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The Fifth Sunday of Easter; May 02, 2010
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Acts 11: 1-18
Psalm 148
Revelation 21: 1-6
John 13: 31-35 *
“Love one Another. …Really? …Can Jesus be Serious?”
--} Today’s gospel lesson is the familiar, famous, and for many—a favorite—Jesus telling his disciples, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” And Jesus’ “love one another” is absolutely more than simply “good advice. As John’s gospel explains it, “loving one another” is how Jesus is glorified.” But “love one another” isn’t ever easy.
If you have any doubts, just take a moment and survey the text of John’s gospel where we find these golden words. Because the new commandment to “love one another” comes smack dab between the betrayal of Judas and the denial of Peter. Which means to “love one another,” comes with the threat of circumstances none of us care to have happen to us.
As I’ve been thinking about “love one another,” I’ve been reminded this week of my friend Elias Chacour
Elias Chacour describes “faith” this way:
"Faith is the incarnation. In other words, we have to identify ourselves with those who share our life, with those whom we believe in—with Jesus Christ. …For those who believe in Jesus, for those who really have faith, there is no question of privileges, preferences, differences, because we are all called to become the adopted children of God. That means that we have to change our behavior. It puts an end to nationality, to belonging to such and such a religious community, to being a chosen people—we are all invited to the same banquet, but not for any of these reasons, only because we are a man or a woman."
And then Chacour goes on to observe something I think is profound:
“Peace is not an end in itself. Peace is the result of something else. …If you want peace, you have to pay for it. …but if you are looking for peace, you often have to pay for it with your own blood.”
And I’m wondering if what goes for “peace” might not also be true of “love.”
My friend, Elias Chacour, has spent his life working for peace between Palestinians and Israelis. He knows something about peace, but I also believe he knows something about love. I want to share 3 of his stories with you this morning—stories that are about making peace, but also about learning to do “love.”
Before we begin, a disclaimer. Chacour’s life-experience as a Palestinian Christian involves things WE—in America—haven’t experienced. The controversy today in Israel between the State of Israel and Palestinians is real and violent, and complicated, and difficult—but I’m not speaking to that! YET, it’s possible you can hear these stories and think that I’m advocating “taking sides.” I’m not. Chacour’s stories are pointed toward love and peace and my point is not about taking sides. But surely, as we hear of his experience, we have to read them through the controversy that is complicated.
Chacour is the Bishop of Galilee, a Melkite priest a part of the Roman Catholic Church; but his real claim is a Palestinian Peacemaker native to Israel, who began a school where Christians, Jews, and Muslims are educated together. These stories come from a book entitled, Faith Beyond Despair: Building Hope in the Holy Land. And the “first person” is Elias Chacour.
I.
"I remember the day when there was a horrifying bomb attack in Tel Aviv. A Palestinian suicide bomber had blown himself up at the bus station in retaliation for the massacre in the Hebron mosque. That day 20 Jews were killed and 8o were wounded. But then, in the face of the bomb attack in Tel Aviv, we got together letters of solidarity and sympathy intended for the Jewish families. My students were saying to me, “This is not enough.” And one of them said, “I am ready to give my blood for those who have been taken to hospital.” Another said he too was ready to do the same. As a priest, I could not forbid them, and I was glad to hear them say it. I immediately telephoned the Rambam Hospital in Haifa. When I told them that I had some students who wanted to give blood, they hesitated but finally believed me. Sure enough, next day at eight in the morning there were several hospital vehicles in front of the school. I was afraid that no more than five or six students would give their blood, which would have made it a farce. But out of 350 students, 300 did so. I shall always remember that when it was my turn, there were lying next to me a Druze teacher, a Jew, and an American volunteer, and there we were side by side giving blood for our well-beloved brothers."
“We don't agree with what you are doing, but we will never agree to put an end to your lives”— that was the message that we hoped this gesture would convey. That day I said on Israeli television, “Today I can hope to return, for there is now 'Palestinian blood flowing in Jewish veins. It is a way of saving a life that might have been extinguished. And we are not willing it should be extinguished. We are ready to give up our own lives so that others should live. Today it is for the Jews; but the same goes for others, and it goes, of course, for our Palestinian brothers and sisters.”
II.
