The Reformed tradition is not Western or Eastern—it is biblical. It is the tradition that declared “Here I stand” in the face of power, that insisted on the priesthood of all believers, that proclaimed justification by faith alone. That same tradition calls me to stand here, in Ramallah, in Bethlehem, in Gaza, and bear witness to the Gospel among those who need it most.

When I first read Tom Hervey’s response to my article, I felt what many Palestinian Christians have long felt when addressing brothers and sisters in the West: not merely disagreement but dismissal. His piece, “Once More into the Breach Regarding the Claims of Jack Nassar,” continues that pattern. For all its appeals to Scripture, what it reveals most is not theological clarity but a gap of empathy—between the lived witness of the church in Palestine and the frameworks some in the West deploy to explain away our suffering, minimize it, doubt it, justify it, or even support it.

But I must also ask plainly: what is the point of going back and forth in this way? I am not here to argue, to attack, to discredit, or even to prove myself. What do you want at the end, Tom? To win an argument? I am not interested in winning arguments. I am speaking about my daily life as a Palestinian Christian living under brutal Israeli military occupation and apartheid. I am speaking about my family, my friends, my neighbors, my colleagues, and my people. This is our lived reality. We experience it. We see it first-hand, not only in the news. But what about you, Tom? Who are you speaking for? What is your source of information? Do you truly believe your sources are more accurate and truthful than our own testimony? If so, why? Why aim to discredit us? Why side against us?

When Testimony Becomes “Propaganda”

Mr. Hervey writes that it is “not feasible to confirm many of the alleged cruelties” I describe, appealing vaguely to “countervailing testimony.” This insinuates fabrication. Yet in my article, I provided links to international news agencies with rigorous standards of reporting. Anyone with internet access can verify what I wrote: churches desecrated, clergy spat upon, Christian lands confiscated, cemeteries vandalized, children starved under siege and bombardment.

More importantly, one can simply consult the official websites and public statements of the historic churches of Jerusalem: the Latin Patriarchate (Roman Catholic), the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate, the Armenian Apostolic Patriarchate, the Evangelical Lutheran Church, the Episcopal Diocese, as well as the Coptic, Ethiopian, Franciscan Holy Land Custody, Syriac Orthodox, and Melkite Catholic churches. These communities representing nearly two millennia of continuous Christian presence have consistently spoken out about attacks, harassment, and the steady erosion of Christian presence in the Holy Land.

To dismiss such accounts without naming his supposed witnesses is troubling. Who are they? Settler groups? Israeli government officials? Without evidence, such dismissal is not discernment but selective skepticism. Would he apply the same standard to Jewish survivors of the Holocaust? Would he demand “independent confirmation” before believing their testimony? To doubt one people’s suffering while treating another’s as beyond question is not biblical impartiality but a double standard that reveals the very bias he claims to avoid.

When Suffering Becomes “Divine Judgment”

Mr. Hervey also argues that no one can know God’s will in historical events, yet in the same breath speculates that perhaps Palestinians suffer divine punishment, that Israel may be God’s rod of judgment against Christians. This is not humility before mystery; it is contradiction. And if such logic is to be applied, then let us be consistent: Were the hurricanes in America God’s judgment against Americans? Were the floods in Pakistan, the earthquakes in Turkey, the tsunamis in Japan God’s judgment on those peoples? Was the Holocaust God’s punishment of the Jews? Was slavery God’s judgment against Africans? Was the genocide of Native Americans divine punishment? Were World Wars I and II God’s scourge against Europeans? Was ISIS God’s instrument to slaughter and uproot Christians of Syria and Iraq? Were the recent wildfires in California also God’s judgment? What about Russia’s war on Ukraine, or Azerbaijan’s ethnic cleansing of Armenian Christians in Artsakh?

This is the absurdity and cruelty to which such speculation leads. To suggest that Palestinian children starving under siege might be experiencing divine wrath while extending no such interpretation to other tragedies reveals not theological consistency but theological convenience.

The Reformed tradition has always insisted that God’s will is revealed supremely in Christ, and supremely in the cross. In Christ, suffering is not automatically judgment. Paul did not interpret his imprisonments as wrath but as participation in Christ’s sufferings (Phil. 3:10). The early church did not see persecution as punishment but as privilege (Acts 5:41). The persecuted church in Palestine does not see itself as cursed but as called—called to faithfulness amid trial, called to bear witness in the land where Christ Himself suffered.

When Exile Becomes “Simple Counsel”

Mr. Hervey counsels us to “flee,” as if exile were simple, as if abandoning one’s heritage were merely practical advice. Would he give the same counsel to his own family and congregation if they were besieged? For many here, there is nowhere to flee. Others who leave do so unwillingly, forced into becoming immigrants and refugees in cultures and languages far from their own. To offer such counsel from the safety of South Carolina betrays a pastoral blindness that theology should heal, not reinforce.

