Know your enemy
When I went to the Occupied Palestinian Territories
I had only a sketchy idea of its history and current
situation. The time I spent there served to fill out this outline
and, although the scope of the injustices and the depth of the
suffering were far in excess of what I had expected, in general
terms they were consistent with my previous impressions. The
one thing which was completely new to me was the influential
role played by evangelical Christianity, both on the ground in
the Middle East and at the level of international politics.
Until I met Grant and Barbara Livingstone and their coreligionists
I had never heard of Christian Zionism. I found
their beliefs and behaviour so eye-popping in their eccentricity
and absurdity that I became fascinated by the subject and
began to research it after I returned to the UK.
I was aware that fundamentalist Christianity was widespread
in the US but had considered it primarily an American
phenomenon, unlikely to appeal in the UK. I was wrong. In
fact, the fall-off in mainstream church attendance in Britain
over recent years has been paralleled by an upsurge in the
popularity of the evangelical churches.
I visited Perth, my hometown, and found that, whereas in
the 1960s there had been three Catholic churches staffed by
seven priests, there was now only one priest for all three. On
the other hand, without even looking for them, I discovered to
my surprise that there were seven or eight different churches
of the born-again type.
I came across the first when I went into a café called the
Manna House which turned out to be associated with the
Tayside Christian Fellowship and doubled as a Christian
resources centre. The menu included an invitation to anyone
interested in learning about the Christian faith to approach
a member of staff. I ordered a toasted panini and asked the
waitress if I could speak to someone.
A fresh-faced man in his forties with rosy cheeks, neat grey
hair and a navy jumper joined me. His name was Derek Everett.
The version of Christianity which Derek described was
pretty much the same as that subscribed to by the Christians
I had met in Ariel. Derek believed that the bible was the word
of God, that it should be interpreted literally, and that the only
way to heaven was through Jesus.
‘Jesus is the only way to God, to heaven,’ he assured me.
‘All other people are going to hell. Even Muslims. Even good
Christians who are liberal are going to hell.’
‘But why, if they’ve led good lives?’ I asked.
‘Being nice doesn’t get you into heaven. Jesus didn’t say be
nice and you’ll get to heaven. Oh no, he said follow me and
you’ll get to heaven.’
‘But why would God send good people to hell?’ I persisted.
Derek looked at me sorrowfully as if I just didn’t get it.
‘A loving God doesn’t send people to hell. They’re choosing
hell. It’s like as if a group of people are walking along towards a
cliff. God sent his son to tell them that they were heading the
wrong way. If they don’t pay any attention it’s not God’s fault.
Take my father-in-law, for example. He doesn’t believe but you
can’t bulldoze him into the kingdom.’
On a Sunday morning I attended the service of another
evangelical group, the Gateway Community Church which
met in what looked like a warehouse. The location was a
small industrial estate bordering the council estate on which I
grew up.
When I entered a woman was strumming a guitar and
singing about bringing down the walls of Jericho. ‘Have you
got any Jerichos in your life that you need brought down?’ she
shouted between bars before swinging back into the song. I sat
at the back beside a man operating the kind of sound control
system you see in broadcasting studios.
The Jericho song finished and the sound engineer initiated
a heavy beat music, the words of a hymn simultaneously
appearing on a screen at the front. ‘Glorify the Lord, worship
the Lord in the heavens, worship the Lord in the temple,
worship the Lord in the earth.’ The congregation gave it full
throat. They raised their arms, clapped their hands. ‘Thank
you, Jesus,’ shouted a male voice. ‘Thank you, thank you, Jesus.
Worship the Lord.’ A woman at the back picked up a couple
of coloured gauze flags and brandished them to the beat as if
she was relaying semaphore signals to heaven. A spontaneous
testifying broke out, backed by a low moaning from the less
vocal members, giving the effect of a two-part chorale. I
could sense the intoxicating effect of the music and the
charged atmosphere.
A man started speaking in what appeared to be tongues,
pouring out a jabber of syllables. Jackie, the woman with the
guitar, stood up, her hand raised. ‘Let’s take a moment to wait
on an interpretation.’
