If you are reading this, it is likely that you are ready to judge, you probably already have a view on the Israel, Gaza war.
Rational, non-Christian me has a view too. When Israel started bombing Gaza, I wondered why we, the British, weren’t condemning Israel. That Israel needed to deal with Hamas, return the hostages and prevent a recurrence went without saying but why did we not condemn the indiscriminate bombing?
We had issues in Northern Ireland. My understanding is that we allowed secularism to grow there, allowed Catholics to be prevented from working in certain industries and predictably it blew up. The IRA famously bombed the Grand Hotel in Brighton, attempting to kill our Prime Minister. They even tried to get a mortar into 10 Downing Street. Yet despite this, and the fact that there were distinct Catholic and Protestant areas in Belfast, we never used the RAF to show the IRA that we meant business. I doubt that it ever occurred to anybody to bomb any community from the air. Soldiers went in on foot, vulnerable18 year-olds, some of whom were killed, tortured or maimed. I remember being in Belfast during the troubles, stepping out of The Crown pub on a Saturday night as a platoon of what seemed to be improbably young men in uniform were moving down the road on foot to protect us. It is with this history, imperfect though it is, I felt we had a right to call out Israel for using their air force, but we didn’t, it was just accepted, even expected.
So non-Christian, rational me, sees clear injustice in Israel’s behaviour. I believe that they have done immense, permanent damage to their reputation. My parents remembered the shocking reports coming out of the concentration camps of the Holocaust, unbelievable inhumanity. I attended a course on Judaism given by Keith Wickes at church and on one occasion a survivor took the trouble to tell us her story, including of her being naked in front of Józef Mengele. I left the room in tears, simply said thank-you as I passed her and walked home. I have no doubts about the Holocaust and the persecution of the Jews. But what are the next generation making of Israel? I fear that Judaism is now just another religion, Israel no longer special, created rightly or wrongly as a safe place following the Holocaust, now just another nation oppressing another with no excuse and predictable results.
That to me makes sense. But what about Christian me? Should I try to understand Christian Zionism? Would that explain ours and the USA’s support for the extreme brutality Israel is meting out on the people of Gaza and our silent acceptance of the persecution of Palestinians in the West Bank.
Predictably, online research about modern Christian Zionism shows that it is dominated by the USA. It seems to be closely related to churches that accept a prosperity gospel and find being a people of God, whom God wants to prosper, more appealing than carrying a cross, doing much for the least or following Christ’s humble example. To me, the former is clearly untrue and lacks proof – unless you are the pastor of such a church. The latter is simple but much harder to follow. I say simple because after six decades attending church; a Gospel Hall in Cardiff, then a string of Baptist churches, the two bible stories that still carry weight are that of the adulterous woman – “they do not condemn you, neither do I, go and sin no more” and that around the parable of the good Samaritan, in response to the question, who is my neighbour (whom I should love)? I see no problem in Jesus telling the lawyer the same story but about the good Gazan. Jesus does not make it complicated, its just very, very difficult to follow him.
It seems that Christian Zionists seem to like the verses about God blessing those that bless Israel and cursing those that curse Israel (Genesis 12:1-3). I saw this in action when I visited a company in Israel and was taken to visit one of their subcontractors in Caesarea, north of Tel Aviv. They were a community of German and Canadian Christians that had set up a company to bless the Jews. As Christians, their blessing had to be peaceful and so they made sophisticated manual pumps for the bomb shelters that Israelis have in the houses. Many of these shelters are air tight and these pumps allow air, filtered from chemical, biological and nuclear material to be brought into the shelter. Any excess production capacity was made available for other companies to use on non-offensive products. I admired their commitment to their faith but could not get my head around their total commitment to these few verses.
On the cursing side, it seems that many Zionists have the view that to criticise Israel is to curse Israel and so that is condemned by God. Israel can therefore behave as it likes.
But those verses from Genesis are not the only foundation of Christian Zionism. There is the theology that God will reinstate Israel, rebuild the temple (where there is currently the Dome of the Rock Mosque) and then Jesus can return. It is not difficult to see that what is happening today could be the start of this, if Israel is intending to clear out the Palestinians, Christian Zionists, and there are very many, will support them.
