Christ Is Still Under the Rubble

"Every Herod will pass, every Caesar will fade, for Empires have an expiry date."

Kelly Latimore, “Christ in the Rubble”

I’m not a particularly religious person. I dabble in it, like most of the "there’s definitely something out there" folks who walk the walk—right up until they’d have to give it a human form and call it God.

My parents were born five years after WWII, and their God were the Yugoslav Partisans. They had a good life under the socialist self-governance, a unique brand of socialism developed by their leader who managed to run a European country while famously associating himself with the recently decolonized countries of the so-called Third World.

Tough act to follow, for any God, if you ask me.

My family never went to church, despite being born and raised in what is likely one of the most Catholic places on Earth. One of my two nephews is the only member of our family who got christened in the Catholic Church. This decision was influenced (read, bullied) by my mother, who, in her older age, became increasingly fearful of her own shadow and believed a person needs a little extra, divine protection in an uncertain, scary world. That, and she couldn’t bully anyone else into it.

“Miranda, you should see my priest.”

My friend kept repeating this sentence on a particularly humid summer day two years ago, as I kept muttering to myself, “Why does everyone always seem to want a piece of me?” over ice cream. I don’t claim any responsibility; it was an intense summer, and I was jet lagged. I thought, what the hell (pun intended), it can’t hurt.

Can it hurt?

Can we make it painless?

We cannot.

As it turns out, her priest is a celebrity in the holy world, with a six-month waiting list to see him in the confessional. I’m not joking. Don Petar is a hard-core celeb. Foreign tourists line up to get a one-on-one with him. Getting into a Manhattan membership club is easier than entering Don Petar’s confessional.

She then casually says, “I’ll send him a Facebook message, ask if he can see you sooner”. A celeb priest on Facebook! This is getting good. I told her, “Tell him I’m a non-believer”, thinking that would put me at the top of his queue, priest or not, men like a project. All men like a project they can decipher, solve, fix, and shape into what they want it to become (it never does).

It worked.

Don Petar was baited with the—"She is a non-believer."

"Come on Saturday," he responded. Still, it wasn’t easy. We arrived at the church around 2 pm, and I didn’t see Don Petar until 10 pm. There were hordes of people waiting. Apparently, many folks claim their lives completely changed after meeting him. Still not there. In the meantime, I sat through the mass, the collective prayer, and a very moving half-song, half-speech about the devil among us.

My turn finally came up.

I saw Don Petar at about 10 pm. I walked into his office, and the first thing out of my mouth was - “Just so you know, I don’t believe in any of this”. I expected a pushback, but Don Petar was effortlessly chill. He told me, “Miranda that’s totally okay. I believe in God, and you don’t. But we can both agree there is something out there that we can't explain in words or logic, right?"

I wanted to respond to him, “Yes, it’s called random circumstance”, but I decided to pause my trademark snark during our time together. After all, I waited all day, might as well use this time to at least learn something new, or get writing material.

There was nothing particularly heavenly in the air around him, just the way he truly listened and understood what I was telling him. Don Petar is a smart man, he has one tone of voice when talking about the dangers of devils around us during a Mass, and another tone of voice for a very sober talk with me, in his confessional.

At the end, he asked me, “Can I do a prayer for you?”. Respecting I might not want more than just a conversation, and I liked that. Don Petar won me over. I said yes. “Can I put my hand on your forehead?”. Always asking, careful not to overstep, and never once trying to push me into becoming a churchgoer on Sundays. His prayer was like a finely tuned instrument, each note resonating with the specific chords of my concerns, a melody of understanding woven from the very words I had shared with him.

Don Petar got to me.

What I realized during my time with Don Petar is that it all boils down to us. Whether we believe in God or not, we embody something greater, and it’s up to us to define that essence. Are we ready to acknowledge that we are all interconnected as part of the human race, and that nothing we hold dear should take precedence over the well-being of others?

I hadn't thought about Don Petar in quite some time, but for the past 14 months, he’s been on my mind often. I ponder what his insights would be regarding the current state of the world. His way with words is so nuanced; I wonder how he would articulate it all and whether his perspective would bring me any clarity—or offer a bit of solace for my soul.

What would he say about the land of Christ's birth being decimated, a Holy Land being pounded with robot bombs on Christmas Eve? Would he explain it one way to his churchgoers at the Mass, and differently to me in the confessional?

