From Bethlehem to Hebron

This morning began with a spot of church-tasting. Most of us were ready, after a fairly relaxed breakfast, for a walk to the Church of the Nativity – where, it has to be said, the welcome was not really effusive. But then, how many of our congregations would cope with crowds of people (it wasn’t just us) barging in in the middle of the service and demanding access to some particular favoured spot? Suffice to say, even after popping our heads round the door later in the morning, we never did make it to the cave – the alleged birthplace of the Christ Child.

But meanwhile the Greek orthodox liturgy was in full swing. I confess I still haven’t found out whether or not it is Lent yet for the Orthodox – but if it is, there was little sign of restraint. Meanwhile, next door in St Catherine’s, the Latin church, we could stand at a grill and see in and hear the anger in the priest’s sermon – yes, it’s certainly Lent in the west. And later, as we all gathered at the Lutheran Christmas Church (having popped our heads round the door of the Syrian Orthodox on the way up the hill) we were welcomed by folk we had already met yesterday, and given an English order of service that assured us the readings would be the Temptations, and that we would be able to follow what was going on, even if it was in Arabic.

But Brian (our leader, Brian Jolly) was invited to read the first lesson, and we and some official Church of Scotland visitors were given a few words of welcome in English – and as an even more familiar expression of welcome, there was coffee in the hall downstairs after the service. Two new members of the EAPPI team (ecumenical accompaniers) had been in the congregation – and they were soon in conversation with Linda Mead (Commitment for Life makes  a significant contribution to the EAPPI programme). And then we walked back to Manger Square for a falafel and salads lunch in a small café.

There we were joined first by Jane, who has just completed her medical training and is working in a placement in a hospital in East Jerusalem, and who is with us for the next few days, and then by Angela, who is an Israeli human rights activist, and who was to lead our trip to Hebron. Soon we were on the bus again, and heading  south along the Route 30 that we had looked at from above yesterday.

We were warned, of course, of what to expect: warned that this would probably be a depressing and disturbing experience. On the other hand Mohammed, who greeted us as the bus arrived (we’d been waved through the check point with no trouble) told us that he wanted us to have a good time. And he did his best – though first of course we had to have tea at his father’s shop, and visit his father’s shop, and maybe  even buy something at his father’s shop……  To be fair, there weren’t many signs of others around who might be shopping the afternoon away.

No sooner had the tour begun than Mohammed had to leave us. He was not allowed into the main Jewish part of the Tombs of the Patriarchs – this extraordinary building, dating back to Herod, that dominates the old city. We really needed a guide at this point: clearly we were in a centre of deep Hebrew study and devotion, but trying to sort out one tomb and one cenotaph from another was quite a puzzle – in fact, now I’ve looked at the welcome leaflet I’m more confused than ever. But what clearly mattered to everyone there was that this site was now theirs: as the leaflet puts it “Only in 1967, when Hebron was liberated in the Six Day War, were Jews allowed to enter the building and worship there”.

Back with Mohammed we were able to visit the other part of the building, the Mosque; and here we were reminded of the dreadful massacre of 1994, when in the midst of Ramadan 29 worshippers in the mosque were killed, and 125 injured, by the Israeli settler Baruch Goldstein. And then he led us through what is now the main Palestinian shopping street. Current regulations (and he showed us the map before we began our walk) divide streets in the centre of Hebron into various categories. In some of these Palestinians may walk, but may not drive, and may not own shops. In others they may own shops or may drive, but not both. And in many more, of course, they are simply not allowed. The result is the collapse of Palestinian life and commerce in the centre, as Jewish settlements encroach; and for ordinary Palestinians the most unbearable pressures.

We passed along the street where settlers’ homes have been built overhead, and where the traders below have fixed wire netting to keep them safe from the stones and rubbish thrown from above. At the end of one street was a high barrier preventing access to the Muslim cemetery across the next (now Jewish) street: to bury someone there now involves a car journey of 16 kilometres. As in Bethlehem yesterday, people shared with us their experiences of what it is like to live as though in a cage, and here also to be continually challenged by the military forces (soldiers were on watch towers all along our route) and asked to show permits.

