Christ is Still in the Rubble: A Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Munther Isaac

 

It has been 440 days. 440 days of constant bombing. Nonstop. 440 days of starvation. On top of 17 years of siege and imprisonment. Tens of thousands killed. Injured. Forever disabled. Imprisoned. Starved. More than 17,000 children killed. It feels like we have watched them being killed one by one. 440 days of the people of Gaza sharing live images of their executions; burned alive. And we cannot stop it.

Trump said, if the hostages are not released in January there will be hell to pay! IT IS ALREADY HELL! What is he talking about? It has been hell for 16 years before October 7. And of course, no one is talking about the Palestinian hostages.

It is hard to believe that another Christmas has come upon us and the genocide has not stopped. It has expanded. We are out of words. We feel powerless to stop it. Decision makers are content to let this continue. To them, Palestinians are dispensable. And they know it. They are watching. It is not as if the horrors of this genocide will be discovered after all is said and done. No, it is well documented. We are all watching it. Even Those committing it, the ruthless soldiers and their masters are sharing images of their blatant crimes against humanity and boasting about it. They are taking pleasure in our erasure and our annihilation. Israeli news reported about soldiers competing to arbitrarily kill the most civilians. And that’s not just soldiers “following orders.” It has become some sort of a recreational activity — you can actually go on top of hills and watch our executions live – they have created a tourist spot for this. Or a boat tour for the whole family! A casual afternoon spent watching the bombs fall on Gaza. Celebrating this. It has become entertainment to them. They don’t see us as human. Because in the logic of settler colonialism, despite knowing there were always people here, the land was “empty” of who they deemed human.

But it has also been 440 days of resilience and even beauty. I think of our heroes of Gaza: the doctors, the medics, the rescuers, the volunteers—those who sacrifice and give everything for their fellow human beings. I think of those who created schools in tents. The ones who play music to the displaced children, to bring a smile in the midst of pain and destruction. The chefs who are cooking meals en masse. And the smallest of children, tending to their siblings. The loss is enormous. But we have not lost our faith, or our collective humanity. This is the beauty I am talking about.

We especially remember our steadfast churches in Gaza, which, despite the brutality of the scene, have embraced, supported, and suffered for their sons and daughters. In the midst of genocide, they continue to pray and serve.

Today we ask: What happened to humanity? I really fear for our collective humanity when a genocide of such scale is normalized, even celebrated. I fear for our souls, because we have gotten used to the images of children, lifeless, pulled from under the rubble, of plastic and cloth tents bombed, and people starved. How have we become numb? How do we watch this? We must fight this within us. We cannot be content. We have to fight against the growing apathy. We must not rest or grow weary. To do so, is to abandon not only the people of Gaza, but our very own humanity. This is why We must continue talking about Gaza, and all places of systematic oppression and killing, until this is stopped.

Last year I said silence is complicity. We are past that. Numbness is a betrayal to humanity. Yours and those in Gaza. 

Equally, we must insist that all who committed war crimes must be held accountable. We cannot normalize impunity. What kind of a world and future we are leaving our children – if we accept a reality where war criminals go unpunished, even emboldened – where they openly boast of their crimes, and rather than met with justice they are met with applause in the halls of congress and defended by European parliaments. And they still dare to lecture us on human rights and international law.

Never again is only a slogan. Empty words. Never again should mean never again to all peoples. Never again has become yet again! Yet again to supremacy. Yet again to racism. Yet again for genocide.

And sadly, never again has become yet again for the weaponization of the Bible, and the silence and complicity of the western church. Yet again for the church siding with power; with the Empire.

Today, and after all this of total destruction and annihilation – Gaza is erased – millions have become refugees and homeless, tens of thousands killed, why is anyone still debating whether this is a genocide or not? Yet when a church leader simply calls for investigating whether this is a genocide, he is called out, and it becomes breaking news.

The evidence is clear. Truth stands plain for all to see. The question is not whether this is a genocide – this is not the debate. The real question is: why isn’t the world and the church calling it a genocide? It says a lot when you deny and ignore and refrain from using the language of genocide. It reveals hypocrisy – for you lectured us for years on international law and human rights. It says a lot on how you look at us Palestinians. And says a lot about your moral and ethical standards.  It says everything about who you are when you turn away from the truth, when you refuse to name oppression for what it is.

Or could it be that if reality was acknowledged for what it is, that this is a genocide, that it would be an acknowledgment of your guilt? For this was a war that so many defended as “just” and as “self-defense”?

The genocide will end one day. Soon we pray and plead. But history will remember where people stood. What they said. They cannot claim they did not know. This is why we insist that this is more than Gaza or Palestine. In Palestine, we find the intersection of colonialism, supremacy, the logic of might is right, militarism, racism and religious fundamentalism all coming together.

Palestine is a human and moral cause. For the church, it is also a theological crisis, as a friend of mine recently suggested. It is about the credibility of our witness. It is here that we come face to face with the tragic consequence of bad theology. Actually, this is way beyond “bad theology” or ideology. Zionism and Christian Zionism are ideologies of supremacy. It is racism. They turned God into a racist tribal deity of their image. They must be named for what they are.

Today also, we acknowledge all those who stood on the side of justice and truth; all those who said no to dehumanization; many of whom paid a heavy price. We salute you. Solidarity, by definition, is costly. Over the last 440 days, we have heard you, in churches, mosques and synagogues, in the streets, in universities, in governmental buildings, in front of arms factories, protesting, organizing, lobbying… we heard you.

