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Personal

Brown Bear, Brown Bear

This classic children’s book has been a favorite of our girls specifically during potty training for some reason.  I guess we introduced it as a new book when they were learning to use the potty, and it takes long enough to read to give them a chance to do something on the potty.  They both learned to read along with the book, at least somewhat, fairly quickly, and we recorded both of them at different times, with their Brown Bear book.

Emma was about 2 years old when she started with Brown Bear.  She could identify all the colors and animals fairly well by then.  One word of translation, when Emma says “oo-hoo” it means “give me.”  She wanted to see herself on the camera.

Hannah started with Brown Bear at about 19 months of age, so her words aren’t as clear, but she definitely knows the animals.  She, too, wanted to see herself on the camera, so she is a bit distracted, but it is fun to compare the two.

For Emma, click here.

For Hannah, click here.

To purchase from Amazon, click here: Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?

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Personal

Today is Not Christmas…

… but neither am I Scrooge. Well, that could be interpreted as a matter of opinion, as may be seen.

Perhaps many of you are aware that in Egypt, Christmas is celebrated on January 7. I imagine there are deep and profound historical reasons for this, but to date I have not cared particularly enough to research them. Coptic Orthodoxy split apart, or rather was expelled, from the to-become Catholic faith at the time of the Chalcedonian creed, I believe in 451. One of the consequences was a divergence in fixing the celebration of Jesus’ birth, which for early Christians was never regarded with any importance. Easter also became separately marked, though this was of greater import, both biblically and liturgically.

We discovered while living in Jordan that the Christians there created a novel solution. The Coptic and Orthodox branches of Christianity, about evenly split in the country, agreed to celebrate Western Christmas on December 25, and Eastern Easter according to the lunar rites of the Orthodox Church. I would wish that the worldwide church might make such an agreement as well. For our part in America I imagine this would be easy. Ubiquitous Western culture has established December 25 as Christmas even throughout the non-Christian world, and none of us can ever figure out when Easter is going to be anyway. What would be the difficulty in uniting with our Eastern brothers in faith by celebrating Easter according to their calendar? I doubt anyone would even know the difference.

This could be harder for the Orthodox, however, as it could be seen as yielding to the very unchristian culture which surrounds the birth of Jesus. What should stop the Western world, however, from making a unilateral gesture of unity to Orthodoxy by taking up their Easter? Perhaps the Pope could champion this cause from the Catholic side; if he did, would Protestants go along? Or, under what scenario could the initiative emerge from the Protestant community; who might lead us forward? Might any of you propose such a measure this year in your churches? Might you develop a sufficient sense of belonging to the worldwide church so as to contemplate it?

Our sense of belonging to Egypt, however, has created in us a bit of a quandary. When is our Christmas? Most foreigners here simply celebrate December 25 as they always have, and the local expatriate community churches host Christmas Eve services and have times of caroling. For those spending time abroad away from home, certainly this is a welcome reminder of valued traditions.

But it completely misses Egypt. The non-Orthodox Egyptian Christian community is but a small percentage of the millions of Coptic faithful. Again, I lack the history of why and if this was always so, but the Egyptian Catholic and Protestant Churches celebrate Christmas in unity with their brethren, on January 7. Though Jordan also was a predominantly Muslim country, there were still Christmas lights hanging from the windows of Christian apartments and manger scenes set up among the families we would visit. Here, there is nothing. Not only is there no Christmas cheer, but the Orthodox precede Christmas with fifty-five days of fasting. As we went to sleep last night, it was almost eerie to imagine the excitement among children back in America, and the labors of parents to run the gauntlet through that most sacred of national institutions, the mall. Here, save for the sounding of the call to prayer, there is silence.

This is not quite true, however, and it creates a confusion that is quite palpable. The Orthodox are proud of their traditions and history; why then are there so many trappings of Western Christmas? Last Friday at the Orthodox Church we attend was held the annual church bazaar. There were Santa Clauses being sold, wreathes to buy, and a big sign proclaiming, “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!” Why was this not reversed in order? Are the Egyptians yielding in fact to the inevitability of Western cultural dominance? Or, is there simply no escape?

There is a possible explanation in that this church in particular was consecrated on either December 24th or 25th, and from the coincidence of Christmas the two celebrations blend together. Another explanation is that the Christians also celebrate New Year, and the holiday festivities start early, continue through the end of 2009, and pick up steam as true Christmas approaches. Perhaps, but later this evening we will attend the choir concert at this church, which will feature carols in both Arabic and English. We do not have the benefit of familiarity over time; is this normal, both here and throughout Egypt?

In any case, what should we do? The principles of belonging suggest that we should do as the Egyptians do and celebrate according to their calendar. No one claims that Jesus was actually born on this day, so what does it matter? We also have the benefit of having children young enough not to be traumatized by a different date. We could just ignore the 25th and then let the momentum build in both family and country in expectation of the 7th. Yet if this can be interpreted as the noble solution, what do we do in the face of the ignoble bowings to yuletide found among so many Copts? Do they themselves open our door to the legitimacy of Western celebrations?

 Regardless, the noble solution may not be the easiest, or even healthiest. While our children may be able to switch with little difficulty, we ourselves cannot. Furthermore, what of the phone calls back to family in America? These will not stop, but how will they be defined? We have taken to saying, “It is Christmas in America,” but this is forced. I nearly prayed this morning at breakfast, both unconsciously and with a smirk on my face, “Thank you God that Jesus was born in America today.” Of course I will not play with such blasphemy, but is this a duality that can be maintained?

If only for year one in Egypt, we will try to maintain it. Perhaps our children will grow up bragging, “We get to celebrate two Christmases!” Our current solution is to avoid the expatriate church focus on the 25th, in the manner which we generally avoid this church anyway. Still, we will wake on Western Christmas and have a special breakfast, after which we will open our stockings. Before lunch we will participate with other foreign friends by taking a boat ride on the Nile. Later in the day we will call our families to join in their celebrations, and will close the day at the aforementioned Orthodox choir sing. All this will be Christmas, in very nature and being.

Yet it will not be Christmas, amen and amen. Eastern Christmas is still to come. I am not sure what this will entail in terms of participation in the greater life of the Coptic community. For ourselves, though, we will leave the opening of presents until this day, when we will also have a cake to celebrate Jesus’ birthday. Perhaps this suggests that we will treat the 7th as ‘true Christmas’. So be it. We can never leave behind our own culture, nor should we try. Yet we should give ourselves as completely as possible to those we live among, and the sole celebration of the 25th would be tantamount to insisting, “We are not of you, we remain foreigners.” It is doubtful that anyone would care; they expect foreigners to remain so. Yet we hope that if only in a symbolic way some might see our holiday adoption, albeit short of transfer, as an expression of love and appreciation.

The celebration of Christmas, on either the 25th or the 7th, is a celebration of incarnation. The word of God took on flesh, and dwelt among us. Following this pattern, all who follow him can take on the flesh of those they live among. As he remained God, so we will remain American, and all will keep the identity they possess. None of this need be set aside, but so much more can be added. For the good of Egypt, for the good of all the communities in which we live, and for the good of our very souls, may such incarnation take hold.

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Books Personal

A Grief Suppressed?

A few days ago I started writing a blog post about our doorman’s wife, Aaza, a woman I mentioned in a blog post before (click here).  The idea for the post came because she has been in the hospital for at least three weeks awaiting an operation for a second brain tumor.  Her first tumor was removed in mid-August.  After that, she seemed to have some ups and downs.  Some days I would see her hanging laundry, walking around her yard, drinking tea, talking with her girls … slowly and sometimes in pain, but recovering nicely.  And then other days she couldn’t talk, her tongue seemed numb.  She couldn’t move her hands; she walked only very slowly and with great help from her husband who seemed desperate to help her regain her full strength.  She took lots of medicine and stayed in bed most of the day, and then we heard, her brain tumor was back and she would go for another operation—this time at a better hospital with a better doctor.  Yet, the next news I got was she went to the hospital, and then the operation was postponed one week as the doctor went to a conference?!  It sounds crazy to my western ears.  Each time I asked a family member, it was the same story.  “No, she hasn’t had an operation yet.  They keep postponing it.  I don’t know why.” 

She died on Sunday, December 20, and that made me wonder if they postponed it because the doctors knew she didn’t have a chance, or if it was because she was in a government hospital getting free medical care and perhaps she had to “wait her turn,” which, unfortunately, didn’t come soon enough.

That same day, before the news came, her two youngest children, Wilaa (age 10) and Omar (age 4) were here visiting.  You may remember Omar from an earlier post (click here).  Ever since their mom has been in the hospital, the three school-aged girls have basically missed a lot of school.  It seems the oldest, Yasmine (age 16), has attended fairly regularly.  She is older and missing school makes it difficult for her.  The next youngest, Hibba, seems to have spent most of her days at the hospital with her mom.  I am happy for her in that.  Usually Hibba is the one who works very hard in our building … two times a day coming to our door to run errands for us or take our trash out … and this for everyone in our building … probably about 12 apartments.  So I am glad she got to spend these last days with her mom.  I have seen the two older sisters with their mom … it seems their bond was very strong.  I don’t know how they will handle this loss.  The youngest daughter, Wilaa, told me she has only been going to school for tests.  She has basically taken over the job of her sister running errands for everyone in the building, taking her 4 year-old brother along with her.  Anyway, I think the two youngest have been bored around home and yesterday they finally came here to play.  As far as I know, they didn’t know of their mother’s death at the time, and perhaps she was still alive at that hour.  But they had a good time and maybe they will come again.  I hope so.  Jayson and I want to help this family any way we can, and maybe giving the younger kids a place to play will be a help to them.  Time will tell.

I learned of her death on Sunday afternoon.  Hibba came to the door dressed in black, and I definitely noticed she was dressed differently, but it didn’t register with me exactly.  She asked if we needed anything, and I said “No,” then asked “How is your mom?” 

At that point, she told me she died … however, she used a word I didn’t know, so I didn’t understand. 

I asked, “Did she have her operation yet?” 

Again, she told me she died, but I didn’t understand. 

“Did they postpone it again?  Do you know when?” 

This time, she used a word I knew, and it all sunk in. 

“Oh Hibba, I am so sorry. When?” 

 I was ready to cry and hug her, but she said, “Today. Oh, it’s normal.  Praise God.” 

“It’s not normal … she’s your mom.  I am so sorry.” Then I added, as is customary, “May God have mercy on her.”

She left and I closed the door and felt so stupid.  I should have noticed the black.  The poor girl had to tell me three times that her mother died.  Sometimes it is very hard to be in another culture and I feel the language barrier keenly in a situation like this.  I want to tell her how very sorry I am that she has lost the most important person in her life.  I want to tell her to cry, cry, cry and if she needs a place to cry or a person to be sad with, I can be that person.  I have seen her cry before one of the times her mom couldn’t talk or walk, and I saw one of her uncles reprimand her and tell her to be strong.  I want her to be free to grieve.  Still, I am not of this culture, so there is so much I don’t understand.  There are things I want to say, and yet I either don’t know quite how to say it or I stumble over it, and someone who is grieving doesn’t need to expend extra energy to try to understand a foreigner.  So, I pray for wisdom and for God to give me the right words for this situation.  We pray that God would show us ways we can help this family.  We are the foreigners who barely knew their mom, and yet, we’ve connected somewhat with the kids.  I hope we can help in some way.

I have so many questions about what happened and what will happen.  I don’t know if the younger kids will be sent to the village with relatives to be raised there.  I am guessing the two older girls will stay here with their father, and continue to study and work and run the house.  I have no idea how Muhammad, the husband, will grieve.  I worry about Omar.  He is such a difficult child already.  How much does he understand that his mommy is never coming back?  And the burial/funeral procedures are very different here.  They buried their mom the same day she died, and then spent that evening and the next morning preparing their house and yard for the visitors who will come for the next three days to offer their condolences.  God help them through this time.  And God help us to do what we can.

On Monday I attended the first night of the condolence giving, and what I learned bothered me deeply.  I went downstairs and entered the yard of the family and was directed to the women’s section.  Yasmine, the oldest daughter was there looking very sad.  I greeted her and said, as per custom, “May what remained of her life be added to yours.”

And she replied, as expected, with, “May it be to yours.”

