Yesterday, before Yad Vashem, I went to a glass and pottery factory in Hebron with Jill and Barbara from St. George's College.
First, it is remarkable how nice it feels to get out of Jerusalem once a week. To see something other than stone. To see trees and grass (though grass is sparse given all the rock in the countryside). One of the things I hear frequently from ex-pats living in Jerusalem is how hard it is to live in this city, and it's that much more obvious once you take a step back from it.
Notice on the hill the rock walls, each painstakingly built to prevent erosion.
It's always a good reminder too, of what travelling is like in Israel-Palestine. More than likely a drive requires a checkpoint passage. I start to take this for granted until I take a day-trip somewhere. I quickly forget that Palestinian staff at the Cathedral and College generally leave home very early in the morning (4:30 or so) in order to be sure they can get through the checkpoints in time to be at work by 7am. I have been lucky (?) not to have had any trouble or waits at checkpoints so far.
Hebron is a Palestinian town that has been especially troubled by Israeli settlers, who are reportedly more vicious than others in their treatment toward Palestinians and outsiders. For this reason, we did not make a trek through the city but headed straight for the glass and pottery factory. It is also well-known for it's glass products.
We entered the store by passing through the workshop, which was really cool to watch. I've never seen glass being blown. The speed and agility with which the craftsmen work was incredible.
Shop and restaurant owners are known for giving away products to patrons. It really is phenomenal that in towns that are struggling to survive and keep businesses afloat, free goods are given out. Partly this is hospitality: a thank you for your business, and partly it is to try to secure repeat visits. Jill brought the owner of Al-Salam Glass and Pottery a box of empty glass wine and beer bottles for his re-use and we each purchased several items (one of us more than the other!). As a gift, the owner gave us each a trademark deep blue glass vase/bottle.
Yad Vashem is the Holocaust History Museum, located here in Jerusalem. It is situated on beautiful landscape, overlooking the Jerusalem forest on one side and the city on the other. The grounds are impecably tended and covered with monuments.
I had three and a half hours but did not do the exhibits justice, only having time to skim some, while standing for extended periods at others. I'm still processing the visit. I wandered through, looking at pictures, watching videos, reading personal accounts realizing it did not seem real. Reminding myself the people in the images were at one time as real as the Jews standing beside me at the exhibit. Someone once wore the thinly-woven prison uniform, someone once wore the shoes from the pile on display.
I visited the musem yesterday afternoon. I'll share a few of the accounts I read/watched that were the toughest to see/hear. I was able to snatch a few pictures before realizing pictures are not allowed. But the other pictures (black and white) I provide I've copied from the Yad Vashem website and are those that struck me strongest.
I began at the Children's Museum, which provides accounts of how children were housed, educated, protected and hidden during the Holocaust. Stories mimicked that of Anne Frank, who wrote in a diary of her time hidden in her father's office. They lived with their families in chicken coups, terrified that the next raid would reveal their hiding spot and true identity. Children were sent to Christian families and church-run orphanages, had their names changed, and were often converted to Christianity as a means of protecting them. Display cases showed the meager toys the children had: stuffed toys the size of my finger, homemade chess boards and dolls. The dolls were fantastic - not only a prized possession of little girls, but "safety deposit boxes" for their families. Kids were taught to read with whatever books could be found (Anne of Green Gables was mentioned in one personal account). What was inspiring here were the accounts of how well the children in hiding were treated. Despite their fear, they knew love and consistency, even in their hardship.
In the main exhibit hall, videos play every 30 feet or so, documentaries of survivor accounts. One woman relayed how after her mother was shot and injured, she was rescued by a man who hid her in a bag of coal to smuggle her out of a ghetto.
Images showed people so emaciated every bone in their body protrudes. Survivors told of how their hunger was so great they would dream of eating in their sleep, clutching their only possession in the camp -- their soup bowl. They began to live for soup.
Models of Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration/extermination camps were available. You could see the train tracks leading into the camp, from which men and women were separated, stripped, all body hair shaved, and then marched on their final "death walk" to the gas chambers and crematoriums.
