A Journey to Remember

Today we went into the Old City part of Jerusalem to spend some time at the Western Wall and to walk the Via Dolorosa, the Way of Suffering/Way of the Cross.  The Western Wall, known to some (Gentiles) as the “Wailing Wall,” is the exposed portion of the retaining wall that King Herod built around the Temple Mount.  The Western Wall, or Kotel, is among the most holy sites to Jewish people other than the Temple Mount itself.  But here you will see people of many faiths standing as equal to bring their prayers, many of which are written on slips of paper and inserted in cracks within the wall.  My time at the Western Wall was perhaps my most profound experience of the day.

Most of the wall is underground, having been covered by the construction of city expansion over the centuries.  A tunnel has been excavated running the length of the wall from south to north, and you can take a guided tour through the tunnel.  I took this tour and it was rich with history and knowledge.  Our guide was well-spoken and I learned a lot.  There are places where you have to duck and squeeze between underground rock walls, so it is a place you should avoid if you tend to be claustrophobic.

The tunnel emerges on the northwestern corner of the Temple Mount, near where Herod’s Antonia Fortress once stood, the place where Jesus was tried and condemned by Pontius Pilate.  This is the site of the “praetorium” referred to in the Gospels and is the first in the journey of the Stations of the Cross.

The second Station is now marked by the Franciscan Church of the Flagellation, a beautiful church with magnificent sculptures and stained glass windows remembering where Jesus was flogged by Roman soldiers after he was convicted and sentenced to death.

Leaving the Church of the Flagellation, the Way that marks the footsteps of Jesus takes you through the narrow, stone-paved streets of the Old City, which is lined with shops and markets much like it might have been 2,000 years ago.  Your way takes you down into the western part of the city, then rises toward Golgotha.  Along the way the stations lead you to contemplate where Jesus stumbled and fell, where he met the women along the way, and where Simon of Cyrene was forced to carry his cross.  Spoiler alert: there are so many distractions that it is difficult to walk this in silence and awe and wonder.  That has to take place later when there is time to be quiet and reflect.

 

At the end of the journey, the last five Stations are all contained within the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.  There is a large rock which is purported to be the location of the crucifixion itself, and not far away is the tomb.  The tomb is encased in a marble edifice and placed under a great dome that dominates the whole area.  I took very few pictures here, partly because it just didn’t “feel right” and also because the realities of the sites were so obscured by all the ornate stuff that has been added by the Church over the years.

Perhaps the most moving thing to me about the Church of the Holy Sepulcher was the plainest:  just inside the entrance to the church was a large flat rectangular stone known as the Stone of Unction.  This is where it is said that the women anointed the body of Jesus.  This is where tears came to my eyes and I choked up a little bit.

 

My final photograph was taken looking straight up, into the light, from the otherwise dark place.  I turned to Linda after we emerged from the tomb, smiled and said, “He’s not here!  He is risen!”  And Linda said, “He is risen indeed.”  

"It’s Good to Be Here”

 

About two hours north of Jerusalem and about 30 minutes west of the Sea of Galilee, dome-shaped Mount Tabor rises some 1,900 feet above the beautiful Jezreel Valley.  It is the place where Jesus took Peter, James, and John after the turning-point conversation centered around the question, “Who do you say that I am?” at Caesarea-Philippi, about six day’s walk to the north.

While the four of them were up there, the Gospels tell us Jesus was “transfigured before them” (Mark 9:2), his appearance became dazzling white, and for a moment the veil of his humanity was drawn aside and the disciples beheld the transcendent glory of the Son of God.  With him they could see Moses and Elijah, talking with Jesus.

Peter was so overcome by the moment that he did not want it to end.  “Rabbi, it is good to be here.  Let us build three cabins, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.”  Then the Voice came from heaven: “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!”

