Mennonite
Central
Committee

Sabbath Rest

David Wolfe and Linda Kusse-Wolfe, began a three-year term with MCC in Qom on Feb. 12, 2007 This is a Feb. 23 excerpt from their blog, quakersinqom.blogspot.com.

 

It is Friday noon here in Qom; time for a sabbath rest. Most shops have closed down until sunset. People are heading to mosques for worship. A week ago David and Wally and I were worshiping with Armenian Christians in Tehran. Today we are at home, reading, reflecting, being grateful. A week from today we will hope to go to Tehran again, and find the English speaking church which meets there once a month.

This past week has been full of relationships, learning and connecting. Our Farsi teacher comes to our apartment every day and with infinite good humor and patience teaches us words, writing, sounds. I could now visit with our upstairs neighbor— who wants to be friends— and name fruits and vegetables for her, or call out primary colors. Our Islamic studies professor meets us at the Imam Khomeini Institute once a week. He is serene, focused, welcoming as we dialogue together about the Qur'an, the Bible, what it is to hear the Word of God. ("The Word," he said in last week's lesson, "is the same Word that John calls 'the Logos' in the beginning of his gospel.")

... One day this past week, a car and driver arrived at our door. We had been waiting to go on a rural drive with Mr. Haghani, our dear cleric friend and Director of International Affairs (and international students) at the Imam Khomeini Institute. Instead we heard, "The Ayatollah is waiting to see you now." I hastily donned my chador, David grabbed his notebook and off we went, to the office of Ayatollah Misbah, Director of the Institute. We were ushered into his office with the usual Iranian courtesy and thoughtfulness. The Ayatollah had eyes that were gentle, merry and appraising. He let a warm silence gather and then began his welcome. "I am so glad you're here. You will find it more difficult to live in the east than in the west, but what you can learn among us will make up for it." He searched our faces: tea was poured and fruit offered; I ventured one hand out to grasp my tea and prayed that my chador would stay on (it did). "I will pray for you," he said. "Welcome to Iran."

David, Wally and I drove with Mr. Haghani and a driver south and a bit west of Qom, towards the town of Kahak. Here in Iran shepherds still tend their flocks. One young man stood just at the edge of his flock, chatting with an old man holding a donkey by a rope. The sheep were carpeted in thick black wool. A mile more down the road a teenage boy sat on a straight backed chair under a tree - his flock both white and black and very wooly. Reservoirs and irrigation canals birthed groves of olives, pomegranates and sour cherries. The desert floor slowly rose up toward the Zagrob Mountains— snow capped beauties before us. We lunched together in a restaurant composed of carpeted platforms. Climbing up, settling against pillows and drinking tea, we awaited lunch — beautiful trout from the Caspian sea, rice with saffron, salads full of fresh produce, flatbread just baked and still warm. Later in the week we travelled to the university town of Kashan, an hour an a half south of Qom. It is famous for its carpets, elaborate and breathtaking old homes, and antiquity— being continually inhabited for at least 4000 years. We met several professors (whom Wally knew) and were ushered into an English class. "Do you recognize this voice?" grinned the professor as he turned on a cassette player. It was a speech by President Bush. Oh yes, I do believe I recognize who that is. David and I introduced ourselves and fielded questions from students. "What do you think of the war in Iraq?" "Do you support the policies of your president?" "Do you believe in a Messiah who will come back at the end of history?" "Do you see any terrorists here? (snickers)" The hour was over too quickly and we promised each other another visit, and perhaps a formal lecture on Christian spirituality soon.

On to dinner at a professor's home. He and his wife and two children welcomed us with open hearts. A big, fat English copy of Harry Potter (#6) lay on the floor. They had recently had a sabbatical half year in England. "I read through the Gospel of Luke with a Christian neighbor," my new friend said. "It was so lovely. Excuse me now for just a moment, I have to pray." More feasting on food, conversation, hopes, community together.

Yesterday (Thursday), the MCC initiated Ecumenical Peace Group came to Qom, lead by Ron Flaming. (This group is here in Iran for a week, religious leaders working hard to de-escalate the rising tensions between Iran and the US. A PBS camera crew was along— be watching for Bill Moyers' old show "NOW" which will carry clips of this delegation in the near future).

We went as a group to the Hazrat-i-Ma'sumeh Shrine here, with its golden dome and twin minarets. It houses four Safavid shahs, two Qajar rulers and many officials of the Qajar court. Inside the main gate is a large courtyard full of people— talking, praying, walking with little children and very old people. A group of young men walked rapidly by with a funeral bier at shoulder height, chanting in unison as they headed to the front gate. Intricate mosaics, archways, piles of rolled prayer rugs, large fountains, beautiful humanity with faces that were Chinese, Afghani, Persian, Arab...

We went back to the bus. A group of women in chadors with angry voices were in front. "Americans! What are THEY doing here?" Immediately the PBS camera crew got out, as well as several women. "We are peace church people. We oppose war in any context. Our hearts are broken over Iraq. We have deep regret for our country's policies and practices that have brought you such pain." Oh. The voices went down a decibel. Oh. "We are pilgrims from Iraq, from Babylon. If you are people of peace, we would like you to come and stay with us as our guests. You are welcome in Babylon." A middle aged woman and I held each others hands, heads bowed, then looking into each other's faces. I took off my earrings (that my dear friend Missy had given me years ago from New York) and put them into her hand. "We have," she said, "no electricity, no water, no gas for all these years of war. Why? Why? Why?"

 

Top