I think about Don Petar extensively on Easter and Christmas, when people dial up their Christian sentiments online. This past Easter, I decided to test those sentiments against the backdrop of a live-streamed genocide occurring in the birthplace of Jesus. I posted an image on my Instagram with the caption that said:

“Wishing you a blessed Good Friday. Today, your horoscope and your Christian faith tell you to commemorate Jesus’ crucifixion by speaking out on the injustices in Gaza and today’s crucifying of an entire group of people at the birthplace of your favorite religious leader, because that’s the best possible way to honor him, your religion & your beliefs.”

I dabble in Christianity.

Mostly to provoke religious people into translating their beliefs into tangible actions, especially now, when the world desperately needs it. I’m still finding my way, barely scratching the surface, but those who’ve held a lifelong faith have a remarkable opportunity to put their teachings into practice in the here and now.

What a blessing, isn’t it? To be able to honor your faith by embodying its principles and making a difference in the lives of people being bombed into oblivion today.

My post didn’t have many converters; people who have been speaking about the medieval violence and human rights violations in Gaza for the past 14 months reacted to it, naturally, as they always do.

It did however draw a lone response from a Croatian or possibly a Bosnian woman living in Tel Aviv who commented the following pile:

“Every normal human being is for life, against death, against evil. In your post, you do not mention the currently elected government of Gaza - Hamas. Being pro-Palestine means condemning Hamas and at least 12 other terrorist organizations. This trend where people like you, who know so little about the history of the area and the current situation, and from a position of privilege and in the name of the trend dare to mercilessly push your "Christian" principles is really scary.”

Why this one?

Why am I singling out this particular comment? Because she’s using religion as a tool of subjugation, and a religious principle she doesn’t even know I have, to justify her racial supremacy and deflect attention from the war crimes and injustices that perpetuate her privilege.

Because she reminded me why I always frowned upon religion: a main source of all wars throughout history. The actual reasons for wars are, of course, land grabs, money, power, and plundering of resources—but all that is made possible by stoking religious differences.

As a Catholic in training who is, with the help of Don Petar, still coming to terms with maybe there’s something out there, the genocide in Gaza threw me straight into the politics of Christianity. I busted my brain for the past 14 months thinking how a religious human being could possibly see all this suffering, carnage, death, torture, rape, dehumanization, man-made starvation, medieval, barbaric violence and find ways to justify it enough to support the side inflicting all that pain. And I came up with nothing but—exceptionalism.

Religion, at its core, is sold to us as a belief rooted in principles of compassion, humility, and service to the oppressed and less fortunate. Yet exceptionalism, by its nature, fosters superiority and exclusivity, making it an oxymoron when paired with the teachings of most religious doctrines. So why do they go hand in hand so seamlessly? Why do so many religious people find themselves ensnared by a sense of exceptionalism—the belief that their faith or cultural identity places them above others?

This contradiction is precisely what transforms a tool for unity into a weapon of division, and more often than not—into an actual weapon. As we see in Gaza, every day.

I wish I could pick Don Petar’s brain on this.

Are people too naive to think this tension highlights how religious identity, when warped by exceptionalism, has strayed too far from its intended purpose? Or has this distortion always been a central feature of religion, wielded throughout history as a shield for those who wish to subjugate others?

As I was breaking down the relationship between religion and exceptionalism for this piece, I came across an interview with George Galloway that filled in the gaps for me. George, as always, hits the mark:

“I honestly can’t understand how anyone can look at the pictures and videos that I’m looking at (carnage in Gaza) and come to any other conclusion, unless you believe in exceptionalism, unless you believe that some of us are more exceptional than others, some of us are chosen, therefore some of us by definition are not. If you believe that, then you believe that the inferior would have to bow down to the superior, the unexceptional to bowing down to the exceptional.

I’m religiously forbidden to believe such things, as well as politically disinclined to do so. It’s the issue of exceptionalism. This is where my religion and my politics merge. Because I believe that all of us are God’s children, that none of us are exceptional, that none of us are God's chosen people, that we are all God’s chosen people. We need to make the world that is fair and equitable. It won’t happen overnight.”

Exceptionalism is tricky.

