How I Fell in Love with an Arab, Part 2

Last time I began telling the story of how a little girl who was afraid of Arabs grew up to be a woman about to marry one. If you haven’t had a chance to read Part 1, I would encourage you to go back and read it, especially the beginning, before you read any further here.

We left off at the end of the last post with me sitting in a chapel service at my college listening to a Palestinian Christian from Bethlehem share his story. So why was that experience so transformational for me? Here’s the backstory: I had grown up in the American South, in a church culture that championed political involvement and thought of America as a “Christian nation.” This meant that the political system of democracy (or, as I liked to correct people as a history major, democratic republicanism) and the religion of Christianity were often thought of as inextricably tied together. Enemies of democracy were enemies of Christianity, and friends of democracy were friends of Christianity. That was the general thinking. There was also no distinction made between the modern country of Israel and the Israel of the Old Testament. Instead, the two were treated as one and the same.

Add all of this together, and I had been conditioned to have a rather low view of Palestinians. By the time I was in college, I had at least come to understand enough to know that Arabs—just like Americans—are not a homogenous group of people and thus did not associate Palestinians with the frightening images I had seen on television surrounding 9/11 as a child. But I still thought of them negatively because of the limited understanding I had of their world and the misconceptions I had about the connection between the country of Israel and the Old Testament.

At the same time, I was aware of the global Church, of the fact that there were followers of Jesus scattered all across the globe with whom I shared a connection because they were my brothers and sisters in Christ. But for some reason, it had never occurred to me that the Church extended into Palestine. (Now I almost laugh at how ridiculous it is that I never thought of that, considering that Palestine is the very birthplace of the Church and that Palestinian Christians, like my fiancé’s family, trace their roots directly to the ancient Church.)

So the man from Bethlehem shared his story, and as soon as I recovered from the realization that such a person as a Palestinian Christian did exist, I suddenly became aware of the degree to which I had subconsciously let my priorities become misaligned. Instead of caring more about how my brothers and sisters of faith were being treated, I had cared more about internally supporting a secular government. I had let my affections for my country and by extension its political allies blind me to the fact that I have blood-bought family among a people whom I had thought of as “enemies.” They are men and women who are covered by the blood of Jesus just like I am, with whom I will spend an eternity in heaven worshipping before the throne of Jesus, and they are the ones with whom my greatest affection should lay, because my ultimate loyalty lies not to my country but to my Savior.

And just like a strong aftershock rends the ground after an earthquake, another realization shook my heart and mind. Yes, my heart should be full of love for Arab Christians, but it should also be full of love for Arabs. Period. And for Jews. Period. And for fill-in-the-blank. Period. Because as a follower of Christ, I am called to show His love to all. Regardless of whether or not they share my political opinions, regardless of whether or not they love my country, regardless of whether or not they speak my language, regardless of whether or not they believe in Jesus, I cannot help but love them if I have a true understanding of the depth of Jesus’ love for me and for them.

So from that point forward, rather than having a one-sided perspective, I came to develop a more balanced one, one where I pass everything through the lens of the Bible and see the humanity and dignity and brokenness in all peoples. And instead of seeing Arabs and immediately thinking of terrorism or thinking in terms of politics, I began to think of the Arab people as just that—people. Not stereotypes, not fear-mongers, not political agents, not categories or labels, but people.

And that’s why hearing from that one man from Bethlehem opened my eyes, my mind, and my heart to a whole new world, a world of better understanding how another Man from Bethlehem wanted me to live and love. I knew I had been changed, but I didn’t yet know why.

It would be over five years before I would again encounter a Palestinian Christian, and for that part of the story, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait ‘til next time.

[Read Part 3 here.]

PC: Pamela Hollis. Used with permission.