Peter never did get to build those cabins, but the Franciscans sure did.  On Monday Linda and Dina and I went up to Mount Tabor where the magnificent Church of the Transfiguration sits right on top.  We were with a group of Israeli and Italian and Franciscan and Arab Christians (quite a wonderful group it was) who went there for the Feast Day of the Transfiguration, which is celebrated August 6^th by Orthodox, Catholic, and many Eastern churches.  (In the West, the Transfiguration is celebrated the last Sunday before Lent because of the Gospels chronology 40 days before the crucifixion.   The Eastern churches moved the feast to August because well, it’s complicated.)

So this Monday was the Feast day of the Transfiguration at the site of the Transfiguration and celebrated by the church that bears its name.  There were pilgrims from all over the world there to celebrate this holy event on the mountaintop.  After the mass there was a festive meal and even a birthday cake with a model of the mountain on top.  What a treat it was to be in this special place on this special day!

Later we were able to go apart a little ways and look out from Tabor’s crest over the lush and fertile valley below.  It was absolutely breathtaking.  I can see why Peter wanted to stay here. 

 

Sunday Worship

Sunday August 5, 2012:  Today we worshiped at a beautiful Benedictine monastery in the Arab village of Abu Gosh, about nine miles north of Jerusalem.  It is the location of the ancient city of Kiriath-jearim, where the ark of the covenant rested after it was taken back from the Philistines (I Samuel 6:19-7:2).  Here the ark languished, sadly, for about 60 years until it was taken up to Jerusalem by King David (2 Samuel 6).  Bringing the ark up to Jerusalem was one of the most significant things David did after he was anointed king.  Establishing the capital there and then placing the ark, symbolizing the presence of God, right in the center of the city served to also establish the worship of Israel’s one God as the center of the life of the nation.  Prior to this the children of Israel were pretty much a loose confederation of twelve tribes, but this helped make them a nation.

The church was built by Crusaders around 1143 on the site of a natural spring coming from deep in the ground.  The acoustics in the ancient church are amazing, and the singing of the nuns and monks is just heavenly in there.  The walls and massive columns are adorned with colorful frescoes of Christ, John the Baptist, other biblical figures and saints.  A careful walk down the steep stone steps reveals a cool, dark crypt built right over the deep spring.  

After church we went to a wonderful Lebanese restaurant and enjoyed delicious kabob, hummus, felafel, and other treats.  Not far from here is one of the places that is said to be the city of Emmaus, where the risen Jesus met the pilgrims on the road.  Here Linda and I are “on the road.”  Linda is a great sport and traveling companion!

Shabbat Shalom: Our First Day in Israel

In the hill country west of Jerusalem resides a Franciscan monastery known as Saint John of the Desert.  It is high on a wooded, rocky hillside and is believed to be where John the Baptist lived “in the wilderness of Judea.”  There is a church, a spring flowing out the side of the mountain, and a grotto which is the cave where John lived.  On the monastery property about three hundred yards up the mountain there is a little stone house.  Known as St. Elisabeth’s, the house was built in the twelfth century on the site of the tomb of the mother of John the Baptist.  Around her tomb is built a small beautiful chapel.  Above the chapel are our living quarters.

Small groups of tourists and pilgrims visit the chapel at St. Elisabeth’s almost daily.  As residents for the next few weeks, Linda and I have sacristy duties which include keeping the candles fresh, trimming and lighting the little hanging oil lamps, and keeping the place tidy.  We also take care of the garden, the house, and the two resident half-wild cats. 

In the photo below I am eating one of the beans from the Carob tree, also known as St. John’s Bread, Ceratonia siliqua.  It is similar to, and probably a relative of, our honey locust and black locust trees in North America.  When the Bible says John the Baptist “lived in the wilderness and ate locusts and wild honey” (Mark 1:6), it is referring not to an insect but to this bean pod which can be found on the ground here.  Eating it is like chewing beef jerky, only the flavor is sweet and almost like chocolate.  Yum-yum!

I am glad that our first day in Israel has been a Sabbath day – a day that is seriously observed here.  I am glad because Sabbath is a day to stop and get yourself oriented, or reoriented in life.  Today we began to get oriented to our new surroundings, starting with a long rest at St. Elisabeth’s followed by a visit to St. John’s cave, where we sat silently and admired his bold ministry and grieved his senseless death.  This hill country is indeed a very special place.  Shabbat shalom.

