MECA

Most of my readers know that I have a deep appreciation for the Jewish culture. I watch documentaries about the Hassidic sect. I watch foreign films to get a taste of Middle East culture, in all its complexities. I read online newspapers, such as “The Jerusalem Post”. But, I have never felt fully satisfied. I always perceived an overriding bias in all these mediums. I wanted the information to be more personable. I wanted to interact with the culture, and not just study it.

Now I have been introduced to an amazing organization on campus. It is called MECA, which stands for Middle East Collegiate Association. The goal is to educate the campus about Middle Eastern culture, which includes politics, religion, traditions, and customs. They plan to have speakers, events, and educational seminars.

It is the first year for this organization, so I can’t predict exactly what to expect. But, I feel my heart moving within me. All my suppressed emotions are bubbling to the surface. I want to drench my ignorant American perspective in the sweet oil of Middle East reality.

The first informational meeting was tonight, and the attendees were comprised of various ethnicity. Every tribe, tongue, and nation!!! I made this remark in the meeting. “I have often felt like a foreigner in this land even though I was born in America.”

I think God strategically introduced me to this organization for such a time as this. I recently had a very vivid dream concerning the interaction between Jews, Christians, and Muslims. I have also started studying what the Quran and Islam teach about "the prophet" Jesus.

God is preparing me for a ministry, and my spirit is rejoicing in the early fruits. I want to be educated and aware of the political tensions and how everyday Middle Easterners react to these tensions. I think my desire for knowledge will be somewhat satiated through involvement with this group, MECA.

I want to share a poem I recently wrote that deals with this mesh of religions.
This is an edited form of the first draft posted on my Random Writing's Blog

Beneath Them: a poem by Tamara Peachy

Western Wall
Garden of Gethsemane
Dome of the Rock

They wear the ceremonial garb and display the law as a treasure.
They walk through the streets with crosses on their backs.
They bow down five times a day.
These three cultures fight, gnarl, and bite.
They breathe the same air: breath is hot, breath is cold, breath is lukewarm.
Israel, they fight day and night with words and philosophies.
But, the trees are in bloom and the blue sky is one color.
The dirt streets are not partial to sandals, sneakers, or bare feet.

They may be divided, but the earth beneath them sings of One Creator.