Hibba was inside but came out to greet me.  I guess I feel the closest to her just because I see her the most.  I felt so sad for her and gave her a big hug and was near tears as she was.  I repeated the customary phrase, then added that I was so sorry for her loss and if she needs anything, or a place to cry just come up to our apartment.  Her little sister, Wilaa, was nearby, and Hibba said something to me along the lines of … “because Wilaa.” 

I am not sure what that meant, but at first I thought she meant to greet her as she was nearby.  So I did.  I said some of the same things … please come up anytime you want.  Then it seemed Hibba was encouraging Wilaa, who was near tears, not to cry.  I kind of stepped in and said, “No, cry, cry.  This is sad. This is hard.  Cry.  I’m so sorry for you.” 

All the while, Hibba was saying something to me that I didn’t understand.  What I did catch was, “No, don’t be sorry.  This is normal.” 

Ugh.  More of that “normal” stuff.  It’s not “normal” to lose your mother at age 10 or 14.  I kind of argued the point, “No, it’s not normal.  She was the closest person to you.” 

Then Hibba said something which I thought meant that her mother was in heaven so praise God for that, meaning, we shouldn’t be sad. 

Again, I had a rebuttal, “Okay, but the problem is she’s not HERE with YOU.  This is why you can be sad.  Yes, praise God she is out of pain, but cry because she’s not with you any longer.”

At this point, we kind of all sat down, and a few minutes later, as I was sitting feeling very sad for this family … these girls especially, Hibba once again tried to explain to me why they won’t cry.  And this is where I felt the language gap because there is so much I don’t understand, but from what I gathered, she believed that for every tear they cry for their dead mother, a drop of fire will fall on her skin.  Now, understand that I may not have heard that right.  But I think the principle was there, that if they cry because she died, she will suffer more in the grave.

Whoa.  That blew me away.  It made me angry.  What!  Before, I thought maybe they were just trying to be strong and somehow culturally it’s not okay to cry.  But, to be forbidden!  To be told that IF you cry, you will cause your mom more pain!  So what do they do with that?!  They need to cry, they want to cry, but if they do, they have hurt their mom.  Did you ever try to keep yourself from crying when you really need to cry?  It physically hurts!  Wow.  I was even more sad for them now.  What could I do?  I wanted to be there to cry with them, but now, if I cried, it was actually going to harm them!  I sat there for another 15-20 minutes listening to the conversation around me, watching young Omar repeatedly hit his brand new car toy with a stick, and just thinking about how I could get around this “rule.”

When one of the relatives came and sat with me, I tried to ask her about what Hibba just told me.  Again, I wasn’t sure if I understood correctly.  In answering me, at first it seemed this relative said it was okay to have tears, but not to make sound when crying.  But then it did seem, she basically summed it up with, “It’s forbidden to cry.”

So I would love to hear from some Egyptians who know this culture and this language.  Did I hear and understand correctly?  Can you explain the ideas behind this?    I believe that all cultures have harmful ideas of what to do with grief.  A few years ago, Jayson and I received training in coping with grief (The Grief Recovery Handbook), and we began our course with learning many of the wrong ideas that we have adopted in American culture regarding grief.  I could totally see those things when we studied it.  And now I know that it’s so important to feel your loss strongly.  To cry.  To grieve.  To wail.  To sit in silence.  To be with people.  To be alone at times.  To remember.  To laugh.  To cry some more.  To pray.  To rejoice.  To mourn.  I don’t mean to be judgmental of Egyptian culture, but I want to understand it better and better, and especially now as I see my neighbor girls hurting, and it seems they aren’t able or allowed to express their deep grief.  Must they suppress it?

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Personal

A Special Surprise

Our daughter, Emma, loves surprises, and loves getting something special. Hannah loves just about anything Emma gets excited about. In this short video series:

Part one gets her guessing about what it will be (click here)

Part two is the answer and her response (click here)

Part three is Emma wanting to play the game herself (click here), and is a bit of a postscript.

We hope you enjoy these peeks into our life and work; thanks for sharing in our special surprise.

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Personal

Sheep

Emma has spent most of her life living outside the US.  However, since she is only three, she also doesn’t yet remember “most of her life.”  So when we moved to Cairo, after living in the states for six months, I was concerned about her adjustment. She had learned some Arabic words in Tunisia, but at that point even her English vocabulary was very limited.  I was concerned that now that she could communicate any idea she wanted to, she may get very frustrated not being able to do that with Egyptians.  I also thought she would really miss her family members that she left in the states after getting to know them so well over the six months.  Now, she does miss them, I don’t want any Caspers or Van Dames to wonder otherwise, but for the most part, she seemed to go with the flow right away.  Perhaps it’s because at age 3, as long as your mom, dad and sister (in her case) are with you and they are comfortable where they are, then you can be too.

Raising kids has been a lot of fun.  Yes, a lot of work.  But a lot of fun too.  What a privilege as parents to see a character take shape, and a personality form; skills develop and ideas sink in.  We’ve enjoyed watching both girls grow and change.  But as we consider our girls, we think they are a little different than others.  Of course, everyone thinks that, right?  But as we watch Emma play and listen to her conversations, we wonder how much of her being a TCK has affected who she is.  TCK stands for Third Culture Kids.  This is basically defined as any child who has spent a significant part of their formative years living in a country other than their parents’ home or “passport” country.  So since they don’t live in the passport country and therefore don’t quite “fit in” there, and they spend most of their lives in another culture where they are obviously different, they kind of develop a “third culture” within themselves…one that is neither of the two cultures they know best, but a mix of the two.  Now, Emma is only three, and she still has a lot of formative years to go, but being a TCK has definitely affected her. 

One example Jayson and I were commenting on the other day has to do with sheep.

 Ask a 3-year old about sheep and they might say, “They say baa.”  Ask Emma about sheep and she’ll tell you how they get “cut up.”  It all started last year in Tunisia when we visited friends for their annual holiday of the sacrifice.  We took pictures with the live sheep before the sacrifice,

 and then I watched the slaughter while Jayson kept Emma and Hannah entertained.  We didn’t think Emma should watch being just a little over 2 years old.  So she missed the actual killing part, but wanted to watch what was happening as it was cut up and put on the grill.

Fast forward to this year when we came to Egypt.  About two months ago we were in a shop where I was visiting a friend.  Right next door was a butcher.  It turns out they were slaughtering a sheep at that time, and as I talked to the girl in the shop, Emma watched the butcher take care of the sheep.  I encouraged her a few times to come closer to us, but she was very interested in what was happening at the butcher.  After it was finished and we were walking home, she started thinking about it and said she was sad for the sheep because it got “cut up.”  And after waking up a few times with bad dreams about the sheep, she decided she didn’t want to watch a sheep get cut up again.  I told her that’s just fine. 

A few weeks ago we were walking somewhere and saw some sheep in the bottom floor of an abandoned or half-constructed building.  We took this walk regularly and looked for the sheep each time after this.  Once or twice they weren’t there and while I suggested they may have gone somewhere to get some food, Emma thought they were out visiting their cousins.  (See, she does miss her family in America!)  On our most recent walk past this building, the sheep were again absent.  This time I figured they got “cut up” since the holiday of the sacrifice had recently passed.  But Emma again suggested they were visiting cousins.  However, on the return trip, she concluded that yes, they probably got cut up.

Speaking of the holiday, we stayed home this year.  However, our landlord slaughtered one cow and a few sheep in the courtyard just below our balcony.  We didn’t mention it to Emma who had already decided she didn’t want to watch this anymore, but we did go out to Sunday school, and on the way back, we rushed inside when we saw them cutting up a sheep.  Emma said, “That gives me bad dreams.  I don’t like that.”  The slaughtering went on for several hours and at some points there were one or two animals hanging from our balcony, but Emma didn’t see anything else or have any bad dreams that night.

And just today, while I was hanging laundry on our balcony, I noticed some of our doorman’s livestock “grazing” in their yard.  Turns out it was four sheep.  First I picked Hannah up to see and she said “Sheep!”  Then I picked Emma up.  “It’s sheep!  Why didn’t they get cut up?”  Guess it’s a theme with her!

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Books Personal

Egypt and the Triumph of Islam

Egypt and the Triumph of Islam is the subtitle of “No God but God”, written by Geneive Abdo, chronicling the ascendancy of the Islamic spirit in the land of the Nile. The Islamic creed declares, “There is no god but God,” uniting all of Egypt’s believers, but continues, “and Muhammad is his prophet,” isolating Egypt’s non-Muslim community. For centuries Egypt has existed in between these two statements of the creed, reflecting a society which is united in the primacy of religion, providing space for the monotheistic general, yet leaning toward the Islamic particular. Yet in scaling down the creed even further, “No God but God” highlights the transformation that is taking place in Egypt. No god, no philosophy, no political system, no economic theory – may take the rightful place of God as master of human existence.

Islam has always declared God’s ultimate authority, as has Christianity of course, but Egypt until recently has always accommodated a less than perfect Islamic ideal. Since the Islamic period began, and in fact since Alexander the Great, Egypt has been governed by foreigners. Romans, Byzantines, Arabs, Turks, French, and finally British have occupied the throne for 2,000 years. The majority of these two millenniums have been under at least tacit Islamic governance. The first Egyptian to rule since the Pharaohs, Gamal Abd al-Nasser, came to power in a military coup in 1952, but like the rulers before him moderated between the Islamic identity of the masses and his own political agenda. He preached secular socialism and Arab nationalism, seeking to modernize Egypt while balancing between the Cold War East and West. His successor, Sadat, tried to welcome Islamic sentiment while economically titling Egypt into the capitalist orbit. While both for long periods enjoyed great public popularity, there was a lingering discontent that existed beneath the surface.

There is within Islam an understanding that God’s favor implies civilizational superiority. This is natural to explain from history, as following the death of Muhammad within 100 years his political successors established an empire which stretched from Spain to India. From the fall of the Roman Empire to the end of World War I the Islamic Empire, though suffering sporadic periods of decline, was constituted the dominant power on earth. Then, all of a sudden, Europe was king. Muslims asked internally, what happened to God’s favor? The answer tended in one of two directions. First, it was said that Muslims had neglected their religion. As such, God withdrew his favor. Second, it was said that Muslims had become too religious. Instead of pursuing the technological creativity which had characterized them for centuries, they entered instead into divisive theological controversies, and neglected the developments going on in the rest of the world. So while some urged religious revival, others urged imitation of the West. Most, of course, sought a balance.

This time of questioning coincided with, or rather was engendered by, the period of French and British colonization. This chafed at the Egyptian psyche, for while they had always been ruled by foreigners, at least they were ruled by Muslim foreigners. France’s colonial age in Egypt was very short, but the British, though seen as seeking the modernization of Egypt, were also seen as completely self-serving. The foreign Islamic powers simply demanded the payment of a yearly tax, which, though at times oppressive, generally did not disturb the regular patterns of traditional life. In addition, if anyone cared, it was in the service of Islam and the predominance of its order. The British, however, upset everything. While the elite learned to play along, and profited exorbitantly, their modernization efforts touched the soul of society. Furthermore, the best of the profits were pocketed by the foreign carpetbaggers and their international companies, with their upper-class lackeys in tow. When World War II ended and colonialism collapsed in the wake of United States preaching about the right of each people to self-determination, enshrined in membership in the United Nations, the former colonial powers assisted their elitist allies in accession to power, ensuring their continued economic dominance, if not exactly their political.

Gamal Abd al-Nasser was the one to finally succeed in throwing off this yoke, but inherited the same condition. As a Muslim, as an Egyptian, and aided by the fact of being a very charismatic leader, he was celebrated by his people, and in fact by many Arabs around the region. Egyptians, like all people at the time, were awash in a newly celebrated nationalism. Nasser did not emphasize religion; he, of course, ruled over both Muslims and Christians, and the latter had played a substantial part in the long struggle for independence (though not in the coup). It seemed based on his initial successes that Egypt was entering a new and successful age. The religious question of God’s favor was muted, though never jettisoned by all. For his part, Nasser answered it implicitly by continuing Egypt’s modernization. He crafted a modern military. He built the Aswan dam, touching the lives of the Egyptian peasants far more than any Brit had ever done, by ending the eternal cycle of Nile flooding. The effect, though, sent a boom through Egypt’s economy, and Nasser’s socialist impulses made effort to see that all would benefit. God’s favor had returned; Egypt was a major player on the international scene, in the forefront of leadership among the Cold War non-aligned states. All this, furthermore, was done without the banner of religion, let alone Islam.