St. Columba: A New Narrative for Our Time

The United Methodist General Conference 2012 is now in the books as of Star Wars Day, May the 4th. Time will tell what, if anything, was accomplished to help the UMC not just survive but move forward into the 21^st century.  Faithful, hard-working delegates are returning weary, exhausted, discouraged, and wondering if any good will come of this 10 day, 10 million dollar quadrennial meeting of the people called United Methodists.  This year’s General Conference was confusing, contentious, and not resulting in the large scale re-thinking, re-structuring and renewal many had hoped for.  One person suggested a motion to remove Reason from the Wesleyan quadrilateral (our theological heritage).  Perhaps this might not be such a bad idea.  What we need is not a more convincing argument but a new narrative, a new vision. 

 

Right now I am preparing for a doctor of ministry class in Celtic spirituality.  Part of that involves reading about notable Celtic saints who lived in Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and other parts of the British Isles.  Among them is St. Columba of the 6^th century, whose life story could be an instructive new narrative for the United Methodist Church and for most every Christian.

Columba’s life was one of great passion and vision.  Born in the northern part of Ireland, he spent the first part of his life preaching the gospel and planting new communities of faith – reportedly 41 in 41 years – which became centers of prayer, evangelism, learning, and spiritual life. 

Columba’s heroic story was interrupted by an unfortunate series of events.  He was a great lover of poetry, and especially the Psalms, and was delighted when he came upon a copy of St. Martin’s Psalter in the hands of one Finnian of Molville.  He was so enamored with it that he secretly made himself a copy of it, which was apparently not an acceptable thing to do.  When this was discovered, Finnian brought him before the Irish king who made him return the copy (this may have been the first copyright case in history).  Instead of accepting the king’s verdict, Columba raised a small army and attacked the king’s forces.  Columba’s army won the battle, but his uprising against the king was seen as an abuse of power and his beloved Ireland sent him into exile to a cold, windy, damp and barren island off the coast of Scotland called Iona.

St. Columba could have sat and pouted on the small island for the rest of his days, but instead he sought a new vision for his life and ministry.  From that renewed vision he founded a monastic community that became a center for spiritual life and sent forth missionaries to evangelize Scotland and even Europe.  The Iona community is well known all over the world today as a community of justice and hospitality.

What does this have to do with the United Methodist Church, or with one’s personal life?  It’s not hard to connect the dots.  St. Columba’s story begins with passion and purpose, building faith communities and making disciples.  Then something else set in: possessiveness, power, conflict, confusion, chaos.  People guarding their turf.  Many of the conversations at General Conference centered around the subjects of power and turf – who gets to keep it, whom do we trust with it, how do we take it away.  

The next step for St. Columba was exile, a word that Walter Brueggemann and others have aptly used to describe the current reality of the mainline church.  But exile does not have to mean death.  Out of exile came repentance, humility, and a new vision for mission and ministry. 

St. Columba was not perfect, he made mistakes, but he also made a difference.  He never stopped being a visionary and he never gave up being sustained by prayer, simplicity, work, and study.  He knew when he was standing on holy ground, and he knew the value of community.

There are sure to be many observations, evaluations, and reflections offered as General Conference 2012 begins to sink in.  I am praying that some of this reflection may result in a deepening of prayer, repentance, and humility, out of which can come a new narrative theology, a renewed vision for mission and ministry in the world, and a new commitment to building vibrant, robust communities of faith.

