These last few weeks have been weeks of war. Israel; Gaza; Lebanon; Syria; Iran; North Korea. The nations rage and the earth seems to slide around as if on jello, separate and escalating conflicts, yet all eerily recandescent of history.

I have felt helpless, tired, appalled. Incredulous laughter at the reasoning of political leaders has been a daily occurence. I have dropped my jaw at the news reports several times this week. I assume most the Christians I know are praying for Israel, while forgetting the Palestinians. I assume many of them equate the military might of Israel–and its war–with justice and God’s might. I assume most of them have forgotten that when Israel was delivered from oppression, they thought God was giving them license to finally return the favour…and when they did, God “delivered them into the hands of their oppressors.” In the oppression of others, in the mimicing of the ways of their former oppressors, Israel forfeits her separation to God, becoming like the other nations. She is, once again, drunk on the wine of the world superpower, trusting the modern-day Egypt for deliverance, purchasing its armaments and hence buying into its ethos of “might-makes-right” domination and death-worship. Things have not changed.

I have a friend in Gaza. I hope he is okay. We went to college together. He is tall, has black curly hair–an American who grew up in Egypt. Now he is in Gaza–he has been there a while–working for reconciliation and peace between Palestinians and Jews. He is my age.

Whether or not it is a hopeless situation is not the question. He is simply living as a mature human being amidst the frenzy of the principalities in the Fall. He is living in the ethic of resurrection. He is, in a truer sense than me, born again.

But I have not heard from him for a long time.