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Isaiah 1:16&17 and 11:1-9
March 21, 2010 “The Skater’s Pole: To Live in Mutual Affection” Recently an image from my childhood has come flooding back into my consciousness. Years ago, four or five decades ago actually, Hamburg Cove dependably froze over with ice nearly a foot thick. And in my memory there would often be several months in a typical winter when skating was the primary after-school sport of the community. If it snowed, the young people would shovel large open areas where good skating could be maintained. The ice, often, was black and clear so that we could lie on our bellies and see the fish and the leaves float by with the current beneath us. We loved it. We could spend hours out there in the afternoon, without even realizing how cold we had become. There was, at the time, an older woman who skated past us and through our long, shoveled pathways. She would come sailing along from the frozen Eight Mile River to the North and on into the treacherous passageway between the Inner Cove and the Outer Bay. The “straights” between the two coves freezes later than the open bays, and is traversed with large open cracks between the sheets of ice. Hamburg Cove is fed by warm springs. And so there are areas, even in the coldest of winters, where the ice is apt to be thin – thin enough to fall through. The older woman was a magnificent skater. Her strides were long and graceful. She glided across the ice with great speed. It seemed that she had no sooner appeared in our midst before she would be sailing past us, and disappearing into the narrows. And as she wove her long strides from side to side we were mesmerized by her grace and athleticism. But the image that haunts me was the pole that she carried for balance. The pole must have been longer than she was tall. It was narrow, and she held it parallel to the ice. She moved the pole in rhythm with her strides. When her feet took their long stride to the right, the pole would move, for balance, to the left. She would glide then to the left with her other foot, and the pole would move to the right. All of this in rhythmic precision – each stride, each glide, the same length and duration. Her skating was beautiful to behold. The pole she held was critical. It helped establish the delicate and graceful balance that determined the length of her stride. And had she fallen through one of the spring-fed, weakened areas, the pole would have served to extend her support across the ice, hopefully enabling her to haul herself up to safety. Recently, as you know, a group of 31 members and friends of this church have returned from a wonderful, but sometimes grueling, trip to Israel and the occupied West Bank. We learned a lot. We were “the church in motion” if you will – reading and reflecting in worship and bible study, enjoying the strength one finds within a harmonious community, and studying the issues that confront the people of these cherished but disputed lands – issues of injustice and disempowerment, disenfranchisement and deprivation – issues that threaten the fragile fabric of world peace. I can’t tell you how many times people there said to us things like: “It means a great deal to me to know there are people in other parts of the world who are working to help us.” Or, “ I am grateful to you because I know I have a family in Old Lyme and that gives me courage and strength.” Or, “You are an inspiration to me.” It’s very humbling. And ironic, actually. We find strength for our own lives by spending time with people who exemplify such grace and tenacity in their struggles. And yet they say, repeatedly, that we have given them the strength and the will to carry on. To borrow the image from my graceful, elderly skater, we are a kind of pole upon which they depend for balance, and which apparently helps them to haul themselves up from the degradation and pain into which they can so easily “fall.” I have come to think of the skater’s pole as a kind of metaphor for the mission and outreach we do here at this church. When I come here on a Saturday morning to visit the Food Pantry and Soup Kitchen, I am always struck by the mutual respect and gentle affection with which the workers relate to our “guests” who come to receive food. And I know for a fact that those who volunteer find enormous satisfaction, and inspiration, for their own lives by spending time with the people we serve. This is mission work at its best. Recently a young father in this church spent a part of several consecutive days sitting in solidarity with one of our families whose child was hospitalized and in critical condition. He simply offered his own strength to help sustain them. Gently, quietly, he became for them a kind of pole by which they could haul themselves up from the “hole in the ice” into which they might have fallen. This, also, is mission work at its best. As some of you know, our friend, Paul Verryn has recently struggled with his mission to house and support the three thousand refugees who have sought asylum in Central Methodist Church in downtown Johannesburg, South Africa. In a conflagration which seems to be motivated by the incestuous politics of the nation, Paul has been asked by his presiding Bishop to stand down from all official ministerial duties. This suspension of his ministry has been immensely painful for him. Just a few days ago, he told me that in recent interviews with the international press he has found himself telling and retelling the story of his friendship with this congregation in Old Lyme. “It has become, for me, a kind of lifeline,” he said. This, also, is mission work at its best. Together, in partnership, we have constructed for Paul the same kind of “pole” which kept the master skater from falling into one of the holes in the ice which could so easily have led to her demise. St. Paul, in his letter to the church at Rome, calls us to live in “mutual affection with one another; to hate what is evil and hold fast to that which is good.” Those words kept circling around in my head during the ten days we journeyed in Israel and Palestine. Some of the stories we heard – some of the things we saw – some of issues with which we wrestled - were heart-breaking. I stayed for two nights in a home with a family in Beit Sahour. Nineteen years ago their 12 year old son had been standing in the kitchen of their home, looking out the window, when the Israeli Defense Force let loose with a line of bullets across the face of the house. The young man died instantly. There was no provocation, or “just cause.” Being in that home, and living for a time with that family, one could feel the blanket of grief still present with all the weight of the lead shield the dentist places over your chest before an x-ray. Despite a considerable language barrier, I could feel affection and appreciation from that family. I wish I could tell you that I felt I had been able to construct a sufficient “pole” to lift them out of the treacherous holes in the ice over which they move each and every day. But for the most part I felt completely inadequate to that task. We met in the Golan Heights with Dr. Maray Taiseer, head of a development project in this beautiful, hilly, lush land which was