The Pub

Christians In The Axis Of Grace

Gary M.  Burge

Tell someone you’re headed to Israel for a couple of weeks and they’ll smile, encouraging you to have a great time.  Tell someone you’re headed to Beirut, Lebanon, and they’ll look confused or noticeably concerned.  Add that you are also going on to Syria and they’ll look alarmed.  It’s like announcing that you planned to serve watermelon with lunch – then adding that you changed the menu to cactus.  It’s the same alarmed look.  Of course if you’ve never eaten cactus fruit or don’t know how to prepare it like the Lebanese and Syrians do, it might be tough to know what to expect – or if you’d be safe.

When the invitation came to travel to Lebanon and Syria last year, I knew it would be a rare and important opportunity.  What began as a request to speak at a Damascus youth conference and give a couple of sermons expanded to include two pastors’ retreats, three sermons, public lectures on Christian theology, an endless number of meals with Christian leaders, an appointment with the Patriarch of the Syriac Orthodox Church, and an interview on Syrian TV.

But what I gained outweighed what I gave – by far.  I have traveled to the Middle East almost annually now for over 20 years and every trip has yielded unexpected surprises.  This would prove no different.  One trip to Iraq six years ago gave me a window into the courage and perseverance of an ancient church that is rediscovering what it means to have martyrs.  Another to Egypt more recently helped me see how 19th century Presbyterians indigenized their mission there, and the result today is a strong, successful Arab protestant church of over 450,000.  Many visits to Palestine taught me about how ministry works when political struggle and suffering defines life.  You can’t live in Bethlehem behind a 30 foot concrete wall and plan a normal church calendar.

From the time my plane landed in Beirut to the morning I flew out of Damascus, I found myself listening to Arab Christians answer questions that seemed more pressing than ever before.  What are the things you believe the West doesn’t understand?  What is true about the Arab church here that you wish were told from every American pulpit?  Pastors, lay leaders, seminary administrators and academics, Arab college students, and even Iraqi Christian refugees all were eager to weigh in.

If I had a wish, it would be to have taken every Wheaton student with me one Friday night.  We would find ourselves on a mountain outside Damascus – at Mar Toma Roman Catholic monastery in the village of Sedneya north of Damascus.  For an entire week, about 275 evangelical Syrian (and some Iraqi) young people, ages 16-30 perhaps, were gathered simply to worship and study.  These were Christian Missionary Alliance, Presbyterian, Nazarene, and Baptist believers.  This quickly dispelled my notions of Syria’s religious makeup.  The ancient Syriac Orthodox Church is indeed here (about 250,000 strong), but evangelicals are as well.

We met in a tent on the monastery grounds with an Egyptian worship band.  Yes, a worship band.  The program was not built around ‘activities’ for the youth, but instead, for long periods of time, they would sing vibrant Arab worship songs with a volume that would make any adult over 50 wince.  To preach to a crowd like this is humbling.  You wonder who is blessing whom.  As one Syrian told me, “Our world is filled with war and politics.  All we have is Jesus.  Just tell us about him.”  I asked for a room at the monastery before I was put before the microphone – to steel myself perhaps and to pray and think carefully about what I’d say.  I’ve taught New Testament courses for 25 years.  I have lots of things I can say from up front.  I found myself feeling speechless.

The digital power point slides, the cool acoustic guitars, the ever-present dominant Arab drums, the desert wind whipping through the tent, and the passionate worship here overlooking thousand-year old Christian villages dotted with churches and monasteries made me think about how surreal this all was.  I was supposed to be in the axis of evil according to my government.  Instead, I decided I was in the axis of grace.

Why would I want you to accompany me?  Simply put:  every category we learn about the Middle Eastern church in our American worldview would be upended.  Our assumptions about Arabs in general – and Syrians in particular – would have to change.  We would discover that there are about 12 million people in this part of the world – from Egypt to Iraq – that call themselves Christians.  Lebanon has about a million.  Syria another million.  Jordan a few hundred thousand.  Palestine about 100,000.  And Egypt?  Perhaps 8 million.  The Iraqi church of almost 900,000 has been devastated (I was told) “by the American war.”  The church in the Middle East has a long history living as a minority with powerful Muslim leaders.  And they know how to do it.  Iraq and Syria are “secular” states, and this puts extremist Muslim groups in check.  In Iraq, the war has torn that restraining power away, and tribal sectarian violence emerged.  Now Iraqi Christians are the targets of Muslim zeal.  To some, this has nearly destroyed Iraqi Christianity.  According to Paul Estabrooks of Open Doors Ministry, the Christian church is being directly targeted now.  “Every day an estimated 3,000 refugees flee up to northern Iraq to Kurdistan” making the future of the Iraqi church uncertain.

