From the Presbytery Leader
Over the past few months, especially since the Hamas attacks on Israeli citizens, I have been very concerned for my Muslim and Jewish colleagues who are struggling to provide care and calm to their congregations and communities. Last week an Iman was shot. A synagogue has had regular, credible threats made against the gathered community. The Muslim and Jewish youth are traumatized by the attacks, the threats, the bullying and the politics. The leaders of these communities are exhausted and conflicted on what to do or say next.
The conversations, the debates, the politics, the commotion and the silence only adds to tension for the Muslim and Jewish communities and between the communities. I have tried to make sure my colleagues know that I hold them in prayer every day and stand with them as they try to lead and provide light in very dark times. I often don’t know what to say or what to do. This brings me sadness and grief.
This week Rev. Jacqui Van Vliet shared a story for the Committee on Ministry Devotion. This story reminded me of those little places we can support and connect with other faith communities and be the light – maybe just a small momentary light, but light nonetheless.
In this season of Epiphany, let us intentionally look for ways we can be light for someone else.
The Lamington Steeple by Jacqui Van Vliet
It was a beautiful day at the church I served some years ago in Bedminster. The sun was shining and the sky was a brilliant blue. The grass on the church’s front lawn was as green as green could be and the sound of birdsong could be heard in the air. I was alone in the church that day. I don’t recall the reason why, but set about to do my work as quickly as possible in the hope of enjoying time outdoors.
Engrossed in my reading and writing, four hours quickly passed and the clock read close to one o’clock in the afternoon. I looked up from my work and glanced out the office windows. To my surprise, there were people sitting on a blanket laid out on that lush lawn, under the shade of an oak tree. I got up to get a closer look and saw what appeared to be a family, father, mother and two little boys. The mother was giving her sons some food. They were not members of the church. They were Muslims. The woman was wearing a hijab.
I left my office and went out to greet these weekday church visitors. In the course of our conversation, I learned that the family of four were traveling, looking forward to being with their relatives. They were gathering together with their extended family that night to celebrate the end of a holy fast. Their little boys, too young to fast, were hungry and the
family stopped driving to feed them lunch.
I asked this couple how they came to the church as we were a bit off the road of Route 78, the highway they were traveling. They said that when their boys became restless, they began looking for an exit with a place to stop and feed the children. The mother had packed a bag lunch for her sons that morning.
They exited off where they thought the highway road sign indicated turning right would lead them to a rest spot. But as they continued down the road it was obvious they were mistaken. As there was no good place to turn around on the road, they kept going. Going on the road until they glimpsed the church’s spire in the distance.
It was the church steeple they said that led them. They followed the church steeple where they saw a cross on the top. They said it was the cross that guided them, though there is no cross on that steeple. And there is no way to even see the steeple from where they were on that road. Yet they insisted they saw the cross and followed it.
They told me they trusted that if they drove in the direction of the cross they would find a place of welcome, a place to rest and feed their children, and be safe. In that place, on that day, they were absolutely right.
I thought again of this lovely family, the father, mother, and two little boys. I held the snapshot of this family in my mind: as the tensions, violence, war, and deaths escalate in Gaza; beside the raw memory of heartbreak and horror on October 7th in Israel, against the reality of those violently taken and still held in captivity. Like those I met that day long ago, there are families on both sides of this conflict looking to find a place of refuge, a place of welcome, to rest and feed their children, and be safe.
So let us pray and work without ceasing, until the people of Gaza and Israel find peace; until all the world that God so loves — people here, there and everywhere — find a place of refuge, a place of welcome, to rest and feed their children, and be safe.
This is a prayer included in the weekly Presbytery email:
God of all the world, we give you thanks that your love and presence covers all corners of the globe. We ask you to send your Spirit to help us, as we find ways to send our love and our presence to those in the midst of violent conflicts. We trust that Jesus Christ, who is the prince of peace, reconciles all the Earth — and calls us to join in that ongoing holy work. May we follow the call to provide food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, and to stand in solidarity with the captive, the displaced, the oppressed and those in need. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.
