Learning To Love

I just finished watching a movie The Kingdom of Heaven, or just the last third or forth of it. Nothing like watching a movie about the Crusades with a Muslim family. I cannot express the pain in my heart when watching armies killing each other in the name of God, even if it's just a Blockbuster. The ruthlessness of both armies was horrific and I'm left frustrated and a bit depressed. One of my favorite quotes in the movie however, was from a guy who refused to fight with the Christian armies against the Muslims. I caught the movie late so I don't know his background but he said something that stuck out to me, "First I thought we were fighting for God, then I realized we were just fighting for wealth and land." For me, it was a little glimpse of hope that one man knew that this isn't what God had in mind, but instead a way to justify their selfish greed. One of the priests (in the movie) then commented that it was the duty of the Christian army to kill the "enemies of God". I thought this was interesting, seeing how the Bible says not only to "love and pray for your enemies" but also that the enemy of God is Satan himself, not the Muslim Army. For Muslims, Christians, Jews, Hindus and Buddhists are created in the image of God. It is so painful to watch how the greed for money, land, and wealth of the "Christians" was masked by a ruthless war "In the name of God" (though I have to question which god they were serving) against God's beautiful and priceless creation. I cannot help but feel a bit uncomfortable watching these horrific scenes of history with the Muslim family I'm living with. I felt a bit more comfortable when my roommate Haitam (my age) commented, "It's too bad there are some people like that." His comment followed the priest's comment that God's will was to destroy the "enemies". Luckily, Haitam knows that Christianity doesn't equate to the Crusades, war, killing, and imperialism, but these evil people do terrible things in the name of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. Ironically, during the commercial break, there was a powerful ad about terrorism. The commercial began by showing a peaceful and quiet Middle Eastern neighborhood with kids playing soccer in the street. Suddenly, several trucks turned down the street with AK-47s and began shooting. The screen when black and written in Arabic were the words, "Terrorism has no religion." I thought that was a beautiful message and at an appropriate time. Terrorism, killing, wars, and genocide are horrific events masked by religion to hide ones own greed and evil.

If only there could be a Hollywood film about the story of St. Francis of Assisi, a mad monk who lived during the times of the Crusades and knew that God's message was not (and is not) a battle of power or a raised fist, but an outstretched arm of service and indiscriminate love, then maybe I'd feel more comfortable watching this movie than the one about killing. Jesus' challenging words of love led St. Francis to live with and serve the Muslim army (seen as "the enemy" by his contemporaries). He understood that God does not need mercenaries, but messengers of mercy and that the Gospel (literally "Good News" of Jesus) cannot go hand-in-hand with intolerance and aggressive attitudes, but instead with unconditional love and with all warfare strategies aside (Mallouhi 2000). St. Francis was a man who believed that if Jesus was alive in his era, that he would have renounced worldly possessions and lived a life of radical love and service. Call him an extremist... because he was. But not like today's extremists who bomb abortion clinics, gay bars, or hijack airplanes. He was an extremist who loved like no one else did during his time. He lived simply and faithfully to the loving message of Jesus, which meant living with the Muslim armies. It is comforting to know that in the midst of war and hate, that the message and spirit of Jesus is found in the vulnerable outstretched arm of one man(St. Francis) who refused to deny anyone the love of God.

As I am reading several books right now, including Mallouhi's Waging Peace on Islam who looks to the life of St. Francis of Assisi as an example of one who loved unconditionally. He dedicated his life to loving Christians, lepers, and Muslims alike, and I am challenged to love the same way that he did, that Mother Teresa did, and that Jesus did. I'm going to be honest with you, it's not as easy as it might sound. The three I mentioned above devoted themselves to a life of poverty. For them, the material possession of this world only got in the way of loving people with their entire heart. Coming from my suburban Southern California background, I am anything but poor. Yes, I am a college student drowning in student loans (ok, maybe not that bad, but it seems like a lot at the moment) and I don't have a job. But, the fact that I go to a University in the United States, that I have a car, that I could come to Morocco (even if I had to take out a loan to do so), and the fact that I could even take out a loan for several thousand dollars makes me one of the richest people on the globe. I am not saying that one has to be poor to love. In fact, I think it is more commendable when someone can love even with all of their riches. When someone has a mansion in Beverly Hills and opens it up to the poor, needy, and homeless is something beautiful. But lets be honest, how often does that happen? In my experience across the globe, those who had less were often more hospital and loving than those who had a lot. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense. But then again, this is just my experience. May we not be judged on the size of our homes or bank accounts, but by how we use these things (whether big or small) to serve others.