A video of a former SS officer's experience at the camp was incredible. He described his role in ushering women and children into the gas chamber. How the commanding officer of the chamber would listen for the end of the screams and cries of those inside. He described how it took 25 minutes for people to die. Because the gas was generated simply from an engine, and was not 'poisoned,' they literally choked and suffocated to death. When they finally opened the chamber doors, the women would still be standing up, so tightly packed into the room they wouldn't shift position until the first person literally fell down. He spoke of how every person would give a final gasp as the gas escaped their lungs. He relayed all of this matter of factly, but not unmoved by his own role in the horror.
Pictures of people being killed and those already dead were the most difficult to make sense of in terms of the reality of the events. People took the time to document the death! Pictures of a mother standing alone in a field, her back to a soldier who's gun was pointed at her head as she tries to shield the child in her arms. Pictures of men and women digging ditches they would themselves stand in to be shot. Pictures of naked women standing in a row inside the ditch waiting to be shot. Video of bulldozers moving wrecked bodies into a mass grave.
Also as striking, were the post-liberation images of mass grave sites, each marked with how many bodies were discovered within: 5000, 2000, 800...
The final room in the museum is Hall of Names. Six hundred pictures and "pages of testimony" stand in honour and memory of the 6,000,000 men, women and children killed in the Holocaust. Over two million pages are stored in the Hall. The shelves are lined with black books containing the pages, as well as empty shelves, which stand in wait to pay tribute to those who remain unidentified.
Victims did not receive a proper Jewish burial. The pit in floor, filled with water stands representative of a grave to those who died. When you look into the water, you can see either your own face or the reflection of the faces above looking down.
Faces and pages of testimony, black binders and empty spaces.
The water at the bottom of the opposing cone, reflecting the faces from above. The cone is carved out of the rock of the mountain.
As you enter the Hall of Names, this quote by Benjamin Fondane, murdered at Auschwitz in 1944, is written on the wall:
"Remember only that I was innocent
and, just like you, mortal on that day,
I, too, had had a face marked by rage, by pity and joy,
quite simply, a human face!"
Sunday evenings, the Cathedral holds a service of Prayers for Peace. There is opportunity for a brief (three minute) reflection, which I have been offering the last three Sundays and will continue doing until I leave.
Three minutes is brief..much harder to do than a Sunday sermon, I'm finding. Reflection is usually provided on the Gospel reading, and as much as possible/appropriate, related to peace and reconciliation. One of the learning goals I gave myself while here was to try and get comfortable with short-notice reflections. Sort of a personal training to think on my feet. As such, I write my reflections Sunday afternoons for Sunday evening.
Below is this week's reflection.
The Parable of Weeds among the Wheat (Matt 13: 24-30)
He put before them another parable: “The Kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field; but while everyone was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and then went away. So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?’ He answered, ‘An enemy has done this.’ The slaves said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’ But he replied, ‘No; for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.’”
This Gospel reading made me think of missionaries. At home in Canada, it often provokes distaste in one’s mouth, drawing up images of someone who wants to come evangelize and convert the heathen. Missionary can be seen less about witnessing a people and learning about their customs, culture and where God already exists among them, and more about bringing the truth and the only way as you know it, to them.
I’ve found living in Israel-Palestine I am only just beginning to understand how this happens within the peace and reconciliation efforts. We convince ourselves that we outsiders should come and tell you “what the real problem is” and how to fix it:
-“A two state solution is the only solution.”
-“Having Jerusalem as a separate entity protected by the UN is the only solution.”
It seems logical and helpful to think we can come to say, Israel-Palestine, having read books and watched the news, believing we understand the millennia of history and conflict in the region. We are excited to offer sage advice and support, standing in protest, writing articles, blogs and email…all in pursuit of justice and peace.
However, our zeal to help can in fact prevent us from seeing any damage we ourselves contribute to the process. What impact do my public actions or statements have on this diocese, for example? What negative impact do I unwittingly have on Bishop Suheil’s ability to minister to his Church (Bishop Suheil is a Nablus-born Palestinian living in Jerusalem by permssion of the Israeli government)?
I think the Gospel reminds us of the importance of remembering what is both seen and unseen in our world and within such deep-set conflicts. That the good is intertwined with the evil. Just as the farmer rushed to pull up the weed in his pasture of wheat, he would lose some of his harvest, we too must be patient, caring for the good among the evil, confident that one day, in the fullness of our lives, it is God who separates us from the evil.
In our prayers tonight, I ask:
God to teach me to be patient and to go slow,
To teach me how to wait on Him, when I do not know.