"Solidarity can be shown in both directions. I know that the Jews are capable of similar initiatives and can show solidarity with the Palestinian people. Some time ago seven Reformed Rabbis, arrived in my office. They wanted to talk to me about working together for peace. I said to them, “I have no wish to talk about peace just now. Far from it: my concern at this moment is to get several tons of food to Beit Jala where people are dying of hunger.” They replied, “But what is preventing you? There is no law against it.” I said to them, “No, but it costs a lot of money. We need two [trucks] and each one costs $700. If you rabbis really want peace, give me the money!” Immediately, $I,400 were laid on the table. Then I said to them, “Very well, but that is not enough. I do not know how to get these two [trucks] filled with foodstuffs across the frontier.” They replied, “But there isn't a frontier.” To which I replied, “On the contrary, there are several meters of no man's land, and if we cross it the army will shoot on us. But the Israeli army would never shoot at rabbis. Would you be prepared to go there?” They said, “But no one would accept the food from us.” I replied, “The "terrorists who are throwing stones at you, young Palestinians, will come and take the food from you.” They asked me if I was serious. I then telephoned Zogbi, a Christian in Bethlehem who is committed to non-violence. “Zogbi, tomorrow morning at seven o'clock two [trucks] will arrive full of food. Find 20 strong young fellows to unload it and distribute it to Muslim and Christian families.” He asked me, “But how will you get across the frontier?” I replied, “You can stay on your side, and some rabbis will have got the [trucks] through.” That's impossible!' he said, “It can't be true!” “But it is,”' I replied."
"Next morning, at a quarter to seven, the rabbis telephoned me to say, “We have arrived at the rendezvous, but no one's here.” I said, “There is still a quarter-of an hour. You must wait.” At exactly seven o'clock the young men came out from behind the wall and began to unload the [trucks], not forgetting to offer a drink to the rabbis. In all, it took two hours. Later on, two of the rabbis came to see me. They had tears in their eyes—as indeed I had. They said to me, “All our lives we have been trying to do some good, but the good you made us do today was worth everything we have tried to do all our lives until now. Now we know it is possible to make peace.”
III.
"There is another story I would like to tell. In November I was on my way down from Beit Shean to Jericho. The Intifada was still extremely active and violent. I was taking an Australian in my car. It was raining slightly, the road was wet and the dust had turned into something like soap. It would not have been difficult to lose control of the vehicle. Suddenly, in the distance, we saw a car spin round and land up in the ditch on the side of the road. Fortunately, the ditch was not very deep. Then another car arrived and stopped. Five men got out of it and stood round the car that had broken down. They were five strong Palestinians. We stopped too when we got there. A young Jewish woman of about 30 was sitting in the car, apparently paralyzed. The men asked her to get out, but the car windows remained closed and it seemed as if she was not reacting. The fright she had had from the accident was less than her fear of the five Palestinians. She did not know a word of Arabic, which was the only language they spoke. I went up to the car, smiled, and opened the door, all the time reassuring her and encouraging her to come out. “They will not do you any harm, ma’am, all they want is to help you. Come out of the car and go and sit in mine while they get yours out of the ditch.” I stretched out my hand. After much hesitation, and doubtless still much afraid, she gave me her hand and came out to take refuge in my car. It took the men about ten minutes to get her car back on the road. Meanwhile, some soldiers arrived. The first thing they did was to point their guns at the Palestinians to interrogate them. At that moment the Jewish woman, forgetting her fear and her shock, opened the door of my car, rushed out and placed herself between the soldiers and the Palestinians shouting, “What are you doing? Don't you see that they have saved my life? Do you want to kill them? Put down your rifles!” The soldiers, caught off guard by this reaction, told her to come and stand beside them. She refused, saying, “Get away, I am not going to stand beside you but beside those who could have killed me but instead protected me and comforted me.” Fortunately, the soldiers understood. They let the Palestinians go, and the woman for her part went off in her car. As for me, I went on my way praying for peace between these blood brothers.”
If we’re going to “love one another,” we have to thread the needle between betrayal and denial; we have to get up on our own two feet, and with our own two hands—do something. We learn “love”—and peace—by “doing.”
--+ Christ is risen—indeed! AMEN.
As always, thanks for checking it out.
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