The favor, should it be so called, would not last. The revamped Egyptian army was routed by Israel in the 1967 war. The socialist economy went flat. Nasser floundered though his sheer force of personality kept most Egyptians rallied around him. The voices that began calling for a deeper return to religion became more strident, only to be silenced by crackdown. The tide was starting to turn.

Nasser’s successor, however, reversed course and kept the Islamist voice at bay. Sadat took over the state and turned Egypt both toward a resurgent religiosity and then toward the capitalist West. In the first he waged the 1973 war against Israel under the cry of ‘Allahu Akbar’, the Muslim chant, and great gains were won as he broke through to reclaim Sinai. In the second he propped up the faltering economy by encouraging private ownership and opening the country to significant foreign investment. Like his predecessor, Sadat also enjoyed great popularity.

The successes, however, were superficial, and soon faded. Careful analysis would show that though far more capable than previous military exploits, the gains in Sinai were tenuous, and the ‘no peace, no war’ situation that followed was a constant reminder of the lingering Israeli presence. The religious element originally welcomed by Sadat was shown to be only for political expediency. It helped rally the nation—though not the Christians—for the war, and was a foil to the leftist politics of Nasser from which Sadat needed to escape. The economic gains were also only partial; the upper class benefited far more than the common Egyptian, and the middle class seemed pressed at both ends. Though still enjoying the support of the people, Sadat realized he was teetering. This led him to take his boldest move yet, for which he would be both praised and vilified, the implications of which are still felt in Egypt today.

The motivations of Sadat are hotly debated today. Was he a champion of peace or a Machiavellian politico? Regardless of the answer the outcome is the same. In 1978 Sadat visited Jerusalem, and in 1979 he signed the Camp David Accords with the Israeli Prime Minister through the brokerage of the American President Jimmy Carter. The advantages were enormous. The economically and psychologically draining policy of ‘no war no peace’ with Israel could be put to an end. Egypt recovered unequivocally all land previously lost in Sinai during the 1967 war. Sadat was hailed as a visionary in the Western press, resulting in increasing confidence in the soundness and stability of the Egyptian economy. The peace accord also was encouraged by millions of dollars in foreign aid, received year after year.

The disadvantages, however, were disastrous on the regional and domestic front. The Arab League broke with Egypt which resulted in complete political and economic isolation. The Egyptian population also roundly condemned the pact, for Israel was the sworn enemy, the oppressor of the Palestinians. While ordinary Egyptians could see the benefits of the peace with Israel, and the more affluent could profit from the ensuing calm, even those in favor could only interpret it as a deal with the devil, so no popularity emerged from his historic risk.

The religious element in Egypt was horrified. Already frustrated with Sadat for not following through on his initial openings for an increased role for Islam in society, this drove them over the edge. Like Nasser before him, Sadat responded harshly, jailing many in large sweeps taking in those with Islamist sympathies, examining later if they were truly guilty of any crimes. By this time Islamist voices were fully in division with their identity. While some urged jihadist aggression to violently overthrow an infidel government, many others were eschewing violence for preaching, hoping to win over the masses for a gradual transformation of society. Again the question of motivation can be asked: Was this sincere or pragmatic, idealistic or calculating? The resulting split, however, became clear in the months which followed.

In 1981 Sadat was gunned down during a military parade by elements of the militarist faction within the Islamists. Though there was little mourning for the fallen leader, there was also round condemnation of the assassination. The jihadist ideas fell increasingly out of favor with the Egyptian people, though they were never popular to begin with, but the moderate Islamist voice emerged victorious. As those with religious leanings were often grouped in one lump with the criminals, society began to see them as martyrs. At the least they were perceived as sincere believers who were being punished by the government for their beliefs. A persecuted idealism is always attractive.

This sums up the background for the ‘triumph of Islam’ as proclaimed by “No God but God.” In answering the question of where was God’s favor, society leaned toward the latter religious answer. For two centuries the political leaders tried to recapture old glory by imitation of the West. Certainly to a great degree their policies were successful; Egypt was transformed into a modern nation. Yet the promise of civilizational superiority was never fulfilled; Egypt and the Arab World together lagged behind the United States, Europe, and even emerging economies in Asia. They played by the rules established for nation-states, why at least were they not as successful as Japan, Korea, China, and the like? The only wealthy Arab nations were Gulf States, and they were religiously conservative in orientation. Pre-revolution Egypt was run by the heirs of colonialist puppets, Nasser led the nation in Arab nationalism and socialism, Sadat pushed his people into Western-leaning capitalism—all failed. Muslims of all stripes began asking, “Why such imitation of foreign ideologies, why not give Islam a try?”

“No God but God” continues this story, showing how the Islamist voice has become so influential in Egypt today. Abdo is careful to insist that the Islamist voice is moderate, not militant, but all the same it is unceasing in its demand that all of life, including politics, economics, and dress code, be governed by the commands of God. She highlights Islamist gains on the street, in al-Azhar seminary, in the unions, in the universities, in the courts, and among women. Though not claiming Islamists have captured the hearts and minds of the majority, she does highlight how much better primed for success is the Islamic experiment in Egypt than in Iran. In Iran the revolution was imposed from the top down. Though welcomed by many, it was achieved politically. In Egypt the vision of the moderate Islamists is bearing true; by transforming individuals, families, and neighborhoods first the political victory can come later. Let God rule in the heart, and then in the hearts of others. Only then can he rule properly in the heart of society.

Click here to purchase from Amazon: No God but God: Egypt and the Triumph of Islam

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A Protestant on Peacemaking

A little while ago I had an opportunity to dialogue with Rev. Safwat al-Bayyadi, who is the President of the Protestant Churches of Egypt. My summary of this conversation has been published on Arab West Reports, which you can access by clicking here.

As I remarked once before, it is a great benefit of my work that I get to meet such influential people. Rev. al-Bayyadi was able to provide me with a bird’s-eye perspective on Christianity in Egypt, encompassing all but especially from a Protestant perspective. While the title for the reverend is correct – President of the Protestant Churches of Egypt – it is interesting to note that generally speaking the Protestant churches here all go by the name of ‘Evangelical’. I haven’t yet asked enough questions to know why, but it may be that within Egypt ‘Protestant’ could seem like a foreign entity, brought from the West, and therefore suspect, while ‘Evangelical’ is more of Biblical terminology. Though this decision was made long ago, in recent years the ‘Evangelical’ title may result in negative association with the Bush administration and the general support the American Evangelical Christian community gives to foreign policy in Iraq and Israel.

If only from a small outsider’s perspective, I would note that in calling their denomination ‘Evangelical’, Egyptian Protestants may have done themselves a disservice. While the motivation I have briefly come in contact with is laudable, it may have unfortunate consequences. In America, ‘Evangelical’ is an adjective, describing a certain understanding of Christianity. While my rendering here is off-the-cuff, it generally refers to an understanding that is centered on the Bible above tradition, focused on a personal expression of faith, and accepts the necessity of communication of the Gospel message. Thus in America while ‘Evangelical’ is generally understood to be Protestant but not mainline, and has also acquired conservative political associations, in terms of the definition given it is not unusual to find evangelical Catholics, Orthodox, or otherwise. I wonder if in naming themselves ‘Evangelical’ Egyptian Protestants may unwittingly limit the description of the definition from being applied also to the larger Orthodox community. Like I said, I haven’t explored this much yet, but I wonder.

In any case, though Protestant and Orthodox relations here seem mainly positive, there have been recent examples of accusations thrown cross-denominationally. Specifically, at times Orthodox leadership sees Protestants as ‘sheep stealers’, conducting organized efforts to ‘turn Egypt Protestant’ by winning over the youth. You can read a press review on this topic by clicking here.

On the other hand, in my personal interactions with individual Orthodox Egyptians, almost everyone has expressed appreciation for the Protestant Church here. While they hold to their distinctive doctrines, they commend the Protestants for their skills in Bible memorization, vibrant sermons, praise music, and youth ministry. They emphasize that there is only one faith, shared by all denominations, though particular understandings of faith differ, and may reflect the truth closer or farther from correct Biblical understanding. Many families have members in each denomination, and many others worship in both churches. Julie has also found that Emma is not unique in attending the Sunday School sessions of both the local Protestant and Orthodox Church. 

In any case, I am making comments that could be better developed into another post later. For now, please accept my encouragement to read what Rev. al-Bayyadi has to say about the vital task of peacemaking in Egypt. His perspective is both noteworthy and gained from personal experience. If you didn’t do so earlier, you can click here for the text.

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The Problem of Dialect

We have lived in a few different Arabic-speaking countries now, and we aren’t sure if this has been good or bad for our Arabic skills.

We started off in Jordan for two years where we studied the Jordanian dialect as well as the Modern Standard Arabic which is what people read and write, but rarely speak.  Next we spent two years in Tunisia where the spoken dialect seemed to be about 100% different from what we learned. At first, we didn’t understand anything people were saying to us.  It seems some people understood some of what we were saying, as they compared it to Egyptian Arabic which is widely known throughout the Arab world due to Egypt’s high movie output.

Well, just about the time we were getting comfortable in the Tunisian dialect, we moved to Egypt.  Egyptian Arabic is much closer to Jordanian Arabic, so we were excited to be “coming back” to what we learned in a sense, but the problem is, Tunisian Arabic is what is on our tongues.  We have been adjusting over these last couple months, and some things came easier than others, but I wanted to try to give some examples of these dialect differences to either let you sympathize with us, or at least get a good laugh.

One of the major ways Egyptian Arabic differs from both Jordanian and Tunisian is in the pronunciation of one letter, the “jeem.”  We see/hear this letter and pronounce it as a “j” sound, but Egyptians change it to “geem” or the “g” sound.  This has provided some difficulties in adjusting.  For instance, we weren’t sure if our names would be Gulie and Gayson here, but it does seem they make allowances for western names as we’ve actually met many people with the letter “J” at the beginning of their name.

One word I use a lot is “zawgi” which means “my husband.”  This word has been tricky for me. You see, in Jordan, we learned this word for husband, but with the “j” sound – “zawji.”  Then, in Tunisia, they use a totally different word, “rajul,” which we translated “man” in Jordan.  So every time I said “rajuli” in Tunisia, I translated it in my head, “my man.”  It fits, but it’s not quite the same as my husband.

So, now we came to Egypt, and I have to remember that they don’t use “rajuli,” for husband, and if they did, it would be “raguli,” which to them would mean, “my man,” but they use “zawji” like I learned in Jordan but pronounce it “zawgi.”  This is still my thought process almost every time I use this word, and people wonder why it takes me so long to say “my husband.”  You would think I was a newlywed and am just learning to talk about having a husband, but we’ve been married for 7 years and I’ve been referring to him as my husband, in Arabic, for about 5; it just hasn’t been the same word all five years!

The original word we learned for house was “bait”.  Not too hard.  Well, in Tunisia, they use a different word for house, “daar”.  It wasn’t a new word to us; in Jordan we learned the word “daar” also means house, it’s just that’s not what the Jordanians used.  So, the Tunisians used “daar” for house and used the word “bait” for room.  It took us awhile to get that.

It’s an important word to learn quickly as you are house hunting because you are looking for a certain number of bedrooms and we kept saying “gurfitayn”, meaning two rooms in Jordanian, but they were looking for “baitayn” which to us meant “two houses.”  We certainly didn’t need two houses.  Well, that was Tunisia.

Now we are in Egypt, and they again use the word “bait” for house. Good.  The problem is they have a new word for room which I don’t know too well yet, “awda”, and since I don’t know it well, I automatically fall back on Tunisian, “bait.”  So the other day when a friend was visiting and looking at our apartment, I was telling her a little about our apartment search and that we saw many apartments with either “two houses” or “three houses” in them.  Whoops.  I kind of realized it as I was talking, but then couldn’t think of the Egyptian word for room.  I think she got the idea, though, but it made me feel kind of silly.  Gotta learn that word for room!