To teach me sweet forbearance, when things do not go right.
To teach me how to quiet my racing, rising heart, so I may hear the answer He is trying to impart.
To teach me not only to use my voice, but how and when to use it.
(this little prayer is my adaptation of one I found online)
Today Fr. Bob and I made a treck into the Old City to visit a couple of his contacts.
Our first stop was to speak with Yusuf at the Jerusalem Inner Church Centre. The centre functions as a coordination point for ecumenical action in and for Jerusalem, Palestine and its churches. The Centre works first, as a liason between the heads of the Christians churches in Jerusalem and the World Council of Churches. Second, it produces reliable statistics, analysis and reports to the ecumenical community. Currently the Centre is considering options to address the annexation and revoking of Jerusalem residency cards of the 9,000 Palestinian Christians living here.
In the same office is the Ecumenical Accompaniers Program in Palestine and Israel. We spoke with Paul Raymond, the communication and advocacy officer. This was an excellent opportunity considering my pre-departure training in January included several people training to be ecumenical accompaniers (EAs). EAs are present in six locations throughout the West Bank and Jerusalem. They stand as witnesses and advocates against forced displacement, the effect the Wall has on Palestinians, settler violence against Palestinian civilians and home demolitions and evictions. EAs accompany locals and report human rights abuses, help protect communities and keep international agencies up to date on the situation on the ground. Technically, the organization doesn't exist. EAs come as 'tourists' and at any time, the Israeli government could close the program, along with any Israeli peace groups.
Between these meetings and our lunch meeting, Fr. Bob and I met with the only undertaker in Jerusalem. The father of one of the staff at St. George's College, his shop is just inside the Old City New Gate. He runs a small tourist souvenir store on the ground floor, and builds/sells coffins in the basement. The coffins are small and very basic, made of mere plywood and held closed by a simple hook-and-eye latch! Should this undertaker retire, Christians will have to travel to Ramallah for coffins, a real hassel given the checkpoints.
We then made a quick stop in to see a tailor, who makes beautiful liturgical vestments. Fr. Bob picked up a cincture he had made. It was made of black silk and edged with pink silk and tassels. Vestments are essential for clergy in the Holy Land if they hope to earn the respect of their collegues...in particular, as Fr. Bob meets with the heads of the Churches, he must appear in cassock and cincture.
Now, unlike Will, who is doing his placement in Sri Lanka and had a cassock made for all of $23, to have this tailor make me a cassock would cost me several hundred dollars. Obviously, I passed.
At lunch, Fr. Bob and I met with Véronique Nebel, as Swiss lawyer, who in her "spare time" runs the Extraordinary Prayer of All Churches for Reconciliation, Unity and Peace. The ogranization plans an annual international day of prayer for peace and unity, which starts in Jerusalem and runs consecutively around the world for 24 hours. The Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem is slated to host next year's event, which is scheduled to coincide with the International Week of Pray for Christian Unity. The heads of the Christian churches in Jerusalem are invited to be present, and have been in the past.
In addition to the prayer service, which will be held here at St. George's Cathedral, Véronique is organizing, along with the help of the Franciscans, a documentary on St. George's Cathedral: it's history, it's liturgy, it's social activities and organizations (schools, hospitals, etc). It will include an interview with both Bishop Suheil and Fr. Bob to address the ecumenical life of the Church.
The conversation shifted at one point to address the dynamics of the Diocese. In particular, how parishes outside of Israel-Palestine feel disconnected (this is reinforced by the fact they cannot travel to Israel-Palestine). Those who work in Israel-Palestine are considered by Jordanians, for example, to be from the "West" or by Syrians to be on "the inside." Jerusalem is not necessarily spoken of. This is something the documentary will attempt to address and will try to facilitate the integration of the parishes across the Diocese.
Our last stop of the day was to a small craft shop run by Palestinian women in Jerusalem who support women from the West Bank. They provide the craft material (needles, material, beeds...), the women work from home on purses, place mats, stoles and liturgical vestments, scarves and beaded jewellery. This is one small way the women from the West Bank can earn a living.
When one gets sick in Canada, one goes to the doctor's office, sits in the waiting room an average of 40 minutes beyond the time of the appointment, only to receive a referral for lab tests or a specialists, at which point the waiting begins all over again. You wait at the lab to be tested. You wait two or three days to hear back about the results (if you hear at all) and then you wait to see your physician again to receive direction/prescriptions. Lastly, you wait 10-15 mins at the pharmacy for your prescription to be filled.
