Re-Entry

It is finished.

My colleagues in the initiative have (for the most part) all returned to their home countries, families and jobs. We have begun the task of unpacking, giving gifts to loved ones and appreciating the many blessings of our lives. We are putting together advocacy plans even as we take a deep breath and try to get the knots out of our backs from all the stress.

We were told during training that these people we spent so much time with would become good friends. Thanks to social media, goodbye doesn't have to mean what it once did. As long as we continue to stay connected by the tether of electronics we will be able to keep in touch over the miles. For this, I am most grateful.

We did it. I say "we" because the past three months of sabbatical have definitely been a team effort.

My family stood by my decision to live in a conflict zone and accompany people who don't really have a choice in the matter when it comes to security. Yes, there were dangerous moments, which is a burden I'd rather my loved ones not have to carry. On the hard days (and the easy ones) staying connected to family and friends helped me turn from despair towards hope.

I owe my husband Clark a deep debt of gratitude. He supported my decision to live in Israel/Palestine and reminded me that what I was doing was important. I appreciate my mom for listening and letting me authentically be who I am. She let me name my fears and reminded me that I am called to be brave.  My children, Cady and Zack, thrived beyond my wildest expectations - despite the occasional stresses in their lives.

And finally, the church. What can be said about a community that commits to wrapping me in prayer AND feeds my loved ones fresh, delicious homemade dinners a couple of times a week? If food is love, it is crystal clear that we are cared for and I am most grateful.

Sabbatical is supposed to be a time when lay leadership of the church is "handed back the reins", and I hope to find out more soon about how that all went for them. And I hope that the deep joy I have seen from our teens and their advisers on creating Youth Sunday this year without me will be a lasting reminder of their strength and spirituality. You did it, too!

My focus in the next month or so will be to reconnect with our elders, our lay leaders and those in crisis. Relationships are so important, and separation is really hard. Give a hug to someone close to you today. Remember the people of Israel and Palestine who are working towards a just peace and end to conflict. Commit to non-violence today in word and action, Refuse to be enemies.

Dear Holy Land Tourist Lady,

An infant car seat,
saved from the bulldozers

I used to be just like you. Five years ago, with my fanny pack and sensible walking shoes I trudged up the Via Dolorosa in the Old City - imagining what those last moments of Jesus' life might have been like, before the world changed. I remember the comfort of the tour bus, and how our guides were always telling us to drink more water.

I bet you paid a lot of money for this life changing trip. And I understand why... here before you is the Sunday School play set of your childhood dreams! When you close your eyes, and listen very carefully, you can imagine what it might have been like to be here when Jesus walked the earth. Did you wonder, as you passed that hill, if it was one that he walked?

Rubble from the
demolished 2-family home

Listen... your Holy Land adventure will never be complete until you come with me. Travel the dusty, narrow road just a few miles away through Silwan and up a steep hill to the village of Jabal Al Mukabbir you will find a pile of rubble. That pile of stones are no more or less holy than the ones you just saw at the Wailing Wall when you crammed in the little bits of paper prayers your church friends sent with you. Prayers for healing, prayers for comfort, prayers for peace.

This pile of stones was a two story double family house at 3:59 this morning. That's when the soldiers came and woke the ten children under 8 - they are just babies. At 4, it began to be a pile of rubble. That's when the bulldozers revved their engines and caused two sets of young parents to scramble around and try to move their small children and every last little piece of their belongings to safety outside.

The two oldest children, no more than 8,
help load items into a truck

At 6 am is when the relatives and friends began to show up, carrying their condolences and offerings to help. When we arrive a few hours later, they will have determined a system. First, they will offer you a chair in the shade of an impromptu tent. Then they will thank you for coming, and offer you a cold bottle of water. After a few minutes they tell you some of their story, and you will be given a strong cup of Arabic coffee followed by a cool and sweet mint tea.

The grandfather, the patriarch on whose land you stand, will tell you that he had a lawyer and paid the steep fines for building without a permit. "This is the Occupation, what can we do?" he says. He will point to the rubble and tell you that this is the true terrorism, and you will nod your head knowingly because it sure seems random and violent and scary to you.