The Syriac Orthodox church is the largest and most ancient church in Syria – dating back to Biblical times.  (Its seminary north of Damascus even teaches its liturgies in Biblical Aramaic, the language of Jesus.)  In an interview with the Syriac Patriarch one morning, his Holiness Zakka asked me, “Why is your president hurting the church in Iraq?  Is he bad or does he not understand these things?”  I tried to tell him (respectfully) that the war wasn’t that simple.  Nevertheless, the public perception here remains.  A war that quickly spun out of control in Iraq now has wreaked havoc for the church.  And Christians there may be in full flight.  One refugee-believer from Kirkuk, Iraq, told me that when Saddam fell, many Iraqi Christians cheered.  They invited the American soldiers to worship with them.  Then came the death threats from Muslim extremists.  The Christians told the soldiers to please stay away.  Muslims were blaming the Iraqi Christians for bringing the Americans and for working as spies.  One Iraqi Christian I know worked for one year as a translator at a charitable American organization (an NGO).  When her security guard, a woman, was “shot through the head” she and her family fled the country.

The government of Syria is indeed controlling – the security police are everywhere.  But at the same time, the government also controls those who would attack minorities – and that means an odd sort of safety for the church.  This is a 1500-year-old political environment that Arab Christians understand.  Nevertheless, the Syrian government gives the church surprising perks.  All church buildings are tax-free, utilities are free, and the pastor even gets a vehicle without paying the value added tax (now two times the car’s value).  The protestant churches have their own civil court system run by area pastors.  Churches can usually be built wherever there is a need.  The pastor of Damascus’ National Presbyterian Church, Boutros Zaour, has met with Syria’s president, Bashar al- Assad, many times and sits on a monthly religious court.  President Assad, Boutros says, respects the church and sees it as contributing to the well-being of society.

This is a welcome position to have, one enviable to Christians in places like Egypt, Iran, or Pakistan.  An evangelical is even one of President Assad’s advisors, and she attends Boutros’ church.  But make no mistake.  This is a government that tolerates no dissent and according to some is feared as much as it is respected.  Christian and Muslim intellectuals know the inside of Syria’s prisons.  This fear also can create a culture of “survival” among the churches where confidence is eroded and responses are given only with a glance over the shoulder.

Lebanon has always enjoyed a strong Christian population of almost 50%.  But today emigration and Muslim population growth (not to mention Muslim Palestinian refugees ejected from Israel) have reduced the Christian population to 35%.  They’ve seen 15 years of civil war and a devastating Israeli bombing last summer.  Today they know that Hezbollah is growing in influence daily.  If a country can be described as anxious, Lebanon wins the label.  But Lebanon is a place we can learn from for the future.  As Dr. Martin Accad, dean of Lebanon’s Arab Baptist Seminary, explained to me: The realities of Islam now alive in the Middle East will eventually catch up with the West.  The Arab church can teach us how not to idealize or demonize Islam.

Presbyterian life in Lebanon and Syria goes back to the mid-19th century.  And churches from those missions can be found throughout both countries.  Western leadership disappeared long ago, and these churches are now fully Arab, although they enjoy treasured relationships with American congregations.  For instance, Peach Tree Presbyterian in Atlanta is known well here thanks to its remarkable missions program and love for the Middle East.  Western spiritual influence is surprising.  Rick Warren’s The Purpose-Driven Life has been translated into Arabic.  The British “Alpha Course” for new Christians is also in use.  And yes, Christian Arabs watch American Christian TV via satellite.  These programs in many ways define American Christianity to them.  I heard the names Joel Osteen, Joyce Myer, Pat Robertson, Jerry Falwell, and Benny Hinn numerous times.  This television diet made me wonder just what they did think about the American church.  I was often asked why American pastors always looked rich.