I've been ill for a few weeks now. I can only guess that I've picked up a bug that is happily wreaking havock on my system. So today, I finally decided to face the daunting task of figuring out the medical system in Jerusalem.
I started, not with a visit to a doctor's office, but with the pharmacy. "Why would you go to the doctor, they'll just take advantage of you as a foreigner and over charge you" I was told. I explained to the pharmacist my symptoms and he directed me to a lab. I wish I'd had my camera with me, because the lab essentially consists of one room with a computer dest at one end and the technician's equipement at the other end. I explained what test I was looking to have done...with no requisition, just my word. I waited while the technician ran the test.
He then printed off the results (which indicate I do not have bug at all), I paid my $15 sheckels (about $4) and made my way back to the pharmacist. The pharmacist is unconvinced the results are accurate, given my systems. He figures I do have a bug but its just not showing up. He prescribed (handed me) a low dosage antibiotic to kill any bugs in me and recommended I return to the lab in a few days to retry the test if the symptoms don't subside.
All in all, the entire "diagnosis," though not quite complete, took me about 40 minutes. The same amount of time my own doctor would have left me waiting past my appointment time.
When sharing that I was coming to the Holy Land for the summer, people frequently responded “Oh, you’ll never read the Bible the same way.” As regards the idea of hospitality as a sacred and core value, I am beginning to get a picture of how this remark rings true.
This week’s readings offer a contrast between how we tend to offer or receive hospitality, and what we are to consider as true servanthood.
Consider Abraham as he sees the three men—he ran and bowed down. We as readers know this to be the Lord, but there is no indication that Abraham was aware of any divine presence. These were simply approaching guests in his midst and he rushed to greet them without hesitation. Keep in mind Abraham is a nearly 100-year old man, sitting in the “heat of the day,” who in the previous chapter was just circumcised! Also striking is that men of Abraham’s station would not have run or bowed, it would have been considered undignified and the act of a slave. Although master of his house, he acts as the servant. Abraham goes out of his way to offer water for his guest’s feet, a place of rest and a meal. He solicits Sarah’s help in preparing a meal while he tends the heard to have a calf prepared. And after all his gracious offerings, he stands aside while his guests eat.
It is this welcome to his three visitors that leads to blessings for him and his descendants in faith.
Consider Martha and Mary. Luke uses the exchange between Martha and Jesus to clarify the true sense of hospitality and the importance of hearing the Word of God. The contrast between Mary and Martha is in their actions, not their intent. While Martha is distracted, from her guest and His Word, Mary is depicted in a manner of discipleship, accepting as evidenced through her posture—sitting at the Lord’s feet—her complete attentiveness to Jesus. It is not service in principle that Jesus is critiquing, but the manner and presence exuded that is key. Luke is less interested in the image of women as servants, which for the first century Jew would be natural, rather he highlights Mary as a woman who chooses to assume the role of disciple. It is Mary who freely submits herself to listening instead of doing.
While Mary is focused on merely one task, Martha is consumed and distracted with many. It is for this reason that Mary has chosen the better part. She is attentive in her hospitality, extending a welcome worthy of having heard the true call of discipleship.
It’s hard not to see this ideal level of hospitality offered by Abraham and Mary as a luxury. As westerners, we are groomed from a young age to “pitch in” with all the daily duties and help “get ‘er done.” Besides, without Sarah and Martha, how would Abraham and Mary have been able to be so attentive to their guests? And so, like Martha, we are often too busy in our schedules and preparing for the “task” of being hospitable, to actually see our guest or truly acknowledge when we are being received as one. We become distracted with life’s responsibility: work, children, friends, running a household, getting to extra curricular activities…fitting in just one more historical or Biblical site before you leave the Holy Land…. This distraction can reach all areas of our lives, including even how me meet and greet others. We say “Hi, how are you” as a matter of habit, but rarely expect a genuine answer. We rarely take time for the encounter.
