Roads to and from Emmaus

Jerusalem, 16 December 2010

Emmaus it turns out is one of those contested places – meaning we're no longer sure where it is – there are inconsistencies in the gospel narratives that have meant multiple possible locations. So we took the road less travelled and talk a forest walk behind a Jewish settlement that has ruins of the main roman road to the north of Jerusalem nestled beside a mostly dry creekbed. In pilgrim style we walked in silence so the soundscape was birds and the crunching of gravel under other pilgrims feet, and the exhalations as people miss their footings on stones. Andrew led the way touching, as is his style, the old stones in a way that isn't so much a caress as an earthing a connecting into the story. I noticed the weeds catch my scarf wrapped cloak like around me and imagined these weeds great great grandfathers snagging the cloaks of bewildered disciples all those years ago.

We'd been invited to ponder during our walking the future and what it might hold but to me the path and the experience seemed like any other bush walk on a camp without the eucalyptus scent. The gunshot broke across our scattered praying sending the collectrive blood pressure of the group sky high, people tensed and the shots continued. We turned to walk back to the beginning – reassured it was only! a shooting range. But to me it was Empire casting its shadow over our time – for us its been the squeezing Israeli security mania for the disciples that Easter it was the Romans but for both it means that walkers into the future do so with fear – what will come next is in many ways beyond their control. It helped me see the fear in the story rather than merely the happy ending. The fear of those in Jerusalem realizing they were "on the wrong side" as it were – hiding. The fear of those who chose to walk home – no point hanging around when the hoped for revolution hasn't happened – but maybe dreading being stopped on the way. The fear of the Romans of losing control of the country they had suppressed – religious festivals and leaders a constant headache. The fear today of so many in this land – either those who chose to stay or those who attempt to walk a different way into the future. The fear of those everywhere facing the future – Empire still flexing its muscles, security still a concern, hopes still dashed, friends still crucified.

How might resurrection change this?

Emmaus the second is a town now known as Abu Ghosh – a rare place where Jews, Moslems and Christians live alongside each other with no wall. A place on the main road 60 stadia from Jerusalem. A place from where you can look down on the road from Jerusalem as it winds it was along the valley towards the coast and trading routes north. We visited a peaceful French Benedictine convent and celebrated our final communion together – outside beside an olive grove overlooking the road. A time to mark the Emmaus point of our pilgrimage – and to face the challenge – despite the comfort of this place will we take the more compelling challenge and return to the Jerusalems of our lives…the places where power must be confronted, the place were truth must be told, the place where we have been called to work and sacrifice – mindful too of the call beyond Jerusalem to Galilee to mission beyond the safety and to places of deep refreshment and prayer.

I intend thus.

Saying goodbye to Jerusalem 1

Today has been the last day of the course which means that tomorrow we leave Jerusalem. I have fallen in love with this city – granted I've been introduced to it in the best possible way – without rush, with great knowledge and the wisdom to give us the space to let it seep into our souls – but there is something about this place. It's beauty and complexity; its brokenness and contradictions; its potential and betrayal.

Aware of a sense of the impeding leaving I spent yesterday afternoon walking through the old city by myself – picking up the last of the small gifts but mostly just enjoying the kaleidoscope of smell and sound and sight and soulfulness. Being alone of course I was fair game for shopkeepers – its much quieter here now than it was two weeks ago when we arrived and lacking skills in totally ignoring people I spent a pleasant afternoon drinking tea and being chatted up. Being told you have the face of an angel despite it being all about the sales pitch is endearing – and good for the self esteem – I've enjoyed the opportunity to talk with people to ask what they like about this place and why they wouldn't leave (most common answer – I just couldn't it's home). It really is one of the big cultural differences - that chatting in the shops and being willing to talk about your life. I remembered Aimee in Bethlehem where all the shop keepers called out to her as she went past – I do think that would happen here in time too. I wondered as I talked what it would be to be a hope carrier in this place – so I smiled and laughed off the attempts to lure me into earrings or carpets "no no madam – just tell me what you like in my shop, no pressure to buy" ha ha.

