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Austin, Texas - Last week New York City Mayor Mike Bloomberg stood with representatives of local faith groups and declared that "there is no neighbourhood in this city that is off-limits to God's love and mercy." Personally, as a Christian who fully supports the proposed Muslim community centre near Ground Zero, Park51 (previously known as Cordoba House), his words echoed my heartfelt sentiments. Yet there are many Christian Americans who have spoken out against this centre, claiming that it is inappropriate and offensive, and that its proximity to Ground Zero would allow Muslims to mock the events of 9/11. Since speaking out in support of the centre, I've even had other Christians accuse me of supporting the work of Satan and turning my back not only on my faith, but on everything the United States stands for. I'll be the first to admit that, like people of all faiths, Christians sometimes fail to follow the path of love and mercy Jesus modelled for us. We substitute our political leanings or our cultural fears in place of the command to love our neighbour. It can be difficult to remember that the God we claim to worship is much bigger than ourselves. We do not hold a monopoly on God's love and there are no places where we should not be at the forefront of extending it, working for reconciliation and healing. Yet, in the continued confusion and misunderstandings sparked by the events of 9/11, I all too often encounter a culture of fear and revenge. Some Christians unfortunately say that the terrorists' actions represent the heart of Islam. They project their fear and hatred onto all Muslims, blaming them for those events and asserting that they desire the destruction of Christianity and America's freedoms. Ironically, many of these same people are the first to argue when so-called Christians commit heinous acts that they do not act on behalf of all Christians. They go so far as to say they aren't actually Christians, much less representative of the religion, as we saw recently when members of Michigan's Hutaree Militia were arrested for planning to slaughter law enforcement workers. But this same distinction is rarely extended to our Muslim brothers and sisters. I wish I could offer an apology on behalf of those who hold such misinformed beliefs - for those Christians that fail to follow in the way of Jesus and who instead oppose the rights of Muslims to worship freely in our country. But I don't speak for them. I can only live my life and use my voice to represent a different side of Christianity, one that truly believes God's love and mercy extends everywhere. And I can hope with Bloomberg that the building of this community centre will achieve its goal of working for reconciliation and "help repudiate the false and repugnant idea that the attacks of 9/11 are in any way consistent with Islam." When people of diverse faiths come together as they did last week in New York in support of the community centre, we can start dismantling such false assumptions and collectively take a stand for the truth. To that end I am grateful for the families of those that lost loved ones on 9/11 who are speaking out on behalf of Muslims and in support of Park51. These include the September 11th Families for Peaceful Tomorrows, who promote dialogue, non-violence and international cooperation, and have specifically spoken out in support of the centre. Out of their own tremendous grief they desire to protect Muslims from the kind of grief that comes from being condemned and ostracised. Instead of fearing some manufactured threat to freedom, they extend that precious freedom willingly to all. That is Christian love in action. Sadly, some Christians have not collectively responded well to this community centre or to Muslims since 9/11. I don't want to hide that fact, even as I lament its reality. Some of us have strayed from the core of our faith that is rooted in love and freedom. I pray we can take to heart Bloomberg's recent words: "Muslims are as much a part of our city and our country as the people of any faith. And they are as welcome to worship in lower Manhattan as any other group." We should transform our collective response into one that demonstrates those very values by supporting religious liberty for all. ### * Julie Clawson is the author of Everyday Justice: The Global Impact of Our Daily Choices. This article was written for the Common Ground News Service (CGNews). Source: Common Ground News Service (CGNews), 10 August 2010, www.commongroundnews.org Copyright permission is granted for publication. |
Au contraire, our approach to Jesus’ baptism site in Jordan three months later, was a simple test of audacity and a smile.
We’d spent the bulk of the day at play. First we visited the mosaic artist Samaher Khameis at her workshop in Madaba. I feature Samaher in my short film on Madaba’s Institute of Mosaic Art and Restoration. It’s fascinating to see how this intricate art form in process and to imagine men and women tooling over tiny pieces of stone millennia ago. What a legacy – what stories! – they’ve left behind. (Once the invoices for that project are honored – and that’s another story -- I will put up the piece for you to see.)