But we met people who are trying to live with the situation and make it bearable for others, and we heard a little of the work of a number of organisations. We passed a row of shops under one of the encroaching settlements which had now been confiscated and the doors welded shut: but elsewhere we saw new shops being prepared by the Hebron Rehabilitation Committee so that individuals might start trading again. We met a representative of the Christian Peacemakers Team, who accompany Palestinian children each morning on their way to school past people who sometimes aim to cause trouble for them, and are more generally able to be at hand as witnesses at potential flashpoints. We also met two members of TIPH, a civilian observer mission commissioned by the Israeli and Palestinian authorities – both in Hebron for a six month period. Besides these there are of course the ecumenical accompaniers from EAPPI, and a large number of human rights organisations besides.

Yes – in many ways our two or three hours spent walking the streets of Hebron was a depressing experience. Again, as yesterday, it is hard to see how a just solution might ever come about, particularly when the settlers have such strong backing from the Israeli state. Yet just who are these people? As Mohammed said, they claim that they are religious Jews, but he knows (and we know) of no religion that leads you to despise your neighbour in the ways we have seen today. Mohammed’s aunt joined us for part of our time: she reminded us that there always were Jews in Hebron, and that she knows of one Jewish man now living in Jerusalem who longs to return to his own home there. But he cannot, because the settlers have taken over this property. “They are all thieves” he said.

Yes, it was depressing, and we all left feeling helpless. But everywhere we had been thanked for coming, pressed to come again and bring others with us, and to let these peoples’ stories be known. If there is justice in the world, then surely their voices will be heard.

Life in Bethlehem

Today dawned bright and sunny – with not  cloud in the sky at 6.00 am according to the early risers. Things were clouding over a bit by the time we boarded the bus at 8.00, after a breakfast the matched yesterday’s meal in both quality and variety.

Half an hour later we were at the Dar al-Kalima School, and meeting with the principal, Naila Kharroub, in her well appointed study. Nobody asked what children were doing at school on a Saturday morning, but we did learn that 8.30 was by no means early in the day: school starts at 7.30!
Dar al-Kalima is a private school run by the Lutheran Church. It is co-ed, and aims to have 50% Christian and 50% Muslim students, ranging from kindergarten to university entrance. Fees, which are already heavily subsidised by the Church, are US$1000 pa – but only 40% of parents manage to find these in total. So the principal’s responsibilities appear to include finding the funding to make up the shortfall that threatens year after year.