Destroyed child's bike

Let me tell you, it will definitely feel a little awkward when you look in the eyes of the oldest two children who saw the bulldozers topple their home and you will see they are as strong as grown men. These boys should be in school, but since their bags and books are in the bottom of the rubble they are here to get you a chair and serve you tea instead. One of them is wearing new soccer cleats, because those were the first he could grab before running out of the house. His father says to you "my son is six, he sees his house demolished, of course he will want to start problems when he is 16!" 

Household items the family saved

When you have stayed long enough to pay your respects, you'll return to your safe place thinking that this holy land is broken. And you'll wonder if the world has any idea, and if they do, why isn't someone doing something, anything, to make it stop? And the echo of the grandfather's last words to you as you were leaving become a mantra that you cannot forget: "Thank you for coming, tell the world what you see here!"

Proclaim Jubilee

“Consecrate the fiftieth year and proclaim liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants. It shall be a jubilee for you; each of you is to return to your family property and to your own clan…In this Year of Jubilee everyone is to return to their own property.” (Leviticus 25: 10,13)

Imagine that you are a father of five teenage boys living in the small, overcrowded village of Beit Hanina, on the outskirts of Jerusalem. Your family hadn’t always lived here. Your true home, as your father tells the story, is the Negev. He and your mother (who has long since passed) were internally displaced in 1948 in what Israelis call the “War of Independence”.

The ruins of your home

Your family calls the war “al-Nakbah” or “the Catastrophe”. They remember it as a time in which 700,000 Palestinians fled their homes as some five hundred villages (including your family’s) were destroyed. Since that moment in time, your people have been living in an occupied territory. Even though it began ten years before you were born, your standard of living, access to religious sites and education, the jobs that are available to you, where you may live, even the identity of the person you are able to marry – all will be dictated by a political system in which you are not allowed to participate. Unlike other democratic countries, you may not vote for the representatives that make decisions on your behalf, because you are living under an occupation, you are not considered a full citizen.

One morning at 5 am you hear loud banging and shouts at your door. About 20 soldiers are there with automatic weapons and a large bulldozer. It breaks your heart to see your sons and wife so full of fear as you all get pushed outside so the movers can do their work. The men quickly move through your house, taking out some items and leaving others. You wish your sons had their backpacks for school, but you don’t see them on the pile – they must be under the rubble. You gather your family together in safety just as the wreaking ball begins to swing, demolishing the cement block home that you built with your own two hands just nine years ago.

An empty space where
your home once was

 You thought that the 40,000 shekels (10,000 USD) that you paid in fines for not having the proper building permit would help delay this dark day, but your lawyer was unable to have the case thrown out of court. And now, you will not only have to pay his costs but also the costs for demolition. You and your family are suddenly homeless. Sure, you could just leave and go somewhere else, but the only places available are the nearby refugee camps at Shu’fat or Qalandia – both rife with violence. That’s no environment to raise your teenage sons.

During our second week of placement as international human rights observers, we encountered the man I describe above and his family. Seeing the rubble of what had been their lives, their home base, their shelter and safety… well, there is simply nothing that can be said to ease that kind of helplessness.

More rubble and destruction

It’s a situation that happens quite frequently in Jerusalem. According to the Society of St. Ives Catholic Center for Human Rights, only 7% of building applications are approved for Palestinians while the remaining 93% are granted to Israeli Jew’s. In the Palestinian areas of Jerusalem, there is a housing shortage of 43,000 units. Since permits cost over $30,000 and 75.4% of Palestinians live under the poverty line and are unable to afford it, many have no choice but to build illegally and hope for the best. At this moment, 60,000 families are under demolition orders and are at risk of waking up to find a bulldozer at their door. And it seems, given the current political state, that it is only going to get worse. Unless we decide to do something about it.

Prayers are good, but advocacy is too. It’s been 50 years of unjust occupation, so let’s proclaim Jubilee today. Write your senators and congress people, ask them what they know about this situation which our tax dollars are supporting. Talk to your friends about it. Read up on the human rights abuses taking place here in this “Holy Land Full of Holes”. Better yet, come and see for yourself.