Everyone fell silent. Only the jabbering continued. Then
Jackie spoke again, her voice authoritative. ‘The Lord has said
that he just wants to lavish all his love on us. Let’s take just
a moment to dwell on the love he has for us.’ She started to
strum the guitar softly.
Before communion Betty, a demure little white-haired lady
in a pink cardigan, was asked to give thanks for the bread
and wine. She spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘Lord, we thank
you that you understand us, that you know our joys and our
sorrows. We thank you and praise you for your overwhelming
grace and mercy.’
Betty highlighted for me the contrast between what I
remembered as an emotionally repressed and buttoned
up society and the ‘let it all hang out’ style of worship I was
witnessing, the kind of thing one would expect rather in the
American bible belt. But Betty looked as if she might glide
effortlessly between the two. And if evangelicalism could find
acceptance in the culture of east coast Scotland, an area where
people generally pride themselves on being undemonstrative
and disapprove of any kind of excess, then it could probably
take root anywhere.
I subsequently investigated this branch of Christianity
further, attending evangelical church services in Liverpool and
London, and following an Alpha course. Everywhere I found
examples of the kind of thinking epitomized in the words
of Derek Everett, the same kind of thinking on which the
Christian Zionist movement is based.
I was struck by the lack of concern which the more
fundamentalist believers displayed about the fate of friends
and family who were not ‘born again’, an indifference which for
me indicates a disconnect between beliefs and normal human
feelings. Derek Everett, for example, claimed to have a good
relationship with his father-in-law yet he showed no distress
at the thought of his spending eternity in torment. Is there all
that much difference between people who follow the kind of
vengeful God who would inflict such irrational punishment and
those who endorse Osama Bin Laden’s ideology of terrorism?
In fact, it may be the Christian fundamentalists who occupy
the lower moral ground as the ideology of terrorism, however
flawed, has strategic aims while consignment to hell would be
sheer vindictiveness.
For most of us the apocalyptic Disneyland scenarios depicted
for the End Times are little more than a source of amusement.
But we should not discount the influence of those who take
them seriously.
The Christian fundamentalists who subscribe to those
literal interpretations of the Bible are often referred to as the
Armageddon lobby. In the US they constitute the biggest single
bloc in the Republican Party and they are a redoubtable force
in American politics. Although less in evidence in the Obama
government than in previous Republican administrations, they
remain active and vocal under the leadership of wealthy and
demagogic pastors such as John Hagee and Pat Robertson.
Hagee has a church congregation of some 20,000 in Texas
and a television audience of millions for John Hagee Ministries
which is broadcast throughout America and beyond. He is also
a founder of Christians United for Israel (CUFI). CUFI is one
of the biggest and most influential Christian organisations in
the US. Its supporters include prominent politicians such as
Senators John McCain, Roy Blunt and Joseph Lieberman, as
well as Tea Party members. At the 2010 Washington Summit
of CUFI, Lieberman even went so far as to compare Hagee
with Moses.
Texas governor Rick Perry, now in the running for nomination
as Republican candidate for the presidency, does not mince his
words: ‘I’m a big believer that this country was given to the
people of Israel a long time ago, by God, and that’s ordained,’
he told the Jerusalem Post in 2009. In an interview with the
Weekly Standard in the same year he stated: ‘My faith requires
me to support Israel.’
Whether these remarks truly represent Perry’s beliefs
or whether they are made in a cynical bid to manipulate
the support of the millions of American voters who do hold
such beliefs is largely irrelevant. It is those millions who
will ultimately determine who comes into power and, thus,
the direction which American policy will take in the Israeli-
Palestinian conflict.
In The Art of War, written more than 2,000 years ago,
Chinese philosopher Sun Tzu advised: ‘Know your enemy.’
Looking back now in the light of all that I have learned about
Christian fundamentalism, I find it remarkable that, in all
the time I spent with Palestinians, talking mainly about the
conflict, not once did I hear this issue mentioned.
