And now, from a voice in the wilderness . . .

Sometimes, when I want to write, but have no bloody clue what to write about, these lyrics from the Simon and Garfunkel song Kathy's Song come to mind.

My mind's distracted and diffused
My thoughts are many miles away . . .

Even when I have a more or less fixed idea what I'd like to write about, in my head, by the time I sit down at my computer, that idea has escaped the clutter, the noise, and left me with just that. The clutter. The noise.

. . . . .

When I used to be on a social media platform used mainly by South Asians whose families were either Pakistani or Indian, there was a lot of ethnocentrism and sexism (shocker, I know!). And I was critical of policies in both countries, especially against minorities. I still had a lot of anger in me towards Pakistanis who were apologists for violence against communities that were not Sunni Muslim (Christian, Hindu, Shia, Ahmadi, Hazara), four or five years after a mob attacked Mum's village, and some Pakistanis viewed my language as hateful, my words as traitorous (I didn't always challenge how Indians viewed Pakistan, I agreed with them on some things).

Some Indians would act surprised that I should defend a nation whose policies still promoted discrimination against non-Muslims, whose people murdered non-Muslims and Muslims they considered kafir (infidels).

I was not defending policies.

I was defending Muslims against the phrase "there's no such thing as a good Muslim." as certain Indians promoting Islamophobia were saying. I was defending those who embraced humanity and diversity, those who looked past the nationalism that brooked no criticism (my country right or wrong).

This isn't something I deserved a pat on the shoulder for. This is how we should be. Not dangerously mixing faith with nationalism. Not being exclusionary as nationalists. Not raising our children with hate or indifference to those not like us.

Not killing children because they are not like us. Or because we're afraid of what they will be when they grow up – like Herod killing the Innocents.

. . . . .

I am deeply troubled about Israel's mass murdering and starving Palestinians that many still refuse to call a genocide. Troubled to the point of despair. I despair of this place I've called home for most of my adolescence and all of my adulthood where many defend such actions, and our government is participating in them. This home where our government under the guise of Christian Nationalism and not at all disguised white supremacy is working on erasing so much that moved us forward. We were never healed, not completely. Not healed from the effects of slavery, from Jim Crow laws, from laws that were exclusionary for immigrants, particularly Asian and Brown immigrants, from the oppression of women and control of our bodies.

And we are hearing more voices that are aiming to undo the work done for that healing to occur.

I can only verbalize my despair so much to friends and strangers who would much rather focus more on what is happening in the US, and avoid the Palestinian Genocide, because to do both would completely wreck them. Some cannot bear to look at children's emaciated bodies, in many cases withered shells of who they once were. Or listen to the wailing of mothers:

Rachel weeping for her children.

I'm going to be honest. I am wrecked. This is not a complaint. This is a true statement of how I am feeling. Wrecked. I know I am not alone. There are moments when I see photographs that plunge me into despondency. The banality of evil. I don't want to be talked out of being wrecked, either. I do have to be careful how I manifest it, because I still have to be among people, to work where I am, so I am able to work for what is being snatched from Palestinians, and from honest-working immigrants in America: the freedom to be able to live in a land that is our home.

I read the words of some Palestinians this past week, and I could visualize their despair, their exhaustion, even possibly near resignation as we see the continuing barrage from Israel, the forced starvation. As we are watching the forked tongues of those who claim they will recognize Palestine as a state, contingent on conditions Palestinians must meet.

In other words . . . more colonialist tactics. So you want to recognize Palestine to protect your own asses and Israel's, and dictate terms that are not yours to dictate. Noted. Because Palestinians have been fighting against this lingering colonization for decades. Oh, and in case you haven't noticed, Israel no longer cares about a cease-fire, never did, and their ethnocentric chest-thumping and full-scale attacks won't stop. Israel will not stop encroaching the land where Palestinians have lived, without Hamas or with them in Gaza and the West Bank.

And the US ambassador and special envoy weren't interested in hearing from Palestinians when they visited the farce that is the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation.

I've noticed in recent weeks, perhaps even months, at least in the sermons at my parish, how very little is said about Gaza compared to a year ago. I'm only saying this because it used to be mentioned, not to elevate it over what is happening in other parts of the world. It could be because the priests who did make brief references to Gaza have not preached at our church for about that long. We just hear about trouble in the world. Which is also a fact, I suppose. And we hear about Christian Nationalism, which is also very important, given what Empire linking itself to Christianity has done since the time of Constantine in the 4th century.

. . . . .

I was watching a rerun of a Frontline documentary that was first televised in 1998: From Jesus to Christ: The First Christians. It was interesting for what was presented as much as what was not presented on film. There was some commentary on the gospels that were discovered at Nag Hammadi in 1945, such as the Gospel of Mary and that of Thomas. There's more on the original page, which one can connect to from the above link, if interested.

As I read through some of the linked pages, I thought how one or two of the commentators referred to these gospels as not being "protected literature," which suggests questioning their authority. All the discussions, and commentary connected to the documentary are pre-Cynthia Bourgeault's The Meaning of Mary Magdalene. I am waiting on Bourgeault's book, from our library, and am finally at the top of the waitlist. The suppression of women's voices from the Bible have just as much, if not more to do with patriarchy and Empire, as they do with the question of "apostolic authority," and I am looking forward to reading this, as well as Meggan Watterson's books. As Christian Nationalism (re)gains a greater foothold in the United States thanks to the alignment rather than the checking and balancing of the institutions of justice, law, and the executive, I believe it is important for us as Christians, and for those interested, to return to these readings of Magdalene and the women who either defied circumscribed roles to liberate themselves as followers of Christ, or were ignored altogether in misogynistic authoritarian fervor. Especially when our bodily autonomy as women continues to be under attack in incredibly extreme ways.

. . . . .

I write this as a person who is not without hope. But I also write this as a person who has seen and heard enough as a sexagenarian, to know how much Patriarchy and Empire want to cling to their "claims," and what they will do to maintain their power. It is not enough to be hopeful. It is not enough to pray. And we are seeing what making our voices heard re: the liberation of Palestine has done in the world, and here at home. Columbia University comes to mind. But we must not let that discourage us. I will continue to stand with Palestine. I will continue to speak up against Christian Nationalism.

And if you think that both are disparate, as in there is no connection between Christian Nationalism and the ethnic cleansing of Palestine, then dear reader, you have not been paying attention.

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