It doesn't solely reside within the realms of the privileged, successful, affluent, or well-connected. It manifests in various guises. I've witnessed it among friends who come from humble beginnings, yet harbor the belief that their European heritage, Western ideals, and lifestyle choices represent the epitome of what the entire world should emulate.

Many of them, scattered throughout Europe as immigrants themselves, still message me to air their grievances about “these Muslims who just cannot assimilate to Western life in the countries they move to.” To this day, not a word about the 14-month-long, live-streamed genocide in Gaza. Reluctance to confront the contradiction of criticizing mass immigration while expressing disdain for “those people who aren’t like me” coming to their countries, all the while supporting military “interventions” by their Western nations, which ultimately drive these very people to seek refuge elsewhere.

The Pope.

A couple of weeks ago, in Rome, at the Vatican’s Paul VI Hall, the Pope unveiled a Nativity scene crafted by Palestinian artisans from Bethlehem. He used the occasion to issue a heartfelt appeal: “Enough with wars! Enough of violence! Do you know that one of the most profitable industries is the arms trade? Profit made for the purpose of killing; how can this be? Enough with wars!” —he voiced his strong condemnation of the arms industry that thrives on war and death.

At the same time, in Paris, the world leaders who are funding and supporting the genocide of the Palestinian people gathered at Notre Dame for its reopening ceremony. I’m not sure how it didn’t ignite in flames again due to sheer blasphemy. In the words of Arnaud Bertrand—”The same people responsible for the very wars Francis was decrying.”

Arnaud’s observation stopped me in my track:

“Religion either as a legitimizing instrument of power—a crown on its head—or religion as a thorn in power's side, standing with the powerless.

It's not even a religious matter, it's a contradiction intrinsic to our humanity: do you fight for what's right and confront uncomfortable truths, or do you comfortably align with power?

My Bible reading might be rusty, but I seem to remember Jesus having some pretty clear opinions about this particular matter.”

Religion as a legitimizing instrument of power: Jesus Christ, whose birth we’re celebrating today—Western powers took his teachings and commercialized his birth, everything the man stood against.

Christ is still in the rubble.

The best thing you could do for yourself, your heart, and your soul today is listen to Rev. Munther Isaac’s Christmas sermon, “Christ is Still in the Rubble,” live from Christmas Lutheran Church in Bethlehem. He touches on that precise thing that has been weighing on us all for the past 14 months: How can religious, church-going people stay silent on a live-streamed genocide? How does their God approve of this? How did this profound theological crisis creep up, exposed by Palestine for us all?

Just look at some talking points from his sermon:

“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!”

We have made God a racist. Have you ever heard anything so essential?

A God of War.

“We weep, we are crushed, we suffer. And we cry out: How long, 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!”

Take a look at the excerpts below, where he breaks down this theological crisis:

“The genocide will end one day, soon we hope and plead, but history will remember where people stood. History will remember what they said. They cannot claim they did not know, and this is why we insist—this is more than Gaza or Palestine. It's much more than that. In Palestine, we find the intersection of colonialism, supremacy, the logic of might is right, militarism, racism, and religious fundamentalism. All of these come together in Palestine.”

“Palestine is a human and moral cause, and for the church—it is a theological crisis. It’s about the credibility of our witness, it’s here that we come face to face with the tragic consequences of bad theology. Actually, this is much more than bad theology, or even ideology. Zionism and Christian Zionism are ideologies of supremacy, it is racism.”

“Zionism and Christian Zionism turned God into a racist tribal deity of their own image. So we must call things for what they are, and today we also acknowledge all those who stood on the side of justice and truth. All those who said no to dehumanization, many of whom paid the heavy price.”

Acknowledging all of us:

“We salute you. Solidarity by definition is costly, and over the last 440 days, we have heard you in churches, in mosques, in synagogues, in the streets, in universities, in governmental buildings, and in front of armed factories—protesting, organizing, lobbying. And we have heard you.”

And the following sentence is far too monumental for me to even preface it:

"Every Herod will pass, every Caesar will fade, for empires have an expiry date.⁠”

“And let us remember that according to Jesus, it is the meek, not the powerful, who inherit the land. 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.”

A must-watch. Hear it for the consequences, trust, resentment, credibility, hope, resilience. You can also read the transcript of the sermon.

Does your God approve of this? “It is the meek, not the powerful, who inherit the land.” Merry Christmas!