Here’s another word I messed up the other day.  We use the verb “to go” a lot.  In Jordan, we learned to say “aruuh” for “I go.”  It conjugates differently depending on who is speaking, but the root is the same.  So we got used to that using it there.  Then we went to Tunisia and they use the word “amshi” for “I go.”  Now, we learned this verb in Jordan, but it meant, “I walk.”  Subtle difference.

The words could be used interchangeably at times … especially since we do walk so much here, but it doesn’t always fit.  However, it seems they just used this one word for both meanings in Tunisia and you sometimes had to specify “walking” over “going” by saying, “with my legs.” Now we’re in Egypt and we’re back to “aruuh” for “to go” and “amshi” for “to walk.”  But since my Tunisian is on the tip of my tongue, I was talking to my landlord the other day about getting us a refrigerator … click here for this story … and told her that if she wanted me to, I would “walk” with her to the large store (which is located about a 30 minute drive away.)  She kind of looked surprised and said, “Carrefour is very far!”  It didn’t quite occur to me yet that I used the wrong word, I just said, oh I know it’s far, I don’t mean “walk, but walk.”  It wasn’t until after I left that I realized I was using the word for two meanings and she was only hearing one.

All of this is further complicated when I Skype with one of my Tunisian friends.  She kind of laughs at me as I’m trying to speak Tunisian, but keep throwing in Egyptian words here and there.  Fortunately she understands me well, but it’s a big mind game trying to learn the Egyptian and at the same time, not totally forget the Tunisian.  Welcome to the Arabic language … it’s beautiful, and at times, painful!

 

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The Value of Monasticism

At Wednesday noontime I traveled to Shubra, Cairo to meet Fr. Basilius in the offices of the St. Mark’s Bookstore. While our meeting was ostensibly to discuss the arrangements for my stay in the Makarius Monastery, we discussed extensively the role of monasticism in the church, with an eye toward the issues of the Abu Fana Monastery, which has fallen into sectarian conflict. The following is a summary of our conversation.

Before our meeting I had written a long list of questions for Fr. Basilius concerning the details of my stay in his monastery. How long should I stay? What should I bring? Where would I sleep? What should I wear? What time are prayers? These and many other concerns filled my practical head, but I had a few other questions as well about the monastery and things I had heard about it. Nevertheless, our conversation turned instead to introductions, which led quickly into substantial discussions about monasticism and its role in society and the church.

I briefly described my role in the Center for Arab West Understanding as a continuation of the work done by Cornelis Hulsman in unearthing the real, often non-religious origins of sectarian conflict, but seeking in our new project to move beyond reporting into proactive contributions to the reconciliation effort, in areas, for example, such as Abu Fana. Fr. Basilius spoke warmly of Mr. Hulsman and mentioned instances of their prior cooperation. He then asked me what I thought of the Abu Fana situation. I replied that I was new to this country and preferred to hear from him what he thought, but that I was able to state the findings of Mr. Hulsman, of which he was aware. Fr. Basilius was reluctant to say much, but the nature of our conversation signaled an implicit understanding that the role of the monks in Abu Fana was negative.

“Has anyone tried to communicate with them about their position?” I asked. Fr. Basilius was unaware of any efforts, but stated that he doubted anyone was able. The monks are entrenched in their position and in general were supported by their leadership. What benefit could be gained from words by an outsider? The situation was beyond redemption in any case, for the surrounding population, including government officials, had developed a hatred for the monks in their intransigent attitudes. “But if a message was to be delivered, what would it be?”

Fr. Basilius paused for what seemed a long time, and I was not sure he was going to answer. I had asked variations on the two questions above a few times already, revealing perhaps a strange urgency. He had been engaging, kind, but perhaps not inappropriately vague. When he did answer, it was in recollection of a story, “We have dealt with a similar issue ourselves.”

President Anwar Sadat decided in the late 1970s to grant Makarius Monastery over one thousand acres of land. He had noticed the commendable job the monks had done in reclaiming desert land for agriculture, and, as the country was experiencing phenomenal population growth the government realized such projects were extremely necessary, so he tripled their workload. The abbot at the time, Fr. Matta al-Miskeen (Matthew the Poor) was honored at the gift but wondered, we can barely keep up with our three hundred acres, what can we do with so much? There was much internal debate and reluctance to receive this gift, but in the end, they accepted their charge, and began working the land.

The process of registration of the land in the name of the monastery, however, did not go smoothly, despite even a later presidential rebuke of his ministers. They faced endless delays in getting the proper paperwork, but pressed on anyway with their cultivation. During their efforts to navigate Egyptian bureaucracy, President Sadat was assassinated. In the next meeting with government officials Fr. Matta was told that the monks had no claim to the land, as the promise from President Sadat was only oral, and not in writing. Discouraged but accepting, Fr. Matta returned to the monastery, and informed his fellow monks of the decision.

As time passed the monks returned to their own fields, but a little later there came word of a general presidential initiative. This one was meant to encourage all university graduates to find land in reward for their studies, as many were entering a work force devoid of substantial openings. As the monastery was populated by dozens of monks with university degrees, each one applied for the position, and not long thereafter the monastery had recovered, now officially, all the land originally promised. These lands were in the names of the monks, not the church, but that mattered little since the monks had forsworn all worldly possessions. The monks had been promised wealth, but showed no excitement; they had been ill-treated, but put up no protest. Finally, after accepting patiently the will of God, God had restored to them their previous honor.

Fr. Basilius gave no direct answer to my question about Abu Fana, but said succinctly, “Perhaps the monks at Abu Fana have not been able to have a teacher as wise as Fr. Matta al-Miskeen.”

I shifted course after this story with a personal inquiry. I communicated that I was a Christian, raised in a Protestant tradition, and surely he was aware of our critique of monasticism. “Yes,” he replied quickly, “you think we are lazy and do nothing but pray all day.” He smiled as he said this.

I countered, however. While some may think so, this was not the impression I had growing up. Monks were imagined to be among those who love God most fervently, and are dedicated in their prayers, and, in places, in their work. Their fault, it is claimed, is that perhaps they love God too much. They can be seen as selfish in their spirituality, for they are so enraptured in his love that they neglect relationships with the rest of the world. They hole themselves away with others of like mind, and experience neither the hardships of communion with ordinary people nor the necessity of service to those around them. They live only to God, and therefore in a sense, only to themselves.

I assured Fr. Basilius that this was a perspective I have inherited, but it was absent of the attitude which often accompanies it. I have a healthy respect for Orthodoxy in general, and am confident that they have an answer for such accusations. Having never heard the reply, however, I asked him to respond. I told him it was my purpose to better understand and appreciate monasticism in general, but with an eye toward Abu Fana in particular. The monks there are bent on the acquisition of land surrounding the recently rediscovered ancient monastery. Though there have been regrettable actions on both sides, the monks have shown little regard for their neighbors. Yet if the nature of monasticism is internal in focus, walled around a community closed to the outside, how can these monks receive a message of reconciliation with their neighbors?

Fr. Basilis began by commenting on Protestantism, stating, “Your living of the Gospel is based entirely on preaching.” I interrupted, stung by his choice of pronoun, for this is a critique I share of our denomination. “Not entirely,” I offered, and perhaps he recognized the legitimacy of my qualification. It should be mentioned that as he continued he gave no indication of ill will. If he was offended by the repetition of Protestant critique, he did not show it. Instead, his manner was warm and friendly, yet intent on edification.

Protestants will criticize us, he explained, because we isolate ourselves and do not preach. Meanwhile, they express their service to God in their positions in business, education, and a host of other occupations, but in reality, neither do they preach. Even in the Protestant services one can see the emphasis on preaching – there is a lengthy sermon, a few hymns, and a couple prayers. We in the Orthodox Church have a different understanding of Gospel responsibilities. We do preach, but the sermon is only a smaller part of our mass. Most of our time spent in worship is dedicated to prayer.

As monks, this is our dedicated heritage. We do not occupy positions in society which take time away from prayer. We have forsaken family, wealth, fame, and reputation to dedicate ourselves to the kingdom of God. Our prayers support the work of the church in all other areas, including preaching. Furthermore, since we have no children to support we can offer all the proceeds from this monastery as gifts to the poor. We have a calling, as others in the church have a calling. Ours, however, is for prayer, both to God in praise, and for others, in supplication.

I thanked Fr. Basilius for these words, and acknowledged their Biblical nature. I assured him I would be pleased to convey such thoughts to my fellow Protestants. Yet what of Abu Fana, how can this message be communicated to its monks? “This is difficult,” he replied. “They will not receive this message from you,” he smiled, “a Protestant. And we in this monastery are not accepted by many in the church.” “But what of those among you who are called to preach? Who could deliver such a vision? The messenger is not as important as the message. Besides, it is the work of God to change hearts, not of man. It is men, though, that must communicate the message. But what should the message be? ”

Fr. Basilius gave pause again. This time he answered. Though brief, it encompassed all. “The first priority of Christianity, and the second, and the third, is love. Perhaps the monks of Abu Fana have neglected this.”

Time was escaping us. Though I could have spent the rest of the afternoon with him, he had details to attend to for which he had come to Cairo, neglecting his monastery. The exigencies of my upcoming stay required a bit of mundane conversation, after which we departed. The value of the encounter, however, will last, and is the best place at which to end this account. May God grant peace to the people and area of Abu Fana; may his love be communicated to all.

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Turkey Yesterday, Sheep Today, Monastery to Come

Happy Thanksgiving to our American friends, and Happy Eid to our Muslim ones. On Wednesday we celebrated Thanksgiving with some American friends here, which was a little weird, since we really don’t interact with foreigners much, outside of my office, which is multicultural anyway. It may also have been that though I felt ok enough to go, I wasn’t in the best of spirits as I was coming down with a touch of the flu. It hit hard that evening, and most of actual Thanksgiving I was in bed or resting.

I haven’t been keeping up with swine flu news in America, but it is a bit of a scare over here. I have no fear that I am infected with that strain, but the paranoia is so strong in the middle of my worst fits I thought I should go and get tested, only if to assure fearful friends that they can be free to have a conversation with me.

Is this rumor circulating in America? I have heard here from multiple sources that the swine flu vaccine is being distributed by the US government around the world in order to bring about population control. Since the rest of the world won’t stop having babies, the US first created the swine flu virus to wipe out great swaths of world population, and then is marketing the vaccine which in actuality will be a contraceptive. The company producing the vaccine is the same one which manufactures the government’s chemical weapons stash, or, has been brought up on charges for fraud and malpractice. The rumors all stem from certain emails which are making the rounds in Egypt, and presumably elsewhere. Has anyone seen these in the States?

In any case, since I am still taking it easy today we are unlikely to have any valuable updates on the Eid, whereas otherwise we would be sure to visit our friends and experience their holiday with them. Maybe it is for the best; if I was well then surely I would have here a video allowing you to witness the sheep slaughter, skinning, and skewering with us.

For those who don’t know, Eid al-Adha means holiday of the sacrifice, and celebrates the obedience of Abraham in sacrificing his son, universally believed to be Ishmael, though the text is ambiguous, before God spared him in the end and substituted an animal in his stead. It is the chief ritual of the Hajj pilgrimage to Mecca, and of the two mandated Muslim holidays, it is alternately called ‘The Major Holiday’, in comparison to the end of Ramadan in which the Qur’an was revealed, known as Eid al-Fitr, which means the holiday of fastbreaking, or alternately, ‘The Minor Holiday’.

Several posts going backwards mention that I spent some time in a local monastery last week. I can state briefly that it went very well and was an enjoyable experience. I have not yet written about it, however, since my reflections will also be published in our newsletter, Arab West Report, which has not yet been finalized due to the holidays. There will be two reports in time. The first will be a summary of my conversation with one of the elderly monks of the monastery when he came to Cairo on business. I met him in order to introduce myself and seek permission to stay, and a very interesting discussion followed. The second will be the formal report of my time there, which I hope you will enjoy as much as I did.

One reason my boss encouraged me to keep a blog in the first place was to help promote knowledge of our newsletter, so while both of these reports will be published there, I will be sure to provide the link needed to read them. Whereas reading the full text of our reports and translated articles usually requires a paid subscription of something like $50 to $100 per year for individuals, I will make certain, with his permission, that anything I link you to, whether or not I am the author, is free of charge.