seized from Syria by Israel in the 1967 war and is still occupied, illegally, by Israeli forces. We meandered through his little village, were greeted warmly by the people there, and were served a lovely meal in their community center. But all around us were the signs and manifestations of a military occupation - fields studded with land mines and barbed wire cordoning off much of the good agricultural land. The sad story of the Golan Heights is that its topography provides much of the water needed in all of northern Israel and occupied Palestine. The water comes cascading down from the still-snow-covered Mount Hermon which rises majestically to the North. Now, under Israeli occupation, the residents of the Golan Heights pay a tax on any water they consume – which comes from their own land, by the way. And sometimes, just for target practice, the soldiers of the Israeli Defense Force shoot holes in the cisterns they have built. I wish I could tell you that I had been able to construct a pole which could have helped lift them out of the constant fear of a child moving innocently over a land mine, or a stray bullet maiming or killing a loved one. I wish I could tell you I had helped figure out how to access the water which rightfully belongs to them, but which they are obstructed from receiving. But for the most part I felt woefully inadequate to the task. St. Paul calls us to “live in mutual affection with one another; to hate what is evil and hold fast to that which is good.” There is much in Israel and the occupied West Bank land of Palestine which is, I am afraid to say, “evil.” But there is much in both of those countries which is clearly, “good.” And when I am there, and my spirit threatens to fall through a black hole in the ice, I “hold fast to that which is good.” We met a nineteen year old Israeli woman whose name was Maya Wind. Maya was good for my soul. Maya has helped to establish a fledgling organization, called “Schministim” which is made up of twelve young, recent High School graduates. These brave young people have refused to be drafted into military service – a requirement of all Israeli (Jewish) citizens upon graduation from High School. For this refusal she has served four months in jail. Maya says, if I may be so bold as to paraphrase her, Israel’s existence does not depend on occupying Palestine. The occupation dehumanizes both Israelis and Palestinians, and ultimately it must end in order for Israel to survive. Maya took us to a “tent of protest” in East Jerusalem. East Jerusalem is Palestinian land as decreed by the Oslo Accords, the last standing treaty negotiated by Palestinians and Israelis and recognized internationally. The “Tent of Protest” has been erected to call attention to the fact that Israel’s intention to build 1400 new settlement homes in East Jerusalem necessitates the demolition of 88 multi-story homes in that valley. And over 1500 Palestinians are currently living in those homes scheduled for demolition. You may have heard that Vice-President Biden was in Jerusalem when we were there and expressed deep concern and regret over Israel’s announcement of 1400 new settlement homes to be built there, in East Jerusalem. Reading local newspapers while we were in Jordan, I can say that neighboring countries are shocked that the United States still continues to finance Israel’s aggression. Most newspapers here did not, by the way, even mention that the building of 1400 homes for Israel requires the demolition of 88 homes currently inhabited by Palestinians. But that’s what I mean by the aggression of the occupation. We had a lovely celebration and luncheon in an unrecognized Beduoin village in the Negev – land that belongs to Israel according to the Oslo Accords. Israel will not bring power or water to these Beduoin villages because it would legitimize them. But let me tell you the residents there have outsmarted the system. They have brought in large solar panels and generators and have connected the system of power from house to house in the most neighborly fashion. And they regularly communicate with the outside world through internet-satellite connections. Those Beduoins were good for my soul. I hold on to their stories because I need to “hold fast to that which is good.” In the opening of the Gospel of John, we read that “the light shines in the darkness, but the darkness did not overcome it.” The Beduoin people, and young Maya Wind, and Dr. Mayar Taisser were beacons of light for me in a dark world. And I “hold fast to that which is good” by remembering them and remembering the joy and the light I found in their faces. While in Israel and Palestine we were also able to meet with various organizations working to increase the number of ways in which the Palestinian people respond to the aggressive occupation by means of peaceful, non-violent resistance. This was a great sign of hope for me, and a beacon of light in the darkness. We carried with us a number of copies of DVD’s about the lives of Mahatma Ghandi and Martin Luther King and it was an honor to be able to give them out to those working so hard to peacefully stem the tide of military might and war. To my knowledge, my elderly skater-friend never needed her pole. But had she needed it, it would have been “at the ready.” I have come home committed, once again, to trying to provide a “pole of rescue” for the people of Palestine. The thirty-two people who traveled together have, I can safely say, made the same commitment. Peace comes as the daughter of justice, and justice is possible in the war-torn lands of the Middle East. But peace will probably not come through negotiation in these lands where the imbalance of power has been so severe for so long. Peace, however, can be imposed. If the United States held back its unbridled support for the state of Israel – support amounting to 11 million dollars each and every day of the year – and demanded instead that all further support would be withheld until Israel returns to her 1967 border, and abandons all occupation of the West Bank, peace would come within a month. That is what we heard countless times from the mouths of speakers from within both Israel and Palestine. We have an obligation to make this clear to our elected officials in Washington, D.C. The Palestinians want peace. All the Israeli spokespersons with whom we met want peace. But if the people of a nation want peace, and the rulers of a nation can afford to make war and want to make war – peace will not come. Mission at its best is born in compassion, and seeks justice. Mission at its best works when people reach across any divide to join hands and offer a “pole” of support and strength to one another. I am exceedingly proud to be a part of a church that is unafraid to confront the issues of our times. I am exceeding proud to be a part of a church where young men sit at bedsides to sustain the sick, where people join together to feed the hungry, and where individuals venture out into the world to spread the gospel of love and speak with clarity for those who are oppressed. “A light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot overcome it.”
Carleen R. Gerber First Congregational Church of Old Lyme
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