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| Pastor Munther Isaac arranges an installation of baby Jesus lying amid the rubble in a grotto ahead of Christmas at the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Bethlehem, in the Israeli-occupied West Bank on December 5, 2023 [File: Reuters/Mussa Qawasma] |
One year ends. Another begins.
At the turn of the calendar, it is customary for columnists like me to make predictions about what may or may not be in the offing or, alternatively, to offer dispirited readers reasons for hope amid all the hurt and heartache.
I have to admit that, as a writer, I have always been loath to engage in either chore. The first strikes me as a meaningless endeavour since playing soothsayer is a foolish act of hubris. The second is even more troublesome, particularly when the ever-elusive “silver lining” appears so far beyond reach that it has disappeared into irrelevance.
This year, like the last, will be remembered for having to watch – bereft and helpless – as Palestinians continue to be casualties of a genocide engineered by an apartheid regime seized with an insatiable killing lust and enabled by hypocrites who insist they are steadfast apostles of human rights and international law.
Day after awful day Palestinians have suffered the cruel consequences of this wretched ruse. The number of dead and injured Palestinians defies belief. The manner of their deaths defies belief, too.
Day after awful day, imprisoned Palestinians on their own fractured land confront two fates: They will die sudden and violent deaths – victims of Israeli drones, bombs, and snipers. Or they will die slow and agonising deaths – victims of starvation, disease, and the cold and rain.
Hope, in this inhumane context, is a cockeyed fantasy. Or so I thought.
Then, I came upon a Christmas sermon delivered by the Palestinian Christian pastor and theologian, Reverend Munther Isaac, to his congregation in Bethlehem.
Reverend Isaac’s 20-minute address was, at once, a blunt indictment of the architects of genocide and an eloquent appeal not to abandon hope – however frayed it may be.
As I listened, my mind and heart oscillated between belief and disbelief.
I am not a praying man, so my inclination was to dismiss Reverend Isaac’s entreaties – despite their piercing force and his obvious conviction – as being unrealistic, bordering on fantastical.
I was sceptical.
As Reverend Isaac’s sermon reached its sanguine crescendo, I had an epiphany. If a bereaved Palestinian can fashion a sliver of light despite the prevailing darkness, then so can I.
I think Reverend Isaac’s intent was to assure the rest of us – believers or not – that hope exists and persists; it cannot be extinguished by the purveyors of death and destruction.
Resistance can take many forms. Still, for resistance to succeed it must be propelled by the hope that a future free of want and oppression is not only possible, but, as history confirms, is inevitable.
So, what did Reverend Isaac say that moved me from glum pessimist to cautious optimist?
He began with this poignant reminder. “Christ,” Reverend Isaac said, “is still in the rubble.”
The pastor was alluding to a nativity scene he had erected in his church a year earlier featuring a newborn Christ swaddled in a keffiyeh and engulfed by the debris of Israel’s relentless genocide.
The symbolism is unmistakable. Christ and Palestinians are one. They
share the same circumstances and providence. Just as Christ suffered at
the vindictive hands of the potentates who condemned him to death, so
have Palestinians.... READ MORE https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2025/1/5/where-i-find-hope-amid-the-hurt-and-heartache