Of course, you are invited to look around. Simply by looking at our weekly issue you can browse the news we are covering for the past seven days, though you may not be able to gain too much just from the titles and short summaries. The ‘hot news’, however, can be accessed for free, and is located in the lower central section of the home page. These are updated regularly, though not quite daily. Free subscriptions of the weekly summary collection are also available; you can search for it online or contact me and I can sign you up. 

This is sounding more and more like an advertisement, which is not my intention. Yet while you can generally follow along with most of our life here via the blog, the newsletter can give greater insight into religious Egypt in general, and our broader work of which I have only a part. As with all things, you are warmly invited to learn along with us. That you keep up with us at any level, however, is received as a gift.

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Omar, the Devil

The other night we went downstairs to visit our doorman’s family (see other story).  One of the girls of the family, Hibba, was having a birthday, and wanted us to come down. Due to her mom’s health, still having trouble recovering from her brain surgery, Hibba wasn’t able to have a party, but it seemed important for us to at least stop by.  It was kind of an awkward time as I think Hibba was busy doing things for her mom and she wasn’t around much.  We ended up sitting at her mom’s bedside and talking a little bit with her as she drifted in and out of sleep. 

There was one other member of the family present most of the time, and that was the four year old, youngest child and only son, Omar.  Now, if you ask Emma, she’ll probably tell you Omar is one of her friends.  He is the first child we met here at our apartment, and they have played together a few times.  He was the only child to attend her three-year old birthday party as we held that a couple weeks after moving into our apartment.  I have invited him to our apartment numerous times to play, but his whole family–sisters, mom and dad–have all said that, no, he can’t come, because he is a naughty boy… in their words, a “satan.”  (Now, this may just be a language/cultural thing that I don’t understand, but if a child is misbehaved and somewhat or very out of control, they are called “shaytaan,” which translates “devil or Satan.”  I don’t think it’s quite literal, but as one not a part of the culture, I kind of hear it as literal.) I feel bad that he has this stigma, but truthfully, I have seen it exhibited.  However, I still wish he could come to our house to play sometimes.  On the selfish side, it would be so much easier for me to be in my own place with the kids, but on the positive side, I, perhaps proudly, feel that I could handle him in our house.  I wouldn’t let him get away with things, and he would have no choice but to stay within our boundaries … or leave.  I may be naive in thinking that my “child-raising techniques” could work with him, but I guess that the challenge would be fun too.  Anyway, regardless of my lofty ambitions, his family doesn’t want him to come to our place.  This means Emma’s chance to play with him is down at his house. 

One of the things that makes it difficult for me to take the girls there is that so much of their property is outside, with lots of dust, dirt and animal droppings, not to mention miscellaneous trash that attracts Hannah’s attention.  I have a hard time sitting, drinking tea, and listening to the mom talk, while keeping one eye on Hannah and the other eye on Emma.  Now that the weather is getting cooler, it may be easier as we move inside, but that has its challenges too.  And this particular visit, the challenge was Omar. 

When we arrived at the house, the birthday girl was busy, but Omar quickly ran to some special spot outside, and retrieved a large bag of mostly broken toys and toy parts.  He seemed excited to show Emma his toys and play together.  Take note that he did play in our house during Emma’s party and enjoyed the two boxes of unbroken toys that she has.  So, at first, he took the toys out one by one and seemed to let Emma and Hannah play with them as they wished.  At one point, he pulled out a pair of binoculars and this grabbed Emma’s attention.  She asked for them, but he put them around his neck instead.  No big deal, they are his toys, he certainly doesn’t have to share.  Emma really wanted to play with the binoculars and made her request known the best she could without really speaking the same language as him.  It seemed that the more interested she was in what he had, the more he wanted to withhold things.  I think at one point, either I or his sister conviced him to let Emma hold the binoculars, but after about 10 seconds, he started to cry.  Now, I’ve seen this before with him … he is finally convinced to share something, then he starts to cry, and his sister says, “sorry Emma, I’m so sorry.”  Meaning: Omar wants something; you can’t play with it any more … give it back.  So, she gave the binoculars back at which time he put all the toys back in the big bag, and stuffed the bag under the bed as far as could reach.  Emma looked at me sadly, “why is he doing that?”  Hmmm, what to say.  “Because he’s a spoiled brat.”  “Because he is mean.”  “Because he is a bully.”  These were the responses that came to my mind immediately, but I don’t want Emma to see him as the “Satan” that people say he is.  (By the way, they call him this to his face as well, so he has a reputation to live up to.)  So, I thought about it awhile, and said, “I’m really sorry, Emma, that Omar isn’t being very kind right now.  It’s not nice to not share your toys.  But they are his toys, and he can do with them what he wants.  You know what else, his mom is very sick, and he is probably sad, but he can’t understand what’s happening.  I’m sorry it makes you sad, I would be sad too.” 

I hope that was a good answer for Emma.  I know I can’t protect her forever from getting hurt by others, but of course, I want to as long as I can.  I want her to learn from kids who aren’t nice, that it’s exactly that, “not nice.”  At least this way, it’s useful for something to interact with kids like this.  Maybe it will prevent Emma from being mean in the future.  But really, what’s most important?  I want her to see Omar as a person who isn’t perfect, but deserves our love and kindness, regardless of what he does.  Sure, that’s the ideal, but in such a simple offense, we can do that.  As Emma grows and the offenses do too, that will get harder and harder.  I pray God gives us wisdom to help Emma learn these things, as we do too.  We all have a long way to go.

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Grace in Loss

If you are a soccer fan, you probably already know the result. If you are not, you probably don’t care that much about knowing or not knowing. In either case, we hope the following account is amusing, if a bit disturbing. The title is not meant to be about the Egyptian people, but to be about God, at least in one perspective.

As Julie wrote the other day, I was at a monastery the past three days, and missed the monumental, last minute victory by Egypt over Algeria, forcing a playoff in Sudan. I did not miss the news reports leading up to the match, however, in which Egyptian fans stoned the Algerian bus as it drove into Cairo, injuring two players and giving a concussion to a trainer. Football was far from the minds of the monks, however, and there was even posted a sign to visitors to keep news from the outside to a minimum. Still, Julie texted me excitedly as Egypt’s late tally meant a winner-take-all playoff.

Coming home I discovered the match was to be played on Wednesday, on which I have my evening class at the Orthodox Biblical Institute. I have missed a couple classes due to work, and excused myself from the Monday class due to my stay at the monastery. I was hoping they would not count that, at least, against me. Not wanting to miss again, however, I would nevertheless catch the conclusion as my class ended at 9pm, while the match would end at 9:30, barring extra time.

When I arrived at the Institute the priest was late which didn’t bother any of the few students who had bothered to show up. My class is about fifty people strong, and there were only about fifteen who came. The presiding professor named 7:30 as the time we would abandon the class, but the priest came with fifteen minutes to spare, and class began. Of course, no one was really upset, since they had all chosen God over soccer just in attending. Class took awkward pauses every couple minutes, though, as a roar went up outside every time something exciting happened. The church which hosts the Institute had set up a large screen in the courtyard, and there were perhaps one hundred people gathered below our window, three floors down.

The priest decided to have mercy and ended the class after only an hour, and as we exited we heard the groan. Algeria scored to go up 1-0 just before the half. I saw the goal, actually, on the cell phone of one of my classmates who had fancy internet connectivity. He had offered me before the class started to sit beside him and watch; I did not, but I don’t know if he had earlier been sneaking or not.

We all descended to watch the second half, during which Algeria defended their lead resolutely. Egypt mustered a few chances, but the game ended weakly and everyone left quietly and disappointedly. My friend with the magical cell phone motioned for us to leave, and we quickly boarded the near-empty metro car to go home.

Along the way my friend’s one comment was that this was probably for the best. In fact, it was an act of God’s mercy. In the days leading up to the game certain Algerians had retaliated against Egyptian workers in their country. My friend took consolation in the loss, for if Egypt had won the Algerians would have slaughtered the Christian Egyptians in their midst. It was their nature, he said, they are savage and barbaric. Egyptian Christians, some will claim, can have difficulty with their Muslim neighbors, but Algerians are altogether in a different class.

So Egypt missed out once again; it has been since 1990 that they participated in a World Cup, though they are regularly one of the top teams in Africa, and have won the continental tournament several times in this stretch. I would have much preferred a victory. It would have made this summer more interesting if Egypt was involved, besides the fun I would have had in celebrating out and about in the streets. Where God’s wisdom lies however, is beyond my ability to fathom, but in a religious society such as this, many do not hesitate to interpret.

Categories
Personal

Crazy for Soccer

I should have known that the soccer match coming up was a big one, when I saw the large announcement posted outside the main entrance to the Coptic Church in town.  Between the pictures and a few Arabic words that I could make out quickly, I noticed that the church was hosting a showing of the upcoming soccer game between Egypt and Algeria.  It wasn’t until a few days later, that our neighbor/landlord told us that it was a qualifier for the world cup.  Egypt, who has won the Africa cup a few times lately, was in danger of not making it to the world cup.  I learned that they had to win this game by 3 goals to advance.  Only 2 goals meant a rematch in a neutral country.

Unfortunately Jayson was out of town and beyond the reach of television during this game, otherwise, he may have been able to participate in the hype and excitement as he gathered with Egyptians to watch.  For me, the game started at 7:30 on a Saturday night…just about the time I was giving the girls a bath and putting them to bed.  We don’t have a television in our house, so I wasn’t going to watch, but I was cheering for Egypt as it would make for a more interesting World Cup this summer if the country we reside in was playing.

Two days before the game we got an alert email from the US embassy in Cairo.  It informed us of the game coming up, and urged all US citizens to stay away from the area of the stadium due to crazy traffic and the possibility of riots–even non-violent ones–before or after the game.  It seemed a little over the top to me.  Sure, I would avoid the area like crazy.  Don’t want to deal with the crowds and traffic, but I wondered about the threat of riots.

As I walked around town today, the day of the game, I could see the number of Egyptian flags had increased on cars and in shops and from people’s homes.  People were gearing up for the big game.  As I was doing my errands that day, a girl from a local shop stopped me to ask if I was cheering for Egypt.  “Of course,” I replied.  She seemed tickled by that.  I really don’t know how I couldn’t cheer for them, and still live here.  We talked a bit about the game and I showed my knowledge of the situation.  She said that if they didn’t advance tonight, but still won, the next game would be played in Sudan.

So, 7:30 rolled around and I gave the girls a bath and put them in bed.  I had some things to do after that and was busy in the kitchen around 9:30 when I heard a loud cheer go up from our building.  It was a collective cheer from below, above, outside and inside.  I thought, they must have won!  I quickly ran to my neighbors and rang her bell.  She came to the door quickly and returned to the TV even more quickly. 

“Did they win?”  I asked.

“No, just scored a second goal.  There’s only a few minutes left.” 

She kept watching the screen, cheering, holding her breath, getting down on her knees, shivering with excitement as Egypt had another good chance on goal.  (Take note that my landlord is a 50 year old mother of 3 grown sons.)  Another minute passed and the game ended.  Another loud cheer went up and all of Egypt celebrated their team’s victory.  I still think it meant they had to play another game, but at least they were still alive.  That was only the beginning of the celebration.

Now it is about 11:30pm and I was planning to be asleep by now.  But it’s near impossible as people are cheering and horns are beeping and sirens are wailing all around.  Our building is not located in a loud place…we rarely hear traffic besides the minivans that begin their route in front of our building.  But we are right next to a bridge that runs out of town, and for the last two hours, people have been constantly beeping their horns as they drive over the bridge.  I just keep praying that all this noise doesn’t wake the girls up! 

I’m glad for them–the team, the people of Egypt.  It’s probably something that unifies this country…Muslims and Christians alike.  I hope Egypt advances and does well, but right now, I would really like to sleep!  Oh well, that can be difficult in a country that doesn’t really sleep on a normal day until 2am.  It’s just that on this night, there is national permission to celebrate loudly and freely…probably until people fizzle out around 2am.  I hope I sleep before that!

 

Postscript: The rematch in Sudan is this evening, so the country is enraptured once again. Even Emma the other day chanted. “Go Masr, Go Masr!” (‘Masr’ is Arabic for ‘Egypt’.) We hope they win, even if it costs us another night’s sleep.