Several times this last month, I have been humbled, broken, and challenged over the blunt words of Jesus, "It is more difficult for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God" (Matthew 19:24). This verse has come up several times recently, whether in my own reading, personal studies, or churches I've been too. These words come just after an encounter that Jesus has with a rich man who has obeyed all the commandments. This guy was religious and without fault, yet Jesus said "If you want to be perfect, go sell your possessions and give to the poor." (Mt. 19:21). Is it just me or is this painful? I'm sure most of us are good law-abiding citizens and some of us obey God's commandments to certain degrees. But this wasn't necessary what Jesus was looking for. Now, I'm sure there are hundreds of books and thousands of sermons about this passage and how maybe Jesus doesn't really mean the words he said, or those words were just applicable to the rich guy in the story, or we focus on the verse at the end which says, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible." (Mt. 19:26). Sitting on the old wooden pews in St. Andrew's Anglican Church of Tangier this last Sunday hearing the pastor read this passage, I was broken-hearted, growing uncomfortable from of the wooden pews and even more uncomfortable from the piercing words of Jesus. Am I willing to give away my possessions to the poor? Maybe more importantly, are my possessions getting in the way of me loving people? There is part of me that says, "Right now, I'm ready to be finished with worldly possessions and live a life of poverty and service to the poor." And the other part of me enjoys the "finer" things in life. A nice gourmet meal here and there, an exotic vacation, a laptop, a house with an ocean view, or a Dave Matthews concert are all things that I enjoy. I'm not going to lie, I don't know if I'm ready to give those things up for a life of poverty. Then I think, is a life of poverty even possible? Sure I can live in the slums of Calcutta, India as Mother Teresa did, or with victims of unjust war crimes in Palestine and Israel, or with those dying of starvation in sub-Saharan Africa, but I may never be poor (And even so, without love, it would be completely useless. What makes Mother Teresa the light in the darkness of Calcutta's slums was her unconditional and relentless love, not her poverty). I could live in a shack, but could I ever be poor? The words of Henri Nouwen seem suitable for my situation (as they have been through most of my time and experiences here), "Living here not only makes me aware that I have never been poor, but also that my whole way of being, thinking, feeling, and acting is molded by culture radically different from the one I live in now. I am surrounded by so many safety systems that I would not be allowed to become truly poor. If I were to become seriously ill, I would be sent back to the United States and given the best possible treatment. As soon as my life or health were really threatened, I would have many people around me willing to protect me...I am not poor as my neighbors are. I will never be and will never be allowed to be by those who sent me here." (Nouwen 1999). I am by no means living in poor conditions at this moment in Morocco, but his words remain true. If I were to live in one of the places I mentioned above, I still couldn't be one of them. On the outside, I might be like one of them, living in a small house in their community, wearing the same dirty clothes, eating the same food, and taking the same buses, but on this inside I would still have the world at my fingertips. I have opportunities that those around do not have. I have the choice of living in that particular community or country, where most of them are there by fate. I have safety nets that distinguish the lucky (myself) from the unlucky (those around me). No matter how hard I try to live a life of poverty, it may be something impossible. Instead, Nouwen looks to a realistic lifestyle, "I have to accept my own history and live out my vocation, without denying that history. On the other hand, I realize the way of Christ is a self-emptying way." A life of poverty isn't necessary or even possible. And I don't think this is even what Jesus was getting at when he talked to the rich young man. For this man, it was his possessions the prevented him from complete obedience to Christ and love for all. Nouwen recognizes that possessions and personal wealth aren't the problem, insofar as they do not prevent us from a life of love and sacrifice. In the mean time, I must reflect on how I can live out such a life of love, service, and sacrifice without "denying" my personal history, background, culture, or social status.