Hospitality in the Middle East however, remains something to be experienced. I challenge you as pilgrims or visitors in this land, to look for and seek out hospitality of this depth—I assure you it continues today in a vein similar to that which Abraham and Mary displayed. It can be found on a shopping trip for a new shirt which turns into an hour-long conversation with tea and coffee magically appearing before you in the shop. It is in the lunch invitation that yields more food than humanly possible to consume in one sitting and which extends nearly to dinner time as discussions continue at length. I encourage you to share a few moments with the person who greets you, serves you and offers you their hospitality. Take the opportunity to slow down. Look into their faces. Listen to and actively hear their story. Engage. Take advantage of those occassions presented that allow you to be a Mary in an otherwise Martha world.
How am I starting to hear the Word differently having been in the Holy Land? For one, I have witnessed true hospitality. Because of this, I am forced to ask myself what impact hospitality has on my life and my own discipleship. I am forced to ask how I aid in the hospitality of my community. To consider whether I feel over burdened with meetings, events, fundraisers, programs, school, work—general life—any one component of which can leave me over tired, spiritually unfed and a little disenchanted? I can start to catch myself when I complain that I feel I carry the responsibility of preparation by myself. I can see how I allow the nitty-gritty details of being the “perfect host” consume me at the expense of the encounter.
But I am also reminded that I am not only welcome, but desired, to sit at Christ’s feet, attentively listening to and wrestling with the Word as it is broken open. I am reminded to be still and to recognize Christ in the breaking of the bread. I am reminded to search for Christ’s face in all those I meet. And I pray that in living this hospitality, others will begin to see Christ’s face in me.
Reflections on: Deut. 30:9-14, Ps 25:1-10, Col 1:1-14, Luke 10:25-37
By way of definition, I am a Canadian, a Christian, and an Anglican. I am a seminarian. I am female. I am a pilgrim in the Holy Land. I am a guest. I am a traveller on a journey.
I see in any one of these definitions, limits and boundaries. My reactions to scenarios are largely based on these identities. Of course, generally speaking I like rules. They provide me with structure and order in an otherwise chaotic world and help me know who I am in contrast to those around me. Sometimes I feel compelled to push these boundaries, refusing to be confined by them. Other times I accept them, almost blindly, as simply the understood rule or tradition given my role. Often I am wildly unaware of what I am following or why.
One of the most uncomfortable things for me as a pilgrim is not knowing what the rules are, or feeling obligated to adjust my etiquette to be appropriate to the time and space I’m in. For example, am I modestly-enough dressed? Is it improper to show my tattoos? How do my turns of phrases translate in Arabic or Hebrew? How does my role in the Church in Jerusalem change from that in Ottawa, Canada?
As I was reflecting on this week’s Gospel reading of the Good Samaritan, it was the simplicity of the message that struck me first: living compassionately rather than self centered; loving, rather than being hateful; being vulnerable rather than rigidly protectionist.
The lawyer who attempted to test Jesus about how to gain eternal life appears to know the answer to his challenge: “you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself.” And his response is confirmed as right. But this message is not as clean-cut as we think at first glance.
Jesus uses the parable as an example of how the lawyer should radically reassessment his notion of neighbour. Neighbour is not restricted to those we like, those we feel safe with…those like us. Rather, it includes anyone you meet, regardless of their station in life, without distinction of race, nationality or religion. In today’s context, we could replace Samaritan with Jew, Christian or Muslim, Westerner, Arab, male or female…That which is opposite from one’s self. Our neighbour is any person in need, and compassion and mercy ought to be offered without their having to ask and without prejudice.
The question is whether we ourselves are neighbourly? Whether we are friendly, kind, helpful, considerate, caring, cooperative, amicable, merciful, and compassionate? Do we love our fellow human beings as ourselves? Do we see each person we encounter as an equal?
If Jesus’ neighbourliness is the one to imitate, what does that mean for us? Sure, we can hold a door open, give up our seat on the bus to a pregnant woman or help a child in the OldCity lift his cart up over a curb. But Jesus ate with sinners and tax collectors, with unclean lepers and the undesirables of society. The equivalent for us could be drug dealers, leaders of crime rings, religious extremists or child abusers. He offered not just compassion that was expected, he took it to a level that would leave even the most liberal among us with a sour taste in our mouths.
To do what Jesus demands by example of the parable, we must expose ourselves to the road that leads from Jerusalem to Jericho. As I learned for myself just this week, that road is steep, rocky, secluded and excessively hot. In Jesus’ time it was open game for thieves. While priests and Levites appeared to be safe from the threat, as suggested by their seemingly natural tendency to travel the road, others were defenceless prey.