I am not equipped to explore this theory of Christian Zionism but to me, it does not seem Christian. It is as if God’s use of the Jews to bless the world through Jesus is not enough. In Galatians, Paul writes about the importance of faith in Jesus Christ and not the law. In Romans 11 Paul writes about the remnant of Israel and its place in the Kingdom. In Luke’s gospel (19:41-44) Jesus knows what will befall Jerusalem and weeps, yet history does not record God’s wrath on the Romans who did worse than curse the Jews. Judaism and the Old Testament give Christianity context and of course, Jesus was a Jew. My instinct is to get on with following Christ without a complicated theology, finding hidden codes or sub texts in the Bible. I cannot see Christ being a Christian Zionist with the implications that has had for the Palestinians and therefore I cannot accept its theology – and I say that even though I have declared myself ill equipped to explore it.
I posted my concerns about Christian Zionism in a group chat and asked for help. Significantly, Revd. Jon Swales posted a poem. The words that shouted at me were:
Let the violent texts break on the rock of Christ,
If it doesn’t look like him,
It’s not the final word.
East of Eden: The Compass and the Cross
I. Scripture and Rubble
She read Joshua that morning.
Promised land,
cities razed,
milk and honey,
sweet on the page,
but with the taste of Gazan rubble.
She turned to the Psalms.
“Blessed be the Lord,
who trains my hands for war.”
Then Exodus.
Horse and rider,
thrown into the sea.
She opened 1 Samuel.
“Show them no mercy,
kill every man,
woman,
child.”
Jarring.
Who is this God?
Conquest and song,
salvation and slaughter,
sacred and savage,
all on the same page.
She snapped the Bible shut.
The vicarage kitchen,
too small for conquest and conflict.
Her newsfeed choked with bodie
Knife wounds,
domestic violence,
the haunted eyes of soldiers,
prayers for hostages,
the screams of Palestinian mothers,
the endless ache of broken hearts.
II. Memorials and War,
Later,
east of Eden,
passing memorials,
bearing witness to the sins of Cain,
she stopped.
Brass plaques.
Names of the fallen.
Boys from this parish.
World War One.
The war that should never have been,
where nations naming Christ
maimed each other’s young.
A lost generation.
The war to end all wars.
She longed to honour the dead,
but grieved the empire,
the armaments,
the machinery of death.
Is it enough to wear a poppy?
Red?
White?
Both?
But what of World War Two?
If good men do nothing,
evil triumphs.
Yet.
is lethal violence the only way?
Aquinas echoes in her mind.
Ius ad bellum,
ius in bello.
Justice before,
justice within.
But do bombs fall justly?
Do drones love their enemies?
Nuclear threats,
city-destroyers.
How can you bless a bomb
with the name of the Prince of Peace?
She reached the church.
Empty.
Cold.
Beneath the crucifix,
she wept.
Not for answers,
but for the questions too heavy to hold.
IV. The Spiritual Compass
“I don’t know how to preach anymore,” she said.
“Every text feels like a weapon.
Promised lands,
chosen people,
soaked in conquest.”
Her spiritual director listened.
Thin walls.
Thin tea.
Holy ground.
“I want to name the violence,” she said,
“but it feels dangerous,
political,
safer to stay quiet,
keep the collar clean.”
“Scripture is judged by Christ,
not the other way round.”
“Not Joshua,” she whispered.
“Not empire.
Jesus.”
“Let the violent texts break
on the Rock of Christ.
If it doesn’t look like him,
it’s not the final word.”
But the bombs still fall,
and silence feels safer.
“You don’t need slogans,
but you can keep vigil.
Name the crucified Christ
wherever empire spills blood.”
Not a solution,
but a direction.
V. Ploughshares
She left with no answers,
but with a compass.
A cross-shaped compass,
pointing not to victory,
but to the wounded God,
who speaks of enemy love,
and blesses the peacemakers.
Later,
she returned to the square.
Collar visible.
No placard.
No chant.
Just presence.
She stood among them.
Silent,
but not silent.
A prophetic voice.
The emerging strength of a ploughshare,
turned from the silence of complicity.
A priest-shaped dissent
against the machinations of empire
and the masters of war.
—-
Rev’d Jon Swales, East of Eden series
Reproduced with permission.
