Hope

I came here for my sabbatical. - A pilgrimage or journey to a sacred and holy place.

What I discovered is that while the shrines, sites, were not necessary “holy” due to the commercialism, gaudiness, and the pushy tourist groups that pilferaged the Holy Land – the land (the wilderness, the wadi, the fields of sunflowers) and the people who live on this land were indeed “holy!”

The most profound thing that I have gained on this trip is not religious or theological, but an eye-opening awareness of the conflict, tension, and ambiguity that has defined this area of the world for the last 4,000 years.

I have experienced some amazing moments that will last a lifetime – the Wadi hike, Hezekiah’s tunnel, the Upper Room on Pentecost – but one of my most memorable experiences took place on the roof-top of the House of Bread over Bethlehem. I remember thinking to myself as I looked out upon the city

Jesus was born here!

Jesus was born to make things right!

For the people in Bethlehem 2,000 years ago AND for the people in Bethlehem now.

AND for me.

I gained an extra grain of Hope this trip. The Hope that Jesus WILL make things right in this world. The Hope that Jesus WILL make things right between Palestinians and Israelis. The Hope that Jesus WILL make things right in my life. The Hope that can only be found in the Resurrection.

Hope.

the Garden Tomb

Where was Jesus crucified?

Where was Jesus buried?

Christians, throughout the last 2,000 years, have asked those two significant questions. Many believe that Golgotha and the tomb are at the site of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (especially those belonging to the Eastern Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and Armenian traditions as well as the professor from Calgary that I came to Israel with.) This is the traditional view. Others believe that Calvary and the tomb are at the site of the Garden tomb just outside the city walls (especially evangelical protestants). This site has only been considered to be Calvary since 1883. I was at the Garden Tomb yesterday, and the tour guide was somewhat persuasive.

So where did Jesus actually die and where was he buried? Maybe it’s a combination of both. Maybe he was crucified at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and maybe he was buried at the Garden Tomb. Who knows!

Does it matter? Does knowing the exact place really make a difference?

It doesn’t matter to me. What matters is that he DID die and that the tomb IS empty!

Promise

After dinner, some of us walked down from the En-Gedi hostel that we were staying at to the beach of the Dead Sea. We grabbed a few beers, found a seat by the beach, and sat overlooking the water. The stars – stars I wasn’t all together familiar with, hovered overhead. A half–moon was out, and bond-fires stretched out across the beach.

We talked, made jokes, etc., but being me, of course, I remarked a few times out loud: “ Can you believe it? We are sitting at the lowest part of the word, sitting on the beach of the Dead Sea and drinking a Heineken! Unbelievable!”

I needed someone to pinch me! Here I was, sitting only about 60 km from where God made his covenant with Abraham. In a place called Beer Sheva where God promised Abraham that he would become the Father of a great nation, whose sons would outnumber the stars in the sky, and whose daughters would outnumber the grains of sand on a beach.

Sitting with sand under my feet and stars over my head in the Promise Land, I’m glad that God keeps his promises!

The Parable of the Good Irish Woman

I was waiting in line at the Bethlehem checkpoint to come back home to Tantur after a day of wondering around the House (beth) of Bread (lehem). In front of me were a few Palestinians, a couple from Canada, and a group of crazy, loud, middle-aged women from Ireland. One of these women even took the fan in her hand and started waving it front of everyone to help us cool off from the heat.

After 20 minutes of waiting to get through security, the Irish women spotted someone near the back of the line, and proceeded to clear everyone out of the way so this person could budge in front on them.

It was a young Palestinian man. He was in what could have been his PJs. An IV tube was attached to his arm which lead to a cooler that he was holding in his other hand. He looked like he was about to pass out. He was accompanied by an older Palestinian woman, likely his mother.

These Irish women, who had never been to Bethlehem before (and who later had to beg the Israeli guard to let them through because only one of them had brought their passport) went out of their way to help this man and his mother. When the Palestinian mom had problems going through security as the metal detector kept on going off, one of these Irish women helped her with the taking off of her jacket and cloak (as she was in full Muslim attire), helped her put her things on the conveyer belt, and helped her carry this large heavy gym bag past security (and I can tell you it was heavy as took a turn carrying the bag for them later!)

These Irish women unexpectedly and graciously helped a stranger. After they crossed the checkpoint, the Palestinian mom reached up, held the head of the one Irish Women who had helped her so much, and kissed her on both cheeks.

