Learning from the Middle East churches

Christian Century, May 16, 2001 by Gary M. Burge

MY ENCOUNTERS WITH Arab Christians in Lebanon, Jordan, Egypt and Palestine have changed the way I look at both the New Testament and the mission of the church. My richest experiences have been in Palestine, because my career has brought me back to the Holy Land again and again. Each time I entered this world, I made new friends among Palestinian Christians, who have shaped me in many ways. As I think about what I've learned from these Christian communities, from Gaza to Galilee, from Belt Jala to Bir Zeit, four things come to mind.

* This is a church that suffers. Recently a pastor in Galilee described the Palestinian church as a "church under the cross." He meant that this church has experienced dislocation and persecution for so many centuries that these things have now become a part of its life and identity. William Dalrymple's From the Holy Mountain: A Journey Among the Christians of the Middle East bears eloquent testimony to the harsh realities of Middle Eastern history and the struggle of Christians there to hold on. The great flourishing communities of Turkey and Syria are evidenced only by the ruins of their great monasteries and churches, and only remnants of these communities remain. And today in Palestine the struggle for justice and the unending tension of conflict drive more and more Christians out of the country. Father Majdi al-Siryani of Beit Sahour told me this past summer, "We understand suffering, but don't feel sorry for us. We are hibernating."

Perhaps that's it. Since the seventh century and the advent of Islam, this church has understood what it means to survive when political and religious currents struggle for dominion. It has learned how to hibernate when the dangers and challenges of life in the world seemed overwhelming. When I visited the Mar Saba Monastery in the desert east of Jerusalem I marveled at its fortifications. A password was required even to get through the front gate, and a bell alerted the community to the arrival of outsiders. Strong high walls enclose the monastery. The monks tell the story of long-ago attacks as if they had occurred yesterday.

Eighty percent of the residents of Belt Jala are Christian, according to Abuna Maroun Lahham of its Latin Seminary. Today this Christian community endures the shelling of Israeli tanks and the missiles of Apache attack helicopters. If Christians protest against the young Palestinian snipers who fire their rifles at the Israeli settlement of Gilo--fire that is answered by shelling that reduces Palestinian homes to rubble--will they be perceived as unfaithful to the resistance against the Israeli occupation? What discernment it takes to be a Christian in Beit Jala today! Lahham reminded me that in the past 2,000 years the church in Palestine has been free for less than 300. Christians have learned "to absorb suffering."

Words like perseverance and courage and faithfulness come to mind. I think of Jesus' words to the church of Smyrna in Revelation 2:9-11: "I know your tribulation and your poverty--but you are rich; and I know the slander of those who say that they are people of God and are not.... Do not fear what you are about to suffer. Behold, the devil is about to throw some of you into prison, that you may be tested, and for ten days you will have tribulation. Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches."

But this is not a church that lives in fear. It has offered a continuous witness to its faith even in times of greatest danger. Attalah Hannah, leader of the Arab Orthodox in Palestine, told me, "Don't think of the church of Jerusalem as if it were in ruins. We are alive! We simply need a little help."

Gary Burge is professor of New Testament at Wheaton College and Graduate School in Wheaton, Illinois, and president of Evangelicals for Middle East Understanding.

I am stunned at how rarely I hear my Arab Christian friends complain about their circumstances. Even as they live with the terror and devastation brought by the nightly shellings of Bethlehem, Belt Sahur and Beit Jala, people try to carry on with their lives and even make a joke about the shelling, calling it the evening symphony or concerto. Father Emile of Bir Zeit once reminded me that in America a crisis is a 50-cent-per-gallon increase in the price of gas. Not so in the Middle East.

* This church draws strength from tradition. The Middle Eastern church knows its history and draws strength not only from its old stories but from the mandate that this history provides. Mitri Rahib of Bethlehem's Lutheran Church, for example, states that his commitment to the Palestinian church is a gesture of faithfulness to his family's long Christian heritage. The students I bring to Israel and Palestine know little of the history of the Christian church prior to the Reformation. Even if they know something of the earliest ecumenical councils, they do not have a deep appreciation for the value of those centuries. For many, Christian history jumps from Paul to Augustine, then to the Crusades and from there to Luther. The leap from St. Paul to St. Billy Graham is a short one. Many know more about Colorado Springs than they do about Chalcedon.