land of milk and hummus
Issue 3 /// March 2017
A church called "Hope"
The first time I met Pastor Imad of the Lutheran congregation in Ramallah, he told the other Jerusalem/West Bank YAGM volunteers and me the story of Ramallah’s Lutheran church.
Founded in 1954, the Lutheran church in Ramallah was initially chartered by 38 families, many of whom were refugees who had come to Ramallah following the Nakba, sometimes called the War of Independence, in 1948-49. When the time came to pick a name for the budding congregation, members were given the choice between “Good Shepherd,” “Calvary” or “Hope.” The people overwhelmingly chose “Hope.”
For almost six months now, I have made my way to the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Hope in Ramallah on Sunday mornings. The church has been a constant for me, a place of refuge and rest during this year of tremendous personal growth and change. Each week, I find joy in its familiar scene — in exchanging the same greetings and comments on the weather before the service, in hearing the same voices enthusiastically lift up the Gospel hymns, in seeing the same children race to the front of the church to receive their communion blessing.
And while the joys of this year and this place have been plentiful, the year also has been challenging in ways I could not have anticipated when packing my bags. It has been challenging to remain mentally present here while the political situation in the U.S. draws my mind and heart back home. It has been challenging to witness how occupation disrupts the daily lives of the people I care for here. It has been challenging to find space and voice in a culture so radically different from my own. Sometimes, it has been challenging to see God in this place. Sometimes, the challenges have seemed to outweigh the joys. Sometimes, it has been challenging to feel hope as anything other than an abstract concept.
In his book “Just Mercy,” lawyer and social justice advocate Bryan Stevenson describes hope as an orientation of the soul. It is not, he says, simply “a preference for optimism over pessimism.” Real hope, he says, “creates a willingness to position oneself in a hopeless place and be a witness;” it allows one to “believe in a better future, even in the face of abusive power.” For Stevenson, real hope gives you strength.
This year has been challenging. It has forced me to reevaluate my faith, my world view, my vocation. But, in the face of these challenges, I have have found strength and hope in those around me. This strength has come in the smallest of things. It has been in the kind words of encouragement from parent to child. It is on the face of the man selling napkins on the corner who always offers a greeting when I walk past. It is in a church called Hope, where I sit in pews with people who have made hope not just an idea, but an identity. People whose faith, like hope, is an orientation of the soul — strengthening and life giving. I get to share communion and peace and post-service coffee and joy with people who have made the radical decision to overwhelmingly choose “Hope.”
Ask Carrie:
What's the word on the street?
Are the cats of the Holy Land doing alright?
How's school?
School is in full swing for the second semester! My fellow volunteer Carter and I started an English club and once a week we gather with the high school students to talk about current events, listen to English-language music and spend time working on their language skills in a more casual environment. Above, English teacher Ra'ed shares photos from our inaugural club meeting.
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// A huge thank you to my colleagues who took many of the photos featured in this newsletter //