On two separate days, I led a workshop for Arab pastors, one in the mountains above Beirut and one in the Syrian city of Homs, between Damascus and Aleppo.  Here were men and women of remarkable piety and courage.  They shepherd congregations that have seen civil war, international war, and potential strife with their Muslim neighbors.  For an entire day, we discussed the mission of the Church within the theology of the New Testament.  These themes were contextualized to a Middle Eastern ecclesial life.

But then something happened during the discussions.  Subjects that I rarely heard at home moved to the center of the conversation.  A sampling:  What is the relationship between culture and Christian faith in any society?  Arabs can be cultural Christians, but (they asked) are Americans cultural Christians too?  We sometimes think that Americans have trouble seeing it.

Then there were more disturbing questions.  Shouldn’t the church speak out about injustice – especially when its government does bad things?  This is true for us, and we often lack courage – but do Christians in America ever speak “truth to power” in Washington?

And still more.  We know that being a visible Christian is expensive in our society.  What price do American Christians have to pay when they live faithfully?

Questions would often turn on the unity of the church around the world and how American Christians viewed this.  We know we need each other to survive.  Does the American church “see us?”  Do they know we exist?  Do they love us?  I heard these questions during the workshops, over lunches, almost every day.  They feel wounded that Americans often express surprise when they learn that all Arabs are not Muslims.

This is a place that breathes politics and the suffering that comes when political leaders decide to pursue a war or a policy that brings suffering to millions.  As an evangelical, I instinctively wanted to drive the conversation back to things like personal piety or study of the Bible.  But they caught on right away.  Does faith always have to be so private, so individual for us?  We don’t accept this.  Faith is a thing found in communities, and if it is real, it speaks to the social realities it lives in.  This began to feel like a hard lesson one might hear from a Sojourner’s staff meeting in Washington.

The churches of Lebanon and Syria have substantial challenges.  With their Muslim neighbors they wonder if the terror of Iraq could some day spill their way.  In Lebanon they worry about losing the delicate Christian/Muslim balance that is so fragile in that tiny country.  In Syria, they are working slowly and quietly to redress some discriminatory laws that impede their ability to support converts.  Pastors spend an enormous amount of time networking with the other leaders of society.  They attend everything from Muslim funerals to political gatherings, and they make sure they know the politicians who are in power. One pastor said, “We’re not naïve.  Knowing the powerful means you are ready to make a phone call to protect your sheep.”  Such networking is necessary.  During my visit to Syria, the security police visited my church hosts about three times each week to check up on me.  Such undercover police even attended my lectures and sermons.  One friend described watching them take notes – which felt gratifying in an odd sort of way.  “Are you intimidated by them?” I asked.  “Of course not,” one pastor answered, “I know the people who sent them.”  Political savvy is a key feature of pastoral leadership.

But like Americans, they also struggle with unity.  The ancient churches (Syriac and Greek Orthodox) share limited trust with Protestants – and the feeling is mutual although both groups claim to be friends.  Even Protestant churches wrestle with what it means to be unified with one another when one group is more evangelistic and conservative than another.  Trust is a hard won prize throughout the world’s churches.  Even here, with an environment that is less than congenial, you would expect more cooperation than caution.

When I asked leaders what the chief thing that they wished American evangelicals knew about them is, the same answer surfaced repeatedly.  Just know that we’re here, that we exist, that we too follow Jesus, and that all Arabs are not Muslims.  It seemed a simple request.  And I have promised to spread the word.

These two amazing countries are off the map for most evangelicals.  But they shouldn’t be.  Vibrant Christian life is here.  I’ve seen it.  And if we have questions about how to live with and think about Islam in the coming years, we should listen to these Arab Christians.  They have centuries of experience.

Final notes for travel preparation (if you visit):  use sun block, drink bottled water, eat Syrian ice cream whenever you can, use your clerical collar (if you’re a pastor), take an extra sermon (you’ll need it), and don’t go about wearing shorts or Syrians will think you left the house that morning without your dignity or your pants.  Make sure you find a restaurant that serves Arabian Friki (roasted green wheat) with lamb.  And try the cactus.  Really.  You’ll never regret it.

Dr. Gary M. Burge has been professor of New Testament at Wheaton College since 1992. His professional interests include the interpretation of the New Testament gospels as well as the life of the Arabic speaking church in the Middle East (hence this essay). He has published books on the Fourth Gospel as well as the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Dr. Burge was once detained as a college student by the notorious Jordanian secret police (the Mukhabarat). He was innocent. Really.