You Can’t Get There from Here, AKA, The Wall

"Like a bird that wanders from her nest, So is a man who wanders from his home." Proverbs 24:8

I'm usually able to navigate from point A to point B. Whether driving or out for a walk, I notice the places I’ve passed, and check my GPS to be certain that I’ll get to my destination. But this place… it’s just tough to get around.

To begin with, the signage is difficult to read. I'm not familiar with the two main languages here, Arabic and Hebrew. On our first trip to the grocery store, our team selected our food based on the picture on the container. Nothing here seems to have price tags, and at three weeks it still takes time to do the shekels to dollars conversion in my head. It was a hilarious first outing.

Navigating the narrow East Jerusalem streets is also laughable. I understand 100% why the program forbids us from renting a car. There is no parking available, so people tend to leave their cars half or fully on the sidewalks. This means that pedestrians walk in the middle of the road so that we are better seen. Two way streets often become temporarily one way out of necessity. Cars must be outfitted with careful steering and good brakes to avoid accidents.

The bus system is another way of getting around, but I haven't been completely successful at that either. I have been trying to use Mapquest/Google Maps for tips on which bus to get on where, and which bus stop to get off. But, because we are in an annexed area, the maps are incomplete, and often a query will come back with results "No destination found". 

The buses here ONLY stop at the designated bus stops if they need to pick someone up. So, counting the stops can be a disaster – as happened to me travelling alone to a Sabeel Bible study across town Thursday, and to Bethlehem with my teammate Yuni last night.

The Bethlehem adventure is probably the funniest one yet, in a sad kind of way. 

Our plan was to be at St. Katherine's in Bethlehem at 5pm, (next to the Church of the Nativity) for an ecumenical prayer service between the heads of churches. It was a big deal because the Catholic Archbishop would be there (as in the States, Catholics, Orthodox and Reformed churches usually do not join together for ecumenical services). Since Yuni and I are the only practicing Christians on our team, we are always eager to go to these kind of things.

Earlier I planned out on. I thought having two hours to go the 6 miles between Jerusalem and Bethlehem would be fine. I’d even have enough time to show my South Korean teammate around the church of the Nativity! Why two hours? Because the trip that should be six miles became 40 miles in 2002, when a wall separating Greater Jerusalem and Bethlehem was built. All traffic coming in and out must go through a checkpoint.

The Google pointed us to the secondary bus station on Sulemann St to board bus 286 (which we were supposed to ride for 2 stops). The 286 comes every 20 minutes like clockwork, but school had also let out, and teens wearing various lovely hijab or the distinctive Palestinian ‘cool teen guy’ haircut swarmed around us. It's good manners to let them go before us, so we did that. A lot. It took two rounds of buses before we finally boarded.

Remember how I said that buses don’t stop as planned? This one didn’t stop and took us way past where we were supposed to get off and through a Bedouin village. Once we were the only two people left on the bus, I got up the nerve to ask “Hey, is this the bus to Bethlehem?” Thankfully, the driver was very nice and explained to us that we needed to go to the central bus station. He drove us back so we could walk a half mile to pick up the 231 just outside Damascus Gate – the best route.

We knew we’d be late to this very important church service, because this second but left about 45 minutes before the service was to start! As we waited, I met a new friend Leo and his sweet four year old daughter Jasmine. Leo lived in the Midwest for 18 years, and had a perfect American accent. He put me at ease answering my questions about how to get around. 

When we (finally) got to Bethlehem we were on the opposite side of town. He told me that we could either get a taxi or take a pleasant walk through the town with him serving as our tour guide. I politely thanked him for the offer, but told him that we really needed to get to this service fast. The four of us got off the bus and he hailed us a taxi.

Taxi's here gather at places where they expect westerners to be, and drivers compete for business by shouting things like, “Hey, pretty lady, where you from? You need Taxi?” If you ignore them, they only get louder. Sometimes they are unlicensed, and drivers expect to haggle with you over the price (they have no meter). Thankfully, Leo stepped in when four of them started shouting over each other in Arabic about who would get to drive us. He guided us to a car where a more professional driver was waiting.

