Our ministry has centered on amplifying the voices of Middle Eastern Christians, voices which are so often drowned out in the loud debates and vitriolic rhetoric. In this current crisis, we have heard a few such voices that we’d like to share with you...And, as always, we are called to pray. We find ourselves asking God for it to stop, stop, stop, praying thus...

We no longer have the on-the-ground vantage point to gather stories and experiences that we can share with you.  We have to make an effort to keep in touch with the people in Zababdeh and with the situations they are facing. One way we do this is by chatting...We do not take our Christian brothers’ words as gospel, but rather hear them through the lens of the gospel.  If we do so, we will hear wisdom – wisdom that is “better than weapons of war.”

We are a people always in need of repentance, for whom God is always present, and who should always rely on the wisdom of the Spirit.  Faithful living is to live constantly in emotional tension, with resurrection and crucifixion, triumph and suffering, shaping our lives each and every day.

Our years living in the West Bank have made Advent a season that resonates deeply with us. People there know waiting: waiting at the checkpoint, waiting for military closures to lift, waiting for peace. They know preparing: stocking up for curfew, anticipating loss, fearing for the worst. They also know hoping: hoping to arrive at their destination, hoping to survive, hoping for the future of their children.

If fulfillment of prophesy in Scripture has shown us anything, it shows us that divine prophesy is fulfilled, but in ways we don’t expect and can hardly imagine.  Christ was not the political ruler that even his disciples expected, the Messiah come to oust the Roman occupiers and reestablishing the Davidic throne.  Rather, Scripture was fulfilled with a Prince of Peace whose crown was of thorns and whose throne was a cross.

We asked our film subjects if they wanted to say something to their American brothers and sisters in Christ.  Here are some of their responses.

It is evil.  It can be nothing else.  Evil is opposed to God, and God creates.  This is utter destruction - of people, of property, of lives, of hope.

These people who come to Salem, who come and wait hours and sometimes days and are regularly turned away, are the compliant ones, those who are trying to follow the rules of the Israeli Occupation. And they feel punished for doing so.

Early Saturday morning, we left in our Catholic car, carrying our Orthodox lanterns, Marthame wearing an Anglican robe borrowed from the Melkite priest, and made our way towards Jerusalem.

"It was particularly wonderful for us to be here this year, since it will be our last Easter Season in Zababdeh.  This was also true because we weren't sure if we'd be able to share in it at all."

We feel strongly that this is a time for peacemakers, not warmongers. For those of you who share our conviction, we love you dearly. Struggle with us. Pray with us. Work with us as seekers of peace. If you disagree, we love you dearly. And we challenge you.

"You're lucky Abdallah's not here, Hajj. If he had been here, there would've been a war. You see, he's wanted. He's a very dangerous man. I wouldn't have sacrificed one of my soldiers for his life, so we would've destroyed the house. I'm sorry, Hajj, but if you have students staying with you, you have to pay the price."

A walk through modern Ein Kerem, now something of an artists' colony, reveals some of what the town must once have been.  The narrow streets and haphazard building betray its origins, as do the architectural features of most of the homes: thick walls made of large honey-colored stones, domed roofs, stone arches over narrow passageways to courtyards.

On most days, there is a steady trickle of Arab-Israelis entering Jalame. But not today. The only vehicles we saw on the road were two cars driven by settlers zooming off to Jenin's illegal neighbors, Kadim and Ganim. Otherwise, it was just the two of us walking this long stretch of road. There was something unsettling about the quiet, and we both drew deep, nervous breaths as the stretch of road grew longer and lonelier. Firas began to pray as we walked.

There is no order here, there is no Authority, and people have been living in more squalor than usual for the past two years.  Every night, Apaches and F-16s fly overhead, and periodically puncture the night and Gazan buildings with rockets.  If this is hell, then we are the devil's minions, we American taxpayers. 

A pre-dawn blast rousted us from our beds and away from the windows. Even though our friends in Nablus have gone through much worse this spring and summer, they and their kids were still shaken by this explosion. Through slats in the shutters, we watched tanks prowling the deserted streets, their gun turrets moving ominously and firing regularly, their loudspeakers broadcasting the morning order: "Stay in your homes or you will be shot."

