When I was in 9th grade, 'scarab' bracelets were popular and I asked for one for Christmas. My mother saved her money and bought me a beautiful gold one. It had precious stones engraved with the a beetle, the ancient Egyptian symbol of luck, rebirth, optimism, and good fortune.
I didn't know anything about that beetle or its symbolism or even that it was Egyptian. I just liked the style for some reason and those kind of bracelets were 'in'. Like any teenager, I wore it for a while, and got bored with it and eventually it got pushed to the back of my jewelry box, replaced over the years by other pieces of jewelry at various times more 'in'. But, because my mother gave it to me, I always kept it.
In the fall of 2009, Ted and I visited Egypt while we were in the Middle East with our son, who was working in Dubai. We wanted to go to Israel and the Holy Land, but were told by the State Department that we could not enter Israel with a Dubai stamp on our passport, or vice versa. That kind of restriction of movement seemed really odd to us but is a matter of course in a part of the world wracked by violence and mistrust for millenia. We looked for an alternative place to visit and chose Egypt.
We were there about a week and visited all the wonderful archeological sites in and around Cairo and in Luxor, the ancient city of Thebes. I fell in love immediately -- with the sand-drenched landscape, with the ancient ruins (some of which go back over 4,000 b.c.e.), with the languid Nile, with the huge, bustling city of Cairo, with the music and the food and . . . pretty much with all things Egyptian.
But it was the people we encountered that I most loved. They were kind, considerate, and respectful to us as foreigners. And, no matter the differences (nobody could even grasp the fact that I was a clergywomen and they only referred to me as "Mrs. Ted" -- never by my given name), we found their concerns simply mirrored ours: to live faithful lives and to love and provide for their children.
There is something magical and mystical and enticing about Egypt, but mostly -- there is something wonderful about Egyptians. I found, despite the poverty and cultural restrictions on women, that it is a fascinating anbd mind-boggling place. I enjoyed every minute of our time there, and would go back in a heartbeat.
Our hotel, the Inter-Continental, was right across the street from the American Embassy, and only a block away from Tahrir Square, the heart of metropolitan Cairo.
So, in February of last year as the revolution unfolded in Tahrir Square, I began to really root and pray for the people of Egypt that they would triumph, and be able to find a way to make a better future for their children without violence or bloodshed.
I remembered that bracelet in the bottom of my jewelry box, got it out, polished it off, put it on and haven't taken it off since. It just a small act of solidarity with human beings half-way across the world, a way to remind myself every day to pray for God's peace, and their well-being.
Today, I am looking at that bracelet and praying -- not just for them, but for us.
I am praying that my Christian faith not be coopted by radical extremists who have no tolerance for the beliefs of others, and who in their zealotry forget that love, mercy and inclusion were the hallmarks of Jesus Christ, and by his example, we know the heart of God.
I am praying that freedom of speech always be balanced by a respect for others.
I am praying for lives lost in the service of our country, and for lives at risk in that service all around the world.
I am praying for President Obama and Hilary Clinton, that they be wise and strong in their leadership.
But mostly, I am praying for the people of the Middle East -- and Egypt in particular -- that in our common humanity, we find the blessedness of peacemaking with one another, and that zealots and extremists on either and any side of a disagreement do not get the last word.
Each little stone beetle on that bracelet is a prayer bead for me these days, and the circle on my hand is a reminder of our connection to all.
I am praying, and will continue. I hope you do the same.
a.
