Words, the Word, and the People of the Book
Though I could not have explained it at the time, family loyalty was deeply ingrained from earliest childhood. Gradually, as new experiences came along, that loyalty was broadened. I wrote editorials in the high school paper about school spirit. Such pride of place was supplanted during World War II by intense patriotism. As a Boy Scout, I put up a flagpole in our front yard. I served as a junior air raid warden in that rural Iowa town when we held blackouts (more for morale than security). The church, too, claimed my loyalty. Along with my family, it shaped my outlook. Our pastor’s sermons were provocative; his prophetic views of the atomic bomb were not easy for people to hear. At war’s end, our Pilgrim Youth Fellowship raised consciousness about displaced persons and the need for reconstruction.
Though my experiences were not uncommon in America’s Midwest, they were certainly formative for me. Eventually, as I pursued a ministry in communications, I was able to articulate a theology of the word — written as well as preached, projected and transmitted as well as lived. All was in response to God’s Word made flesh.
Not surprisingly, perhaps, Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s words and actions provided me a promontory from which to view Scripture, the church, and our calling in contemporary society. Above all, the German pastor helped me sort out my own experiences and my understanding of the Incarnation. One summer as a journalist I interviewed several of Bonhoeffer’s close friends and students, hearing firsthand what discipleship had cost him and them. I was especially struck by the fact that Bonhoeffer’s deep personal relationship with Jesus often was expressed in his sensitivity to Jews and atheists. Shortly before he was hanged, Bonhoeffer was asked by fellow prisoners to conduct a service of worship. He hesitated at first, out of deference to the nephew of the Russian diplomat Molotov. Only when Wassili Kokorin urged him to speak did Bonhoeffer preach, extemporaneously, citing the texts for the day: “With his stripes we are healed” and “By his great mercy we have been born anew to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus.”
Although Bonhoeffer was known for the eloquence and insightfulness of his words, his greatest influence grew out of his actions and relationships. W. A. Visser ‘t Hooft, the first general secretary of the World Council of Churches, said Bonhoeffer’s “whole life was of a piece”; he was “the least schizophrenic of men.” In some ways it was remarkable that Bonhoeffer, born and raised in a secular family, became one of the twentieth century’s most influential Christian theologians.
As editor of United Church Herald and A.D. (which also served Presbyterians), and later of Church World Service’s CWS Connections, I had the rare opportunity of interviewing and writing about people in such places as Hiroshima, Vietnam, South Africa, North Korea, and the former Soviet Union, as well as across Latin America and the Middle East. I once talked with Aram I, the Armenian Orthodox Catholicos of Cilicia, at his office north of Beirut. We spoke about the uniqueness of Christianity in an increasingly pluralistic society. He told how his own people maintained their faith when they were scattered in the diaspora that followed the Armenian genocide: “They kept the faith precisely by maintaining their culture.” He defined culture as the “self-expression of a group in time and space.”
“Culture,” he said, “embraces the wholeness of language, tradition, beliefs, institutions, and customs that hold a community together.” In a setting shared with Muslims, he insisted that cultures could no longer be self-contained. He urged what he called a dialogue of cultures as the contemporary expression of mission among followers of other religions and in an increasingly secular society.
My wife, Betty, and I were privileged to live for several years in Jerusalem and Bethlehem, the birthplace of our faith and a crucible for that cultural interaction of which Aram spoke. We made friends from a wide variety of churches as well as with Jews and Muslims and learned how much we have in common with all whom Muslims call the “People of the Book.” {quotes align=right}Jews, Christians, and Muslims all trace their spiritual roots to Abraham and so are part of a single family.{/quotes} Islam not only reveres the patriarchs and prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures but also considers Jesus as a prophet and honors Mary. Historically, Muslim leaders provided freedom of worship and civil protections to those who shared the biblical tradition.
Until relatively recently Christians, however, were so certain of their convictions that they lacked the humility needed for dialogue. That, happily, is changing; and places like the Near East School of Theology in Beirut have become centers for serious interfaith conversations and study. Riad Jarjour, the former general secretary of the Middle East Council of Churches, has made Christian-Muslim dialogue a cornerstone of his work. For the book my wife Betty and I wrote, Who Are the Christians in the Middle East? Dr. Jarjour wrote that “the majority of Christian Arabs acknowledge the importance of this dialogue and assign it the highest priority. Even though the old language of polemic is still current in Christian conservative and fundamentalist circles, the historic churches have chosen to close the chapter of past attacks and, in place of this, are engaging in theological efforts that are reopening their own patristic and scriptural heritage. For Christians to get to know Islam has nothing to do with supremacy, or with converting Muslims to Christianity, it is the recognition of human, national, and spiritual kinship.” Jarjour is now director of the Arab Group for Christian-Muslim Dialogue.