Dear friends, it is indeed painful that we live in a time when a genocide is committed before the eyes of the world, and we feel powerless to stop it. Today, as we gather around “Christ in the Rubble”, we remember the children of Gaza, the children of Bethlehem before them, and many others around the world who have fallen victim to the tyranny of Herod and his modern-day counterparts. The Massacre of innocents.

A voice was heard in Ramah, the prophet cried thousands of years ago, weeping and great mourning. Rachel weeps for her sons and daughters and refuses to be comforted, because they are no more. A voice was heard in Bethlehem, and today we hear the same voice in Gaza: weeping and great mourning.

We weep, we are crushed, we suffer. And we cry out: How long, O Lord? Why, O Lord? Why do You allow this, and why do You remain silent? Humanity has chosen Herod’s path. Humanity glorified power and cruelty. It glorified domination, greed, weapons, and even the annihilation of others. Herod is neither the first nor the last. This is the logic of the Empire. And we have fashioned God in this image, turning Him into a god of war!

This is also the result of an exclusionary mentality. Even God, we have made tribal, exclusionary, and selective—a God of one people at the expense of another, one religion over another, one nation over another. In our human racism, we have made God a racist!

But the question remains: Why is God silent? How long will Rachel weep for her children? How long will Gaza weep? We have continued to ask this question until we saw this God, in His incarnation, sharing our same fate. He survived in His childhood, but not in His youth. As a child, He fled, becoming a displaced refugee in Egypt, but in His youth, He did not survive. He was crucified, killed by the logic of Empire, the worship of power and extremism. He shared our fate, our suffering, and cried the same cry we cry today: “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?”

This is why we said last year, “Christ is in the rubble,” and this year, we say, “Christ is still in the rubble.” This is His manager. Jesus finds His place with the marginalized, the tormented, the oppressed, and the displaced. We look at the Holy Family and see them in every displaced and homeless family, living in despair. In the Christmas story, God walks with them and calls them His own.

Today, let us reflect on the Child Jesus—the Child of Bethlehem. At the heart of the Incarnation, there is a child. In His weakness, He is our hope, our consolation, and our strength. This child shook Herod’s throne. While there are some who talk about their “Roman Empire,” or glorify Herod as “great,” we Christians are the ones who sing of a child born to refugees escaping a massacre. And you cannot worship both.  I pray that the image of the Child in the Rubble will be deeply rooted in our hearts and minds. He was born among us and entered our world under the most difficult and harsh circumstances. His family suffered greatly to protect His life. The children of Bethlehem were massacred, but not all of them. Jesus survived this genocide, becoming a refugee with His family in Egypt, then returning to His land and people, serving, building, working, and bringing salvation and redemption. In this resilient child and His family, we find hope. This child, whom we see today among the ruins, once stood before Pilate and Herod, faced death itself, and triumphed, granting eternal redemption.

With this hope and faith, we endure. We refuse to surrender to despair, because ours is a faith of resurrection. From the midst of the rubble, a plant of life will arise, giving the promise of a new dawn. The assurance of a harvest where justice and restoration will flourish, and the vine will bear fruit that nourishes generations to come. As the poet Mahmoud Darwish said: “The grains of a dying ear of grain, fill the valley with ears of grain.” 

We embrace our calling in this wounded world and land. We insist on seeing the image of Jesus in every victim of oppression, marginalization, and violent ideologies of supremacy and Empire. We will continue to declare the goodness and justice of God. 

It has been 440 days of Palestinian resilience – sumud. Indeed, 76 years of sumud. But we have not and will not lose hope. Yes, it is 76 years of the ongoing Nakba, but it is also 76 years of Palestinian steadfastness, sumud, clinging to our right and the justice of our cause. 76 years of praying and singing for peace – We are stubborn people. We will continue echoing the words of the Angels: Glory to God in the Highest, Peace on Earth!

And today we say: Our faith in the God of truth and justice is our hope. Today we continue to cry out to Him because we believe that He hears us, and because we believe in His justice and goodness. And because we believe in His solidarity with the oppressed! “I know that the Lord maintains justice for the poor, and righteousness for the needy.” (Psalm 140:12)

In our steadfastness – sumud, let us have eyes of faith to perceive and believe that every Herod will pass, every Caesar will fade, for Empires have an expiry date, and let us remember that it is the meek, not the powerful, who will inherit the earth. In our pain and oppression, we might feel that death has the final word, that Herod is sovereign. But through the eyes of faith, we see that God has the final word: and it is a word of life and light, not death and darkness. In Christmas, God has spoken, and the Word is Christ. Christ is born! Hallelujah! Peace on Earth, Hallelujah! May it be so today – Amen!

This service was streamed to our Facebook page live from Bethlehem on December 20, 2024 at 10am ET. Watch the recording below. 

 

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About the Author

Rev. Dr. Munther Isaac

Rev. Dr. Munther Isaac is a Palestinian Christian pastor and theologian. He pastors the Evangelical Lutheran Christmas Church in Bethlehem and the Lutheran Church in Beit Sahour. He is also the Academic Dean at Bethlehem Bible College, ad is the director of the Christ at the Checkpoint conferences. Munther is passionate about issues related to Palestinian theology.