Daily, I am faced with this challenge of love. At my internship with Darna, an association for disadvantaged children (many of whom have come off the streets), I am finding it difficult to love. The grave reality is that these kids know no love. It's pretty obvious from the scares on their faces, arms, and legs or simply by the way they treat each other. The scares on their arms and legs come from knives and other weapons during fights, they tell me. Some of the kids have faces completely scared, either from abuse, fights, or just the marks of daily survival on the streets. Beyond the physical scares of poverty, their behavior is even more telling. I cannot tell you how many times I've had to break up fights because I thought one of the kids was going to kill the other one. Because they haven't been loved, they do not have the capacity to love others. Darna association is doing a great work by teaching them the skills to rise from their poverty and find hope in the abilities (both natural and learned) that they have. But because they do not know love, discipline, or opportunity, this is a difficult task. The kids come to "school" (Darna) every day, but they come with nothing. No pens, no paper, no books. It's no wonder that after 15 minutes, most teachers have lost the attention and interest of their students. Whatever supplies are in the class are vulnerable for kids to take and use as weapons. Chalk, makers, paint, books, and chairs have been thrown across the room. My 3+ weeks at Darna have given me some much respect and appreciation for the amazing and dedicated teachers in America's inner-cities, especially those who work for programs like Teach For America (http://teachforamerica.org/). I realize that I am not made for such demanding tasks. My gratitude and respect goes out to those who have the patience to work with society's marginalized youth; the poor and unloved. These teachers are the heros of today that often go unnoticed and unappreciated.

Today, I was spit on twice by a kid who was trying to come in and disrupt the class. You have to be rough with this kids, but where do you draw the line? I believe that violence (most cases) only perpetuates more violence (particularly on a global level, but I won't go there now). But I also believe that kids need to be disciplined. At the end of the day, I am so exhausted from protecting myself from not being punched, slapped, or stolen from, and also dragging the kids out of the classroom who are spitting on, fighting with, and cursing the teacher or other students. How can I love these kids when they have no respect for anyone (or anything)? I feel that to love them for who they are would mean to let them walk all over me like a doormat. When that kid spit on me today, part of me wanted to embrace him as an act of unconditional love, mercy, and forgiveness, but the other part of me wanted to strangle the little twerp. Usually the more aggressive half of me overrides the doormat side. I don't think he should get away with spitting on the volunteer, so I chase after him. When I think about how Jesus, Mother Teresa, Gandhi, or St Francis would love these kids.... well, I am left without answers. I just don't know. If Mother Teresa was spit on by a little daredevil of a kid, would she smile and embrace him or give him a good spanking? My first instinct is teach the kid that if he treats people like that he's not going to get too far in life. But then what do I know? Survival for them is the only way of life and far be it for me to impose my believes or worldviews on these boys and girls who really have so much to teach me. May I learn to embrace nuisance when needed and discipline the menace when appropriate.

Grimy Hands and a Floating Cemetery

It's been a week since Ramadan ended. Last monday, the entire country joined the 1.3 billion Muslims worldwide in celebrating the Eid. Eid ul-Fitr is the holiday that marks the end of Ramadan. The word "Fitr" comes from the Arabic word meaning "to break fast", quite an appropriate name given, as the highlight of the day is eating breakfast together as a family for the first time in a month. In Morocco, it is not only a national and religious holiday, but a social one too. Believers wake up early to be at the mosque at 8am for a special prayer and khutba, or sermon. As most everyone goes to bed late during Ramadan, this isn't the easiest task. Waking up on Monday at 8am was like waking up for the first day of school after a long summer break. To make matters worse, I didn't sleep until 6am the "night" before. With a combination of finishing up some writing, having taken a nap earlier in the afternoon, the first call for prayer and Haitam's brother snoring, I finally got to sleep, ironically, after the sun came up and only to be woken up two hours later. Knowing that I went to bed later than some people go to bed in California and only getting two hours of sleep, I felt like I just walked off the plane from America. I felt sick to my stomach, my head was pounding and nothing seemed like a reality. I gave myself jet-lag without even traveling!