Through the Samaritan, Jesus calls us to be radical. To be openly vulnerable, not only to the natural elements of the road, but in the manner in which we offer hospitality and intimacy in each encounter we have on our journey. In fact, he calls us not to wait for the encounter to reach us, but to welcome it when it presents itself and even to seek it out. In contrast to the priest and the Levite who passed by the man who was beaten and left for dead, the Samaritan—who was despised on account of his own beliefs and practices—was moved by the other’s plight. He refused to be confined by those rules that would render him emotionless, but to respond to his feelings of compassion and mercy.
I realized we all have both a little of the lawyer and the Samaritan in us. We each have moments when we find ourselves challenging others in an attempt to justify ourselves—when we take refuge in the safety, comfort and limits of the rules. Likewise, we have moments when we find the rules too narrow in their definition and we break from tradition for the good of another.
In my own journey through the Holy Land, I have been forced to turn the finger I point outward inward toward myself. I quickly discovered where my sympathies lie in the political conflict of this region and while I have listened to activists on both sides of the debate, I bring my own fear and resentment to those conversations. I realize I must be more radical in my reassessment—to appreciate that those who suffer on one side of the debate are not alone in their suffering when you consider the other side. I am called to offer compassion and love to those whose views I strongly oppose and whose actions make every fibre in my body scream in protest.
This parable I originally set out describing as simple or obvious, is anything but when we realize it goes against our instincts. When we realize it demands we give up the rules that govern our identity as anything other than a beloved child of God. When we realize that in the great commandment, we cannot separate our love of God from love of ourselves and love of each other. When we realize that loving our neighbour includes those who despise or scare us. When we realize we cannot be passive in our love but are called to action. Because it is these big leaps which move us ever closer to God’s presence.
So how do we get more comfortable with this commandment?
First, I was reminded how when I was in grade three, I struggled so much with my multiplication tables that I nearly failed the year. My parents made me recite my times tables every night until I could respond almost instinctively to a random question of what 8 X 8 equals. There is some logic to this method, I think.
Here at St. George’s we hear during each Eucharistic celebration the commandment to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself.” As we read in Deuteronomy: “the word is very near to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe.” In other words, much like my reciting math equations, the repetitive call to love reminds us of our obligation not only to receive God’s commandment, but to live it. After constant repetition we begin to internalize the commandment and our heart conforms to it. In theory, it becomes instinctual and second nature for us to love God, ourselves, and others.
Second, Paul’s letter to the Colossians reminds us that even when we struggle with loving each other, our fellow believers join us in prayer, asking on our behalf for a share in God’s gifts of wisdom, understanding and knowledge. Our joint prayers effectively work to change our hearts and minds, bringing us closer to Christ. Eventually, all that we do in our lives—our work, our relationships—emulate our unceasing prayers.
Canadian, Christian, Anglican, seminarian, female, pilgrim, guest, traveller. I remain all of these things. But regardless of the rules associated with any one of these identities and regardless of how I feel my identity challenged along my journey, I am always called to love with my entire person, un-reluctantly, even in the face of adversity. Only by doing this in all manner of my life do I live up to my potential as a child of God.
Monday, Maylanne and I decided to treck on to Jericho to see the oldest known city in the world. We tried to use Alternative Tours for guidance, but had no luck. So off we set solo, with our tour books in hand on the bus. The bus literally dropped us off in the middle of the desert, about 5km away from Jericho, with nothing insight except two gas stations!
After having a good laugh about how it was 44 degrees outside and it looked like we were about to start walking, we made way toward the gas station to top up our water. Luckily, we discovered cabs come by to bring people into the city, which was a huge relief.
Now granted, there is not the humidity here that there is at home, but 44 degrees is 44 degrees! I was dripping just from standing still!
The cab driver just assumed the places we'd like to see, so took us first to the Church of the Sycamore tree, dedicated to Zacchaeu, who climbed the tree to get a better view of Jesus in Luke's Gospel. The church is Greek Orthodox and very colourful.
Next we visited the old city remains, dated to 8000-7000BC. I'd love to say I paid a lot of attention to detail here, but was feeling tapped on archaeological remains at this point and it was so hot it was frankly difficult to concentrate/care about what rooms we were looking at.