Naila’s glittering career, which led to her receiving a few years ago an Olympics achievement award for her work in introducing sports for girls, has clearly given her a full awareness of the quality of education on offer for Palestinian children, and she sees the great advantage that a school like this can offer. The fact the Muslim parents want to make use of it speaks volumes, though it is worth noting that girls are likely to be moved to another school by a certain age – it is hard for that reason to keep a proper gender balance. But the opportunities pupils are given certainly sounded impressive, along with the sensitivity towards their particular needs growing up as it were in a cage. When we were allowed a few moments to talk with some of the older pupils we certainly were impressed – not necessarily by their choice of favourite football teams, but by their desire for peace, and for us to understand that the Palestinian people want to live in peace. And every one of them, even if their ambitions were to study abroad, seemed determined to return to and remain in Palestine.
Then it was back on the bus for the short journey down the hill to Beit Sahour and the YMCA Centre.  We were greeted by Nader Abu Amsha, the Director of the Centre and also of the Rehabilitation Programme which was started in the early days of the first intifada. Palestinian youths who were caught by Israeli soldiers throwing stones were frequently brutally beaten, following the military order that in effect prescribed such  treatment rather than shooting, which was bringing down international condemnation. But the young people were traumatised by their experiences, and their broken limbs often led to their having little hope of making anything of their lives.
The programme developed patterns of rehabilitation drawing on psychological and physical resources, and then in time also embraced other people with disabilities, not necessarily connected with resistance. There are now 27 teams working in the community in Palestine; and children and young people, sometimes with their families, are brought to Beit Sahour for up to a week at a time for both recreation and assessment. A good proportion of clients have been in Israeli prisons, where their treatment has been described as bordering on torture by no less a person than Ban Ki Moon. A Canadian programme helps staff to prepare realistic assessments of individuals’ potential – and after Nader’s talk we spent a fascinating few minutes looking at some of the apparatus used in the workshop in the process. Then he took us for a brief visit to the adjacent shepherds’ grotto, where the angels appeared to the shepherds in the gospel story. Of course, he admitted that there are at least three such grottos, though all in the same area: there’s the Catholic Grotto, and the Greek Orthodox Grotto, but this is the true one!
The bus then took us to the Tent, with its views across to the massive Har Homa settlement, where we were served a magnificent lunch – all kinds of Palestinian delicacies of the salad and humus variety  for a first course, which would probably have been sufficient for most of us, but with a meat course to follow. Perhaps we needed fortifying for the afternoon.
We met up at the Tent with Jack Giacaman again, who led us on a tour along various stretches of the wall. From the Tent we had been able to see that way in which a section of housing belonging to the Greek Orthodox had been contained within a strange meander which left it the “right” side of the wall’s path: apparently the Israeli government had decided that it would not be worth the hassle that the Greek government would probably cause. But once we had driven past that section of houses on to the open road looking over the valley, the extraordinary course of the wall became clearer to see. It seems that it total distance will be something like three times the length of the green line, because of the way in which it meanders to take in any unbuilt areas of land. In other words, what Israel sells to the world as a security barrier is nothing but a land grab, and one which then provides settlers with luxury accommodation such as that of Har Homa.
Yet bizarrely there are legal processes used to justify what is being done. Laws used by the Ottomans and then by the British, in other words laws of the colonial oppressors, are now employed to justify the confiscation of land. And where (as in the case of those Greek Orthodox) papers are in order confirming ownership, houses can  change the barrier’s course. Where we stood with Jack was one such house – all on its own, and with the barrier (at this point an electric fence) just a few yards from the owner’s balcony. We walked here with caution: touch the fence, and Israelis (or possibly their unmanned vehicles) will sweep down the military road that runs between the double fence, bringing retribution.

We drove on to another of the Bethlehem townships, on the way crossing Route 30 – the Israeli main road connecting the settlements with Jerusalem. At this point the road dives into a tunnel under the very community that we were passing through – and for the length of the road back to the next tunnel it is protected by its own length of wall. Further on, near the Salesian monastery, we stopped to look at the splendid view down the valley (almonds in full blossom, and wild flowers covering the vineyard) and across to the Gilo settlements. On the way back we took a lower road so that we could get right up to that stretch of barrier. Right by it were some vast stumps of olive trees, cut nearly to the ground, yet sprouting again. We had heard in the morning the hope and optimism of the young students – and here were signs of hope of a different order. But the background of the barrier suggested a harsher reality than many of us would want to deal with.
Our next stop was at the Lagee Centre next to the Aida Refugee Camp. Here, as we engaged in conversation together, Mohammed responded to a question of mine by saying that whatever the leadership may be saying about the possibility of a two state solution, the feeling on the street (ie in the camp) was that the only just outcome of the conflict would be a single state. And since over the entrance to Aida is a large key representing the keys that the refugees in 1948 had in their pockets, there is no way they could contemplate that single state unless they were granted a right of return. Refugee status has to be applied for, Mohammed explained to us, and is highly prized as a reminder to the United Nations (who run the camps) and the British in particular of the disastrous actions that have allowed this conflict to develop as it has.
We went round the camp before it grew dark – 5,200 people living in an area less than half a square Kilometre. It lies in the shadow of the wall – higher and more threatening than ever at this point, as it prepares to make a virtual enclosure around Rachel’s Tomb. For 25 years or so people lived in the little box houses provided by the UN. As numbers grew, and they recognised there was no imminent ending to the conflict, they built upwards. There is no room for roads – they needed every plot of land; but at the intifada the Israeli troops stormed in, demolishing walls and houses as they did so. Children were killed in the UN school, which now has bricked up windows for protection: but there are still bullet holes to be seen in the solid iron gates.
Back on the bus, we stopped for a final look at the wall just up the road from Rachel’s Tomb, where the road once forked for Hebron. Some one noticed a house built right up again the wall, which once would have had a view over the valley, but now looked straight out on to the wall. Yet, in place of the graffiti which cover much of its length, someone had painted their own view – with hills and sunshine. And hope, I wonder?
And this evening, after dinner, most of us went into town again – meeting Jack at his factory this time, and seeing a little of his own wood-carving skills, before relaxing for an hour in the café next door to his shop.
It’s the close of a long and eventful day! – Tomorrow, Sunday, we will be back at Manger Square after breakfast,  and then worshipping with the Lutherans, before making our way to the ancient and divided city of Hebron.