Turns out, this guy was the regular driver for our Bethlehem teammates! His name is Nasser. Leo, Jasmine, Yuni and I got into his cab and he drove us to the church. Nasser said that it closes at 6 (which was in just 15 minutes) and he’d wait for us so that he could return us safely. 

And that’s when I walked into the wrong church. The invitation for this prayer service said Church of the Nativity/St. Katherine's. We entered the Church of the Nativity first. My clergy collar attracted open mouthed stares from laypeople, and looks of disdain from male clergy. Have I explained that there are NO female priests in the Holy Land? Well, except for 3 of us foreigners... me, Rev. Loren and the co-pastor of the Lutheran church in the Old City.

So we walk forward to find a huge group of people. I think this is the prayer service. But then I notice the top of a casket that is propped up at the front. Nope, we’re at someone’s funeral. So, we quietly backtrack and find a museum guide, who wants to take us through the church and explain everything to us. I tell him three times that we were looking for St. Katherine’s, which I thought was here. “Yes!” he says and walks us down a dark hallway into the vestibule of the place we were meant to be. We enter, ten minutes before the prayer service is over. It’s all in Latin, and I can’t understand a thing. Our seats are so far back we can’t see much either.

Nasser was waiting outside for us when we left. Although he looks very young, Nasser told me he has four children at home and can we please visit his cousins gift shop on the way home? Thankful at having made it this far, we relented. I purchased a new carved olive wood communion cup and patin, and a silver bracelet for a friend. We haggled, but I still spent more than I should have.

When we left the shop, Nasser told us that he couldn’t take us all the way back to Bethlehem, that we had to walk through checkpoint 300 and pick up another bus that would take us back to town. When he let us out, I asked him how much we owed him. He said “whatever you want to give me!” That’s when I noticed he didn’t have a meter. I paid him twice what I should have because Nasser is a dad and he was nice to us.

Going through checkpoint 300 to get back into Jerusalem is difficult enough in the daylight, but the creepiness level is turned way up at night when there is no outdoor lighting. I clutched Yumi’s arm and together we made it up the metal chute to eventually get through. I must be getting used to this insanity, because I did not have a panic attack. 

Instead, I was mad. Mad that nice people like Leo and Nasser suffer this indignity whenever they have a permit to leave the West Bank. Mad that what should have been a ten minute journey by car took us over an hour because of the wall of separation. Mad that my new friends who live here are treated no better than animals.

Once through the checkpoint, we waited ten minutes to board the bus. When we disembarked outside of the Damascus Gate at 7pm, we were very hungry. Our original plan was to find a nice place to eat in Bethlehem, but with knowing how difficult travel was and not wanting to miss the last bus out of town, we didn’t. Instead, we stopped at the first restaurant we saw to have a lovely protein-dense meal. Then we walked the mile back to the placement house.

What a day! Next time, I hope we will know better how to get there from here.

Beauty in the Brokenness

"Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things." Philippians 4:8 (NIV)

Rev. Loren McGrail is a UCC pastor and Global Ministries UCC/DOC Missionary serving the YWCA of Palestine. The YWCA was first initiated in 1893 by informal groups of Christian women meeting in Jaffa and Jerusalem, and established officially as the YWCA of Palestine in 1918. It was one of the first organizations to provide services for Palestinian refugees, even before the camps were established in 1948-49.

At the time of the establishment of the State of Israel, more than 750,000 Palestinians became refugees in the West Bank, Gaza, Jordan, Syria, and Lebanon; and more than 525 Palestinian towns and villages were destroyed.

"Fabric of Our Lives" Dolls
(EAPPI/Jennifer G)

Currently, the YWCA of Palestine is formed by three associations situated in Jerusalem, Ramallah and Jericho, which also oversees two multi-functional community centers in Jalazoune and Aqbet Jaber Refugee Camps.

In Ramallah, women are taught to be an event planner (weddings and the like), eventually earning a certificate and help with job placement. Jericho offers a food production program for the women. Their dream is to produce enough locally sourced food so that people throughout Israel/Palestine can be fed. Unfortunately, checkpoints get in the way of their distribution, and products are not available outside the West Bank.

The YWCA also works with the EU in setting women up with micro-loans. This helps the women become self-sufficient making honey, jams and cakes.