Categories
Personal

Miracle Stories

Can you notice what is ‘wrong’ with this picture?

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Our daughter Emma noticed right away. The picture is a clear inversion of the Gospel story in which Jesus washes his disciples’ feet. Emma asked, “Why is that man washing Jesus’ feet?” and the question is valid. Presented in such a manner the lesson is clear: We are to be servants of Jesus. This is a good message, of course, but it disturbs the radicalism of the Gospel in which Jesus established the basis of leadership to be service to all, especially the lowly.

Had Emma been born in the Orthodox Church, however, she would not have noticed a dissonance. The picture represents Saint Bishoy, who was renowned for his hospitality, and this picture represents the pinnacle establishment of his holiness. One day a visitor came to him, lowly in presentation, dirty from the travel. As was his custom, St. Bishoy stooped down to wash his feet. Only in the assumption of this command of his Lord to repeat his holy practice was the visitor then revealed to be none other than Jesus himself. This manifestation demonstrated God’s favor upon St. Bishoy, and the story was recorded for all history, here preserved in a stunning icon.

Though any Egyptian Christian child would have recognized this story immediately, I am unable to differentiate St. X from St. Y, or to know how it came to be that St. George killed a dragon. The icon above is from St. George’s Monastery in Khataba, Egypt, about a two hour drive northwest from Cairo. In conjunction with a class I am taking in a Coptic Bible Institute, a story I will have to relate later, I went with my family on a day trip to visit this and a sister monastery only about fifteen minutes further on. It was a wonderful view into Coptic spirituality, which is very monastic in its formation, and we heard many stories about the various saints which populate the Coptic imagination. In each monastery the relics of such-and-such saint were preserved, and prayers were offered at each in commemoration of their life.

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I am no longer as disturbed as I once was by the idea of praying to saints. This formulation, however, ‘praying to saints’ may simply be a Protestant slur to blacken the concept; surely we should pray only to God. On the other hand, it may represent the actual practice of many traditional Christians who perhaps feel that they are not worthy to approach God directly, or that a particular saint may more readily grant them favor. But as a concept: If I will not hesitate to ask my living brother to pray for the healing of my sick daughter, why should I hesitate to ask my departed brother now living in heaven? We are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses watching with interest our terrestrial drama. Can their requests to God not also be marshaled on our behalf?

As I discussed these matters with my classmates—professional employees, university students, businessmen, all committed to God and his service in their church and country—each one was keen to convince me of the legitimacy of these practices. They have heard the critique of rational Western Protestantism, both from within and without Egyptian borders. They would link each practice to either the Bible or early church tradition, and I wish my Arabic was strong enough to fully understand their arguments. As I learn more, I will relate their tales, but inasmuch as these were my first lessons it was hard to grasp all their nuances. The fervency of their justifications, however, was noticed, as they sought to demonstrate they were not backwards, occultist Christians, anticipating an oft-heard criticism before I might voice it. They worship God alone; they pray to God alone. God, however, has left marks of his favor on certain of his saints.

St. Bishoy, for example, had his dead body preserved for centuries after his death as it had been the day he died, soft and supple. This story was repeated for other saints in other locales. This miraculous preservation of the corpse is a signal from God that such a person was particularly holy. In fact, St. Bishoy’s body only decayed in rebuke of a later Pope who departed from God’s favor.

We in the West have heard stories such as this, but largely assign them to the genre of pious legend. Certainly St. X and St. Y were holy people who lived God-pleasing lives. Yet after their death in preservation of their legacy the simple, pre-scientific peoples around them developed all sorts of miracle stories to idolize them. Perhaps this was innocent, perhaps it was sinister—a place of pilgrimage is generally also a place of commerce—but over the centuries the stories remained part and parcel of the saint’s history. Given that the Muslims of Egypt and elsewhere also have their celebrated miracle-working saints, it is easy for us today to dismiss these tales of ancient European and Mediterranean Christianity.

Yet the testimony of these professional, modern-educated lovers of God makes it harder to dismiss. If they were only preservers of ancient tradition, however, they could be excused for following in the credulity of their ancestors. The testimony, though, does not remain in the past.

One of my classmates spoke of the city of Damietta, on the northeastern shoreline of the Nile Delta. In that city is preserved the soft, supple body of a deceased saint from two centuries ago. The body is enclosed in glass casing, allowing the miracle to be witnessed by all. She invited us to join her family some day in the future to take a trip together to see it.

 Furthermore, she spoke of her own village in southern Egypt, which was served by a noble, but uncelebrated priest. One day the priest died of natural causes and was buried in ordinary fashion. Unknown outside of the village he was simply replaced by another priest, and life continued as usual.

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One day there was some reconstruction taking place in the village, and the local sewer line was disturbed. The pipes cracked and burst forth, spewing into the cemetery where the priest and many others were buried. It made quite a mess, and necessitated the transfer of the cemetery to another location. At this time, however, in unearthing the grave of the priest, buried traditionally without a coffin, his corpse emerged unchanged from the day of his internment. Soft and supple his body remained. Though not esteemed by man, God gave witness of his favor.

This story resembles the others told in history, but comes with a contemporary witness: My classmate testified she saw this take place with her own eyes.

Perhaps a journalist would probe deeper. Perhaps a sociologist would identify group hysteria. Perhaps we in the West are so terrified of these stories that we immediately seek for alternate explanation. What is the cause for our terror? Stories like this threaten our unconsciously adopted worldview of scientific rationalism. This worldview can make room for sporadic divine interventions, but generally only if there is a clear and logical purpose behind it. Stories such as these, however, make no sense to us. What purpose does God have in the rather morbid preservation of a corpse?

As I will learn the longer we live here, many Orthodox traditions have a sense of the mystical. I have begun getting introductory lessons in transubstantiation, for example. Yet no matter where we draw the line, the mystical cannot be separated from Christianity. At its core is the promise: Christ in you, the hope of glory. It is not my point to either justify or refute the miracle stories that are believed by so many. A faithful record of them, however, is necessary, for the Orthodox in Egypt are brethren in Christ, members of his body. This itself is mystery, a miracle story to be cherished.

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Postscript: I am posting this reflection one day before traveling without my family to another monastery, St. Makarius, where I will reside for the next three days. One of the places of conflict I am researching is the Abu Fana monastery, in which monks are prominently involved. It was recommended to me that in due time I stay with the monks there in order to better understand the local realities. That monastery, however, due to the conflict surrounding it, has become a much politicized place, and as such is not the best introduction into monastic life. In preparation for this experience, then, I should first have a taste of a functional monastery, and St. Makarius is by reputation one of the most reputable, though most controversial, in all Egypt. This, though, is a story for another time, hopefully shortly after I return. Your prayers are requested; may they mix with the incense rising from the altar…

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Categories
Personal Reconciliation

Scuffling

Back when I was in high school my dad would take us boys on occasion to watch Rutgers University soccer games. They were always fun—for soccer aficionados we even saw Alexi Lalas play—though I was often troubled by the degree to which fans in the stands would berate the referees. Perhaps back then I had a sensitive conscience, but there was always an air of tension surrounding the game. Rutgers was good back then—I have no idea if they are good now—but they often won and everyone went home happy.

One afternoon, however, they lost. Grumbling was expected and the referees were lambasted, but on our way back to the car in an open space of grass behind the playing field two people were yapping back and forth very vehemently. I can only imagine they were opposing fans, perhaps one a student at the rival college, but my memory is that they were both adults, however young. Their raised voices attracted a lot of attention, and the attendees paused in their descent to the parking lot and duly circled around them. There was no “fight, fight!” chanting like you might have with boys on a playground, but the yapping had escalated in the meanwhile and the two had come to blows. Like rubbernecking at an accident it is impossible to look away, but Dad quickly pushed us along and we went our way home.

Before leaving though my conscience had another message. I was struck not only by the wrongness of what was going on, but also by the feeling that something should be done about it. “Blessed are the peacemakers,” is fine to recite, but hard to act upon. Yet I had the urge that I should do something about it. Sometimes in such cases you can imagine yourself the hero; I had no such picture in my head. The only images that came were wandering, alone, into the scuffle, and getting caught in the crossfire, thrown to the ground, and doing no good whatsoever. Perhaps there was a scenario in which this broke the tunnel vision of their rage, but even so the price to pay was the chief element in my mind. I put up no resistance to Dad’s motioning.

That day within me something was either born or died. I’m not sure which. Since then I have been filled with the idealism that calls us to put our lives nonviolently in the line of fire for the sake of ending conflict, even if it is fruitless and painful. I watched with admiration as the people of Christian Peacemaker Teams went to Iraq and, as their motto states, looked to “get in the way.” There story is told here on Wikipedia.Yet the world soon cast their scorn as they were captured by the very Iraqis they went to protect, and then heroically, yet ironically, rescued by the American soldiers they were seeking to obstruct. It says much about our military, but what does it say about them?

Such a group is prepared to pay the same cost in nonviolence that a soldier is prepared to pay in violence. They believe peacemaking calls for sacrifice, commitment, and strategy. In their ordeal the American member of their team died. Another of their group was 74 years old. Yet what is remembered of them? That they put the lives of American soldiers in danger. That they put their noses where they did not belong. They played the part of the fool in the drama which justified the war. What good came from their idealism? Was there any impact in Iraq? Was there any impact anywhere?

Perhaps it could be said that these thoughts here represent growth from the birth of the original experience. Yet if instead the focus is on life, and not thought, it may better be described as death. I have never intervened to bring peace to a situation. I have often nodded in that direction, but never once have I risked suffering in order to reconcile others. I have stood with others around the incident, felt the ping of conscience, and moved on.

 

Coming home late one evening the other day I was riding the metro and the sensation returned. The car was not overly crowded though there was a small but sizeable group of youth—high school to college—joking around, jostling, drawing attention to themselves but not quite crossing the line in the manner of which their age is so adept. Someone, though, took offense. He was about the same age, but was standing in the corner with a young lady covered in a head scarf. I have no idea what came between them, but before too long one of the group in particular and he were locked in the level of raised voices that precedes a conflict. As per custom, and perhaps per wisdom, I slinked backwards a few steps.

The outcome itself is perhaps not surprising, though it is different. The two became more and more animated, displaying their bravado in closer and closer proximity. Immediately others stepped in. Older men sitting around them reached out to grab the near-combatants by the arm, speaking words of calm. The group of young men rallied around their member, but to pull him back. The yapping continued for a little while, but eventually dissipated as each side separated, and they young men exited at the next stop. Crisis averted.

Having lived in the Arab World for some time now, I knew exactly how this scenario would play out. In this respect my withdrawal was not from cowardice but simply from allowing those who knew how to diffuse tension to play their role. Yet I will not excuse myself from cowardice; I, after all, knew the playbook, and chose not to participate. Still the criticism is not quite fair; though I have seen and could plausibly imitate the role I had seen so many times before, no one else was playing a role.

No one thought, “I should get involved.” The older men did not think, “This word of caution would be appropriate.” They all simply acted, and they acted as one group with one mind. Whereas the mentality back at Rutgers was to circle around and let them fight, the mentality here was to intervene. Whereas the one with a sensitive conscience in America wonders what he might do to change a bad situation, the one here does not exist—the group conscience decidedly takes over.

What does it mean to be a peacemaker?

 

It is written about Arab culture that conflict is a normal and accepted fact of life, but that group mechanisms exist to keep conflict from spiraling out of control. The sense of being his brother’s keeper is ingrained in Arab thought, and there is no need to romanticize this. It is not driven by a profound sense of morality but rather a consciousness that protects the group in ever-larger concentric circles. There is an Arab proverb which states, “Me against my brother. My brother and I against my cousins.  My cousins and I against the world.” Conflict is allowed and expected, but at a certain level it must cease.

The system, however, is moral. In the West our sense of personal responsibility will not permit the Arab individual any credit for automatic participation in group think, and we are blind to the structural morality that binds them together. Yet we then in opposite fashion suffer the intense burden of the individual peacemaker and are blind to our own structural immorality. Furthermore, since we know the individual can do no good on his own, we are left in despair, immobilized against undertaking any good.

