“Depressed people never change the world” — Mitri Raheb

Despite it all, I will insist on joy.

I will drink in wonder in the natural world,
in the miracle of my own body,
in the faces of my children, glowing in life,
until there is no room left for despair.

And my joy will be the ultimate resistance,
the utter rebellion against the violence and evil in men’s hearts,
the glorious satisfaction that whatever happens, they cannot win;
they will not win.
They can murder and massacre my people and steep themselves in sin,
but we will yet find joy in the goodness of God’s creation,
in the sure knowledge of our salvation,
our own belovedness in the face of their bombs and blockades.

Vengeance is mine, says the Lord.
But how utterly shocking that even God’s righteous anger erupts as joy.
Not at our suffering. Never that, of course.
But what a feat of God’s power that I can yet still sing!
What a testament to His strength that we still praise Him with timbrel
and dance, a dabkeh right through doubt, to shout
above the chaos and confusion they inflict,
beyond the guilt and grief embedded in my heart,
yet still I shout – Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

So let that guilt as I watch from afar,
powerless and protected,
let my guilt be turned to gratitude,
not the saccharine, sickening survivor’s platitude –
“there but for the grace of God were I.”

But rather the recognition that by that grace,
here I am,
vibrant and alive.
Hear, hear, O callous world
my full-throated acceptance of divine demand:

By the blood of my people – of your people – shed by the evil one,
by the blood of my people – of your people – that yet courses in your veins,
do not be silent, O my daughter, but insist on JOY.
Carry it inside you, nurture it by all the good gifts I will give
and bring it forth into the world, rejoicing
to work my transformation of what is broken into the beauty of righteousness and truth.

All their suffering and sorrow, and all their pain,
I give to you, says the Lord.
And through you it will be redeemed.

Here am I, O Lord. Send me.