In Grade 2, instead of playing Cops and Robbers at recess, we played “Palestinians and Israelis.” I and a few others were often the Red Cross during those games. My family lived in Beirut, Lebanon, from 1966 to 1971; I was four-and-a-half when we went. Then, from 1973 to 1976 we lived in Shiraz, Iran. My parents were missionaries serving with an agency now called Interserve. My father taught mathematics at the university level. Missionaries were not allowed in Iran so dad was a “tent-maker” missionary serving in a secular job while seeking opportunities to share the good news of Jesus with colleagues and students.
Every time we drove to the Beirut airport, we passed a large Palestinian refugee camp. The tensions between Arabs and Israelis were never far from our awareness. I remember air raid drills at school—practice in case there was an Israeli attack on Beirut.
Returning to Canada in 1971, I discovered the Christians whom my parents knew and their children (if they had even thought about the Arab-Israeli conflict) were pro-Israel. With the clear sense of right/wrong, just/unjust that children have at the age of nine, I was very upset. How could they be pro-Israeli? Didn’t they know about the hardships faced by the Palestinians who had been displaced from their homes when Israel was created?
Over the years my views remained much the same. The arguments became more sophisticated (at least, I hope they did) but I was pro-Arab, pro-Palestinian. How could Canadian Christians not understand they had Christian brothers and sisters who were Arabs, who were Palestinians? In university I was the blond-haired, blue-eyed defender of the Arab cause. I was not sure what to do about Israel as a nation, but I was sure the Palestinians should get at least some of their land back.
I went to theological college with no intention of becoming a minister; instead I thought I was being called to be a missionary. Somewhere along the way I fell in love with Jeremiah, the Old Testament prophet. Part way through my theological training I was struck by an inconsistency in my reading of Jeremiah and other Old Testament prophets. I took the passages that spoke of Israel’s coming destruction, including the destruction of the temple, as having a dual focus—speaking primarily to the situation of Israel in the prophets’ times as punishment in response to Israel’s disobedience. The prophecy of Israel’s destruction as a nation was realized in historical time and place. The texts had a secondary focus: speaking to God’s people down through the ages calling for obedience in following God and acting justly. But the prophets’ promises regarding Israel’s restoration were a different story. Israel was a metaphor for the people of God, the Church. The restoration texts were not about the restoration of Israel as a nation in historical time and place; rather, the passages were about the eventual coming of God’s kingdom. It dawned on me that I was being intellectually dishonest. I was forced to rethink.
My heart breaks for the Arab world in general and for Arab Christians in particular. I feel their pain in their loss of land and over the violence they have experienced, and I am left challenged to find space in my theology for a restored Israel. I have not figured out how to put the two together and so I am far less certain than I used to be that I know the answers that will bring peace in the Middle East.
One thing I know for sure: I would not be who I am today without my years in the Middle East. And for that experience, I am grateful to God.