When some, like the brave yet naïve (?) souls of Christian Peacemaker Teams can finally commit themselves to mobilization, everything is marshaled toward their failure. It is no conspiracy theory; it is a reflection of the fact that the world is organized around the principles of power. If power is threatened by power the rules are clear and the victor presides. Morality determines to what degree the labels of “good” or “evil” are applied, and a preference exists, of course, for good. If power, however, is threatened by nonviolence, it puts everyone ill at ease, for both good and evil in this system depend upon it.

This is the way the world works, and the Arabs are no better. They often receive the “evil” label in our classification scheme, but for us this is a label of convenience. We are the possessors of power in the world today, and like all in this position we are loathe to give it up. They from their group mentality at times will reach the end of their concentric circles, and lash out – we are quick to retaliate in kind. Yet it is the same game and the same struggle. Yet the Arab World is worthy of more praise than it receives, for their circles can expand to include humanity at large. For the past two hundred years they have been under the world order of the West, and they have largely played nicely. Even so, our thumb is strong.

What then can be the place of the individual with a sensitive conscience anywhere, but especially in the West? To what degree are we condemned to act alone? Culture cannot be easily changed, but can the principles of peacemaking become generalized? Can a group mentality emerge which curbs conflict before it escalates beyond repair? Can this be applied to our foreign policy? Can it be applied at a soccer game?

It is here where I run out of vision, though perhaps it is more correct that I am scared of the vision. Until now I have been reluctant to speak of Christianity, for these principles have been practiced, albeit rarely by anyone, by non-Christians around the world. We should learn their lessons and hear their rebuke. Yet our primary example, which we are called to imitate, is profoundly individual. Suffering a sensitive conscience aware of the deep division between man and God, Jesus gave up all power and preached a message of love. He gathered others around him, but in the end the powers that be chose him alone for execution. His mission, noble as it was, ended in failure. Looking to intercede between man and God, he was caught in the crossfire, and put to death by both. Yet he was no victim, for he chose his fate, drinking deeply from the cup he was given. Paradox of all paradoxes, it was from his failure that victory emerged. Salvation can be preached to the world, peace can be extended to all, because one man was trampled upon trying to make a difference.

Can we do any differently?

Categories
Personal

First Days in Cairo: Househunting from Jail

Apartment-hunting in Cairo was tough considering Jayson was beginning a new job and we were housesitting in a place which was a 45-minute drive from Maadi, the neighborhood where we hoped to live.  This meant timing our visits there in between or in spite of naps and bedtime for our two girls.  Jayson didn’t have a lot of time to walk around Maadi and look for places, and once he left for the day, I was kind of stuck at the villa.  So, I did what I could from afar and looked in magazines and made some phone calls and even checked the internet.  Surprisingly, one of the best resources for finding an apartment was the ever popular Craigslist site online.

I saw a place on Craigslist on a Monday and tried calling about it, but the person never picked up.  We had been using a lot of real estate agents to find places and this was another one advertising a 3-bedroom place within our budget.  The details of the place sounded good, but we couldn’t do much about it if there was no answer.  I sent an email to the Craigslist address and finally on Friday night, got a reply that he had been out of town but would now answer his phone.  Well, Saturday was the first day of Ramadan…so the first day of the fast…and I tried calling him several times that morning as we were looking to decide on places, but still no answer. We had narrowed our choices down to a simple ground floor place (drawbacks were no bathtub and a very uneven floor…making the table and chairs a bit tipsy) and a 2-bedroom place across from the office (a good spot…but a little small and seemed a bit expensive compared to other places; plus, there were a lot of mice droppings from its short time vacant).  So, we weren’t super happy with either of these two options.  Finally in the afternoon, someone answered the phone.  He had slept in due to the fasting and it’s hard adjusting to the first day…especially since he’s a smoker.  Anyway, we agreed to see the place at 5:30 that evening…an hour before the time of breaking the fast.

We got the girls up from their nap and got ready to go into town.  Since it takes at least 45 minutes to get there from the villa we had to go early…and on the way, the real estate agent texted me to say the key wasn’t available at this time so we had to cancel the appointment.  It was really the only reason we were going all the way into town, so that was no good.  I called him and he thought that we could meet at 8pm and the key would be there.  Plus maybe he could show us some other spots.  So, we arrived in town around 5pm…what to do with three hours?!  Jayson stopped by the office and found there was an interview with some journalists taking place, and his boss invited him to stay for the interview.  Good and interesting for him.  A little hard for us.

It’s hard to keep the girls entertained and somewhat less than filthy, playing outside Jayson’s office building.  You see, the ground and everything outside is always covered by a layer of dust/dirt.  Fortunately Hannah is mostly walking now, but both her and Emma get quite dirty playing outside…and then I get dirty because they sit on my lap or I hold them.  I really can’t get from our house to our next stop in the car with a clean shirt and pants.  Oh well, something to adjust to.  Anyway, back to the time at the office.  So, to avoid the dirt, we played inside Jayson’s office building for a little while, but I didn’t want to make too much noise and disturb the interview. Then we left the office, closing the locked door behind us, only to find that the gate to get out of the building was also locked.  So, we were stuck in the stairwell.  And of course, Hannah crawls up steps, cleaning them as she goes!  We were stuck there for about half an hour, and at one point, Emma said we were in jail…something I hadn’t thought of but seemed fitting to our situation.  We tried to stay occupied by telling stories and singing songs, and we attempted to stay a little less than filthy.  The “little less than filthy” was unsuccessful, but we survived until someone who lived in the building came in and let us out!  We went to the car then for a snack until Jayson was done, then to his boss’ house for a drink.  By the time this was all over, it was about 7pm…still an hour until we meet the real estate agent, and I was quite ready to just go back home!  Enough for one day…but the night was yet young!  We got the girls some yogurt to eat and waited for the agent by our rendezvous spot. He showed up a couple minutes past our appointment time and we continued the adventure.

We didn’t start out at the Craigslist place.  He took us to another apartment building where we were going to see two places.  But instead, we waited and waited and waited and waited for the doorman to come back with the key.  He had gone to the mosque for Ramadan prayers and was coming “any minute.”  This went on for about half an hour.  The good news is, Emma liked this “Amu” (Arabic word for uncle) for some reason and played with him real well despite the fact that it was going on 9pm by the time we finally said, that’s enough waiting, let’s go to the other place.

So, then we were going to see yet another place before the Craigslist place, but this one was on the opposite side of the metro track.  We don’t know why he suggested this, but we parked at one spot, walked up and over the metro (lots and lots of stairs) and then preceded to walk what felt like a mile…remember, 9pm, me carrying Hannah, Jayson carrying Emma, through the dark streets…until we finally got to an apartment where we went to the third floor (no elevator).  Now, what’s frustrating about this is we specifally told the agent we didn’t want a high floor without an elevator…it’s just too hard with the kids.  But, we saw the place anyway.  It was a decent place but didn’t have a bathtub, so that was a problem. (Besides being on the third floor).  Then, while Jayson was looking at the back bedroom with the landlord and agent, the landlord closed the shutters on the window, knocking a beehive open…and bees started to swarm into the bedroom!  Fortunately I didn’t witness this myself, but the owner got stung and Jayson made it out of there without harm.  The landlord felt really bad and assured us he would spray and take care of that problem!

So then onto the place we had been waiting to see for five days or five hours…depending on when you started counting!  Fortunately, we didn’t have to walk too far to the next place, it was just up and over the metro again.

We got to the building and there was a large family gathering taking place in the downstairs aptartment.  Again, it was the first day of Ramadan and the family was celebrating the fast-breaking meal.  And of course, the key was not there, but would be back in about 20 minutes! Ugh!  It was already 10pm!  Well, we came this far, so we had to wait.

The family invited us in…or maybe Hannah just kind of walked in and we had to follow her, and we enjoyed a visit with them…having some dessert and juice and chatting some with the people. It was a large group…uncles, aunts, cousins, etc.  The girls did okay despite the hour, and Emma was a little overwhelmed as people would pick her up when she didn’t want them to…but all in all, it was a nice introduction to the owner of the buildings large family.

So, finally the key came and we went up to look at the place.  I liked it immediately although it was supposed to be a furnished place and there was only some furniture…so that was tricky, but they promised to furnish it if we took it.  We took a look at it and talked some with the brother of the owner, as the owner himself was out of town…and told them we would think about it.  After about 1/2 an hour of looking around and talking, we headed back out…took a taxi back to our car, dropped the agent off, and headed back to the villa…fortunately there wasn’t much traffic and we made good time…both of the girls sleeping from the time we got in the car.

As a postscript: This is the apartment we did finally settle on, just a few days after our crazy night.  It was a good reminder that things take longer to do here…something we need to get used to.  We’re thankful that our kids are flexible, and glad to be done the househunting for the time being.

Categories
Personal

A Trip to Qalzam

Three weekends ago we traveled to the village of Qalzam with a friend of ours from Cairo, whose uncle still lives a traditional, agricultural life. The village was about a twenty minute drive from Shabin al-Qanater, the capital city of the Qalubiya governorate, which is in the Delta region about an hour north of Cairo. Qulzam means ‘fertile ground’ in Coptic, and was the place of his relative’s home and the area church, Archangel Michael. The church was built 250 years ago on the site where the angel appeared to a Christian villager. In those days the area was 75% Christian in composition, but their population has dwindled to only five families today. Over time, most of the families have relocated to Cairo for better work. Nevertheless, there is still significant Christian representation in the area, and during the Friday morning service we attended there appeared to be over 100 people in attendance, perhaps buttressed by a funeral service that coincided with our visit.

                 The church building itself was not 250 years old, but has been rebuilt recently, though it is not quite finished.

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It is a monumental structure, complete with a balcony, but the church is still awaiting donations to paint the icons on the wall dividing the people from the altar.

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My friend asked if I would be willing to help the church solicit. It uses its finances currently to conduct a shuttle service helping the Christians from surrounding villages to get to the church. It also gives the children small toys to encourage them to attend the Sunday school. These lessons follow the main mass, and we participated with them.

                 While Julie took Emma into the younger class where they chanted Arabic hymns and taught the kids to pray making the sign of the cross, I was with Hannah in what I discovered later was the combined class of all older ages. These are usually kept separate, which was a relief to hear, since it was quite chaotic, with few paying attention and much chatter throughout the lesson. I entered late, as I was talking with the ‘college and career’ folk after the mass, only later finding out that they had a class as well. When I entered they were chanting an Arabic hymn, but then to my surprise they sang a popular Arabic praise song, albeit without any instrumentation. They then tried to show a film on the recently obtained screen, which was the very reason every class met together, but sound quality was so poor they abandoned the effort after a few minutes. Then followed a lesson given on powerpoint, which seemed well designed but was way over the heads of the younger kids, and failed to attract the interest of the older ones. I felt sympathy for the teachers.

                 I spoke afterwards with a younger woman who was in charge of the older Sunday school class, but was not the teacher. She serves as Sunday school supervisor for the whole diocese, traveling especially to make certain that Christian daycare centers are well run. Yet Archangel Michael is her home church, and she recruits from the ‘college and career’ to teach the Sunday school classes. I was accompanied most of the visit by the one in charge of the middle school class, who works as a middle school science teacher another village over. He walks to work about a kilometer and a half every day, which is cumbersome only during the winter rains when the dirt roads get muddy.

                 In describing my work to them, the supervisor mentioned the travails of the Christian community in the regional capital, Shabin al-Qanater, in building a church. While relations with the Muslims are fine and official permission is granted for its construction, she claims that the local security forces are preventing the building from beginning. She asked if it was in our capability to investigate. While I was not certain, I reiterated that our group does not intervene for the sake of Christian church building, but we are interested in getting at the whole story from all sides, and my work in particular was towards the aim of building peace in an area. The presence of a foreigner in such a setting, I added, could easily over-encourage some (zealous Christians who think that their story will be told abroad and pressure put on the government) and infuriate others (zealous Muslims who could retaliate if they believe Christians are going outside the system to get help). So I put the request on hold, given also that she had to leave for other responsibilities, preventing further exploration of her story. Following on her comment that she visits Cairo with some regularity, though, I told her to contact me next time through and we would sit with a recorder to get all the details, and then decide from there what was best to do.

