May 18, 2008 Journal Entry

Journal, back home

As I languidly lay in my own bed at home after days on the road and closed my eyes, daring traffic patterns and huge plates of rice, bazaar shops and ancient mosques danced past. When I unpacked my suitcases, the smells of Iran wafted through the room-the dust, chicken kabobs, polluting traffic, pomegranates, pistachios and dates, the sweat of women wearing scarves and long sleeves in 90 degree weather, masked by perfumes.

I was neither in Iran nor home, caught between an ancient and prideful civilization desperately wanting to be a respected part of the Muslim and world community only 30 years after its revolution, and the familiar comforts of a society that threw off colonizing oppressors over 225 years ago.

I brought home piles of scarves, tablecloths and pillowcases, copper hand painted and enameled plates, sweets, pistachios (carefully irradiated at JFK airport), postcards, traditional manteaus and heaps of unanswerable questions.

Throughout the trip, we had very little itinerary or sense of schedule or purpose. Often we felt more like a tourist group (many were appreciating the ancient sites and Persian hospitality) rather than a peace delegation.

This was continually frustrating to typically controlling U.S. citizens who wanted information and contacts to try to stop a war. Our last days especially consisted of waiting in the Tehran hotel for possible meetings, repeatedly eating in the same restaurant (let's see-anything on the menu I'm not tired of? How about the rost lion? [sic]) and group confusion.

How does a peace delegation from THE enemy country work for peace when we have no access to top politicians or religious leaders, when holding a sign on the street is nearly impossible?

Casual people-to-people contacts became ever more important. I had brought postcards of Orrville, OH, my home community, and "Pray for Peace, Act for Peace" magnets, and distributed them freely the last days. Recipients were delighted to receive a 'gift' from the United States and amazed that my town was so small. Particularly, they looked at the magnet and said, "This is good. This is important. Your church is good. God bless you"

I searched for words that would translate easily my hope for peace between our countries, finally settling on, "Always remember that someone in the United States loves you." "Teach your son that someone in the United States loves him."

In the poignancy of the moment, when I looked into someone's eyes and wondered if they would survive a 'surgical strike' near their city, 'love' was a promise to work for diplomacy and right relationships between our countries. For both of us, that statement put a face on the word 'enemy', a moment etched in memory of a desire to bridge the chasm of language, politics and animosity.

Want to be one of the many 'someones in the United States' who love Iranians?

Advocate for diplomacy with Iran
Pray with your congregation for peace. A few peace lamps are still available.
Teach enemy love: find ways to put faces on your enemies, your children's enemies, your country's enemies.