I can't read this passage without being reminded of my recent experience in Jodidi - a little village on the road to Damascus (in Syria).
Jodidi is, quite literally, 'on the road to Damascus', and is supposed to be the actual place where Saint Paul (then 'Saul') fell off his horse and met Jesus! There's a huge statue of horse and fallen-rider in the middle of the village commemorating this, and a lovely church building a short walk away where regular worship takes place, as well as special services, focused more on that great event, and it was on account of one of these special services that we were there - invited as special guests.
Having said that, when we turned up at the gate, we didn't see any church officials waiting for us. There apparently was a church service going on somewhere but the only people there to greet us was a group of young boys wearing boxing gloves!
The scene reminded me very much of the time I visited an orphanage near Mashad (in Iran) and was greeted again by a group of young boys wearing boxing gloves. On that occasion I responded by walking up to the smallest boy and holding up my two hands, with palms open in front of me - that being the universal signal amongst boxers that I'm inviting you to throw some punches into my open hands. In the case of that young boxer though, his response was to punch me straight in the groin!
Foolishly, perhaps, I did exactly the same thing in Jodidi - offering my two open palms to the first boy in the group. Happily though, this time the young man responded according to protocol and targeted my hands.
What took place there over the next hour struck me at the time as being a lot like a scene out of the New Testament. There was indeed a service going on somewhere in the background, but where we were, surrounded by local young people, there was only good-hearted merriment and lots of punches being thrown. And then parents started bringing their children to me, asking me to pray for them, which, of course, I did, and then I heard someone say "bring out the blind girl. Let him pray for her", and at that point I started wondering whether I was in over my head!
A lovely-looking girl, about 10-years old, was then led out. Apparently, she had been blind since birth. She was about the same age as my youngest, of course, and I prayed for her very sincerely. The parents then asked me if she could be healed, and I had no idea. I then remembered though that Dr Lou Lewis was a part of our group and I called Lou over. Lou looked closely at the girl, took a picture of her eyes with his phone-camera, and then announced that the girl had glaucoma and that she could be healed. Lou then found himself being swamped, just as I continued to be swamped, with me doing the prayers and him giving the medical advice - a scene that was only interrupted when a fresh group of young men ran up and asked me if I would referee their boxing match, to which I readily agreed.
and a woman was When Jesus saw her, he called her forward and said
On a Sabbath Jesus was teaching in one of the synagogues,
there who had been crippled by a spirit for eighteen years. She was bent over and
12
to her, "Woman, you are set free from your infirmity." 13 Then he put his hands on
could not straighten up at all.
her, and immediately she straightened up and praised God.
Jesus had healed on the Sabbath, the synagogue leader said to the people, "There are six days for work. So come and be healed on those days, not on the Sabbath."
Indignant because
It was as I went to do that - to referee the group of young boys - that I received a tap on the shoulder. I turned around and saw a young priest, fully decked out in ecclesiastical garb. I was delighted to see him, until he opened his mouth and asked, "what are you doing?", to which I replied that I was about to referee a boxing match. He said, "you cannot do that!". I said, "why not?" He said, "because you are Abouna (ie. a priest) and because the service is still going". He then turned and walked away. I stopped and reflected, and then went on and refereed the boxing matches.
I look back now and am glad I made that decision. At the time though I had a lot of conflicting thoughts going through my head.
Am I offending our hosts?
Could I be giving a bad name to our team and maybe even to our country?
What would Jesus do in this situation? It was reflecting on that last question though that clinched it for me. I was pretty sure Jesus would have refereed the boxing matches, and it was this Gospel reading (and any number of others like it) that immediately came to mind. Yes, this scene from the life of Jesus did help me make a decision as to what to do that day in Jodidi. Conversely though, that experience in Jodidi, I feel, gave me greater insight into this scene in the Gospels, as it reminded me that the people Jesus was normally in conflict with were his hosts, and exactly the sort of people who should have been His colleagues. We tend to overlook this, I think. We think of those religious leaders - the priests, the scribes, the Pharisees and the Levites - as a sort of gang of hoodlums, roaming around, trying to bring down Jesus. On the contrary, these people are us, or rather, they are the best of us. These people represent the religious community. Indeed, they are those we have elevated to positions of leadership in our spiritual community because they are capable and because we trust them, and they are Jesus' enemies! We can't enter into the mind of Jesus, of course, but I wonder now when I read stories like this whether Jesus wrestled at all with how to respond. Did He question himself along the lines of 'well... these guys are my hosts. Perhaps I should respect them and their traditions even if they've got the Scriptures back-to-front?' Did Jesus question Himself like that or did He just think 'these guys are idiots!' Interestingly, you don't have this problem in the Qur'an, so far as I can see. In the Qur'an, the enemies of Prophet Mohammad were not his fellow believers. The enemies of the prophet were the unbelievers and the idolaters. Mohamad's fellow monotheists were his colleagues. In the Gospel stories though, time and time again, the enemy is us! We are the problem! Think how many Gospel stories work like that - Jesus is saying something or helping someone or healing someone, and then some religious nut walks in and starts causing trouble. It's never a sex-worker or a tax-collector or a soldier that causes the trouble. It's always one of us religious people! I think we're approaching much the same climate in Australian society today. Religious persons are becoming increasingly suspect! The dismissal of the appeal of Bishop George Pell this week didn't help matters of course. I still don't know what to think about that tragic situation, but I do know that it's helping to turn the church into an institution that people fear rather than trust.
I was walking down Seaview Street in my collar the other day as the kids were coming out of school and one of the boys points and me and makes a sign of the cross at me - not the pious sign of the cross that you make on your chest, but the crossed fingers used to keep vampires at bay - and he yells out 'stranger danger'!
And it's not just Bishop George who has brought us to this point, and it's not just the latest round of child sexual-abuse scandals that have so damaged our reputation. We have 200+ years of tainted testimony behind us - a history that regularly has the guys in the pub in Dulwich Hill introduce me to their friends as a boxer rather than as a priest as they don't want me to make a bad first impression.
The enemy is us! It's true, and that's one reason why I've never been able to buy into any of the Islamophobia that certain sections of our community peddle - urging us to beware of the Muslim community and their secret ill-intent!
It's true, of course, that any number of horrible crimes around the world have been committed by people who claim to be Muslims, but when I think of my own history, how many Muslims have attacked and injured me or anyone that I really care about?
No! When I think of all the people who have damaged me in my life - from those who crucified my mum when I was little, to those who made life so difficult for my dad (in both cases on account of their marriage breakdown), to everybody I have struggled with since - they have all been good, church-going, Christian people, every last one of them. Where did we go wrong? How did we, God's chosen representatives, tasked with the work of proclaiming the forgiving and empowering love of Christ to the world, end up with such a record of moralism, judgmentalism and abuse?