While Haitam and his family were at the 8 o'clock service at the Mosque, I listened to the chants and prayers and then looked outside the window as everyone left the mosque (the Mosque is next door to the house). In Morocco during the Eid, everyone wears their djellabas. A djellaba is Morocco's traditional dress for both men and women (though the womens' djellabas are much more colorful than the mens). It was a wonderful sight last Monday morning. Men and women were dressed up in their best djellabas and greeting everyone as they walked by... but more on the greetings in a sec. It is tradition for the family to eat breakfast together and then go and visit friends and family. After breakfast, Haitam and I went, in our djellabas of course, to visit Taha. Driving to Taha's house, we passed through town, which was completely empty and as we passed the "Lazywall" (a place in town where Moroccans sit, lazily, and brainstorm idea on how to cross the Straight of Gibraltar and get to Spain) and caught a glimpse of southern Spain from across the Straight of Gibraltar. It was by far the most beautiful day of the year. The deep blue cloudless sky was almost as impressive as the Straight, which had not a single trace of wind on it. Tangier is definitely one of the windiest cities I have ever been to, so to see the Mediterranean as flat as a lake was nothing less than phenomenal.

After visiting with Taha, drinking a few cups of tea, and stuffing ourselves with more pastries, the three of us took off to go visit some other friends. We stopped at Amin's apartment and stood on the street talking for about an hour. As the four of us were standing on the street and talking during that time, random guys would come up to us and say "salaam aleikum... eid moubarak" and shake all of our hands. Moroccans love to greet, but during the Eid, it makes every other day seem like Moroccans are afraid to touch. It reminded me of Christmas day in America, when no matter who you walk by you give them a "Merry Christmas". However here, it was a handshake, hug, and maybe a kiss on the cheeks. My favorite though was a guy driving down the street when he passed a friend, or aquiantance. He stopped the car (in the middle of the road mind you), got out and embraced his friend. Cars started piling up behind him and waited patiently for him to get back in the car. Any other day, cars would have been honking non-stop until the guy got back in the car. But because of the Eid, patience prevailed and time was stopped to greet friends and foreigners alike.

Now that Ramadan is over, I'm not only enjoying being able to eat, drink, and go to cafes during the day, but also getting to sleep a little bit earlier. Going to bed at 11 is now considered early whereas during Ramadan, eating dinner at 1 or 2am was normal.

I have recently started my internship, one of the requirements for my Global Learning Term (GLT) here in Morocco. I am interning at an organization called Darna, a center for poor women and children, many of whom come from the streets. It is located just outside the medina on top of a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean. Not a bad location for a non-profit organization! :) There are about 100 kids that come to Darna to receive education and have the opportunity to learn several skills (such as cooking, sewing, farming/agriculture, art, etc.) so that by the time they are 18 they can hopefully enter the workforce. Many of these kids have even tried crossing the Mediterranean to get to Spain by makeshift rafts or by sneaking onto or under a semi-truck that crosses the Straight on ferry. Just the other night, I went for a run down by the port and I saw kids jumping on the semi trucks as they were entering the port, hoping to pass through customs without getting caught. I've seen people run underneath the semi truck as its stopped at a light in town and crawl up under the wheels, hoping they won't get caught at the port and will make it across to Spain. As I mentioned in my last blog, Tangier has one of the highest concentrations of Moroccans and Sub-Saharan Africans who risk their lives to emigrate to the EU. Unfortunately, or fortunately (they are still alive), many of the kids of have tried this end up at Darna.

Despite the disorganization I've experienced so far, the kids have really been a delight. This morning as I went to Darna, I was met at the gate by a little boy who stood there with both arms stretch up to my neck. I leaned down and he wrapped his grimy hands around my neck and gave me a kiss on both cheeks. Just when I was worried about figuring out what I was going to do for the kids today and how I was going to hopefully teach them something, I'm reminded that these kids just want to be touched and loved. Like last week, the kids won't stop touching me (maybe part of the reason why I came down with a cold over weekend). The rambunctious little ones will jump on me from all sides. The older ones aren't as straight forward as the younger ones but will always put their arm around my shoulder (when standing) or on my leg or knee when sitting. This is obviously a bit uncomfortable, as something like this wouldn't necessarily happen between two straight guys in America. Of course, this is just a cultural norm of Morocco that I've come to accept and try to be comfortable with as well as a reminder that these kids are starving for attention. I used this quote in last week's blog about my new friend Ibrahim, and I think it's fitting for the kids at Darna too. Henri Nouwen, a Dutch priest/pastor for a mentally handicapped community in Canada/author, describes this hunger that he witnessed among the kids during a visit to an orphanage in poverty-stricken Bolivia, "The children were so starved for affection that they fought with each other for the privilege of touching me. How little do we really know the power of physical touch. These boys and girls only wanted one thing: to be touched, hugged, stroked, and caressed. Probably most adults have the same needs but no longer have the innocence and unself-consciousness to express them. Sometimes I see humanity as a sea of people starving for affection, tenderness, care, love, acceptance, forgiveness, and gentleness" (Gracias! pg. 44).