We arrive in Bethlehem

It was getting dusk as our mini-bus skirted Jerusalem and reached the checkpoint leading to Bethlehem. Our first sight of the separation barrier scarcely matched  some of those horror pics we’ve become accustomed to seeing over recent years, but as the bus eased through there was no doubt about its effectiveness. There’d be no getting over it, no getting round it. You couldn’t imagine a symbol speaking more pointedly of separation of communities and peoples.

And now we’ve just returned from an evening spent nosing around the town, with a local to guide us and explain something of the family histories of Bethlehemites going back centuries. Here are people who reckon to be descended from Bedouin who converted to Christianity in the 3^rd century, while families who lived over there, and who used to carve mother of pearl crosses, settled in the time of the Crusaders – bringing their coastal skills with them. We saw heritage plaques that tried to tell some of these stories defaced: changing populations have different perceptions of shared heritage. Today there will be some who find it hard to accept that you can be Palestinian and Christian; while hardly anyone can imagine a time when Palestinians might be Muslim, Christian or even Jewish.

 Probably there’s too much for us to take in just now: it’s been a long day, with many of us rising around 4.00 this morning – and we know that tomorrow and every day on this trip will be early starts. But there are a few facts and figures that will be buzzing round in our heads. This side of the barrier, the average wage is 30% of an average wage in Israel – yet here electricity costs 20% more, and staple foods are liable to be pricier too. And the contrast between the dimly lit streets we’ve just been strolling round and the gleaming airport we arrive at in Tel Aviv could not be greater.

But where do we fit into all of this – visitors, pilgrims, or whoever we think we are? We’ve visited one of the olive carvers’ shops. and promised to return – with a real intention I’m sure, to buy: though probably many of us will want to buy the manger set that features the modern day barrier striding through its middle. Meanwhile, we shall sleep soundly tonight in our beds in the surprisingly luxurious and well furnished Russian Orthodox Guesthouse. And outside a car continues to hoot impatiently. “How still we see thee lie?”

Israel / Palestine blog. 1. Preparations

Next Sunday I hope to be in Bethlehem.

I am fortunate to be part of the URC Commitment for Life / Christian Aid group visiting Israel and the occupied Palestinian Territory, and next Friday we’re flying out to Tel Aviv and travelling on to the West Bank for the first part of the ten day visit.

In the year 2000 the United Reformed Church took part in the Pilgrim 2000 series of visits to what was then being termed “The Land of the Holy One” (“Holy Land” seemed somehow to stick in the throat). Our Pilgrimage, which I think involved something like eight people from each synod, took place at about this time of year – and as things turned out  we were more fortunate than many Anglican dioceses who never made the journey. The  events around the Al-Aqsa Intifada curtailed visits from some point in the summer; and though I returned a couple of years later, my own plans to lead a pilgrimage the following year never materialised.

So it is more than ten years since I was last in Israel, and I am conscious that there are now many more “facts on the ground” to take in: many more settlements, and of course above all the Separation Barrier winding its way down the length of the country, which we will be acutely conscious of on Friday as we pass through it into Bethlehem.