Of course we made the mini-pilgrimage to St. George's Church to show Janna the map and went again to gape at the mosaics in Hippolyta’s Hall (pictured) at the Virgin Mary Church.
Then we drove the long, narrow and winding roads south out of Madaba to Hammamat Ma’in – to the natural hot springs of Jordan that rush from the cliffs of the mountainside above the Dead Sea.
Like the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, CA, Jordan has three waters coming together: salt, fresh creek (as in Wadi Mujib), and hot: Ma’in. At Hammamat Ma’in the main waterfall ranges in temperature from 40° to 60° C (104-140° F).
Imagine the power of that water pounding down on your shoulders: hot, heavy, relentless; healing, soothing, invigorating.
We wore swimsuits with tee shirts and shorts over top. Nearby were women in long dresses with headscarves, smiling and laughing in the spray. There was one man, French, we thought, in a Speedo.
Speaking of John the Baptist … to the point of this letter.
We left the Hammamat via the other route: by the Dead Sea. Winding down the muscular mountains with a broad view of both our side of the Dead Sea and theirs. Every time I take in that view I am in wonder: it all looks so peaceful, unified; the land around a lake. Then I remember the contested ownership, the lines, imaginary and real cutting through towns, cultures, salt water, and the trickle called “the Jordan River.”
“Let’s go to the Baptism Site,” suggested Katie, as we turned north with the Dead Sea on our left and the mountains that hide Ma’in on our right.
“Lesh la? Why not!”
The signs are everywhere. Tourism – adventure and spiritual – is business for Jordan and the signage is good. So are the roads.
We drove past our favorite Dead Sea swimming spot, Amman Beach, and all the big hotels. Then we turned left toward the world’s widest partition and drove through the no man’s holy land to a simple entrance arch where three men were enjoying tea and an early evening chat.
“Marhaba (Hello). We’d like to visit the Baptism Site.”
“Yes, but we closed at 5pm,” said Emad, gatekeeper of the moment. It was 5:40.
After discussing the schedule (8am – 5pm) and the entrance fees (seven JOD per person) I smiled and asked, “Can we see it anyway?”
“I’ll ask.”
Within a few minutes we arranged with Emad that we’d pay our entrance with all the dinars we had (16) and that we’d drive him to his home afterward (on the road to Amman) and he escorted us to and through the site, Bethany-beyond-the-Jordan.
According to www.sacred-destinations.com, excavations on the site -- on the east bank of the Jordan River -- only began here in 1996, following Jordan's peace treaty with Israel in 1994. Land mines dotted the infamous and disputed border along the ever-shrinking river.
It took two years to make it safe. Since ‘96 more than 20 churches, caves and baptismal pools dating back to the Roman and Byzantine periods have been uncovered. You still feel the tension as you approach the Jordan. After guiding us on cool wooded paths to the pools that scholars agree may be where Jesus Christ was baptized by the Prophet John, Emad told us, “I cannot go any farther. The Jordanian soldier will take you from here.”
And a military man stepped forward, gesturing us toward a simple gazebo-like structure with stairs down to the Jordan trickle and the Israeli flag in clear view.
The Jordan side of the river has a wood platform with steps at either end for visitors to descend, just a few at a time, and dip their toes into the 10-foot-wide-water about which so many anthems and spirituals are sung. On the Israeli side, a skipping stone’s throw away, a 20-foot-long concrete slab with steps the length of the slab so many pilgrims may access the water at once. Each country's flag flies high. There is no sign of Palestine.
I was glad we were alone there, that no noise disturbed our reflections but the call of the rula bird -- a brave little lime green bird with turquoise scruff. (Do you know its English name?)
It was strange being so close and so far from “the other side.” No guards but our Bedouin soldier. A peaceful stream between “sides.” A place so heralded, lauded, prayed for and fought for. Just my daughters and me. And the soldier. And Emad waiting for his ride home.
Home is always the destination of the pilgrim.
(8) The March full was at Petra with my dear friend Alyce Faye Cleese ...