Part of my intention in the walk was to see a guy who sells antiquities I'd chatted to on our first city explorations (could it be only two weeks ago?) But I couldn't find him – there seems to be no rhyme or reason to shop opening hours here and there's this magical way the streets seem to meld together and bring you out not quite where you thought you were. It's all rather mary poppins-esque. I walked again past the Noble Sanctuary, passing yet again through security to get near the western wall on my way out to the city.

I was headed for the city of David which slips its way on the point of the terraces down into the Kidron and Tyropean valleys meeting point way below. Some of the possible sites (really so much is about being possible places) of events of the passion happened in places that are now outside the city walls and I had wanted to investigate- and was reminded yet again how incredibly steep this place is. Puffing, I saw the church that marks where Mary went to sleep but more evocative still as the sun started it descent was the view down the line of the hill towards the west, all timeless beauty until you let your eyes move out and then the Wall creeps menacingly in the distance. I swung by the Armenian Monastery and St Peter Gallicullu (of the cock crow) neither of which were home to visitors. I saw fathers and sons walking home from temple and a jogger puffing his way up the slope of Mt Zion, and car bursting alarmingly out of Zion Gate.

Tossing up whether to circumnavigate the walls I thought the better of it and reentered the city as people made their way home from work – carrying the ubiquitous grey plastic bags of shopping with coats turned up against the cold. I was struck by how much I'll miss this place – and that in many ways the pull home wasn't nearly enough to overcome it. I found tears sneaking their way down my cheeks – and an understanding trickling into my heart about why people have loved this place so deeply. I thought to myself I could happily spent the rest of my life exploring these streets and sharing the thrill with others.

To shake me out of my reverie, the street narrowed and the smooth stones were slippery, and I slid into a juice seller who told me I was In the very centre of Roman Jerusalem. I smiled and mmmed appropriately – to make his point, he showed me in the next shop so I could see the arches that remain from the Cardo two millennia ago. "you want to see the view from the heart of the city?" He showed me an iron staircase huddled up beside his shop. It was magic – I stood on the rounded rooftops in the middle of the quarters and took a farewell set of photos as the sun slid from the western sky turning the hilltops opposite pink behind the gold of the dome and the green light on the minaret. Good bye my friend. Ill treasure our memories.

 

 

It really is a big story

Jerusalem, 14 December 2010

Have just returned from walking the Stations of the Cross, breakfast and a brilliant tour of the Church of the Resurrection (aka the Holy Sepulcher).

We started at 6am and walked in silence down through Salah ah Din street behind the College's wooden cross – in the context of an East Jerusalem Moslem street if was to me a symbol of our wish to walk in peace and pilgrimage together even though in ages past it has been used as a symbol of conquest and oppression. It was also for me symbolic of the melting pot that is Jerusalem – the intermingling of faiths and cultures. The sun was just rising behind us and we filed down the street whilst the earliest of the traders were starting to unbolt the metal shutters of their shops.

It feels like so much has been crammed in that even now only a couple of hours later I can't remember it all – so here are the snapshots of the heart I tried to take alongside the prayers of the lens as well as trying to keep up with the group – all these things aren't necessarily possible to do simultaneously! The first station courtyard where the church remembers that Jesus was judged by Pilate – sparrows were the dominant sound in the courtyard, the quiet and distance as injustice is proclaimed. A sense as we walked through the streets that like the day it happened this was just another working day in Jerusalem, merchants opening shops, the slap of kids feet as they run towards school, and the garbage men usually hidden suddenly thrust onto the main stage of the drama. And the everyday sounds of Arabic pop playing in a car parked across from us as we moved between station three and four.

Remembering to turn around and look behind as well as in front gifted glimpses of sunlight throwing itself against the white and pink sandstone polarized by the deep shadows where light has not yet reached. And the contrast of the sense of smell as well as we weave between incense and cat's pee. Lending a helping hand to a school girl taking the rubbish out for grandma on her way to school. These streets have worn stones, made smooth by generations of feet running, gliding and stumbling over them – we are no different and the sight of members of our group taking it in turns for Johanna who has sprained her ankle to lean on - in the same way we take it in turns to be the cross bearer – the one singled out at the front – the one with the distance between us.

All this and in my head running scenarios for next Easters' services.