I sat in on a class to observe how the instructor teaches the class and interacts with the students. He was teaching a "life skills" class to some of the older students who will be out in the "real world" in a few years. He said, "assume you have 100 Dirhams (about US$13), what are you going to do with that in order to make money and survive? Suppose you have 200 Dirhams, what then are you going to do?" Everyone went around and answered. Each student gave a creative idea about how he would spend the money in hopes of bringing in a return. On student said that he would be a bunch of CDs for really cheap, then turn around and sell them for more. A girl said that she would buy the ingredients to make shabakia (Moroccan pastry) and sell that. I realized that I was in a room full of potential business men and women, who given the opportunity and resources, would go to desperate measures to make a few dirhams to survive. It was humbling to know that not only were these things seen as hobbies for me or extra change (I'm sure I could buy a bunch of CDs online and come to Morocco and sell them.... but I would never look to that for my main source of income) but that opportunities for these young Moroccans are few and minimal. When I convert 200 dirhams into my currency, it's not much. While I'm thinking about investing with thousands of dollars, these guys are working with $10 or $20. There was another volunteer in the classroom from Spain and when the teacher presented this project to the class, the Spaniard said, "Con solo 20 Euros, estoy muerto. No puedo hacer nada en mi pais" ("With only 20 Euros, I'm dead. I can't do anything en my country (with 20 Euros)"). Some may say, "It's all relative". Maybe it is, but I still cant imagine even trying to get my in Morocco with a few hundred D's.

There is a place in Tangier that I absolutely love. Every time I go, I am reminded why I have fallen in love with Tangier. Just about every day, I make the trek down the hill from Haitam's house and then back up the step hill towards the kasbah (fortress) on the outskirts of the medina. Depending on how much time I have, I usually sit on the edge of the cliff overlooking the water for a few minutes or a few hours. The view is absolutely amazing and the ocean breeze is refreshing, though usually a bit strong. The view from the top of the cliff looks straight out across the Straight of Gibraltar, the mouth of the Mediterranean. Anything that enters the Mediterranean (with exception to those entering through the Suez canal in Egypt) enters here between this little 15 mile space of water between two continents... Morocco and Africa on the south... Spain and Europe on the North. Some days are easier than others. Some days I recall the snapshots I have of when I sailed through this same straight 19 months ago on The Scholar Ship. Other days, my heart becomes burdened with overflowing thoughts and questions about the world we live in. This little straight of water separates the "haves" from the "have-nots". If you're born on the south side of this sliver of water, your life is drastically different than if you were born on the north side of it. One side has tons of money, priviledge, and power, and the other not so much. One side has total access to travel to, to visit, to work in, and to potentially exploit the other, while the other side is trapped in a world of poverty, oppression, injustice, disadvantage and disease, unable to step foot on the other. Days like these make it hard to fathom why being born on one side of the water dramatically affects every aspect of your life. This little 15 mile space has claimed the lives of thousands of Africans (statistically speaking, 3 documented deaths for every 2 days during the last 15 years) who have drowned or been shot by government authorities. Some describe it as the Mediterranean's "Floating Cemetery". Looking out over this beautiful place, I try not to remove myself too far from the bloody water that tells stories of all the men, women, and children it has claimed.

I realize that I'm ending mid-thought. I apologize if it causes the same unease in you as it does in me. I did not write this with the intention of making people feel guilty or restless, but I cannot go any further or come to any conclusion. I tried continuing to write but to no avail. Each sentence begun and thought pondered was left unfinished. I am left with questions and a heavy soul. I have questions, but I'm not necessarily looking for answers. My soul is restless with thoughts, ideas, burdens, and mixed feelings, looking for an outsource. There are somethings in life that we just don't know and no matter how hard we try to understand or fix them, we are left discouraged and still questioning. Maybe this is one of those things, maybe not. Regardless, I am left with a simple, yet profound prayer; "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference."