God help me - I'm an Extrovert.

You learn lots of things about yourself when you are on sabbatical. Many of my clergy friends and colleagues have made really big decisions because the time away has given them the time to think - really deeply - about what is going on in their life and ministry.

So I've had the time to come to a major conclusion... brace yourself. I am an extrovert.

Now, I've always known that there have been times in my life when I've waivered on the E/I of Myers-Briggs typecasting. I was a shy kid who wanted the ground to swallow her up in grade school, and yet I pursued music and acting alongside much more gifted peers. As a teen, a small group of friends were gathered around me. We called ourselves the Peanut Gallery because none of us fit in anywhere else but with each other.

As an adult I married a man who is so attached to books that he nearly broke into tears when I drew the line at two six foot bookcases and two five foot bookcases. My daughter and son both show signs of introversion, they are deep thinkers who can be somewhat crowd-averse. And if you were to poll other clergy of mainline denominations you would find we skew greatly towards introversion.

With two weeks left of sabbatical, I find that I am craving people. When I go to the supermarket I strike up conversations with strangers. When my family comes home I grill them for details about themselves and the way they are living in their worlds. With no one around, I've begun having spirited conversations with our dogs Bennie and Andrei during the day. And I've looked at the next 13 days and set up something to do each day so that I am out in society... lunch with a friend, doctor's appointment, haircut, gym. And I miss church meetings.

I realize that sometimes (often, actually), I need to talk it out with someone... I need to have someone hear me thinking out loud. And I need to hear people doing the same. So I raise my cup of ice cold water to all the misunderstood extroverts out there, those of us who need to hear ourselves talk and be engaged in a messy web of relationships. Here's to you!

You CAN Go Home Again.

front of sanctuary

It's a beautiful Sunday afternoon here on my second-to-last Sunday of sabbatical, and I am still carrying that thankful, post-church, Spirit-filled feeling around the house. Today I returned to my hometown, Madison, to attend worship at the church that raised me: North Madison Congregational. The morning was wonderful, and I felt truly welcomed by everyone who took a moment to greet me.

If you kept up with my Jerusalem posts, you may remember that one of the pilgrims on that journey with me was Rev. Dr. Jay Terbush who currently serves as the interim minister of NMCC. As he remarked to the congregation this morning "Who'd have thought that we had to go to Jerusalem to meet one another!" The world either truly is small, or (as I also like to think about it) the Holy Spirit is really big. I was pleased as could be to run into a young adult that I know from Silver Lake who is serving there as the new-ish CE Director. Blessings to you, Morgan, on your ministry with children and youth.

After the benediction

Much has changed at NMCC in the seventeen years since I was a semi-active young adult member. They enlarged the cozy sanctuary, added space to the much-used CE wing, saw many beloved clergy leaders and church members come and go. A few of the folks I recognized, and was glad for the hugs. The choir, at over 20 members, was exceptional. The large family that gathered for baptism of their son filled the first three rows.  There was life and vitality and a genuineness about the gathered body that felt energized and real.

Thank you, NMCC, for making a place for this pilgrim today. God bless you in your interim time.

Spring Things

Aren't 400 books enough?

What are your spring rituals? At our house we like to go through all of our stuff, a couple of rooms at a time, and bring carloads of what we don't need/haven't used to the Monroe Congregational Church's most excellent Outreach Tag Sale  for charity (ya'll come - it's this Saturday, March 17 from 9-12 at 34 Church Street, Monroe, CT). 

OK, maybe I am the only one that likes to do that. You see, I like organization, and secretly fear being a hoarder (my family seems to have the tendency). In fact, this year I encouraged my husband to pare down his book collection. If you know Clark, then you know what an emotional feat THAT was. "Think of all the people who would love to buy these! Think of all the space we will have freed up! We can actually see the floor in our bedroom to tear up that yucky carpet! I will let you keep 400 volumes - it's negotiable!" I cajoled. In the end, I got him to part with about 250 science fiction books he hadn't read for 20 years. And all the Redneck Humor books, which are just rubbish anyway. I gave up about 100, but I had far less at home anyway and a growing list on my Kindle, which is far more ecologically (and financially) viable.

Garden, year 3

Another spring ritual for us, at least for the past 4 years, has been the planning of our modest 12' x 12' vegetable garden. We've had growing success (see, I made a pun there!) with it, since our first year of putting a strawberry bed close to the forest line without a fence (an unmitigated disaster). Last year, we had some success with basil, tomatoes, green peppers and sugar snap peas.

We know that it is to early to plant, despite unseasonably warm temps, we still might get a frost some morning (we learned that with disastrous year two). But it's not to early to turn over the compost pile and weed the bed. Zack and I tackled this on Sunday, when Clark and Cady were at church. I am 9.5 weeks into a 12 week sabbatical, so my Sunday mornings are free for the moment.

As Zack and I were were turning over the soil, a thought struck me. A dear colleague in the CT Conference recently told me "parents are the ones that are primarily responsible for the faith formation of their children". Such a simple statement, and so very true. Even with the best intentioned Sunday school and youth program at a local church, parents are the people with the most access to build a child's faith. It's our responsibility as parents to offer them the chance to grow. Sometimes this faith building can be done during meals (grace), at bedtime (bible stories, evening prayers), action (serving at a soup kitchen as a family) or in conversations about how my daughter or son live in this world. 

Anyway, back to the garden. Zack and I talked about what good soil we had built, with layers of healthy compost, worms and other organic materials. He and I dreamed out loud of what we'd plant. We ran the soil through our hands, and talked about the water and sunlight that would make the seeds open their sleepy heads and sprout. "You know," I said, "Jesus told a parable, a teaching story, about a sower..." We took a couple of seeds out of a packet and spilled them on the driveway. "How would these grow?" Then we took some more and spilled them onto a shaded, rocky and shallow place in the garden/ "How about these?" Finally, we took a few and put them into the good soil. "What about these?" Each time, Zack would offer his opinion of what success we could expect. "And how are these different growing places like people?" 

Friends, if you are a parent (or you have a little one in your life that you are responsible for) remember that every day is a opportunity to open the world up to God's love. You may feel like you don't have the right "credentials" to talk about any of this stuff, but believe it or not you do. In fact, sometimes these lessons have come from my child, if I have the ears to hear.

Rewind - Reset - Return

Grounded. That's how I feel this Sunday morning. My eighteen year old daughter is taking her boyfriend to church today as I sit here at home, descaling my Keurig coffeemaker and redoing my monthly whiteboard kitchen calendar. Three weeks until I am back at the Monroe Congregational Church, this time as Senior Pastor.

I'll use this time efficiently, which means going back to the gym (Jerusalem was rough on the knees), cleaning my house (a little ritual I've done with every new beginning), and reading those books still on my pile (and yes, the pile HAS grown during these three months). On Monday, I'll pull together a couple of Steeple articles, including what we have in store for Holy Week, a deeply felt thank you, and maybe something on our role as a teaching church (new Member in Discernment, Yale Supervised Ministry training).

Soon I will have to figure out how to juggle the needs of two youth programs since we're in the beginning stages of pulling together a search committee to find my replacement, and I don't expect us to have much movement on that until the summertime. Also, I will be pulling together the worship themes and scripture for the next few months so that we're all on the same page. Soon there will be phone calls and visits and lots of "catch me up" conversations with those who have been in leadership positions. And re-establishment of relationships with a lot of people that I am not ashamed of saying I love dearly. And meetings, which I actually like (I know, such a church geek!)

Sabattical time for me has been a little like a re-calibration, a chance to set things straight and establish new patterns. I'm not unaware that I was on a road to burnout and bad health before I left. Clark and I needed some time to reconnect, too. Now we've had some precious time to do just that. Before I head back in to the office I'll be laying the groundwork for our 2012 vegetable garden and getting my bike ready to ride so that I have a hobby. As my good friend said upon leaving a CT Conference meeting early "I have a life!"

Next Year in Jerusalem

It's with a bit of a heavy heart that I write this final blog of my Jerusalem pilgrimage. I've enjoyed spending time with new friends, and the staff here at St. George's College have been wonderful. I highly recommend that anyone who is thinking about a trip to Jerusalem, and wants something deeper than the typical tourist tour, consider one of their courses. Soon I will have to pack my bags for an early flight, but before I do I wanted to go over my final day here.

Abu Ghosh Monastery

It is entirely fitting that we spent this morning visiting Emmaus, the location where "their eyes were open" (Read Luke 24). Actually, to be more precise we went to Abu Ghosh, which is one of three Emmaus locations posited by historians. The reason why we're not really sure which site is the true site is because the distance the disciples traveled in Luke's gospel is "60 stadium", but the problem is no one really knows how long a stadium is.

The site we visited is fairly credible because there is a mark of the 10th Roman Legion, which was also reputed to be around the site. Also, there is an archeological Castel site that is listed in scripture that is very close. The Church of Our Lady of the Resurrection that is there now was built in 1141 by the crusaders and is covered in lovely 12th c paintings. Sadly, the faces of most of the paintings were scratched out by Muslims (who conider it as an insult to show artwork depicting holy people) after the fall of the crusaders.

Last Eucharist with each other

Our next visit was to Our Lady of the Ark of the Covenant, which was built on a site that claims to have held the Ark of the Covenant for 20 years. We read Psalm 132 as we were looking over the hillside towards Jerusalem, and imagined David dancing in procession with the Ark. And we held out closing Eucharist. Something very funny happened, I was the only one to remember to bring a copy of the liturgy! The bishop invited me to hold the chalice, as I had earlier in the week. It was a lovely closing moment for all of us.

After lunch, four of us took the free afternoon to wander around the Old City. On the way we made a stop at the Garden Tomb. Although there is very scant evidence that this is the actual burial site of Jesus, it looked more like the Children's Bible pictures I had grown up with than does the Holy Sepulchre. And even if it isn't the place, it really doesn't matter. After all, He is risen! I enjoyed spending some time round the garden, looking in at the first century tomb, and looking through the gift shop's collection of books.

Anne and Mary

Next we walked all the way across the city to St. Anne's Basilica at the Bethsada pool. It is said that of all the churches in Palestine, St. Anne's has the best acoustics. We sang the Doxology together to hear the melodious tones echo and reverberate. I lit a candle and said a prayer for someone in the congregation whose mother is struggling with health issues.

When we returned to the College, we had a brief graduation ceremony and a farewell dinner which was truly a joy to my heart. I loved being on this pilgrimage, and give my thanks to God and my congregation for letting me have this experience.

May the peace of Christ, that passes all understanding, be with you. God bless you and keep you.

What Am I Going to Do About It?

Every day of the last two weeks we've been asked at some point by our instructor: What are you going to do about it? It's a question that I've posed to others throughout my life, especially as an ordained minister. But it's not the question I was expecting to be asked right now.

One of my main reasons of going here was to learn the spiritual geography of the place, to hear biblical stories as I walk the land, to have the opportunity to imagine history in a new way. My wish was that all of what I have experienced would add some color to my preaching and teaching.

I also thought that I was going to Jerusalem to become more spiritual (after all, the name of the course I am taking is Pilgrimage & Spirituality). In a way I have. But it's not the kind of peace/love/summer camp spiritual I had hoped for. Instead I've received a new spiritual awareness, a wrestling with the way things are that brings me to a raw dependance on God.

The challenging thing about this place is that it is layered with a history of conquest, destruction and subjugation (usually in the name of God/Allah/Yahweh). Maybe that is one of the shocks that my system has gone through - every day we've seen it both in the layers of archeology and the faces of the Palestinian people.

A Wall of Apartheid

For years people have said to me that more atrocity has been done in the name of God than we can possibly imagine. Here it is real, really real. No wonder so many people in our culture that has access to this knowledge have dropped organized religion altogether.

And don't think for a moment that we who call ourselves Christians are taking our role as peacemakers seriously in the Holy Land. A long look at the fractured body of Christ, who are a minority voice in Jerusalem (and whose priests will often not even speak to each other, let alone the Israeli government) will show you that we are poor examples. The United Church of Christ has no presence here, and without presence there is no authority, and without authority no one in power will listen.

Add to all of this the cultural context of the Middle East. I've been concerned and angry a number of times when I've learned more about the status and role of women here. Their access to education, health care and leadership in religious and governmental bodies is so limited. And it's been that way for thousands of years.

So, what do I do about it?

Bringing a deeper awareness of this place to the many folks back home is a place to start, and I am sure that all the historical/biblical/cultural background that I've encountered will come in handy in my own spiritual disciplines and preaching.

But I yearn to do something more. In a concrete way, I wonder if I might create a "tent of Abraham" program for teens back in the states, bringing Palestinian and American Christians, Muslims and Jews together for some relationship building. I believe in a God of relationship, and it's much harder to hate someone if you know them.

There's a great program here that does just that called "Kids for Peace". Maybe Hartford Seminary, St. George's College and Silver Lake could partner on something similar? I will try to have a conversation with the Director of the program, Samuel, and talk through some ways of doing this.

As we've heard more that once this week, we Christians always have hope.

Adventures of an Ignorant Protestant in the Holy Land

Our study group was given a free afternoon today following the morning's shabbat service at the Reform synagogue. The shabbat fed my soul tremendously, see my previous two posts about that! The five of us decided to walk back down to the the old city, to see the Museum at David's Tower and see if we could catch the preparations that take place on Saturday afternoon at the Church of the Resurrection.

Window at Christ Church

After walking down the narrow corridors, which were very crowded with visitors and merchants, we found our way to the museum only to learn that it was closed. So we popped in to Christ Church, which is a somewhat unique house of worship for this area in that it houses both an Evangelical Anglican and Messianic Jewish congregation. The young man who showed us around was kind and welcoming, the building is beautiful. It has an interesting history of proselytizing to the Jewish community during the Ottoman Empire. I had heard of Messianic Jews (Jews who believe that Jesus was the Messiah), and encountered them from time to time on New York street corners. Evangelizing in a land that is so religiously complex can be downright dangerous, and it is usually discouraged by Jews, Christians and Muslims alike.

We has received a tip earlier in the day that the Church of the Resurrection (aka Church of the Holy Sepulchre) has a liturgical procession in the middle of Saturday afternoon in order to prepare the site for Sunday services, and we were all eager to check it out. The following description is taken from Wikipedia, which is actually pretty helpful in understanding this complicated place:

The site is venerated as the Hill of Calvary (Golgotha), where Jesus was crucified and is said also to contain the place where Jesus was buried (the Sepulchre). The church has been an important Christian pilgrimage destination since at least the 4th century, as the purported site of the resurrection of Jesus. Today it also serves as the headquarters of the Greek Orthodox Patriarch of Jerusalem, while control of the building is shared between several Christian churches and secular entities in complicated arrangements essentially unchanged for centuries. Today, the church is home to Eastern Orthodoxy, Coptic, Armenian Apostolic Orthodox and Roman Catholicism. Anglicans and other Protestants have no permanent presence in the church.

I expect that some of you who have been following my Jerusalem posts feel a little skeptical about all of the claims regarding the places I have visited, and certainly some of the spots are a little less than historically accurate. However, the best scholarship right now believe that the Church of the Resurrection is an authentic site.

Anointing Rock

When we entered, we saw that it was not as busy as we expected. I spent a moment watching the people who came to pray at the anointing rock, just inside the main door. It is said that this rock is where Jesus' body was anointed after death, and pilgrims bring their own burial shrouds to rub on the rock and pray with. One cleric dressed in Eastern Orthodoxy robes walked around the rock and asked the faithful if they wanted a blessing, which I thought was a kind pastoral gesture.

We turned left to climb the steep steps to Golgotha so that I could have a chance to place my hand on the spot which it is said held the cross. The wait wasn't very long, and there were certainly icons and art to look at while we were standing around. Just as we came to the front of the line, the Orthodox clerics began to yell and gesture at us to step back. We huddled against the large stone pillars as a group of four men dressed in black suits with red fez hats pounded large posts into the group keeping a slow and steady beat. One by one, each of the four main presences of the church came forward with 20-60 clergy, all dressed alike, waving incense, chanting competing songs and carrying large banners. They worked their way around the entire church, visiting Golgotha, the Annointing Stone and the Sepulchre (and circling each three times). All the while, security guards kept the crowds back, loudly yelling and gesturing to make way.

After seeing the first few processions, we tried to make our way out of the church but kept getting stuck by other processions. It was maddening. Crushing throngs of people tried to get a good picture of the holy men (they were all men, of course) and we received many elbows and shoves.

The energy in the place felt to me so violent, with priests yelling and guards ordering and crowds shoving that I wondered out loud to one of my companions "What do you think Jesus would have to say about all of this pomp and circumstance?" Each faction trying to maintain their sliver of the holy, spending what must be tremendous resources in their incense budget alone! What might the money spent on all of this do for struggling schools and hospitals, not to mention feeding and providing clean water for people in the region who are so economically desperate? Didn't Christ mandate that we are to feed his sheep?

I know that for many people this is a sacred place, but it feels more to me like Disneyland of the Holy.

God has a Sense of Humor

So, we went to a Reform synagogue led by a female rabbi. Had no idea there would be such a thing in Jerusalem. Women and men sharing leadership and the reading (singing) of the Torah, babies were blessed, a young woman read in public for the first time, we were warmly welcomed with English copies of the liturgy so that we could better understand the Hebrew, and the reading was from the Book of Esther. I left feeling like I had really been to church, maybe for the first time in two weeks. Ironic, no?

I Don't Wanna.

Saturday morning, and I'm feeling like my time here is just about done. Two weeks is longer than I've ever been away from the kids and Clark and I woke up feeling the sting of homesickness. And then guilt layered on top because this is the experience of a lifetime and something I've always wanted to do.

So this morning's plan is to visit a shabbat service in a local synagogue. My first thought about all of this is: I don't wanna. When we get there, women will be divided out from the men, placed in our own seperate-yet-unequal space which will be smaller and further from the men. I'll likely have to put on a scarf or a hat or a skirt or something because in this culture when a woman enters a holy space she needs to cover something. It makes me feel claustrophobic to put a scarf on my head.

But I don't want to rock the boat so I won't complain. If you are a woman in this place, you pretty much do what you are told because if you don't some holy man will come out of nowhere and yell at you in a language you can't understand. And forget about being a pastor - I have no authority here.

So what am I going to come away with after this? Maybe a better understanding about why Paul's message in Galatians 3:28 was so important to the early church: There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. On the other hand, there are so many Christian churches here that treat women badly, so who was really listening to him anyway?

Maybe the point is why its so important to my church in my context. Women have incredible gifts for leadership (I'm thinking of my sisters back home now). And better still, true partnership among people - both men and women - has been an important part of our church's ministry for a long time.

Anyway, did I mention that I can't wait to be home?

Samaritan and Christian Minorities in the West Bank

Snow on a Palm

Today we woke to a snowstorm, which is a strange event indeed. It is so rare that there are no public works snowplows or sand spreaders. Most people drive very small economy cars (the better to get around narrow Jerusalem streets), which don't handle snowy conditions very well. Fortunately for us, our plan was to get out of Jerusalem (which is a downhill journey) and head for Nablus, a Palestinian city in the Northern part of the Western Bank, located about 60 miles north of Jerusalem.

Ibrahim Senior

Our first stop was to visit the main Samaritan synagogue, where we met with the head priest Ibrahim and his son (also a priest, also named Ibrahim). The Samaritan number about 745, with most living in community at the top of Mt Gerazim, and the rest living in Holon, a town in Southern Israel. They trace their heritage back to Aaron. Samaritans claim their worship is the true religion of the ancient Israelites prior to the Babylonian Exile, preserved by those who remained, as opposed to Judaism, which they believe is a related but altered and amended religion brought back by those returning from exile.

Ibrahim Senior showed us the community Torah (they consider the Pentateuch as their only sacred scripture), which was covered in a ceremonial cloth and rolled up in a gold scroll case. The Samaritan language is over 3,600 years old. He walked with us outside to show us where the community gathers once a year to offer God a sacrifice of a lamb (which they roast and later consume). Interfaith marriage, as it is in both the Jewish and Muslim communities, is forbidden. Unfortunately for the Samaritans, this means that there are many health problems related to genetics, and many children are born with birth defects.

Jacob's Well

We read John 4 to remind ourselves about Jesus' encounter with the Samaritan woman on the way to Jacob's Well. Father Kamal pointed out to us the symbolism of the woman's five husbands and suggested that they are a symbol for the five local gods of the area, and that the woman was a symbol for the region of Samaria. The Well itself is located in the basement of a Greek Orthodox church called St. Photina (from the traditional Greek name for the woman). I was thrilled to be the person in our group selected to draw a bucket of water from this sacred place. It was disturbing to hear that a few years ago the resident Father of the church was gunned down by a Zionist who believed that the well belonged to the Jewish people and was upset that it is located at the West Bank.

Standard Room

Our next stop was to visit St. Luke's Hospital, which is run by the Anglican Archdiocese of Jerusalem. It's mission is to provide quality health care to the Palestinian people, irregardless of age, race, religion or ability to pay. We met with Father Ibrahim Nairouz, who shepherds the two Episcopal churches in the area and is Vice President of the hospital. He related to us some of the difficulties of being a Christian (1% of the population) in the West Bank.

Fortunately, Christian relations with Muslims here in Palestine are good. He said that they do not focus on doctrinal differences, but they do work on building relationships and what they share in common. One of the frustrations of the health care system is that not every hospital is equipped to handle every case. Since there is no freedom of movement for the Palestinians, it could take up to 5-6 hours to get a permit for an ambulance to pass through the checkpoint to get to a hospital. More people have died (and babies born) at checkpoints than is recorded in the news.

The Hospitality of Coffee

One of the things that I love about this culture is the sense of hospitality. When guests arrive, whether it be at a home or business, Palestinian culture dictates that bitter coffee, known as gahwah sadah (Lit. plain coffee), is served. It's truly strong stuff, and probably not for those with sensitive stomachs.

At one time, pouring the drink was ceremonial; it would involve the host or his eldest son moving clockwise among guests — who were judged by age and status — pouring coffee into tiny cups from a brass pot. It was considered "polite" for guests to accept only three cups of coffee and then end their last cup by saying daymen, meaning "always", but intending to mean "may you always have the means to serve coffee".

Walking in the Footsteps

The wind whipped rain and hail on the small band of pilgrims. It was 5am, and the morning light was just breaking over the old city. This light, unlike the light of brighter mornings, was dark and depressing. The women walked with short steps, their heads wrapped up in scarves to protect against the biting wind. One of the men carried a cross.

This morning, for the first time in my lifetime, I participated in Walking the Way of the Cross. It's a custom that goes back to the middle ages, when pilgrims would get together and pray and carry a cross on Good Friday, retracing the traditional steps of Jesus. There are 14 stations, and each one remembers a moment of that day. The lucky few would do this in Jerusalem, where the stations are marked. Others would walk around their town center.

It was strange to me to be doing this. I've always had an uneasy relationship with Christ's Passion. I wish that I could articulate why. Maybe it's the violence. Remembering it comes so close to glorifying it - the violence, that is. Maybe it's the rejection, a deep seated fear that some day some one that I love will deny me or abandon me. Maybe it's the atonement, I continue to wrestle with the idea of Jesus as a sacrifice. I don't want to believe in a God that demands such violence in order to ransom us.

As I walked this path, wrestling with my own ideas, a voice came to me from the bottom pit of my soul. I remember that when I was a child a man in our choir would sing, with a deep baritone voice... Were you there, when they crucified my Lord... I remember as a child feeling such a deep sorrow that I would cry. Truthfully, that song still gets to me.

So here's where I am with this right now: God loves me (you/us) so much that he sent Jesus to teach me (you/us) what it really means to love. Deep, ground shaking, earth moving love. A love that calls me (you/us) to love so much that I (you/us) will actually give my (your/our) life for the lives of others. It's a love that risks everything, a love that crosses borders. Imagining the pain and sorrow, remembering those who suffer and mourn, pushing my body in the wind and the rain and the cold brought this sense of God's love to me in a deeply spiritual way.

Dome of the Ascension

We stayed with Jesus' passion throughout the day, as we made our way after breakfast to the Mount of Olives, on which is a very small mosque called the Dome of the Ascension. Inside was a small stone area in the middle. A footprint can clearly be seen in the box. Tradition has this (and two other places) to be the site where Jesus ascended into heaven.

Next we walked to the Garden of Gethsemane, where olive trees still stand that are over 1800 years old. The garden lies in front of the Church of All Nations, which commemorates the night in the Garden when Jesus prayed to take this cup from me. Another Barluzzi, this church is meant to be dark. I sat and listened to a Mass in Spanish for a while, and prayed for those who I carried with me in my heart.

Mary's Tomb was another fascinating place we visited. It lies in the Kidron Valley, and is the place where Eastern Christian traditions believe Jesus' mother (in Greek, she is called Theotokos or God-Bearer) to be buried. Many of the Eastern Christian churches have quite a high reverence for motherhood and women in general, the Marionites (for example) have been ordaining women to the Priesthood since the 4th century. While we were there we met an Armenian Apostolic Christian woman who urged us to remember that all Christians, regardless of sect or denomination, are one.

After lunch we went to Mount Sion to visit St. Peter in Gallicantu. This church commemorates Mark 14:22, when Peter denied Christ three times before the cock crowed twice. (in Latin, gallicantu means cock-crow). The church itself was constructed in 3 levels. On the first, it is a rather modern looking worship space, with a beautiful main altar and chairs that can be pushed around in different configurations.

On the second level is another worship space with three amazing frescoes: on the front left is an image of Peter denying Jesus, all the while looking at his face. The fresco in the middle shows Peter looking dejected in front of a large cave, he looks guilty and sad. The fresco on the right shows Peter being given the post-resurrection command to "feed my sheep". In a way, the three frescoes show the restoration (resurrection) of Peter as Christ's disciple, he is given a whole new life despite his mistakes and failings. Isn't that true for all of us as well?

The most fascinating level of this church is below the ground level, which houses what scholars believe the jail was that Jesus stayed in and was tortured. Father Kamal showed us the holes in the rock where prisoners would be chained and flogged. In this dark and foreboding place we read Psalm 88, and I was deeply moved.

On the way back to the college, we drove by the blood fields, where Judas is reported to have committed suicide after betraying Jesus. I wonder what Judas' mother would have to say about all of this? We never hear from her in the gospels.

All day it rained a cold rain. Which seemed appropriate, somehow for the remembrance of a Good Friday. And yet... Good Friday is never the end of the story.