In our first days here, the Church of the Resurrection had turned me off with its throngs of pilgrims and tourist pushing and shoving and its crowds being barked at by arrogant priests hissing and yelling. But today she wooed me as we were led with depth and passion through her secrets – in the shape of the rocks around her and the gospel accounts. What will stay with me is the smell of the place – the intermingling of different incense and it wends its way through the high gilten domes. And the sound of my shoes soles squeaking as if I had to acknowledge my own presence in this story – not possible to be a silent witness here. With no queues we were able to ascend the time worn stairs to the chapel of Calvary's rocks – for many years before it was used as an execution place it was a quarry so within the church there are caverns that show the empty spaces and C1st CE rocks. Up the stairs is another view of the rock – it has a huge fault running through it – the rocky outcrop not suitable for quarrying but OK for crucifixion. The fault line running its full height from the glassed in walls below, to the shrine above where it is possible to kneel and reach one's hand in to touch the rock. And unlike yesterday today touching the rock was OK – grounding even – perhaps death is easier than suffering. There are words on some of the rocks in the church – love hearts with names, all kinds of script detailing visitors, crosses scraped into the rocks in family groups – the marks of devotion and presence.

Finally two things the empty tomb itself with its epicule or little house over the top – with barely a queue we were able to go inside the emptiness – its emptiness hidden now by candles and gilt and flowers – but the impression perhaps strengthened by the moments inside another cave tomb a little further back, we bent to go in and crouched low, centuries of candle burning have coated the walls black and waxy but can't remove the cold of a tomb or the eeriness of sitting in one. And losing the group Allison and I paused in the stripped back Franciscan space – quiet and simple and merely decorated across the lintel with bronze figures representing the stations, quite small and simple but exquisite.

Perhaps it's the theological vastness of the story that we remembered as we walked and prayed and touched that has meant that instead of a grand overarching emotion or sense of its meaning what I have is snippets and snapshots and sensations. A little is most certainly enough.

Church of the darkness

Gethsemane, 13 December 2010

It's hard to stay awake Lord
Even in this place
Feeling cold and damp.
I always imagined it was easy
and the disciples slack and tired
But I knelt
- here now with the comfort of an altar rail
on which to lean.
Outside the barrier
For I can't get any closer to the rock
- of despair and exhaustion.
And even with horns outside
And tourist's digital flashes
It's hard not to close your eyes,
Just for a minute
Amidst this still dark beauty.
But you asked for more than wakefulness
You ask us also to watch
and bear witness

To you at your most human.
Herded through the checkpoint
Cattle runs
Shoes and belt removed
To scan your hand
Awaiting rejection, accusation and denial
Taunted by name calling
Arab, terrorist
When confrontation is before you
And aloneness
as you are picked off one by one
But bearing the weight of the tribe
And culture on your shoulders.
Let us all be watchful.

Rest for now in the olive garden
Renew your resolve
This is not over yet.

Tears over a city

Mt of Olives, 13 December 2010

Trailing wet on the slippery path
Down the Mt of Olives
Looking out to Jerusalem
Sheeted in rain
Sparkling still
Holy Week's pilgrimage
Disciples mostly unaware
Doing tasks – donkeys and food,
A place to eat
Pausing at Dominus Flavus'
Tear drop on the mountain side

And the window framing the city
Still running with tears
Now seen through cross and cup
Still plenty to weep over
Even more now we've eaten
Of the Tree of this Land.

To Jerusalem and confrontation
we too must now go
In your footsteps
We follow

And Jesus wept.

How far ahead is it really possible to see?

Jerusalem, 12 December 2010

Today's main activity was a trip to Rammallah to worship with a local Anglican parish. While not as moving as last week's adventure it was still a privilege to stand with people for whom staying here has meant much sacrifice and hardship, for who worship happens in the middle of the working week, for whom getting out of their town means long queues and unpredictable permit granting – even to travel the 40 minutes to Jerusalem where they have a job. Yet once again we merely cruised in on the bus. Rammallah seems much more prosperous than Bethlehem – there is development happening everywhere – new buildings and cronstruction seems to be happening everywhere you look. Today all that building was contributing to the dust that is blowing relentless all around – for there has been no rain this winter and now like last summer in the dust storms in Sydney everyone is just longing for the rain to come.

