Lebanon

Lebanon is heating up again and is looking very fragile at the moment; we had hoped it would go differently for the poor people there (ya haram, ya muskeni). My previous supervisor, Rob, and I were working with Lebanese church and seminary leaders to create a study travel program on interfaith perspectives following the devastation of this past summer's war. It's not looking too good right now, both for institutional seminary support as well as for current political realities.



I first penned the following poem after my first visit to Lebanon and learning about the terrible war experienced there during the 80's. Rob had been a human rights activist there several years ago while his father worked at the seminary. My writing reflects the conversation I wanted to have with him about the differing experiences of two human rights workers in two different contexts, and the difficulty we had in talking on this issue.



Lebanon

August 16, 2005



Lebanon.

I want to let it in

but I can’t.



I want to put myself into that place,

I want to have felt to have seen to have touched to

have witnessed

everything



but even small stories

stir up nightmares

and I’m not so sure I can

hear these stories now

even in the daytime.


My war was not your war, I think

that is, the war I chose to visit

in my age and in my time

a passing traveler, freely involved

and not forced

like those whose blood was there



Does ‘my war’ even compare?

In numbers in size in scope in length in destruction in insanity

In bodies.



And yet all war, is.



To cope with these realities

not just a passed moment in history but

still, now, ongoing

Can I muster any more compassion

or comprehension

to encompass all of this?



I am not enough,

measured, and found wanting.