What Mr. Hervey does not grasp is our profound connection to this land not as nationalism but as vocation. We do not simply pack and leave. We have lived in these cities, towns, and villages for centuries. Our ancestors are buried here; they have become part of this soil. Our land is not just geography but heritage, culture, family, history, and faith. We see our existence here in Palestine as part of God’s calling: to remain, to witness in the very land where Christ lived, preached, died, and rose again.

Consider this: when Christ’s own family fled to Egypt to escape Herod’s persecution, did they remain there permanently? No. They returned to Nazareth when it was safe (Matt. 2:19-23). Even the Holy Family, given divine instruction to flee, eventually came home. How much more do we, the living stones of His church, belong in the land of His incarnation?

When Authority Is Questioned

Mr. Hervey says he does not presume omniscience, yet he interprets my theology, my people’s pain, and our history with a certainty that silences rather than listens. He insists authority comes from Scripture, not Western institutions, and I agree completely. But Scripture also commands us to “test everything” (1 Thess. 5:21) and to “weep with those who weep” (Rom. 12:15). To dismiss our cries as propaganda without testing them—without even visiting us—is to neglect both commands.

He questions my right to speak on Reformed theology, yet I ask: does geography determine theological understanding? Does suffering disqualify one from scriptural insight? The Ethiopian eunuch he mentions believed on a desert road, yes—but he also returned to his homeland to bear witness there (Acts 8:39). Philip did not tell him to flee Ethiopia but to carry the Gospel back to it.

The Reformed tradition is not Western or Eastern—it is biblical. It is the tradition that declared “Here I stand” in the face of power, that insisted on the priesthood of all believers, that proclaimed justification by faith alone. That same tradition calls me to stand here, in Ramallah, in Bethlehem, in Gaza, and bear witness to the Gospel among those who need it most.

When Witness Becomes “Hagiography”

Mr. Hervey accuses me of portraying Palestinians uniformly as victims and others uniformly as oppressors. This misses the point entirely. I do not claim Palestinian perfection; I claim Palestinian humanity. I do not canonize my people; I call for their recognition as fellow image-bearers of God.

Yes, I speak of our suffering because it is real and it is ignored. But I also spoke of our sins, our need for repentance, our call to forgiveness, our temptation toward bitterness. I explicitly rejected Hamas, just as I reject all forms of violence. What more confession does he require?

The question is not whether Palestinians are perfect, of course we are not. The question is whether we are seen as human, whether our pain matters, whether the Body of Christ includes those who suffer under Israeli occupation and siege.

An Invitation Still Extended

Here is what he did not acknowledge: I invited him personally to come and see. I renew that invitation to him, to all Reformed believers, and to all Western Christians. Come to Bethlehem, to Ramallah, to Nablus, to Hebron, to Jerusalem, even to Gaza when possible. Sit in our churches. Hear our prayers. Witness our life in Christ. Meet the Christians who chose to stay rather than flee, who sing hymns under curfew, who break bread amid brokenness. Then speak—not from theory, but from presence.

We are not asking the Western church to carry a political cause. We are asking to be recognized as part of the Body of Christ groaning, yes, but also rejoicing, and bearing witness to the resurrection amid the rubble. As I wrote before: “My faith is not borrowed. It is cruciform. Let us together refuse to let ideology suffocate empathy. Let us live as if Christ is still present in the rubble, in the refugee camp, in the cry of the oppressed.”

A Final Word

Mr. Hervey calls my words propaganda. I call them testimony. He demands independent confirmation of our suffering. I offer firsthand witness. He suggests we flee our calling. I choose to remain faithful to it.

The Reformed tradition treasures Scripture, sovereignty, and the cross. But if these do not lead us to deeper compassion for Christ’s suffering body, if they become tools to justify dismissing that suffering, then they are hollow orthodoxy, not living faith.

Tom, I want you to know that I hold no bitterness toward you. My heart grieves not for myself but for what this exchange reveals about how far we have drifted from one another in the body of Christ. You speak of testing spirits, and I agree. But when you test my spirit, what do you find? Do you find hatred? Vengeance? A desire to destroy? Or do you find a broken man clinging to Jesus, trying to speak truth in love while his world crumbles around him?

I cannot change your mind through words alone. But I can extend my hand. Come to us, brother. Not as a judge, not as a teacher, but as family. Walk where Jesus walked. Sit where Mary wept. Stand where Peter denied and where he was restored. Let the stones of Jerusalem speak to you. Let our tears join yours at the foot of the cross.

Our Lord did not flee the cross when it was offered to Him. He did not demand independent confirmation of human sinfulness before He died for it. He saw. He wept. He acted. He stayed.

This is what I ask of His church now. Not political allegiance, but presence. Not perfect understanding, but faithful witness. Not agreement on every point, but acknowledgment that we too are your brothers, your sisters, members of the same body that bleeds when any part is wounded.

The invitation remains open because Christ’s invitation always remains open. Come, and you will see that where two or three are gathered in His name, He is there among us. Even here. Even now. Even in Gaza.

Jack Nassar is a Palestinian Christian based in Ramallah, Palestine. He holds a Master of Arts degree in political communications from Goldsmiths, University of London, and brings professional expertise across multiple sectors, driving positive change.