Notes from the Road to Baghdad

In case you haven't heard, I'm on my way to Iraq (if you didn't get the first email outlining some of my reasons for going, please contact The Simple Way (215) 427-2667 or email (mike@thesimpleway.org).

Our Iraq Peace Team (iraqpeaceteam.org) is made up of 10 people (7 from the US and 3 from Canada) - the team includes several authors, a doctor, two educators, a veteran, 2 former CIA analysts, and me. We are currently in Jordan awaiting clearance into Iraq where we will join dozens of others (clergy, veterans, journalists, nurses, activists, lawyers...) in the international presence of peacemakers, accompanying the families of Iraq during this terrifying time. We are NOT going as human shields, but we are joining the faithful presence that Voices in the Wilderness has maintained in Iraq throughout the past ten years as they have sent 50 delegations of Peace Teams to accompany the Iraqi families.These updates will be a little lengthy at times, each day is filled with so much, and I often do not know when I will have email access again - so read them in doses... And I will do my best to balance the laughter and tears, to keep a fair ratio of stories and politics, and to include both theological and non-theological ponderings (some sections will be written with non-Christian readers in mind).

A couple of stories from the road to Baghdad...

• We had a tremendous press conference in the Chicago airport as we left. As you can imagine, we drew quite a crowd. One of the men who had been watching from the margins, came up to me and pulled me aside. "You are going to Baghdad?" he said in a Middle-Eastern accent. I nodded. He grasped my hand in his, and, holding it tightly, he slipped money into my palm. With tears in his eyes, he whispered, "Give this to the people of Iraq." And he disappeared into the airport crowds.
• Waiting on our plane, I met a young man named Roni who is from Baghad. We sort of hit it off. Roni was just over 20 years old, a little younger than me. He thanked me over and over for going to be with his people, and he reminded me of how youthful the Iraqi population is. UNICEF reports that 46% of the Iraqi population is under the age of 20- these are the faces of the Iraqi people and the faces that would suffer from a military attack. May God be with the children. -- for as we care for the children we care for Christ, but for anyone who destroys these "little ones" - "it would be better for him to be thrown into the sea with a large millstone tied around his neck"-- (Mark 8). And may God have mercy on us if we passively allow children to die in NY, DC, or Baghdad.
• As I boarded our plane to Jordan, I prayed the Spirit would seat me next to someone interesting (this may sound noble, but I also didn't want to sit next to a screaming child or someone who would keep nodding off and drooling on my shoulder for 10 hours. I sat down next to a beautiful Jordanian woman (at this point questioning what the Spirit was up to - ha, just kidding. So we started talking. She told me she had been quite sick, hadn't been able to eat for days. When I asked why, she said, "Because of the war." Because of the war! While many of us look at this war with exhaustion, some with disgust, and others with deep concern... few of us are so troubled that we can no longer eat. As we continued to talk, she gave me a crash course in Arabic and taught me to write "NO WAR". She shared how deeply moved she was that I was going to Iraq, and how she would be telling others about our trip - and that she could not wait to hear from me when I get back (she also invited our entire tea team to her home in Amman for dinner- incredible. [For those who are still wondering what the Spirit might be up to with this lovely Jordanian woman - Stop wondering, she is married. But the thing I will never forget is her name. Near the end of the conversation, she told me her name is Fida. "It means 'SACRIFICE'," she explained, and paused... "like Jesus on the cross or like you going to Iraq." Thank you Fida, my prophetess - for reminding me of our call of discipleship, to sacrifice. We walk the razor edge between self-preservation and martyrdom, neither of which should be our aspirations - we follow the Lamb.

A Lenten Reflection

It is Lent. And it is Sunday morning, so I can hear Church bells ringing in the distance. There are thousands of Christians here in Amman, and nearly one million Christians in Iraq. Not only do they share my humanity, but they also share my Rebirth. They are my Family ("who are my mother and my brothers?" Mt.12). For some reason, I hadn't expected to find people here celebrating the Lenten season in such masses. So I decided to include a little reflection for Lent - it is a little heavy, but so is the moment in which we now live. This is based on a dream I had a few nights ago.