This morning, after much prayer and heartache, we made the difficult decision to leave. We left because we feared for our lives and well-being in the face of the Israeli military offensive perched on our doorstep.

This past Thursday, Christians gathered all over Jerusalem to remember Christ's Last Supper.  We joined in worship at Redeemer Lutheran Church.  As we commemorated the Passover feast Jesus shared with his disciples, we were again reminded of the Wednesday suicide blast that killed more than twenty Israelis as they celebrated Passover.  "This is my body broken for you," we heard in English, Arabic, and German.  "This is my blood."

Here in Israel and the Occupied Territories, the divine seems extravagantly absent. In the past seventeen months, 300 Israelis have been killed by Palestinians. For a population of five million, that’s the equivalent of a World Trade Center attack five times over. 1100 Palestinians have been killed by Israelis - 37 WTCs. A lot of eulogies, but we hear very little truth or grace.

Running away to Egypt is a time-honored tradition in our neck of the woods - Abraham did it, as did Joseph's brothers when they fled the famine of Canaan.  People have been doing it after Christmas ever since the first one, when Mary and Joseph fled with their newborn to escape Herod's slaughter of the innocents.

As kids in Zababdeh prepare their Mary and Joseph costumes, they are also part of another pageant, similarly predictable but far from comforting. For more than a year, they - and we - have seen their land sucked deeper and deeper into a vicious cycle of violence. Like the treasured Christmas pageant, the script changes little, and the players seem to know their lines fairly well. A bus is blown up; a school is shelled.

In Arabic, "cactus" comes from the same root as "patience": sabra (a feature also shared by the ill-fated refugee camp in Lebanon). You see them everywhere here, lining roads and separating property boundaries, even outlasting the destroyed or abandoned villages they once demarcated.

In arabo, la parola "cactus" viene dalla stessa radice di "pazienza": sabra (che e' anche il nome dello sventurato campo profughi in Libano). Si possono vedere dappertutto qui, lungo le strade e ai confini delle proprieta', a volte sopravvissuti ai villaggi distrutti o abbandonati che una volta demarcavano.

On Saturday, October 20, nineteen year-old Johnny Yusuf Thaljiah was shot and killed by Israeli military gunfire....An altar boy in the Orthodox Church, Johnny was hit in the chest by a bullet as he played with his four year-old nephew in Bethlehem's Manger Square. He died moments later, in the shadow of the Church of the Nativity.

Suicide bombings obviously deny one's humanity as well as that of one's victims, but suffocating collective punishment is no less dehumanizing, for it sees the other as nothing but an enemy - to be feared and removed. If there is any word of hope, any crumb from here that can feed a world hungry for answers, it is this: do not fall prey to the gods of war.

Candlelight vigils. Prayer services of remembrance and mourning. Rallies of solidarity. Blood drives. Institutions closed out of respect for the untold numbers of victims and their families. Official and individual statements of support and outrage. All of these are happening in Palestinian communities of the West Bank and Gaza in response to the horror unleashed upon the United States three days ago.

We are in Zababdeh, safe and sound. We have been watching the television with disbelief and horror for the past several hours. During that time, many of our friends and neighbors here have expressed their concern and grief for the enormous tragedies today in the United States....Please know that the thoughts and prayers of many Palestinians are with those touched by the horror of today. As are ours.

This summer we spent much of our time in the Ramallah area studying Arabic at Birzeit University. From our summer residence, we were able to travel regularly to Jerusalem and Ramallah, which gave us the chance to taste parts of the Palestinian culture not available to us in the nothernmost reaches of the West Bank. Much of our time was spent in Areas C and B, the categories of the West Bank still under Israeli military control.

And so, we find that even Zababdeh isn’t quite like home either. We share with so many of our neighbors a sense of homelessness, whether literal or emotional. There is a vision of healing for such a place, offered by the Apostle Paul.  Speaking to the uprooted in Ephesus, he says that belonging to the church means that we are no longer strangers or aliens, but members and citizens of the household of God.

It was hot. Really hot. Instead of cooling us, the wind brought more searing heat and stinging sand as we marveled at the ancient city of Ur, nestled in the Iraqi desert. But the heat and wind could not stop us from exploring the immense stone ruins, for we were on a pilgrimage to the roots of our faith.