In the Holy Land, the Lutheran Bishop Munib Younan describes it this way: “We Palestinians, Christians and Muslims, share the same language, the same culture, the same civilization, the same land, the same yearning for justice and peace and, most importantly, the same destiny. Our emerging Palestinian state will be a state for Muslims and Christians alike with equal rights and equal responsibilities, and open to any others as well who want to share the values of dignified coexistence. This is the reason that we call for a modern secular Palestinian civil society which has full respect for freedom of religion and religious expression and that continues the rich and blessed pluralism which our society now enjoys.” Dr. Younan also has helped create a Council of Religious Institutions, made up of top Jewish, Christian and Muslim Leaders, to work for peace between Israelis and Palestinians.
When Al Quds University in East Jerusalem organized an Institute for Jerusalem Studies, the president, Sari Nusseibeh, a Muslim, wanted to help Palestinians “gain a better appreciation of the Abrahamic religion, the source of Judaism, Christianity and Islam.” He developed a mission statement that acknowledged Jerusalem as “a mosaic crossroad of different nations, cultures and religions” and wants to encourage students to develop “an appreciation and tolerance for the Other.”
One hot day in Bethlehem I found myself seeking shade from the intense sunshine. There were few trees, so I kept as close to the buildings as I could. Suddenly a familiar minivan came by and Zoughbi Zoughbi called from the window: “Hey, Martin, would you like a ride?” He guessed that I was heading to the checkpoint en route to Jerusalem. I welcomed the chance not only to escape the sun but also to visit with my friend who directs Wi’am, the Palestinian conflict resolution center.
But when I climbed in, I found Zoughbi in deep conversation with an elderly man in traditional Muslim garb. Eventually we got to the other side of town and Zoughbi introduced us and dropped the man off.When I asked Zoughbi what they had been discussing so intently, he described his “ministry of transportation.” He said that especially on hot days he watched for older people who could use a lift. Just before I got into the van, the man had asked him why he, a Christian, had stopped to pick up a stranger — a Muslim. Zoughbi simply responded, “Jesus always helped people and I try to do the same.” This struck me as an important form of witness where more direct approaches to mission are almost impossible. Zoughbi represented what Jonathan Bonk, of the Overseas Ministries Study Center, meant when he recently wrote, “We need to find ourselves in some narrative, for each human being is, quite literally, ‘words made flesh.’”
Recently the public television program Religion and Ethics Newsweekly profiled Sarah Miles, author of the book Take This Bread. Miles was a journalist and an atheist until she observed how Father Paul Fromberg of St. Gregory of Nyssa Episcopal Church in San Francisco cooked and served meals to homeless people. On the program Miles described how she was converted and became active at St. Gregory’s: “All that grounded me were those pieces of bread. I was feeling my way toward a theology, beginning with what I had taken in my mouth…. I couldn’t start by conceptualizing God as an abstract ‘Trinity’ or trying to ‘prove’ a divine existence philosophically. It was the materiality of Christianity that fascinated me, the compelling story of incarnation in its grungiest details, the promise that words and flesh were deeply, deeply connected.”
Often such acts of witness are specifically and overtly Christian. At St. Gregory’s they also are liturgical and sacramental, for the Eucharist is made available regularly. But elsewhere the faith often remains incognito (as Bonhoeffer called it) while the acts of mercy and justice are freely offered without fanfare. If they are done in Jesus’ name they are done almost secretly because of the great need or urgency, or because too much explanation could be misinterpreted. In the midst of a hurricane or tsunami there may be little time for ceremony or interpretation. And sometimes the Word becomes flesh in completely hidden ways. Not long ago Thomas Friedman quoted Stephen Trachtenberg of George Washington University who reported how students studying abroad do acts of kindness. “I don’t know where these kids find lepers,” Trachtenberg said, “but they find them and they read to them.” Friedman was describing how his daughter and other members of the class of 2007 were determined to prevent “this age of terrorism” from curtailing their lives, destroying their hopes, or “stealing the America they are about to inherit.”
It also illustrates how the ethic of Jesus has infiltrated the world — of how the Word becomes flesh without announcement — enacted by persons of any faith or no faith. There was a time when hospitals and schools were part of the church’s ministry to the world, provided overtly in Christ’s name, with a saint’s name over the door. Today these and other services have become public institutions. Regardless of who performs the ministries of caring and sensitivity, the Word is still becoming flesh and the work of Christ continues. That is evidence “of things hoped for.” It is a sign of the kingdom. It is reason for great thanksgiving.