We did however take the cable car up Mt of Temptation to visit the Monastery of Temptation, which is built into the mountain face. This was quite something! The current monastery was built in the 1800s, the original and past editions had been destroyed during earthquakes and conquests. We did not get a view inside the dorm rooms, but you could tell from the space between door they were tiny! The chapel was small, and sadly no pictures were allowed out of respect. The view from the balcony off the chapel was spectacular--you could see the Jordan River, Jordan and the Dead Sea...other than that, there wasn't much around but desert! The city really is quite secluded.
As a woman, there are certain aspects of ministry I am not currently allowed to participate in here in Jerusalem. I cannot, for example, read the Gospel, preach or serve communion.
I was made aware of this before I came to Jerusalem and had pretty much made peace with that. I made it clear, as you would have read in my first blog entry, that I am excited to stand as represenative of women pursing ordination within the Anglican Communion, but that my intention was not to come and make waves in a currently-ongoing process.
The Diocese of Jerusalem and the Middle East has reached an agreement to endorse the discussion of women's ordination. Bishop Suheil, as I understand it, is very supportive of this effort, as shown by agreeing to have the first seminarian at the Cathedral in recent memory, be a woman.
So, what have I been doing other than touring biblical and historic sites around Palestine and Israel? I can lead Evening Prayer, which I do a few times a week. I can robe on Sundays to be crucifer, I can read the lessons (except the Gospel), and I can lead the Prayers of the People.
Today, I proposed to Fr. Bob that I prepare theological reflections each week on the lectionary for Sunday. Not only would this give me exercise in preparing sermons, despite not being able to deliver them from the pulpit, but it gives the community a better glance at who I am and what I'm doing here. Not to mention, it is a gentle way of giving the local community (as opposed to the pilgrims who pass through) exposure to a woman's perspective.
Fr. Bob quickly agreed to this, which I am extremely pleased about. I see this as a small, but great step forward in the discussions.
I will also be able to provide brief, 3 minute reflections at Sunday Evening Prayer, which is a service of Prayers for Peace. The service is held in the chapel, so it is intimate...sometimes it's just you, sometimes you and one person, sometimes 20 people. From what I've seen, it's always pilgrims or ex-pats. What it does mean is that reading my reflections off the page won't cut it...I'll have to uber prepare (for me) to be able to speak "off the cuff." Those who know me will appreciate the fear this idea evokes in me.
I will face the fear. It's just another's Ramparts Walk.
The Palestine of Jesus course ended with our walking the Stations of the Cross at 6am on Thursday. We were led by the Rev. Canon John Peterson, former Secretary General of the Worldwide Anglican Communion. Our early departure meant we had the streets of the Old City mostly to ourselves, a real treat and a key factor in our ability to fully immerse in the experience.
I was glad to hear after we finished, that I wasn't the only skeptic in the group. I awoke at 5:15, tired from the events of the previous week-and-a-half, and thought to myself, "sure, we're doing the Stations of the Cross" but I didn't expect much in the way of emotion or intensity to the morning. I didn't put kleenex in my purse. Silly Kerri.
We worked out the night before who would read the prayers at each station and we were left to decide in the moment who would carry the cross between stations.
I read the prayers at Station 2, where Jesus takes up his cross: So they took Jesus; and carrying the cross by himself, he went out to what is called The Place of the Skull, which in Aramaic is called Golgatha. - John 19:16b-17
We prayed for those required to carry out death sentences and corporal punishment, for those who do or are mocked or tormented, victims of violence and those living under military occupation, and that any suffering we endure may be fruitful for ourselves and others.
At Station 4, where Jesus meets his mother, we reflected on our commonality - that we have all been mothered and we can related to the bond between Jesus and Mary. We can relate to a mother's agony in watching a child suffer. And this station offers an opportunity to lift up the difficult times we have had with our own mothers--when relationships have been strained, when we have been hurt or when we have hurt. And we lift up in joy and thanksgiving, the times of joy and happiness we've had with our mothers. We give thanks for all who have mothered us and we say both 'I'm sorry' and 'Thank you.'
Something about this station said to me I was ready to carry the cross. I don't use Spirit language often, but this was probably the most distinct moment in my life where I could relate to the language "the Spirit moved me."