Sometimes it is hard to sleep - so many thoughts. A bomber flew over. I looked up, and could see, US Air Force on it. I tried to think only of Jesus - beautiful, disturbing Lover Jesus. This night I dreamed of Jesus. At first I could only see his back. His large, strong back was shirtless (and not as fair-skinned as I had once thought!). He was stooped over on all fours as if he were cradling something on the ground. I wondered what it was, so I tried to get a better glance. A little head popped out from beneath his arm, giggling hysterically. Then another squirmed out from the other side. And another. How many were there?! Stooped on all fours with his arms spread wide, Jesus frantically tried to keep them gathered beneath him. There were hundreds of little faces (Editor’s Note:  Jesus was gigantic, not to scale ­ I know it’s weird, just try to hang with me, it’s a dream).  So there was this huge Jesus, sprawled out above all the children.  It was quite humorous.  He looked  like a kid  frantically trying to keep a litter of young puppies from scattering. And then there was a loud crack.  Out of nowhere a whip struck Jesus on his back, ripping the skin open.  He yelled in pain.  Then again.  And again.  The children began to cry.  A few young stragglers ducked safely under Jesus' chest with the others.  As the whip continued to strike him, rocks began to fall from the sky like hailstones -- pounding on his back and bouncing off.  The children huddled beneath him, sobbing.  His body convulsed in agony, but he never loosed his grip on the little ones below.  As the rocks kept falling, something else started to drop from the sky. These objects looked similar to the rocks, but when they hit his back they did not bounce off like the rocks had.  They sunk into his skin… and then they exploded, tearing huge holes into his back ­ one after another.  His bones became expose,  and his body stopped moving.  Blood poured off his sides and rained down on the children.

STOP!  STOP!  In the name of God, stop.  I could not wake up.  The holes continued to tear into his flesh until the body barely resembled anything human.  At last, there was silence.  Stillness.  Slowly, the children began to stir.  They crept timidly from beneath the rubble ­ covered with blood… but alive.  And I awoke. This season we celebrate Lent, remembering Jesus’ journey into Jerusalem.  But this year, I celebrate Lent in the land of Exodus, remembering our ancestors and the prophets who walked this same ground, as I make my way to Baghdad.  These next few weeks we recall the blood shed 2000 years ago on Galgotha.  And I am haunted by the uncertainty of whether the blood of Christ will be shed again in the slaughter of the Innocents in Iraq.   On Easter, we will celebrate Resurrection’s triumph over the Powers of Death (“having disarmed the powers and authorities, he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross”  Colossians 2:15).  But will we really see the Resurrection this Easter?  Or will the Powers triumph?  Will the Church scatter in fear, in denial, in doubt?  Will only the courageous women remain at the scene of execution, to mourn?

I hope we see life conquer death, again.  I am so encouraged by all the stories I hear, people of faith and conscience all over the world resisting an attack on Iraq ­ a people thirsty for another way of life, a creation groaning for liberation (Romans 8:22). High school and college students around the world are walking out of their classes.  Entire countries have encouraged a global strike (against US companies) were the war to begin.  The European press has started calling global public opinion "the other superpower", announcing that if the US (5% of the world's population) declares war on Iraq they are declaring war on the Other Superpower, global democracy.  Conservatives, liberals, revolutionaries and moderates have begun to say in one voice ­ a “shock and awe” attack is not sane ­ it was not sane in Hiroshima and it is not sane in Baghdad.  From the Pope (who we are trying to have join us in Baghdad) to Protestant bishops and regular ole Christians (as if there were such a thing), our Church is proclaiming with integrity that this war is not within any Christian tradition, including the Just War Theory.  Thank you for your courage.  May we live the Resurrection as we disarm the Powers of Death ­ interrupting war with our Gospel of Love.  

another little one clinging to Jesus --shaner