During our time there we will be meeting people from a variety of organisations, including churches, Christian Aid partners and Commitment for Life’s partner organisation PARC. I think it’s going to be a fairly intensive and demanding time – absolutely not a holiday, although there is a welcome note in the weather forecast – “sunny or sunny periods next weekend in the Jerusalem/Bethlehem area, around 20/21 degrees”.

 I hope to return home with a clearer understanding of what is happening in what remains for us all, whatever names to give to it, such a significant part of the world. I know from the Christian Aid and Commitment for Life literature that we will see much to celebrate and rejoice over as people work together to break down barriers and work together for peace – but I don’t doubt that there will be much more to break the heart.  And as the only member of our group from Northern Synod, I will of course be pleased to come and share my experiences with any of our churches and church groups.

I hope to be able to put up this blog during the visit – so please start coming back here next weekend!
 

John Durell -  Sunday Feb 10^th

Future Spiritual Leaders

Ray Anglesea reflects on leadership in the Church and beyond

Americans will go to the polls on Thursday November 6, 2012 to elect a new president. Incumbent President Barack Obama is running for a second and final term, his challenger is former Massachusetts Governor, Republican Mitt Romney. A week later on Thursday 15th November the British public in England and Wales will go to the polls in new elections to elect a Police and Crime Commissioner, a new role that will replace the local police authority.

At the URC General Assembly 2012 held in Scarborough the Revd David Grosch-Miller was elected ministerial moderator of General Assembly for 2014-16. Mr John Ellis was announced as lay moderator for 2013-16. At the Methodist Conference Revd Ruth Gee, chair of the Darlington Methodist District was elected conference president designate. The post of the Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth will also be going begging following the retirement of Lord Sachs in September 2013. In November 2012 the Holy Synod of the Coptic Orthodox Church will enthrone the leader of the Coptic Church of Alexandria, known as Pope Alexandria and Patriarch of all Africa.

As I write the body responsible for choosing the next Archbishop of Canterbury has failed to agree who should be the successor to Dr Rowan Williams. Despite a three day session, aided by prayers invoked on Twitter, the 16-member committee has been unable to decide on who should take on the job that the present incumbent today implied was “impossible.” One wag writing in The Times suggested a Trinitarian arrangement; another suggested drawing a name out of a mitre!

Is political and religious leadership possible anymore? What do we expect from our political and church leaders? During the last 40 years there has been an explosion of leadership programmes, courses and studies, from the town planning world where I spent my professional life to the Wesley Study Centre, Durham now offering a postgraduate pathway through a missional leadership course for synod moderators, archdeacons and circuit superintendents and others who are leading complex Christian organisations. And there is more. Leadership has begun to enter into the very definition of what universities see themselves as doing; providing leaders. Alas all this is happening at a time when respect for leaders has fallen to an all time low. Sharp declines in confidence in leadership can be traced sector by sector, in politics, business, finance, the media, sport, education and faith-based organisations.

Barbara Kellerman in her recent book “The End of Leadership” suggests three possible causes for this trend. First is the long historic march towards ever greater democracy. Second is the collapse of traditional authority structures within the family that took place in the 1960’s. Third, the impact of the instantaneous global communications and social networking that has led to the Arab Spring, The Occupy Wall Street movement and other assaults on the citadels of power. In the hyper-democracy of cyberspace everyone has a voice, all the time.

A few months ago I officiated at a funeral service of a former midwife. I took as my theme the midwife’s tale from the book of Exodus, the story of the Hebrew midwives, who fearing God saved many a male baby, one of whom was Moses, arguably one of the most outstanding leaders in the bible. As a self supporting minister I like to think that God used Moses’ secular experience in preparation for his ministry. At the start of his leadership, miracle upon miracle occurs (recorded in the books of Exodus and Numbers). Moses leads the Israelites to freedom. All along the way there are signs and wonders - the division of the Red Sea, manna from heaven, and water from the rock. Whatever the people need, heaven sends. Which political leader today wouldn’t relish the wonder working powers of Moses - budget deficit, unpopular cuts, a new oil field, a £10bn cut in welfare benefits?