The YWCA also offers training on civil engagement, so that Palestinian women can work to fix their own problems. Learning how to settle disputes, issues and conflicts is an important part of self-determination. In one small village, the women earned enough money to purchase a bus for their frightened children to get to school past gun-toting settlers. The young men of the village were so envious of their accomplishment, that they began to work on building a football field. In a place like the West Bank, where there is so much every day stress, having a place for children and youth to gather and play games is very important.

The YWCA's advocacy efforts focuses on women's rights, especially the right of return and self-determination. The women are organizing a National Action Plan that will challenge domestic violence. They believe that it is long past time to hold the system accountable for looking the other way at honor killings, which may be rare but still happen. A group of women go to the UN every March to a conference on women's issues, the delegation from Palestine also speaks about the violence of the occupation itself, especially when it comes to demolitions and access to movement.

Demolitions impact women differently than men in this society. The house is the one place where it is culturally appropriate for the woman to have authority, safety and security. Her entire world falls apart when this important piece of her life is bulldozed. Men often feel the trauma differently; as a personal failure. But for the woman of the home, the destruction wipes away her very identity.

With the newly passed Knesset legislation, many people here believe that more land will be annexed and additional settlements will go up soon, which will lead to an increase of despair and violence.

Separation Wall,
Bethlehem (EAPPI/Jennifer G)

The separation wall is another issues that affects women differently than men. If a young woman in the West Bank studies hard and gets into a good university, she will need to pass through a checkpoint to get to class. Her father could say no to this because he wants to protect her from the potential violence and the sexual harassment. Her parents may encourage her to end her studies and find a husband. In this and many more ways, patriarchy uses the occupation as an excuse to keep women in their place.

Rev. McGrail also shared with us ways that women remember wartime events differently than men. Men tend to talk about the land, and women talk about the people. She told us about meeting a woman remembers fleeing the Deir Yassin massacre with her infant. As she ran through the village to escape the violence, the young mother (she was 16 at the time) encountered another mother dead on the ground. When she fell, she had dropped her infant, and he was still alive. Every day of her life the mother who survived mourns for that child she did not pick up. She still wonders what became of it.

Loren is an artist, and showed us some of her works illustrating the many issues that Palestinian women and children face. She re-purposes broken pottery, marbles, tear gas cans and bullet casings as unique works that tell a story of beauty in the brokenness. It is one way that she cares for herself so that she can care for others who have been traumatized by war and violence. It is breathtaking stuff.
You can see some of it yourself on her blog: lorenmcgrail.blogspot.com

One of Loren's pieces
(EAPPI/Jennifer G)

A Place Where Children Can Play

The community of Silwan sits high in the hills east of Jerusalem. Because it sits adjacent to the City of David, settlers have been slowly displacing the people there. In addition, the private security forces and police who guard the new inhabitants have a tendency to harass the people who live there, particularly the children.

Walking the streets of Silwan

I believe that violence easily becomes cyclical in nature. The fear of a young child who has to walk past soldiers holding large automatic weapons on the way to their school turns into teens that throw rocks, causing damage to the houses on the hill directly below. They aim for the settler's security guards and homes, but they easily hit their own.

Our roles in the area is to provide protective presence, by accompanying the children to school and visiting the community center, a place which was built by the Swiss but is run by parent volunteers as a place to keep the children safe and from wandering the streets.

Yesterday we took our first walk through the area, and visited the community center. The children there love to practice their English but I am feeling the need to at least try to speak Arabic, so I hope to take some private lessons from a woman in our community. Rumor has it she also teaches middle eastern cooking, which I will have to learn because as they say, one cannot live by shwarma street wraps alone!

Inside the Community Center,
where children play after school

Today two of us went on our first school watch. We stood at the top of the stairs greeting the children as they ascended to the boys and girls school. Girls looked smart in their burgundy track suits and the boys were dressed in normal street clothes. Because the sunrise was behind us, we believe that some of the smaller children may have been frightened by us. 

We decided to move up to the top of the hill closer to the school when some of the older teen boys began throwing rocks at the houses below. Instinctively, we knew that it is harder to make the wrong choice when you have to meet the eye of another. So we joined their group so that they were distracted enough to stop. We tried to tell them through gestures "Please don't do that, someone will get hurt!"