The Dead Sea

The Dead Sea is the lowest point in the world at 1300 feet below sea level. The salt concentration of the Dead Sea fluctuates around 31.5%. By comparison, the world's saltiest oceans are only 3 to 6 percent. Because of the salt content, I was able to experience an amazing sense of buoyancy. Everything and everyone floats in the Dead Sea! I was able to float while being motionless and completely vertical with both my hands in the air. Amazing! In fact, we even were able to do some fancy synchronized swimming.

However, because of the salt content, and because it's completely landlocked (so any fresh or saltwater that flows into it is trapped with no way out), the Dead Sea lives up to it’s name – it really IS dead. Nothing lives in the Dead Sea. No life forms, except for some bacteria are able to survive in the Dead Sea.

Yet, just literally across the road is the Oasis of En-Gedi. It is a lush canyon, complete with waterfalls and pools of freshwater springs. It is here where David found a place to hid from the death squads of King Saul who wanted him dead. It is also here, in one of the many caves of En Gedi, that David, although he had the chance to kill Saul, choose not to. David chose life over death. Life not only for Saul, but in the process, for himself. He wasn’t going to end up like Saul. He was going to be about life, and not death.

It was in the En Gedi, after having spent some time bobbing in the Dead Sea and a short hike, I got to jump into a refreshing pool of fresh-water. I could actually put my head in the water without worrying about the salt burning my eyes or tongue! In the freshwater pool, next to the waterfall, attached to a crevice of rock, was a large crab. Things can live in this body of water. It gives life!

I found it quite interesting that my experience of the En Gedi took place right after my experience with the Dead Sea. Fresh-water came after the salt. Crabs came after bacteria. Life came after death. I like that order.

Death that gives way to life

Death that leads to resurrection.

Death that gives way to eternity.

Festival of Shavuot!

Today, I woke up at 4:15 am, got dressed, jumped in a cab, and showed up at the crack of dawn by the Western or “Wailing Wall.” It was packed as thousands and thousands of Jews had come to celebrate Shavuot. The Festival of Shavuot or the Festival of Weeks commemorates the anniversary of the day God gave the Torah to the entire Israelite nation assembled at Mount Sinai. The holiday is one of three Biblical pilgrimage festivals. (The law of Deuteronomy required that every male Jew go to Jerusalem three times each year for the 3 important festivals - the feast of Passover, the feast of Shavuot and the feast of Tabernacles.) Some of the practices during this festival include the consumption of dairy products like milk and cheese, the reading of the Book of Ruth, and the all-night study of the Torah which ends at the crack of dawn.

As I stood in the crowd, I noticed a diversity of Judaic believers. Some were Orthodox or Hasidic; others where not. Some wore elaborate head gear (yarmulkes, kippas, and hats); others wore simple yamakas. Some wore nice black pin-striped suits; others wore Adidas track pants. Some were from Jerusalem; while others had made the pilgrimage from far away (I had a nice converation with 2 young 20 years olds from Kansas City!). Young, old, male, female – there was a diversity of Jewish believers. However, regardless of their tradition, they were all essentially doing the same thing - reading the Torah, singing, and praying. It was quite the experience. I had never been in such a large outdoor crowd of people involved in personal prayer and worship.

It was 2,000 years ago during the festival of Shavuot that something else happened. As thousands of pilgrims came to Jerusalem to worship, the following took place:

Acts 2: 1 When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place. 2Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. 3They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them. 4All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues[a] as the Spirit enabled them. 5Now there were staying in Jerusalem God-fearing Jews from every nation under heaven. 6When they heard this sound, a crowd came together in bewilderment, because each one heard them speaking in his own language. 7Utterly amazed, they asked: "Are not all these men who are speaking Galileans? 8Then how is it that each of us hears them in his own native language?

It was during Pentecost or Shavuot that the Holy Spirit fell on the disciples.

No wonder there were so many pilgrims in Jersualem during that time. No wonder there was the need to speak in different languages and tongues. No wonder this incident happened so early in the morning (9:00 a.m in Acts 2:15). It was in the context of Shavuot that the Holy Spirit came – and on that day 3,000 heard Peter’s message, was touched by the Spirit, and were baptized!

Come Spirit come!

The Western Wall

I’ve walked by, seen, taken pictures at the Wailing Wall numerous times since my arrival into Israel. The wall is arguably the most holy site in all of Judaism. However, I’ve only prayed at the wall twice. I was at the wall today for the Festival of Shavuot (more about this later in the next blog entry), but there was no way I was going to get close to it today with 10,000 people between me and the wall!