Alas as we move through the story of Moses fascinating and unpredictable as it is, miracles don’t solve the problem of Moses’ society, they don’t help, the people don’t change, and they remain quarrelsome, ungrateful, ready to despair at the slightest setback, unfit for the responsibilities of freedom. So what do we find this great leader of Israel doing as we move out of the books of Exodus and Numbers to Deuteronomy? He starts to teach. He gives them 3 speeches on the eve of the occupation of the Promised Land; a speech that would spell out a radical new form of leadership. Moses stops performing wonders; he becomes a teacher. He talks of a future society of justice, compassion, social responsibility, and love of neighbour, care of the poor, the lonely and disenfranchised. Throughout the Old Testament God chooses individuals, not for themselves but in order to choose a people.

Some of the great leaders have been teachers – Gandhi, Martin Luther King, and Mandela. They spent inordinate amounts of time reading, thinking, learning, and writing. Then they taught. They told stories so that people would understand the long journey ahead and the sacrifices they might have to make along the way. They new that the only way to negotiate change successfully was to educate their people. They taught and they were tireless. Jesus in true rabbinic style sat down and taught his people. He empowered them, and he trusted them. In the centre of the East Rose window in Durham Cathedral Jesus is seated, like a Jewish rabbi, enthroned in glory, the window overlooks the tomb of St Cuthbert of whom Bede states ‘like a good teacher he (Cuthbert) taught others to do only what he first practised himself. Bede also tells us that ‘Cuthbert was so skilful a speaker, and had such a light in his angelic face, and such a love for proclaiming his message… that all confessed their sins to him’.

When our political leaders tried religion, they got it badly wrong. Gordon Brown, a son of the manse, was roundly condemned when he quoted the Bible against his opponents. Douglas Alexander, Brown’s protégé, sounded ridiculous when he claimed that the Church’s mission was to “afflict the comfortable”, as if he had discovered a Dead Sea Scroll relating to class war. Last week, at the Labour Party Conference Ed Miliband not a man for synagogues or churches, said, he is emphatically a man of faith. “Not a religious faith,” he said, “but a faith none the less. He listed (after Moses) the tenets: a duty to leave the world a better place; a desire to tackle injustice; a belief in the power of collective action. When Mr Cameron argued that Britain was a Christian country, he observed we have a rich Christian heritage, some of the world’s greatest churches, the best hymns and a Queen who is head of both Church and state. Alas all we’re missing, however, is the congregation!

We will look to our new spiritual leaders to educate certainly and to draw us out of the sludge of self-preoccupation. They cannot make people believe, but they must have a voice of intellectual confidence to be credible enough for people to take what they say seriously.



Ray Anglesea is a self supporting minister working in St Andrew’s Dawson Street LEP, Crook and in the wider West Durham Methodist Circuit

Is God Disabled?

As I write this article British Paralympians at the London 2012 Paralympic Games have won 11 gold medals in a weekend of superhuman effort in cycling, equestrian, rowing, athletics and swimming. Their medal tally can only increase.  One paralympian, however, stands head and shoulders above the rest. Oscar Pistorius. Despite his emotional outburst after the T44 200 metres final, he has, as the first disabled athlete to feature in the Olympic Games, changed the idea of disability forever. As a result of his bravery and inspiration and that of his many Olympic colleagues it is hoped that the main legacy of the 2012 paralympics might see a fundamental change in the way Britain and much of the world looks at disability. It is hard to believe that 30 years ago the Kremlin refused to stage the Paralympics after the Moscow Games in 1980, and that NBC has refused to beam the Games live to America this year.  But the stadium scene was set for Pistorius and other paralympians by the radical, stunning and sparkling opening ceremony which celebrated human endeavour, the sublime to the ridiculous of British music, dancing, quotations from The Tempest, apples, umbrellas, and a big bang - the ceremony choreographed by distinguished disabled artistic directors. It was a spectacular debut to show the world that anything is possible; it was without doubt an extravaganza that celebrated the spirit and possibilities within us all.