Looking down on the rooftops of Silwan

I'm not suggesting that the feelings held by the young men behind the rock-throwing were wrong - certainly their anger was justified. How long can you see your younger siblings harassed on the street before wanting to do something about it?

I know that I am an outsider, but I'm here to help spread peace. If it were one of my teens, I'd certainly have better language skills and some level of basic trust to work the issue out. These teens, my own son's age and younger, could injure a smaller child unintentionally, and if they were caught they'd serve 20 years in jail. 

Imagine living out your childhood in a place where security people can harass you, out of frustration or boredom. Imagine being a teen who is so full of frustration and anger that he'd choose to throw a rock and risk detention until he is in his mid-thirties. Imagine being a parent who lives in fear because your child has so few places to grow and play.

I wish there were more we could do to break the cycle, but perhaps our intervention today prevented further escalation in that moment. There is truly no way to know. 

Training With Those Who Have Come Before

It has been a whirlwind few days here as our team spends days training with the team that has preceded us. The placement house is typical for the area, with three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs and a large common room with a cooking nook off to the side. Built to fend off the harsh summer heat, houses are built to stay cool, and the large stone tiles running throughout it are like ice on my feet.

The team members who came before us have been patiently trying to explain many things, like where to get the best vegetables and how to turn on the water heater, which can't run at the same time as the space heaters. I'm finding out that my new team mates are kind and generous and funny people, and I think we'll continue enjoying one another's company. They are Lottie from England, Linnea from Sweden and Jarmo from Norway.

The four of us have split up so that those who came before can show us as many of the opportunities for connection in the area as possible. Lottie and I have been to many places together, including the Quilandiya checkpoint (from Ramallah into Greater Jerusalem), Silwan (a Palestinian community), a morning walk around the Dome of the Rock, a demolition, and two schools at the top of Silwan. 

Last night we took a chance on riding the light rail to the area right outside the Knesset to see a movie at Cinema City, a large and extremely tacky theater in the middle of an upscale shopping mall. We saw Hidden Figures, it was a good movie. I'm glad that I sent, but also regretted not catching up on sleep as I hadn't had any the night before (and I'm certain that I dozed off a little bit).

Interesting moments happened on each of these excursions, which I will cover in separate blog posts. 

Let Me Help You, Sister

Damascus Gate at Night

I arrived at the Damascus Gate of Jerusalem's Old City later than I hoped last Thursday night, well after dark. It was a long Nesher (shared shuttlebus taxi) ride, but it was also entertaining as the driver was yelling in Hebrew at pretty much everyone of his passengers. The young women riding with me threw me a universal eye roll glance which made the trip so much better!

If you've never been to the Damascus Gate, picture about 30 stone steps leading down to an entrance through the city's ancient walls. With my huge suitcase, duffel bag packed to the rim, and heavy backpack, after travelling 20 hours, I'm sure that I was a sight - single western woman, hair frazzled, wearing clergy collar, clearly in over her head with what she thought she was able to carry. So step by awkward step, I slowly made my way up towards the Via Dolorosa towards Ecco Homo.

At the last torturous hill, when I was about to collapse, a man (in his 60's, maybe?) came out of the shadows saying "Let me help you, sister!" He asked where I was going, what I was doing in the city, and kindly deposited me on the steps of the ancient convent after telling me that he was a Palestinian Christian, and that I was welcome in the Holy City.

I wanted to share that memory because it reminded me of the spirit of the book that I had just spent three flights reading, "The Book of Joy" by Archbishop Desmond Tutu and the Dalai Lama. These two deeply spiritual men were interviewed over the course of a week to find out how they found joy in the midst of great trial and oppression through South African Apartheid and Tibetan Exile. Both have shared that it is in service to the other, even in the worst of times, that can bring a sense of joy.

I can't say for certain if my new friend felt joy after lending me a hand, but I know as the receiver of his kindness I certainly felt blessed.  Much more to share, later. Be kind to one another.

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.