I had only a sketchy idea of its history and current
situation. The time I spent there served to fill out this outline
and, although the scope of the injustices and the depth of the
suffering were far in excess of what I had expected, in general
terms they were consistent with my previous impressions. The
one thing which was completely new to me was the influential
role played by evangelical Christianity, both on the ground in
the Middle East and at the level of international politics.
Until I met Grant and Barbara Livingstone and their coreligionists
I had never heard of Christian Zionism. I found
their beliefs and behaviour so eye-popping in their eccentricity
and absurdity that I became fascinated by the subject and
began to research it after I returned to the UK.
I was aware that fundamentalist Christianity was widespread
in the US but had considered it primarily an American
phenomenon, unlikely to appeal in the UK. I was wrong. In
fact, the fall-off in mainstream church attendance in Britain
over recent years has been paralleled by an upsurge in the
popularity of the evangelical churches.
I visited Perth, my hometown, and found that, whereas in
the 1960s there had been three Catholic churches staffed by
seven priests, there was now only one priest for all three. On
the other hand, without even looking for them, I discovered to
my surprise that there were seven or eight different churches
of the born-again type.
I came across the first when I went into a café called the
Manna House which turned out to be associated with the
Tayside Christian Fellowship and doubled as a Christian
resources centre. The menu included an invitation to anyone
interested in learning about the Christian faith to approach
a member of staff. I ordered a toasted panini and asked the
waitress if I could speak to someone.
A fresh-faced man in his forties with rosy cheeks, neat grey
hair and a navy jumper joined me. His name was Derek Everett.
The version of Christianity which Derek described was
pretty much the same as that subscribed to by the Christians
I had met in Ariel. Derek believed that the bible was the word
of God, that it should be interpreted literally, and that the only
way to heaven was through Jesus.
‘Jesus is the only way to God, to heaven,’ he assured me.
‘All other people are going to hell. Even Muslims. Even good
Christians who are liberal are going to hell.’
‘But why, if they’ve led good lives?’ I asked.
‘Being nice doesn’t get you into heaven. Jesus didn’t say be
nice and you’ll get to heaven. Oh no, he said follow me and
you’ll get to heaven.’
‘But why would God send good people to hell?’ I persisted.
Derek looked at me sorrowfully as if I just didn’t get it.
‘A loving God doesn’t send people to hell. They’re choosing
hell. It’s like as if a group of people are walking along towards a
cliff. God sent his son to tell them that they were heading the
wrong way. If they don’t pay any attention it’s not God’s fault.
Take my father-in-law, for example. He doesn’t believe but you
can’t bulldoze him into the kingdom.’
On a Sunday morning I attended the service of another
evangelical group, the Gateway Community Church which
met in what looked like a warehouse. The location was a
small industrial estate bordering the council estate on which I
grew up.
When I entered a woman was strumming a guitar and
singing about bringing down the walls of Jericho. ‘Have you
got any Jerichos in your life that you need brought down?’ she
shouted between bars before swinging back into the song. I sat
at the back beside a man operating the kind of sound control
system you see in broadcasting studios.
The Jericho song finished and the sound engineer initiated
a heavy beat music, the words of a hymn simultaneously
appearing on a screen at the front. ‘Glorify the Lord, worship
the Lord in the heavens, worship the Lord in the temple,
worship the Lord in the earth.’ The congregation gave it full
throat. They raised their arms, clapped their hands. ‘Thank
you, Jesus,’ shouted a male voice. ‘Thank you, thank you, Jesus.
Worship the Lord.’ A woman at the back picked up a couple
of coloured gauze flags and brandished them to the beat as if
she was relaying semaphore signals to heaven. A spontaneous
testifying broke out, backed by a low moaning from the less
vocal members, giving the effect of a two-part chorale. I
could sense the intoxicating effect of the music and the
charged atmosphere.
A man started speaking in what appeared to be tongues,
pouring out a jabber of syllables. Jackie, the woman with the
guitar, stood up, her hand raised. ‘Let’s take a moment to wait
on an interpretation.’