But if the Paralympics re-opened new thoughts and fresh thinking about how we view and react to disability I wonder if the games might offer new options for thinking afresh about how God views the disability, and how conversely the disabled think about God. On a practical level following the Disability Discrimination Act passed in 1995 churches and their communities have started to embrace the cause of disability and have invested a great deal of energy in struggles against attitude and architectural barriers, although in my own church the elevated pulpit and platform of church communion furniture including the baptismal font still makes access difficult for disabled ministers, preachers and leaders of worship. I vividly remember holding my grandson over a baptismal font in a church in the York diocese whilst my Anglican colleague baptised him (because of her disability she could not hold a child); I too remember the distress felt by a minister in a wheelchair who could not access the stage at a URC General Assembly at Warwick University when newly ordained ministers were presented to the Assembly Moderator on the assembly platform.  

Sadly these instances reflect a church that has often been unhelpful, and even harmful, as it has tried to relate to people with disabilities. When disabilities have been considered at all they have historically at least been looked at as symbols of sin (to be avoided), images of saintliness (to be admired), signs of God’s limited power or capriciousness (to be pondered) or suffering personified (to be pitied) – very rarely were people with disabilities considered first as people, as the 2012 Paralympics has wonderfully testified. Fortunately the last twenty years have seen significant changes as a variety of factors have converged to give churches the nudge to take seriously the presence of people with disabilities particularly with regard to access, and to remove the stereotypes.

During my ministerial training I spent a summer at Earls House Hospital, Durham, a hospital for people (and children) with severe learning disabilities.  At the same time I and other friends helped put to bed on a daily basis a severely disabled young adult, recently married, to a disabled partner. It was a responsibility that was to last over 10 years. During this time I began to wonder whether God was disabled, are disabled people made in the image of a disabled God I thought? One of my favourite baptismal hymns is Bernadette Farrell’s lovely arrangement of Psalm 139 “O God you search me and you know me” but often I have to stop and think about the verse which reads, “For you created me and shaped me, gave me life within my mother’s womb.” What God could create such children as I met at Earls House Hospital, how could they know that God loved them and understood their needs and experiences? If God is “biased to the poor,” the title of the late Bishop David Sheppard’s book could he also be biased towards the disabled?

The penny dropped a few weeks later when a dear friend offered me her insight and experience of coping with and understanding disability from a Christian point of view. She explained that in the resurrection narratives seldom is the resurrected Christ recognised as a God whose hands, feet and side bear the marks of profound physical impairment. In our joy at Easter we tend to overlook these mutilations. His scars (“with what rapture gaze we on the glorious scars” as Charles Wesley’s hymn has it) were not removed from Christ’s resurrected body on that first Easter morning. They were there, shown to the disciples, touched by Thomas and presumably taken up with Christ into all eternity. The events that took place on the Friday before might also suggest that God was not in an able-bodied form as he was nailed to a cross, his broken, torn, disfigured body pinned down. Could this image of a disabled God both in his crucified and resurrected body be a helpful and comforting image for disabled people I wonder? He is so much like me, like us.  But when we come to think about it do we, as able-bodied people have an able-bodied God as our primal image. Surely God’s promised grace comes to us through a broken body, a crucified body which is at the centre of our mission, prayer and practise. If this God whom we worship could be imagined as disabled as well as divine do we need to re-think our symbols, metaphors, rituals and doctrines so as to make them accessible to people with disabilities?

There are many Christian writers who reflect on such a subject, one of my favourites is Nancy Eiesland[1]. She argues strongly that disability is not in any way a consequence of sin. She sees the scars of Jesus as verifying this claim: Jesus did not sin yet became disabled. The invitation to touch Jesus’ hands and side show that the taboos against disability are to be rejected and that shallow expressions of sympathy and pity are inappropriate. The disabled God provides an impetus for transformation and liberation in the lives of people with disabilities as the London 2012 Paralympians have shown,  just as the resurrection of Jesus provides an impetus for liberation and transformation in the world. The stories of the crucifixion and resurrection also lead Eiesland to reject the notion that God has absolute power; she argues instead that God is in solidarity with people with disabilities and others who are oppressed. This is a God who has experienced and understands pain and rejection.

