The Cross and the Olive Tree: Cultivating Palestinian Theology amid Gaza

by John Munayer (Editor), Samuel Munayer (Editor)

From the lived theology of grandmothers to traditions of scholarship, from ancient liturgies to contemporary resistance, eight Palestinian Christian theologians offer a crucial and vibrant perspective on liberation, reconciliation, and divine imagination. Written within the heart of suffering, the cross and the olive tree interpret each other in an unwavering hope, symbols of faith and homeland.

Genres: Nonfiction

192 pages, Paperback

Published September 24, 2025

Reviews

[Phil · Rating 5 out of 5]

Do not read this book unless you are willing to face tough questions, such as “Where is God present for Christians facing genocide?” I think we must ponder the heaviness of such a question as we listen to the voices of eight young Christian scholars addressing it. Each in his or her way, they are engaging in Palestinian liberation theology. My review is but a superficial glance into a small book that is packed with things to think about.

Liberation theology asserts that faith grows by supporting the poor and oppressed through political and civic engagement, not just mercy. Originating in Latin America among grassroots laity, it was developed by Catholic clergy like Guttierez, Romero, and Camara. Black liberation theology applied these ideas to African Americans, focusing on justice and freedom from oppression. Palestinian liberation theology uses this framework for those affected by settler colonialism, emphasizing hope for the marginalized.

By no accident, the title echoes James H. Cone’s award-winning book, The Cross and the Lynching Tree. Cone portrayed the lynching tree as a reflection of the cross of Christ. He had already published A Black Theology of Liberation.

In their foreword, two senior Palestinian theologians explain how liberation theology renewed their faith amid oppression in the late 1980s. The Munayer brothers introduce this essay collection with the olive tree as a metaphor for Palestinian liberation theology, insisting that only theology promoting liberation is truly Palestinian. (p. xxi) Their dedication to the Palestinian People on the frontispiece includes this stanza:

 To those pressed from their lands like oil 
 from the olive, carrying its essence 
 across time and space. 

The first essay challenges the Deputy Mayor of Jerusalem's December 2023 claim that no Christians live in Gaza. The academic dean of Bethlehem Bible College, who is from Gaza, provides a historical overview showing Christian presence and heritage in the region. While the Christian population has declined sharply since 1990, it is incorrect to say there are no Christians or Christian heritage in Gaza. The dean attributes much of this decline to the support of Zionist Christians and Evangelicals for Israeli settler policies but notes that local elders (“the grandmothers,” or teitas) continue to preserve and pass on their faith.

Women have an essential role in Palestinian Christianity, much like their witness to the resurrection. One essay highlights how care and leadership by Guatemalan and Palestinian women reveal the divine, while the following chapter draws from womanist theology—a response to sexism in Black theology and racism in feminist theology—to inform Palestinian liberation theology.

The Oxford-educated author of chapter 4, a resident of Nazareth, describes the “radically humanizing capacity of imagination” (p. 74). She warns against oppressors becoming oppressors, as did the State of Israel in reacting to the Holocaust by moving toward settler colonialism and genocide. This is a danger of liberation without reconciliation. Imagination can disrupt the despair, cynicism, and fatalism among the oppressed and “draw a roadmap toward wholeness.” (p. 73)

Thus, reconciliation follows as the theme of chapter 5. Daniel Munayer describes his experience of “growing up in an Israeli-Jewish school in downtown West Jerusalem as a Palestinian Christian,” where his history teacher refused even to mention the Nakba of 1948 and admitted to feeling uncomfortable teaching with an Arab student in the class. Munayer says, “The Israeli education system was preparing my classmates to justify or ignore the destruction of Palestinian life.” (p. 76) From my personal background, I pictured an Indigenous American taking a U.S. history class emphasizing Manifest Destiny and the Westward expansion of the white population without ever acknowledging that this movement involved corralling the native population onto reservations after taking away their land and natural resources and killing large numbers of them. Yet, Munayer declares, “Liberation and reconciliation are two different sides of the same coin; one without the other leads to further oppression.” (p. 89)

Land is the focus of chapter 6. The writer, a Palestinian residing in Vancouver, draws parallels between the loss of land by Indigenous Americans and by Indigenous Palestinians. Although American and Palestinian Indigenous people are at different points in the history of settler colonization, there’s room for mutual learnings: for example, in challenging the premise “that one group of people has a greater entitlement to land than another.” (p. 111) This insight opens a vision that breaks free from “the traditional colonizer-colonized binary.” (p. 112)

The concluding chapter, “Palestinian Theology of Martyrdom,” contributed by the editors of this anthology, weaves the history of martyrdom in scripture (primarily in the New Testament) and Christian tradition with the current context of oppression and genocide. Over-against the lament of near extinction, the authors declare, “Jesus’s call is not centered on numbers of followers or physically/financially surviving as a community but bearing witness to the Kingdom of God.” (p. 124) Their purpose in this essay is to lay the theological foundation for Palestinian martyrdom, which, as Bonhoeffer said, is “the cost of discipleship.” This is a warning against “survival theology,” which worries about numbers, finances, and institutional strength. The Munayer brothers proclaim, “as reflected in scripture and tradition, the church’s mission has never depended on numerical strength.” (p. 133) At the same time, however, martyrdom is a community phenomenon, and its weight comes not so much from suffering as from “its courageous declaration that life, truth, and liberation triumph even in the shadow of death.” (p. 142)

Along with Being Christian After the Desolation in Gaza, I strongly recommend The Cross and the Olive Tree to thoughtful Christians, whether clergy or laity. We in the West are in no position to critique these essays. The last thing Palestinians need is for American or European know-it-alls to rush in presuming to provide leadership. Instead, my role is to learn how to be a better Christian from the wisdom of those who struggle with overwhelming oppression. Such learning will leave us hungry for justice. And we can pray that such hunger will be satisfied.

[Amy Graham · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a MUST read for all who stand in solidarity with Palestinian Christians! A profound collaborative work, where theology becomes accessible and tangible to all who speak of Christ and the cross. Whether picking olives together in community, using olive oil soap to cleanse us of colonial powers, or oil to light our lamps as we converse with our elders and children, all are engaging in a lived theology where imagination can create a better path forward. John and Sam Munayer demonstrate the courage of bearing witness to the cross, being living martyrs for the Kingdom of God, tangibly living out their writings by bravely taking on this work in the midst of a genocide of their people.

[Adam Cheney · Rating 5 out of 5]

As a Christian in America, it is helpful to understand the Israel/Palestine conflict through a theological lens. I appreciate the theological perspectives of Palestinian Christians as they struggle through oppressive colonialism and suffering. It is a reminder that the conflict is not one dimensional but rather so nuanced.