There is something about just standing in a church listening to people sing. I hate singing hymns – and even songs - at home for they seem trite and not always truthful and lame, but listening to the congregation behind me sing today was something else – and gave me the sense that they find it a community building rather than isolating experience. The hymns are a meld of western tunes imported with the British rule I image with Arabic variations – it's quite lovely. When your world is at risk and vulnerable perhaps singing becomes a form of protest –you can't stop the songs we sing together and you can't stop them giving us hope – somehow a choral version of the endless paintings and quotes on the Palestinian side of the wall. All of which made up for a rather sexist and fundamentalist sermon that left me wishing he'd just preached in Arabic so I could listen to the sound rather than the meaning!

This afternoon Allison and I had an unexpectedly contemporary art cultural expedition to the Museum of the Seam. It exists in the house that was used as a military checkpoint on the Green Line – the dividing line from before 1967 between East and West Jerusalem. Presently it is home to an exhibition about Protesting with works from artists from here as well as internationally. In usual contemporary art confronting style there were videos of rock throwing in the streets here morphing into dropping stones into Monet's water lilies, a dreamlike story of a young woman's return to her home in Akko to play out the role of princess carrying her castle like the burdens of the other women she encounters down through the town to the sea, a "non political" story of Siamese twin brothers – brothers in arms with images of the destruction of houses in Sheik Jezzah neighbor (the suburb next to the College), a flashing neon sign with slogans, provocations and wisdoms scrolling across the screen. Frustratingly no photos allowed and no postcards of the parts I most enjoyed.

PS Almost forgot – the Museum of the Seam also had the 2^nd best coffee we've had since we got here – once we found the café waiter who was up on the roof rewelding a sculpture that was in danger of being blown off the roof – such has been the force of the winds here for the last two days.

All in all a great day for thinking about resistance and protest and the need to somehow continue it. I'm off now to listen to Donna who is doing work like Aimee who we visited last week in Bethlehem.

The dust sprites of Masada

Masada, 11 December 2010

Masada – the place of Jewish legends and heroism is a majestic accomplishment of Herod in his paranoid megolmanic phase – constructing a palace fortress 450m straight up a mountain. He used the stones from the mountain itself to build and then decorated it in opulent Roman style – including of course storehouses that could contain more food than they could almost ever use- for as for so many times in the land the real issue turns out to be water and not food. It also included plaster lined rooms and the obligatory bathhouse. Resting on a terraced sort of arrangement as if the bow of a ship he commanded an unbelievable view across the dead sea and up the valley.

It was hard not to be awed. But perhaps even more awe inspiring than the building and survival stories of the place was the weather. As we watched dust sprites danced into view obscuring the sun and dancing around us on the wind, travelling hundreds of metres from the desert floor below. Their intensity increased til they whipped into our faces and jammed the shutter lens of our cameras. Not a tame place the desert when it flings itself at you. Inhospitable and daunting I paused to reflect yet again on the brutuality of this place that people for 5000 years have fought over almost as brutually. There must be something about land than sinks into a cultures soul – the dispossessed Bedouin on their high places, children not school and camels and trinkets ever present; the Palestinineans indigenous in the face of the migration into this place working abroad for years and all the time longing to return in their retirement, the Zionists sure that God has promised them this place with their right of return from anywhere in the world making their children wear guns to keep it. This land a powerful tameable place.

A Day at the Museum

Jerusalem, 10 December 2010

What a fantastic day – the Museum of Israel has just recently opened so after joining the opening hour throng to get through a security check – very cursory – we had four hours to ourselves to wonder around.

They have a huge display of archeological items – many on loan from other places – from across the 10000 years of human inhabitation in this area. It was mind numbing really looking at everything from stone axes and the first flint knives through the miniatures for the Egyptian afterlife to glass design in the Ottoman period. The detail is phenomenal though it was a bit distressing to see many items without identifiers or with no record of where they were found – I guess archeology has moved on a lot since then evidenced in a display about the first people (blokes) who started looking for biblical archeology in the mid C19th – hilarious images of well dressed colonials.

Trying to let things jump up and grab me I went maples so ended up jumping between periods quite a bit as the rooms didn't seem to go in any sensible order to me – anyway some standouts were the remnants of early bronze age weaving, some of the cultic items from the first temple period and glorious greek pottery over several centuries, the sarcophagus in the Nicholson Museum isn't as colourful but is better preserved. I just soaked it all in letting my imagination run away trying to imagine what it would have been like to have lived the life that these objects point towards. The pure volume of it was so intense that I forgot to be critical about the way that it kept referring to "the Land" rather than using a name about this area – I guess that's trying to be as sensitive as possible – if I'm feeling charitable or it lets those who can go project their own name onto it.

