Through gestures alone

October 2005

David Ball
Photo © Wolf Kutnahorsky

Ramadan Kareem! (Blessing for the month of Ramadan)

The call to prayer cascades through the winding streets of Saida, in southern Lebanon, mesmerizing all in its path. As I find my way through the narrow arched marketplace, the sound of the muezzin's call winds intricately through a maze of notes: Allahu Akbar! God is Great!

Oh, I have arrived in Lebanon. Allahu Akbar!

I find my way into the town's largest mosque, Jamma al-Omari, and my friend waits as the caretaker searches in vain for a head covering for her. He speaks only Arabic, but his movements and expressions convey everything: Okay, he waves, it's okay if she doesn't wear the hijab, no problem.

He takes us to the window across the main prayer hall. We're looking out over the ocean, and in 10 minutes he has described the decades-long civil war using only his wrinkled hands and expressive face. He acts out U.S.-made Israeli fighter jets coming across the sea, bombing the mosque to rubble in 1982. Ostensibly attacking the influence of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) in Lebanon, Israel entered the war on side with an ultra-right Christian militia, desperately trying to hold its grip on power in the face of Muslim calls for fair representation.

With another gesture, the caretaker shows how Saida fought back, of course to little avail. The mosque, though destroyed, was later rebuilt by a Muslim philanthropist, Rafik Hariri. Since he was assassinated in a massive car bomb this February, Hariri's smiling face is everywhere in this country. For many, he has become a symbol of Lebanon's independence and a catalyst for massive protests for Syria's withdrawal.

Below his smiling face, a black banner: "The Truth." It refers to the soon-to-be released investigator's report on his assassination; tension is high, especially after a Syrian military chief killed himself right before its release, sending ominous ripples through the region.

Truth is, of course, a matter of perspective here. This is a world of blatant contradictions: scantily dressed night clubbers alongside bombed out, bullet-riddled ruins; soldiers in formation at the gates of high-fashion commerce; mammoth SUV trucks alongside Palestinian refugee slums.

As we leave the mosque, the caretaker takes my hand and leads me outside. At a water fountain, he shows me how Muslims wash their hands, face, arms, head, and feet before any act of worship, cleansing and purifying themselves before Allah. Glowing with pride, he points out his favourite view of the mosque's graceful domed towers. I leave feeling honoured by his pride, by his willingness to communicate and to share his story.

The word for God is the same for Christians and Muslims here: Allah.

It reminds me of why I am here. For one year, I am working with the World Student Christian Federation (WSCF). This global, ecumenical (interchurch) movement maintains a peace-building presence with the Middle East's Christian minorities, who are normally divided along sectarian lines. In Lebanon alone, there are 17 denominations represented, the largest being Maronite Catholic and Orthodox.

Throughout the region, the WSCF is a linking-point for youth movements in many denominations. It is also the only student movement focusing its energies on Muslim-Christian dialogue, and its annual conferences are testaments to its success.

We work with student Christian movements in Lebanon, Syria, Palestine, Egypt, Sudan, Jordan, and now Iraq. It's an exciting time to be in the Middle East. A volatile time, in which escalating conflicts in Iraq, Palestine/Israel, and potentially Lebanon cast a shadow of fear.

In Beirut, the streets are stocked with fully armed soldiers. Their fingers on the trigger, they reveal the government's attempt to maintain security in the face of a series of bombings of key anti-Syria politicians and journalists.

Driving me home one day, a family from my church here—All Saints Anglican—explained that nothing really scares people anymore. If you can survive a civil war with 60,000 dead and daily street fighting, you learn to live through anything. During the war years, as shells and missiles flew overhead, Josette and her children huddled in their sparse apartment singing church hymns together, fearing the worst.

Growing numbers of young people have abandoned religion, in the aftermath of the religious bloodbath that was the civil war. Nisrine, a young, Catholic-raised woman, told me, "I used to love church, but for the sake of peace we have had to kill God. It was a sacrifice, a sad sacrifice."

Thank God there are efforts for peace and justice today, despite continuing mistrust between religious communities. I joined about 20 other young people for a three-day workshop on Theatre of the Oppressed, which uses collaborative drama to tell our own stories of oppression and conflict. It was empowering and eye-opening to see the issues people raised: violence against women, child abuse, forbidden marriage, racism, and oppression in the name of religion. All issues we struggle against in Canada.

Already, I have met American "missionaries" to Lebanon whose sole task here was to distribute Bibles in Muslim neighbourhoods. This is neither useful nor moral, in a time demanding mutual respect and accountability; they carry an attitude of unacknowledged cultural superiority (but most people call it "imperialism").

I am so thankful to be part of real "missions" work—struggling for peace and justice in solidarity with coworkers in God's kin-dom. This isn't "our" work, but it is a shared witness, a chance to accompany each other, to learn new ways of being in the world, and to return changed.

Thank you for supporting our work here, and walking with me on my journey. Please continue to pray for the Middle East, and in particular:

• For truth and justice, in light of the recent UN report that has blamed Syrian and Lebanese leaders for the murder of Rafik Hariri, but also actively pray that U.S. intervention does not further destabilize the region with more violence

• For the healing of May Chidiac, a Lebanese journalist severely injured in September when her car was bombed in Beirut

• For Muslim-Christian dialogue and mutual respect

• For the youth of Iraq and Palestine to find hope amidst the despair of violence and occupation