Desertpeace

By Greg Moses

On the way to the St. James Episcopal Church of Austin Texas, the bus is happy to drop you into knee-high grasses and wildflowers along East Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard, treating you to an unexpected nature walk. Yellow, white, purple, and brown blooms all smile up toward the sun which has not yet turned into the summer harshness that burns even the breeze into hiding.

Then, across the overgrown sidewalk along Webberville Road scurry creatures so tiny and fast they leave only traces behind. A magic tangle of cedar and mesquite whispers invitations to bow your head and step inside. But the caw, caw, caw of something overhead brings your eyes up to a pair of crows nipping in mid-flight at a passing hawk.

So it is a delightful revelation when you walk into the St. James sanctuary to see that two of its walls have been given over to glass, and you don’t have to leave behind the marvelous green thicket of this wild Texas oasis as you pick your seat upon a wooden pew.

Separating the converging glass walls is an altar with three crosses coming down. The highest cross is imaged upon a red tapestry, broad enough to hold an image of the world projected upon a scallop shell. Next cross down is thin, brown, and wooden, suspended by cables. And then supported from the ground up by a brass post is the third cross, in brass. Heaven to earth, global to local. Trinity applied. Three, two, one.

*** The hour is still a bit early for the program, so the women are testing the microphones. Rita Hamad and her mother Diana HajAli satisfy themselves that the sound will carry vibrantly through the modest sanctuary, and later the audience of 300 (way more than the “dozens” reported by the establishment press of Austin) will quickly demand that speakers use their microphone well, because nobody wants to miss a word.

“Okay, I’ll use my teacher’s voice,” is what Mark Kelly will say to the audience after he has been demanded to speak up. “I was in class the other day helping a student when a small noise caused me to look up unexpectedly. And I found myself explaining to the student: ‘I thought that was Mr. Hamad.’ I had to look back. I expected to see him there.”

From the flow of tears in this sanctuary and from the punctuations of laughter at funny memories, you can feel how the absence of Riad Hamad has been transformed into presence. “There has been some speculation about the circumstances of Riad’s death,” acknowledges Mr. Kelly. “But that’s not what we’re here for.” What we’re here for is a celebration of Riad Hamad’s life.

Retired Episcopal Priest Edward M Hartwell, for instance, recalls that when he first met Riad Hamad at a rally opposed to the occupation of Palestine, “I knew I wanted to know him better.” The audience chuckles at that. Soon enough, Rev. Hartwell and Riad Hamad were planning another rally in support of the Palestinian cause.

“Riad had a relentless commitment to the freedom of the Palestinian people, and his humanitarian work to help the children of Palestine was some of the most creative and effective work that I know of,” said Rev. Hartwell. “Day in and day out, there was always something going on.”

Two bumper stickers that Riad gave to Rev. Hartwell seemed to sum up the spirit and humor of the man. The first one said, “God loves everyone, no exceptions.” And the second one said, “When Jesus said love your enemies, I think he meant don’t kill them.” The laughter grows a little louder this time.

Riad loved gatherings like this, says Rev. Hartwell, and he would come often to places where Christian, Jewish, and Islamic peoples would join voices in prophetic support for protest against abuses of power, wherever and whenever they occur. “Wherever and whenever,” repeats Rev. Hartwell. “Wherever and whenever.”

As he reflects upon Riad Hamad’s legendary generosity and hospitality, Rev. Hartwell draws connections to the “law of hospitality” that he experienced in travels across the Arab world, whether at an oasis in the Nubian Desert, a Bedouin Camp near the Gulf of Aucuba, a community of Egyptian Christians, or among Palestinians at Ramallah, in Palestine.

“On his last visit to our home, Riad was in a hurry, as usual.” The audience chuckles. “He was practically out the door, when I called him back. I said I need hug. And I told him that we love you.”

We stand up for Rev. Hartwell’s opening prayer, to the Creator of All that Is, witnessing to Riad Hamad’s obedience to the Prophet’s call to give assistance to the oppressed, and testifying to his character, and life, and inspiration. As we sit back down, we are joined by new arrivals.

“Assalam Alaikum,” says Immam and Director of the Islamic Center of Greater Austin, Sheikh Mohammad-Umer Esmail. “Riad Hamad is here in my heart and I’m sure in the hearts of others.” Immam Mohammad thanks hosts and presents glad tidings to the audience, reminding them what the Prophet said upon news of the death of his granddaughter. “Only to God belongs what he has taken.”

For recollection of Riad Hamad’s life, Immam Mohammad turns to a testimonial posted at the website of the Palestine Children’s Welfare Fund (pcwf.org), the charity that Riad founded:

“As beautiful a human being as I have ever met . . . His charisma, energy, and positive outlook were contagious. He loved the children of Palestine and worked tirelessly on their behalf. . . . He would rather sleep in his car than pay for a hotel room so that he could save the money and send it to the children of Palestine . . . It was never about him, only the children of Palestine.”

The rest can be read HERE.

THIS earlier piece by the same author is also worth reading.