Which is a way of segueing into last night's guest speaker who is a Palestinian liberation theologian – Naim Ateek. Passionate, engaged, committed to his identity and to facing the situation here using methods of non violent resistance. He didn't speak of his theological journey but he hasn't been working for the diocese here for some time and the organization is on the top ten biggest threats to the state of Israel (they've been told that they are considered more dangerous by some people than hammas!) so I think there has been a shift over his lifetime as he's tried to be a true minister amongst the Palestinian people. What I loved was the way he reminded me about the different approaches to doing theology and the way that Christology in this situation has so much more power than Trinitarian approaches. That sense of needing to identify the stories of the people and then have a person to model from and follow the example of – the real sense of a grounded theology that matches a grounded theory approach to working with people here. An approach that keeps them in the here and now and the what can be done by us – not what's the theory or how can I analyse this from another more distant angle – but what's the story and how does it connect with the God story in Jesus. Missiologically it seems to fit – I get that when the "what is good news" question is asked here that this approach meets it in a prophetic and hope filling way but it made me wonder if this is the case missiologically in all places? Anyway it was very thought provoking but I won't bore you with the philosophy etc as even here people's eyes are glazing over as I said this sort of stuff.

It may be hard to see the connection between this and the museum but for me its about how story gets told and what gets highlighted and named – these all seem such key issues in this highly contested conflicted place.

Narky in Nazareth

Jerusalem, 8 December 2010

Maybe it was because of the focus on the divinity at the start of the day as we made our way up Mt Tabor – after I'd told the evening service last year about Mt Harmon! Or maybe it's the lull after the beauty of the water around Galilee but today felt like just being a tourist on a bus looking at modernist churches.

Mt Tabor commands a spectacular view across the Jezreel Valley – site of many of David and Saul's battles and encounters. Far off in the distance is Mt Carmel and Haifa but today was far too hazy for that. One of my favourite gospel stories seemed very disconnected today – unearthed as it were, teetering high away from people – even the art in the church was more angelic than people – beautiful though the angels most were it seemed far away. I get the writer of Luke putting the praying up here and away but it was a mighty long way up – we caught sheruts from where the buses can't wind any further up the mountain - and it was a spectacular ascent but I wondered about just how long it would have taken to talk – this was no quick 5 minutes of prayer this marked a deliberate and time consuming withdrawal from the crowds. But today the crowds are up here as well – and we had communion in a chapel with no view – and lots of words!

Anyway after the mountain top we wound our way down the valley to Nazareth which should have been fantastic – the boyhood home of Jesus. But nothing remains of that Nazareth – instead it's mostly new city with relatively new 12-13C buildings. And the church may be the biggest n the Middle East but it looks like it's built by a bloke with an edifice complex.

I guess it had to happen at some stage but I think I may have reached the limit of my ability to find meaning in the modernist junk built over supposed holy sites. It feels so empty when you're looking at things constructed in the 1960s that merely leave a square or two of mosaic under a glass floor and then fill the remainder of the space with gaudy over romanticized theologically inaccurate or at least monolithic paintings – many of which are not art.

Encountering rude religious didn't help either – maybe best to just leave it here to say that it won't be the most memorable day of this trip.

Seeing God?

Noble Sanctuary (Temple Mount), 9 December 2010

On the south side of the temple
As you come up from Bethlehem
There was once a gate – big, majestic
Named for Huldah – prophetess
Somewhere around this gate
May have lurked Simeon and Anna
Peering out at the faces of devotees
As they walked the uneven steps up
Towards the vast monolithic temple platform
Their intent on preparing for worship
Echoed in the outward oriented faces
Of the old ones awaiting salvation.

How did they make them out?
From the many other couples carrying babies -
no strollers in this city -
In the push and shove of narrow alleys
Where everyone's busy about their worship
How to slow down and enjoy a plastic stool
Where eye contact between women becomes possible
Tentative smiles exchanged
Moving to hand gestures from each side.
A mother and daughter's patient gentleness
This is how you recognize God.