Wet Pilgrims in the Old City

Here I sit trying to drip-dry for the rainstorm that caught us about 2 hours ago in the Christian quarter. Truly, we were more fortunate than the forecast was predicting and the day was mostly overcast, windy and cold.

How do I describe Old Jerusalem? Layers upon layers of history, art, religion and culture all smooshed together. Historically, the city was divided in the 19th century into four unequal quarters: Muslim, Christian, Armenian and Jewish. According to the Biblical record, the site was conquered by King David from the Jebusites in the 11th century BCE. From there, it has been occupied by Persians, Byzantines, Muslims, Crusaders... you get the picture.

Me, S & J at Damascus Gate

The college sits about a half mile from the Damascus Gate, one of eight current openings that provide access and it's an easy walk to get there. Once inside we walked through the Muslim quarter on our way to the entrance for the Al Aqsa Mosque. As Christians, we are not allowed inside the actual mosque building, but Father Kamal took us around and showed us the different parts of the plaza which can hold up to six million Muslims during Ramadan. Jerusalem is a lesser pilgrimage site for them, each Muslim man and woman is expected to make a Hajj to Mecca once in their lifetime. Many come to Jerusalem if they are not able to make the longer trip to Saudi Arabia.

The Knights Templars began their work in the middle ages on the site which is now a Mosque. Clark knows a lot more about their history than I do, and I wish he was here with me to experience this fascinating history. In Jesus' time part of the plaza was used as a marketplace, where pilgrims could change their money or purchase a lamb for the temple offering. Remember the story about Jesus turning over the tables?

Women's section, Western Wall

Then it was on to the Western (Wailing) Wall which is believed to be the last standing piece of the Second Temple. It is a sacred place where Jews (and others) go to slip tiny prayers into the wall in hopes that God will hear them. I was happy to take with me about twenty prayers of members of my congregation and place them in the wall. The area is partitioned into sections, one for the men and a (much) smaller one for the women. My friend Robbie says that's because men have so much more to be penitent for. I have to admit that praying alongside so many women was a tender moment for me.

Needle's Eye Gate

After a lovely lunch at the Lutheran Hostel, we were escorted into a Russian Orthodox church. When we entered, Sheryl and I had to put on wrap-around skirts (because women have no right to wear pants!) Here we saw two gates. One that was very large, that had been closed for a number of years. When it was open, it was the right size for a fully laden camel to pass through easily. Next to it was a little opening about 2 feet wide and four feet tall. In Jesus' day the camel gate would be closed at 5pm. People were allowed to come in, but they had to use the smaller opening next to it. Maybe you've picked it up by now... It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter the kingdom. Wow.

We ended the day at the Church of the Resurrection. The high point of my day was when we prayed the Lord's prayer in our own languages as a group. Such a wonderful moment to be in that place with my brothers and sister, standing in the place where tradition holds Mary Magdalene first saw the Risen Christ. I did not get in line to see the tomb area or the Calvary site because I'd rather save that for tomorrow as the culmination of our stations of the cross. Besides, Jesus isn't there anyway.

Visitation & Nativity, aka Mother's Day

Pregnant Cousins Meet

Elizabeth felt that something was missing. Being childless in that period of time in the culture of 1st century Palestine held with it a kind of shame. When she learned that she would give birth at such an advanced age, she was filled with joy and laughter. Mary, her young cousin, made the trip from Nazareth to Ein Kerem (which means Spring of the Vine) to serve her at the time of the birth as was her cultural obligation. It was customary, when a cherished visitor arrived at your home, to sing a song of welcome. And if the visitor was very clever, she would sing a song of thanksgiving in response.

This is the moment in which we began our day. Mary's Magnificat (Luke 1:39-56), cherished by those in the Catholic and Orthodox traditions, was just such a song of arrival. And it is full of symbolic meaning. But I'll leave that for a future sermon, and just say that I have a new appreciation for the depth of this ancient song.

The Church of the Visitation is built on top of a location where Zechariah and Elizabeth would stay in the fields when the summer's heat drove them out of the lower country. Down in the village is the John the Baptist Church which is built over their family home, and the place where the faithful believe he was born. There is also a large stone there which it is said shielded Elizabeth and John during the slaughter of the innocents. The church is one of only two Byzantine era churches that remains standing. It has particularly beautiful floor mosaics of Christian symbols, and I hope that I collected photos of all of them for our Sunday school children who are learning about them in an upcoming unit!