As we approach the closing ceremony of the London 2012 Paralymic Games perhaps these thoughts and the image of a disabled God might give us fresh thinking as we applaud the success of our golden, heroic Paralympic athletes.

Ray Anglesea is a self supporting minister working in St Andrew’s Dawson Street LEP, Crook and in the wider West Durham Methodist Circuit

 

 

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[1] Dr Nancy L Eiesland is Associate Professor of Sociology of Religion at Candler School of Theology, Emory University, and Atlanta. Disabled herself she is the author of the critically acclaimed book the Disabled God: Toward a Liberation Theology of Disability (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994). She lectures on disabilities worldwide.

Synod Pilgrimage

Sunday August 5

Trees and rivers have been in our minds right from the beginning of the Pilgrimage on Friday - but never more so that during this final day.

flooded roads

For most of us staying in the Bunkhouse, the day began with the keenly anticipated "megabreakfast" - then it was the usual chores of stripping beds and packing luggage before vacating the premises. Regular worshippers at Rothbury URC may have been surprised to see piles of bags and backpacks in the corner of the church, but they were too polite to say anything. And, as the church secretary explained to the congregation, they were all in for a rare treat in having two ministers, the Moderator and David Herbert, to lead the morning service together.

Trees featured prominently, with reflections on the trees of Mamre in the Abraham story and on the Galatians reference to the one who died upon the tree, and then an introduction to preaching trees in the American black tradition as well as in our own dissenting history.

The Usway Valley

And then it was time to go and see the trees for ourselves. We joined up with the bus at the carpark, which quickly retraced yesterday's journey. However, there was drama in store: the rain that we missed yesterday in the upper valley must finally have fallen overnight, and before we reached the bridge at Sharperton we discovered the road flooded and several vehicles blocking any further progress. Thankfully our driver was well acquainted with the area - and after a judicious bit of backing to let other nervous travellers out of the way, we were back on the road, parting the waters, and before too long found ourselve back at Shillmoor.

First sight of the Trees across the valley

The afternoon  ahead of us consisted of the most glorious walking - much of the time in pleasant sunshine, and following the course of the now rapidly flowing Usway Burn along the narrow valley, past sheep stells and the very occasional former farm (now remote holiday cottages) and finally skirting the edge of the Kidland Forest. Then it was a steep climb over the ridge and back down into the Coquet Valley proper, soon to get a glimpse across the valley of our final destination - The Preaching Trees, just above Barrow Burn at Windyhaugh.

It has to be said that the glory of Barrow Burn farm is its tea room - though to a point that is a statement of faith, as the tea room proved too small to contain twenty of so walkers, so we were happily confined to the tables outside while tea and cake were brought out  (Thanks again, John!). A few other intrepid travellers, mainly from Rothbury URC, joined us at this point, and together we made our way on the last few hundred yards of the pilgrimage up the slope to the two trees - or rather, now three trees.

Our synod website already tells the story of the planting of the third tree earlier this year: the goal of our Pilgrimage was to be the dedication of this new growth to mark the next stage of the Story of Dissent that began 350 years ago. Even if the records are sparse, it is more than credible that our forebears really did gather in this remote spot, in order to hear the Word and praise God together with a measure of security in what had become a very unsafe world for them.

For us today, the main threat came from the weather - the thunder was rumbling further up the valley as we enjoyed our tea, and by the time we reached the trees rain was beginning to fall. But it was not sufficient to dampen our enthusiasm. We sang heartily, listened to more scripture and reflection on trees and rivers, and rejoiced as John Cox, who had planted the tree earlier in the year and cared for it and watered it over its first months (since when it has grown at least a foot) unveiled the plaque marking its significance. And as if the rain was not doing enough, we were all invited to help water the tree, each taking the opportunity to remember in prayer those whom we would long to see blessed by an outpouring of God's Holy Spirit.

And if there was time (and surely there always is) for an extra prayer, it would have to be of thankfulness for all those who organised this year's Pilgrimage, and for success as they meet together to organise next year's. They've already promised that there will be a next year's - so just watch this space!