                 The rest of the day was spent at the old-style villa of my friend’s family, which was twelve rooms large in sprawling design incorporating much open veranda space.

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Though it was in need of repair in some places, it was elegant and comfortable, full of antiques over 100 years old.

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The only person who lived there, though, was his uncle, a young man by appearance but who was a former army officer, and thereafter lived 24 years in Baghdad, owning a restaurant and a few other shops. He lost everything, including his family, due to the First Gulf War, and returned home to Qalzam, where he takes care of his family house, enjoying the quiet life in the countryside, involved also in the church to which he often opens his home. His sustenance comes from the farmland he owns, which he hires others to work for him. There were several relatives and neighbors with us throughout the day, both Muslim and Christian, and he treated us to a traditional barbeque and fatayer meal. The meat was cooked over an ancient grill,

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and the fatayer—thin bread folded many times over, each layer coated in butter and honey (click here for video)—was cooked in an oven that seemed right out of the Great Depression.

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Save for the washing machine and television, the whole house was as it was constructed over 150 years ago. While much of the village has been remodeled and built up with modern construction methods, it was very comfortable to enjoy life as it has been lived unchanged for generations. Except, of course, that soon after eating and after Emma declined a chance to ride on a neighbor’s donkey, we instead mounted the car and drove back to modernity.

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                 The trip was our first outside of Cairo, and it was enlightening to witness life in a traditional setting. Our lives in Maadi are very insulated, and we will do well to continue to travel domestically as much as possible.

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            To close this post, allow me to say that my sentence about soliciting is sincere; should anyone be interested please contact us and we can discuss it. Yet at the same time, my friend told me that the priest of the church has increased in wealth since he began serving at the church. While this was not labeled as fraud, according to my friend church policy allows the priest to take a percentage of the gifts for his personal use, and other people have given him property directly. Personally, though I shook his hand, I did not speak with him, and at the request of my friend I put a donation in the box. The services of the church seemed very sincere, however, as did the volunteers with whom I spoke. Please do not understand this paragraph as my request for you to give, but in relaying the story and circumstances, I hope you get a small snapshot of local life.

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First Days in Cairo: A Dinner Invitation

We moved into our apartment in a nice section of Cairo…Maadi, the town of foreigners, or ex-pats, as we are sometimes called. (To clarify, out of the three million people who live in this town, one million of them are ex-pats…leaving two million Egyptians.)  We moved in on a Sunday evening during Ramadan.  Ramadan is the month of fasting for Muslims, and the majority of Muslims in Egypt fasted from sunrise to sunset…breaking the fast at the call to prayer.  A couple days after we moved in, we passed the doorman and his wife walking on the street.  This was about one hour before the breaking of the fast. 

“Please come and break the fast with us,” the doorman said to Jayson.

“Thank you, thank you,” was the reply.

“Yes, please come and have dinner with us tonight,” added the doorman’s wife.

I kind of looked at Jayson and immediately thought that we couldn’t do it tonight…although I didn’t have a good reason…I’m just not always ready for spontaneity!  “Well, thank you so much.  We can’t tonight.  Um, um, thank you though, you’re so generous,” I kind of stuttered.

Jayson saved me and added, “Thank you for the invitation, God willing, we can join you tomorrow for the fast-breaking.”

The doorman replied, “Yes, God willing, tomorrow.”  And we went on our way.

So, sure enough, the next night, we joined them in their home next to our apartment building.  They live in what appears to be a half-knocked down building, but if you don’t mind that the floor above you is half-broken down, it’s really quite big and spacious. 

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They also have enough land to grow some vegetables and keep farm animals!  As the wife told me, it’s a villa!  We sat outside, on a mat on the ground and shared a simple, yet delicious meal. 

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The doorman’s wife was with us for 10 minutes or so before she disappeared inside.  We ate somewhat quickly…as is customary during the fast-breaking meal, and washed our hands as the kids got up to play and the doorman’s daughter got up to clear the “table.”  A little while later, I was invited inside to visit with the wife who had gone to lay down in her bed to rest.  You see, she had had brain surgery about two weeks prior to this night.  Apparently she had a tumor removed.  It’s not appropriate in this culture, to ask too much about sicknesses or if it was cancerous, for example, but I don’t know of any follow-up treatment she is getting so, I am guessing it was benign.  But still, a brain tumor!

So, as I was pondering our dinner invitation a few days later, some things struck me when I realized that I would never have invited ourselves over if I were in their shoes.

Consider:

We are foreigners…wealthy Americans who are, in a sense, their employer, since we live in the building where they work.   Their daughter knocks on our door twice a day to run errands for us and collect our garbage.  Yet, they didn’t mind having someone from a “higher class” and a foreign country, to their simple home for a meal.

The first time they invited us was one hour before the meal!  I don’t know about you, but if I am having someone over, I like to have some notice!  I like to have everything prepared and the house clean and the table set.  But this family, and as is common in this culture, is always prepared for guests…expected or not.  They would have had enough food to serve us if we came at that first invitation.  They are always ready to serve anyone who might show up.  Talk about generous.  And this from a poorer family.

The wife, the woman of the house, had major surgery two weeks ago!  This is the kicker for me.  I can’t think of many women I know who would invite people to their house when they are recovering from brain surgery!  Yes, maybe for a sick visit, but, “Please, come have dinner with us.  I won’t be able to sit with you long, I have to rest because of my recent brain surgery, but please, come, be with us.  Sit with my family.  My daughters will take care of you.  You are welcome here!”  Hmmm, inviting a new family in the neighborhood to my house, in that situation, would not have been the first thing on my mind.

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Finding Church (part two)

Within the Arab World, no nation contains as many Christians as Egypt. As a nation there are approximately 80 million Egyptians, and it is commonly constituted that 10% of these are Christian. Yet while some Copts (the name of local Christians, and the word from with ‘Egypt’ is derived) occasionally claim that there are even up to 10 or 12 million Christian Egyptians, the true figure may be as low as 6%. The percentage of Christians has steadily declined in the last several decades, due to various factors. Muslims maintain a higher birthrate than Christians, Christians emigrate abroad in greater number than Muslims, and due to complicated social factors, deserving its own blog sometime in the future, it is not uncommon for Copts to convert to Islam for domestic reasons, be it marriage, divorce, or an oppressive family setting. Add these factors together, and similar to Christianity in much of the Middle East, the church is contracting.

                Yet in Egypt at least, unlike in Palestine for example, there is no crisis, if only because any percentage of 80 million people is sizeable. To break down the numbers further, of the Christian population, perhaps 90-95% is Orthodox. Catholics and Protestants have an influence greater than their percentage would suggest, for they can often find support from their international denominations, both in terms of money and theological education, and as such their leaders are accorded national prominence greater than their numerical due.

                 Behind these logistics is the local setting in Maadi, Cairo, where we reside. Maadi is one of the popular areas for internationals to live, and as such, there are a plethora of worship choices. Among the most popular is Maadi Community Church – http://www.maadichurch.com/. As a Protestant non-denominational church, it attracts over 1000 worshipers during three Friday afternoon services, including one especially tailored for African internationals, both professional and refugee. There is another English language service held at St. John’s Anglican Episcopal, which also operates as an interdenominational fellowship, though high church in tradition. They are smaller in size, meet Friday mornings for traditional service and Thursday evenings for contemplative communion, and have a Rector who has written an interesting book on Muslims and Christians, which you can find through the who’s who link at their webpage – http://www.maadichurch.org/. The local Coptic Church, St. Mark’s – http://www.stmarkmaadi.com/ (Arabic site, but interesting pictures if you dare to experiment; place your cursor on the first rollover link on the column to the right, then click on the third option given. Finally, let us know if you succeed so we can applaud you) even has an English mass once a month on Saturday morning. Of course, we have already written about our general attitude toward belonging to the international community, which you can review in our first post.

                 Similar to our situation in Jordan, discussed last post, we have a local evangelical church only five minutes walking distance away from our home. Unfortunately, the only meeting time begins at 7pm on Sunday evening. With care given to Egyptian timekeeping, it often does not really begin until later, and then does not end until 9pm or so. Since church is more than just a service, but rather a web of relationships in a community of people, in order to get to know anyone we would need to stay even later to have any fellowship. In general we put Emma and Hannah to bed at 8pm. We wrote in our first post that we will try to become like them as much as possible, though we know we will never succeed, and it would be foolish to imagine we could. The issue of children’s bedtime exposes us in terms of the latter half of that sentence. It seems to us that Egyptian children have little bedtime expectations. Since the vast majority grow up to be responsible adults anyway, we see just how difficult it is to jettison our own cultural superiority. We should mention that the church does have a good Sunday School program, meeting at 12:30pm on Fridays, which Emma has been enjoying, and even memorized her first verse in Arabic last week, Exodus 15:26.

                 There is also a somewhat famous evangelical church in downtown Cairo, which we could get to by about a 20-30 minute metro ride. They have several services throughout the weekend, some of which have 1000 people at one time. You can check this church out at http://www.kdec.net/, but it is only an Arabic site, it seems. We would prefer a neighborhood church, and one that would be a bit smaller, but still, it is an option.

                 This leaves one last option, which would involve a resurrection of the quest to discover Christian diversity. St. Mark’s Orthodox Church is located about a twenty minute walk away from our home, and has Friday morning services which include a Sunday School time following a children’s mass. Unfortunately, there is much that would need to be written to introduce this option, so we ask your patience in awaiting part three of this theme…

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Finding Church

The Christian who believes he belongs to God, and who wishes to belong to a particular people, must also believe he belongs to its church.

                 Here in Egypt, however, that is a bit of a complicated matter.

                 The church in general is multifaceted, diverse in styles, practices, doctrines, and denominations. While this has been rife with and deserving of criticism for its putting the lie to the claim of the universal unity of the church – “My prayer is that they may be one, as we are one” – it can also, with not too much difficulty, be interpreted as a strength. The Bible is a flexible document open to various interpretations, most especially in the area of church structure and practice. While the arguments for and against the claims of competing ecclesiology are valid and useful, in general each and every one can be both supported and exposed Biblically. This gives the church worldwide, as well as the local Christian, the freedom and ability to shape and to choose a community of worship as is fitting both with culture and with personality, if bound primarily in principle to the guidance of Scripture.

                 Belonging to a church, however, is at least somewhat an expression of exclusivity. While one may be open to the ideal of Christian unity, in practice, one must belong to a particular local extension of the universal church. It is there that Christian principles are lived and experienced in community, as a place both to serve and to be served, to gain and to give spiritual nourishment. In the messy realities of life together our ideals are put to the test, and while we are often found wanting, we also spiritually develop. This process is impossible apart from organic membership in a flawed, deficient, yet strangely God-inhabited body of believers.

                 It was in Jordan that we first experienced church in an Arabic context. Right down the street from where we lived, after a walk of only five minutes, was a vibrant congregation of Arab believers, in an Evangelical Free denomination that was largely modeled on Brethren polity and, at least for the weekly Sunday evening service of Breaking Bread, practice. I qualify about their practice because the main service on Thursday evening was patterned almost exactly on the typical order of worship in many evangelical churches in America. It was composed of popular worship songs, brief prayer, a sermon, and announcements. Except for the language, it was as if we were back home. Before going to Jordan we were excited to see how Christianity might be expressed in a different culture, but as the similarities were comforting, especially in helping us overcome the language difficulties, we quickly abandoned the quest for discovering Christian diversity.

                 That is not exactly true, though. On one hand, it could be said we never really adopted the quest. We attended once or twice the historic Catholic or Orthodox churches of Jordan, but found them, with apologies to our respected Catholic or Orthodox readers and friends, very dry and boring. Of course, language difficulties made the appreciation of them near impossible. But on the other hand, we did fully delve into the Brethren aspects of the church’s worship, and experienced therein a warm fellowship and weekly experience of Communion for which we have been grateful, and by which we have been affected. We thank God for our time of belonging to that body.

                 Here in Egypt we face again a similar situation. There are international churches in which the language of worship is English. There are evangelical churches which are fully Arab. There are Catholic and Brethren churches which have a long history. Yet it is clear that the dominant expression of Christianity in Egypt is Coptic Orthodoxy. Hopefully in our next post we can continue the story, not yet completed, of where we can find a church in which to belong…