The first time I went to the wall - I wrote down my prayer on a small sheet of paper, folded it a few times, put on my Yamaka (as a sign of devotion and submission to God, all those approaching the wall must have their head covered), and made my way to the wall.

But I couldn’t do it.

I stood at a distance from the wall. Afraid. I don’t really know why. After all, I’m not Jewish. The wall is just a wall. So what stopped me from approaching the wall? In some ways, I didn’t want to “belittle” it. Millions of people have approached this wall with reverence, awe, and respect. I should too. But more than that – I think it was the realization that I was somehow approaching something holy - something Other. I felt undeserving, unworthy, and unholy.

And then it hit me. Grace. It’s all about grace isn’t it? It is only through the LORD’s grace that we can approach Him and stand in His presence.

So, in that grace, I walked to the wall.

I don’t know how long I stood there. My head and hands against the wall. Praying.

Maybe I need to pray differently. Not haphazardly. Not full of meaningless words. No clichés. No mindless repetition. But to recognize that I am entering into a conversation, relationship, and the very presence of a Holy God. But more important than that, to recognize that through the grace of Jesus, I CAN enter into that presence.

Stupid Video of the Week

If you're not on Facebook, here is a silly video that I've taken

And another one. More to come!

On the Road...

Standing on the rooftop of Tantur Ecumenical Institute, I am only a few hundred meters from the Bethlehem checkpoint. If I turn around, I am only 5.8 kms from the Old City of Jerusalem. Therefore, if I were to have stood right where I am at Tantur for the past 4,000 years, I would have seen with my own two eyes:

Abraham and Isaac on their way to Mt. Moriah (now Jerusalem)

Ruth, perhaps, gleaning the fields of Boaz.

Samuel on his way to Bethlehem to anoint a shepherd boy named David.

David and his Men on the way to make Jerusalem his capital city.

The three wise men on their way into Bethlehem to visit a newborn named Jesus.

Joseph and Mary taking Jesus to the Temple to consecrate him.

As I stare out from the rooftop of Tantur, it boogles my mind, what has happened on this very road!

Bethlehem

Bethlehem, the town Jesus was born, in is NOT the Bethlehem you might imagine. Every Christmas, we sing songs like “O Little Town of Bethlehem, How Still we See Thee Lie." But nothing could be further from the truth.

Bethlehem, as someone said yesterday to me, is one giant prison. It is hard not to make that connection. Surrounded by 10 ft walls, patrolled by soldiers, needing to go through security clearance and metal detectors to get in and out… Bethlehem is indeed one giant prison.

Yesterday, a fellow pastor named Ian and I walked out of Tantur (the college), through security (complete with barb wired fences) into Bethlehem. Israelites are not permitted into the West Bank and only Palestinians with proper documents are allowed out. One Palestinian woman that was admitted to the Jerusalem Art College has never been able to attend even one class, because she isn’t allowed to leave the West Bank (and that was 9 years ago!)

As soon as Ian and I crossed the checkpoint, 4 or 5 taxi drivers rushed towards us, begging for us to hop into their taxi. We eventually got into the cab of “Teffelin” (sp?), who drove us to Manger Square where the Church of Nativity is located.

Teffelin shared that he was a teacher by profession, but he can’t find a teaching position in Bethlehem. Nor can he leave the West Bank, so he is stuck driving a taxi. He says it’s better than nothing, but he hates begging tourists to get into his cab. He has to make a living. He has a family and a five-year-old son to support. My Audrey is five years old. I have all these hopes and wishes for my daughter. But what hope does Teffelin has for his son?

Later than evening, as I stood on the roof-top of a Palestinian Christian church (Bethlehem is 30% Christian and 70% Muslim), looking out at the Bethlehem sky-line, I found myself confused, angry, sad, paralyzed, and without hope…

Is this NOT the same Bethlehem that Jesus was born into?
• Jesus was born in a Bethlehem that was under the thumb of Roman oppression
• Jesus was born in a Bethlehem that was the site of a terrible genocide under Herod.
• Jesus was born to two parents in Bethlehem, who had to escape in the middle of night to Egypt.
Jesus was born into a Bethlehem that hasn’t changed very much in the last 2,000 years.

I stood there on the roof-top praying… and hoping. Jesus was born in Bethlehem in order to make things right. Not only for those who lived in Bethlehem 2,000 years ago, but for those who live in Bethlehem today. Jesus was born to make things right. And I have to hope that one day, it really will all be made right.