Everyone fell silent. Only the jabbering continued. Then
Jackie spoke again, her voice authoritative. ‘The Lord has said
that he just wants to lavish all his love on us. Let’s take just
a moment to dwell on the love he has for us.’ She started to
strum the guitar softly.
Before communion Betty, a demure little white-haired lady
in a pink cardigan, was asked to give thanks for the bread
and wine. She spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘Lord, we thank
you that you understand us, that you know our joys and our
sorrows. We thank you and praise you for your overwhelming
grace and mercy.’
Betty highlighted for me the contrast between what I
remembered as an emotionally repressed and buttoned
up society and the ‘let it all hang out’ style of worship I was
witnessing, the kind of thing one would expect rather in the
American bible belt. But Betty looked as if she might glide
effortlessly between the two. And if evangelicalism could find
acceptance in the culture of east coast Scotland, an area where
people generally pride themselves on being undemonstrative
and disapprove of any kind of excess, then it could probably
take root anywhere.
I subsequently investigated this branch of Christianity
further, attending evangelical church services in Liverpool and
London, and following an Alpha course. Everywhere I found
examples of the kind of thinking epitomized in the words
of Derek Everett, the same kind of thinking on which the
Christian Zionist movement is based.
I was struck by the lack of concern which the more
fundamentalist believers displayed about the fate of friends
and family who were not ‘born again’, an indifference which for
me indicates a disconnect between beliefs and normal human
feelings. Derek Everett, for example, claimed to have a good
relationship with his father-in-law yet he showed no distress
at the thought of his spending eternity in torment. Is there all
that much difference between people who follow the kind of
vengeful God who would inflict such irrational punishment and
those who endorse Osama Bin Laden’s ideology of terrorism?
In fact, it may be the Christian fundamentalists who occupy
the lower moral ground as the ideology of terrorism, however
flawed, has strategic aims while consignment to hell would be
sheer vindictiveness.
For most of us the apocalyptic Disneyland scenarios depicted
for the End Times are little more than a source of amusement.
But we should not discount the influence of those who take
them seriously.
The Christian fundamentalists who subscribe to those
literal interpretations of the Bible are often referred to as the
Armageddon lobby. In the US they constitute the biggest single
bloc in the Republican Party and they are a redoubtable force
in American politics. Although less in evidence in the Obama
government than in previous Republican administrations, they
remain active and vocal under the leadership of wealthy and
demagogic pastors such as John Hagee and Pat Robertson.
Hagee has a church congregation of some 20,000 in Texas
and a television audience of millions for John Hagee Ministries
which is broadcast throughout America and beyond. He is also
a founder of Christians United for Israel (CUFI). CUFI is one
of the biggest and most influential Christian organisations in
the US. Its supporters include prominent politicians such as
Senators John McCain, Roy Blunt and Joseph Lieberman, as
well as Tea Party members. At the 2010 Washington Summit
of CUFI, Lieberman even went so far as to compare Hagee
with Moses.
Texas governor Rick Perry, now in the running for nomination
as Republican candidate for the presidency, does not mince his
words: ‘I’m a big believer that this country was given to the
people of Israel a long time ago, by God, and that’s ordained,’
he told the Jerusalem Post in 2009. In an interview with the
Weekly Standard in the same year he stated: ‘My faith requires
me to support Israel.’
Whether these remarks truly represent Perry’s beliefs
or whether they are made in a cynical bid to manipulate
the support of the millions of American voters who do hold
such beliefs is largely irrelevant. It is those millions who
will ultimately determine who comes into power and, thus,
the direction which American policy will take in the Israeli-
Palestinian conflict.
In The Art of War, written more than 2,000 years ago,
Chinese philosopher Sun Tzu advised: ‘Know your enemy.’
Looking back now in the light of all that I have learned about
Christian fundamentalism, I find it remarkable that, in all
the time I spent with Palestinians, talking mainly about the
conflict, not once did I hear this issue mentioned.