We were invited again to go beyond the place and to the Spirit. Are we ready to leave everything behind and follow him? As a student of the scriptures I know that my growing edge is worrying perhaps too much, about historical authenticity and having a systematic theology. Perhaps that is a function of being in the postmodern West, or being trained at a seminary that was very concerned with such matters. The more time I spend here the more I feel a deeper truth and connection.

Jesus Born Here? Inquiring minds wanna know.

By way of example, we visited a site which was called "Shepherd's Field" that is run by the YMCA. Their claim is that this cave was the cave in which the shepherds in Luke's gospel camped out. The Roman Catholic and the Greek Orthodox church each have their own field with the same claim. Does it matter if I stood today in THE cave? Or, is it more important to reflect upon what it means that there were shepherds mentioned in the story? Again, another sermon topic for another day.

On the way to Bethlehem we stopped at a Palestinian Christian's woodworker shop, located in the basement of his family home. He showed us how he ages the wood, marks it, then works it into souvenirs for the gift shops. I purchased a number of items because they were lovely, and it was a chance to support someone who is struggling. It is a custom in this land to offer your guests tea or coffee. As we sipped from the tiny cups, one of the people in my party said to him: I'll pray for you. "Please, no - I do not need your prayers. Pray for peace for all the people - Muslim, Jew and Christian. Pray for peace. And when you go home, tell the story and ask your friends to pray for peace also."

Or here?

With that blessing, we were on to the church of the nativity. Underneath the church is the grotto where pilgrims believe Jesus was born. It was marked with a star, and was worn smooth and shiny. As I placed my hand on the spot, I thought of all of those who have gone before me and will go after me and felt deeply moved.

Tomorrow we are off to the Western Wall, and I have carried some of the prayers of my church with me to place amongst it's stones. Pray for peace.

Jesus the Pilgrim

I've come to the point, now that I have been here a week, that the days are beginning to run together. I am trying desperately to hang on to every place and memory, between my journal - blog - photos and voice recorder I am beginning to feel a little saturated.

The view from the top of Mt Tabor

We began our day taking a death-defying minibus ride up the side of Mount Tabor, which is believed to be the place of the Transfiguration (Luke 9:28-35). It was a hazy day, so we sadly couldn't see much of the plain below.

Then it was over to Nabot's fields (1 Kings 21:1-16) where we were asked to consider power and authority. We left the Galilee region and hopped over to Jericho for lunch and shopping at a glass shop. Our final site was the church of Mary and Martha in Bethany, where Jesus is said to have visited. We read John 11:1-54 and reflected on those we love who have passed from our lives too quickly. 

Back to the college, and a good night's sleep. Blessings, Peace, Salaam and Shalom.

Who Do You Say That I Am?

Banias Springs

The Banias Spring is one of the three springs that feeds the River Jordan, and it is a site of ancient worship of Pan, the Greek God of parties. What is interesting about this place is that it overlooks Ceasaria Philipi, the place of Peter's confession of faith (Matthew 16:13-28). While we were there, a Korean Charismatic church group arrived to perform what looked to us like an exorcism. As our instructor said "never mind them, they are on the way."

We visited a Druze market, and I purchased some goat cheese that I'll never get through customs. Then it was back on the bus to the northernmost tip of the country and it's border with Syria. There are fields with land mines here in the Golan Heights. It's cold too, because it is the highest elevation in the country. Interestingly, taxes are 30% lower here because it is so dangerous to live in the border country.

Mensa Christi

The most sacred moment of my day was celebrating the Eucharist with Bishop Richard at the Mensa Christi, which is a small chapel built upon the rock believed to be the site of the post-resurrection "breakfast on the beach" (John 21).

What do I take with me from what I learned of Jesus'ministry in the Galilee?

- Feed people before you talk to them, hospitality is a crucial part of ministry

- To be a disciple is to accept that the road ahead of you calls for sacrifice, and yet God will provide

- Healing of the body, soul and mind should be freely given to everyone