posters of snake bites from the waiting room for Whites with its soft couches and piles of magazines.  We have seen images of the wall being erected by our own people in the USA to keep out those who "threaten us" from the south. 

Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light; the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.

Why are we so afraid of one another?  Someone has written "Wailing Wall" -- We hear God wailing with sadness behind it.  The spire of St James rises above the planks. Can we look high enough above our walls of separation?  Dare we hope that the one God of all creation can be loved in peace?  Dare we allow others to use the names they prefer, the images of their own creation, the stories of their own histories?     
 
Let us boldly proclaim one God – Elohim, Allah, Jehovah, Emmanuel.  God by any other name is still God, the mystery we can never fully know or understand, the power that has transformed our lives, the One that can turn hate into love and can teach us to channel power for good.  Is this so difficult?

No ear may hear His coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still,
The dear Christ enters in.

O holy Child of Bethlehem,
Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin and enter in,
Be born in us today.

May we remember, in the words of Abraham Lincoln (as written on the wall), "Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?"

God, empower us to remember the futility of dividing walls and strengthen us to pull them down, using the timber and stones to build bridges.



















Friday, December 6, 2013

Hope Renewed...thank you Mandela!

Today I give thanks for the life and accomplishments of Tata Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela, Father of a nation, beloved by the world.
As we listen to the "live" account of his release and first steps into freedom on Sunday 11 February, 1990, we realize we had not joined the world celebrating that morning, for we lived inside South Africa, at Mfanefile, a "black spot" in the hinterlands of today's KwaZulu Natal. News was heavily censored by the government; often large black blocks of ink would remind us of items prohibited to be shared in print; other times the news would just be missing. We relied on family and friends posting us South African news from The New York Times, which we could share in our Zulu-speaking community.
On that global day of joy, we lived in darkness. Our community's hope had been so severely snatched, we had only one more unbelievable rumour to dismiss as we gathered for church. Yes, we had heard President de Klerk had supposedly removed Mandela from Robben Island. Yes, we had heard new rumours that Mandela was to be set free. Yes, we had heard. But none of us believed. Like Doubting Thomas, "until I can thrust my hand into his wounds," until I can see his face. 
And no one knew what Mandela looked like any more, as no image of him had been seen since 6 June 1986, and then it was only a reprint of a 1964 photo printed in The Weekly Mail.  It had been illegal during his imprisonment to publish his photo. So, we wondered, could we even believe any photos the white press cared to release? And in our rural community which received no newspaper deliveries, not even to the local shop, "living proof" would be long in coming.
When a copy of the 11 February newspaper finally arrives at Mfanefile, it makes the rounds to choruses, cheers and dancing. Hope. Hope restored! Hope that one man's first steps into freedom might set the path for the people of the nation to follow, walking together from the darkness into light. Thank you Tata Mandela for leading the way.

Today my prayers are with the people of South Africa, at Mfanefile and throughout the nation. 

(Ah, the wheels of change move slowly; I just typed in Mfanefile, South Africa, to locate this post, and had to resort to the nearby historically white town, Melmoth, as Mfanefile is not recognized as a real place, even though Mfanefile's population is larger, and its history is longer. )