I picked up the cross and started the short walk (about 60m). The cross carrier walks out in front of the group alone, leading them on to the next station. I was struck by something the Ven. PJ Hobbs said to me during my pastoral practice placement. He said we all die alone. At the time, I didn't agree. But here I was thinking of a man who 2000 years ago carried a cross beam through the streets of Jerusalem on his way to a most painful and humiliating death, and he was certainly alone. Despite meeting his mother, despite Simon of Cyrene helping him carry the beam, despite Veronica wiping his face, he bore that burden alone.
And my throat caught and my eyes welled and I sobbed in the middle of the street feeling that loneliness.
At the 14th station, inside the Church of the Resurrection, inside the chapel of Joseph of Arimathea, are empty tombs. They stand as representative of the empty tomb after Jesus' resurrection. It is the only church that hosts an empty tomb. It's emptiness stands to help us make sense and meaning of our lives. We stood before it, confessing our feelings, anxiety, sorrow, lonliness, emptiness. Remembering how we treated parents, family, friends, neighbours and God. And we sought hope and forgiveness and released ourselves of any guilt or pain.
Safe to say, no one left unmoved or without tears, most of which were streaming.
** We brought little with us for this journey, especially no cameras so little could distract us (the pictures here are pilfered from online). We walked in silence. City employees working in the street made way for us and ceased their work while we prayed. We were joined by two tourists/pilgrims who understood, even in our silence, that they were welcome in our journey.
I was definitely looking forward to visiting Galilee. To seeing fresh water I could swim in, soaking up a little sun on uncovered shoulders, and giving a clearer image to the ones I’d developed as a child about where Jesus did much of his teaching and his ministry. I was excited about visiting the church of St. Peter’s Primacy, the Mt. of the Beatitudes, Mt. Tabor/site of the transfiguration, the Church of the Multiplication of Loaves and Fishes, about celebrating the Eucharist lakeside and wading into the Sea of Galilee to renew our baptismal vows.
We stayed at the German, Benedictine-run Pilgerhaus. The accommodations verged on resort-like. The grounds were covered in lush flowers, bamboo and palm trees and filled with exotic birds. Of course, true to Kerri form, nature hid itself from me…I did not see one single parrot, despite their being perched in the trees. This is a picture of where we celebrated the Eucharist our first night, the rock with the anchor, our altar.
Each site we visited included scriptural references, reflection from either Andrew or one of the participants, and time for personal reflection. This time on our own was key for me in terms of delving deeper into the story. One of my favourite moments was on Mt. Tabor/site of the Transfiguration when I wandered into the forest. It smelled fresh and clean. It was silent and (nearly) void of tourists and pilgrims and I had solitude in my reflection. Such a contrast to Jerusalem.
Things that came us as our group chatted over beer and the fruitiest rum I’ve ever tasted, included how absolutely stunning the region is. The water is incredibly blue and clean! It’s not a sandy lake—lake, not “sea” like I imagined—but rocked bottomed. We saw only one fishing boat over our two-day stay. Things are close by: sitting at the beach you can see the Mt. of the Beatitudes and Tiberius.
We ate fresh St. Peter’s fish on our last day in Galilee. It didn’t cross my mind to consider the non-fish dish for lunch. I like fish. But I hadn’t expected the fish in it’s entirety to appear before me. I don’t do food that looks like it did when alive. I find it disturbing. I ate it and it was indeed the best fish I’ve tasted. But not until someone peeled the scales/skin back for!
My last thought after two days in Galilee, with free time to sit by the lake, relax and rejuvenate, was how hard it felt to return to Jerusalem. The city is hard to live in. The politics weight heavy. The city is covered in stone which wears on your feet, your knees and your back. It’s busy: with people who share their space, their holy sites and welcome you hospitably, and with people who wish you were not visiting and do not care about the journey you’re on. It’s hot and demanding of clothing of I continue to find myself resenting having to put on.
It is all that. But we were also on a pilgrimage. And we turned toward Jerusalem questioning how crazy Jesus must have been to leave this place to face persecution, both knowing and not knowing how it would end.
I am a theologial student at St. Paul University. I have been accepted by the Anglican Church of Canada to participate in its Theological Students' International Intern Program. I will be working with the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem and the Middle East for three months. This blog is an attemtp to articulate and share that experience.