Old Songs Sung Badly: Three Metaphors for the Church

Sunday, April 29, 2012 was an unforgettable day for me, as a parent and as a United Methodist pastor. It was the day my daughter Liz and her husband Eric were commissioned as global missionaries at the United Methodist General Conference in Tampa. I was moved to tears when she and Eric, along with 21 other new missionaries and 17 deaconesses and home missioners were gathered into the center of the General Conference floor and blessed. The article on the event from United Methodist News Service can be accessed here: http://www.umc.org/site/apps/nlnet/content3.aspx?c=lwL4KnN1LtH&b=8057055&ct=11735473

I flew in to Tampa on Saturday the day before the service and checked in to the KOA campground in nearby St. Petersburg. That is how I roll: A tiny log cabin can be rented for less than the price of a motel room and I get to have a real cabin all to myself. I took my pillow, my Maasai blanket, all my possibles and I was happy. It was right on the bay: views of water and mangroves and squirrels playing at my feet. Low-flying pelicans trailed my car as I drove across the causeway. A man cast a minnow seine in the canal in hopeful preparation for a morning’s fishing. Palm trees and palmettos waved a greeting to me.

That Saturday night we all went to supper with Eric’s cousin who lives on the far-east side of sprawling Tampa. It was a fitting celebration, complete with barbecue, sweets, strong coffee, love and laughter. In the course of conversation, Eric’s aunt asked me how I felt as a parent of a God-sent missionary, a pregnant daughter who will deliver her baby here in the States and then return to Tanzania. There was only one honest response. I said, “Mixed.” I could have said more but when I am in strange company I am a man of few words.

Immediately she knew what I meant. Of course I will miss Liz and Eric as they go back to Africa taking my grandson with them. But I went to on express to her that I was almost overcome with pride and joy to see God’s hand on their lives and their faithful response. I rejoice because at 25 they are so much smarter than I was at their age. If you believe in God then you must believe God has a claim on your life, and if you really love God then your life is not your own. You belong to God. This is the way they feel. In fact, that is the way every missionary I know feels. Our God is a Sending God, which would be the theme of the commissioning service the following day.

On Sunday morning I woke up early, got dressed and went to the nearby diner for a hearty breakfast, after which I drove to the nearest United Methodist church for worship. As a pastor who preaches 50 Sundays a year, this was a rare luxury. It’s like a chef getting to sit down and eat a meal you didn’t have to cook. I was prepared to be a regular worshiper in a local congregation and was looking forward to it.

As I entered the church, I found a large modern sanctuary that would easily accommodate 400 people. They had state-of-the-art electronics, with projection capability fore and aft and all the goodies. As the service started I looked around and noticed there were no more than 40 people in the room, and at age 57 I was among the youngest of the lot. We had an “old fashioned hymn-sing,” in which the audience (I use that word intentionally) selected some favorite old hymns which we sang very badly. This set the tone for a very underwhelming, low key worship service which was more heartbreaking than hopeful.

Later that afternoon I had a reserved seat at the Palma Ceia United Methodist Church in Tampa where the commissioning took place. There was standing room only, and the service was broadcast to the overflow in the fellowship hall. The pipe organ sounded like thunder, and the people were singing with joy in their hearts and at the top of their lungs. Now that was a worship service.

Mentally and emotionally I was almost overwhelmed by the contrast between the two services I had attended: the earlier one that was in a 1950’s maintenance mode, not having much to celebrate, and the afternoon service that was alive with passion and purpose. I rolled this over in my mind for the rest of the day as I prepared to experience worship for a third time that day, later that evening at the floor of General Conference.

The General Conference session of Sunday evening was to be a celebration of historic milestones and important work of United Methodist ministries around the globe. The session did not start until 7 p.m. and was supposed to last until about 9, with the blessing of the new class of missionaries coming at the end. They met for two hours ahead of time in rehearsal. I had my camera and arrived early to get the best seating spot. It would be long, especially for my pregnant daughter Liz, but promised to be a fitting climax to a long journey of preparation and an unforgettable send-off by a Sending God and a Sending Church.

As the service proceeded it became quickly apparent that all the reports and videos would never fit within the 2 hours allotted, not even close. It was a study in poor conference planning. All the reports were quite wonderful and deserving of attention, but many of them could have been spread out within the 2 week time period of General Conference, punctuating the dry and contentious business with reminders of why they all were there. Instead, it was after 10:45 that night, almost 4 hours after they started, when the missionaries were finally sent out to the floor and received the blessing of the body. By that time, unfortunately, about half of the delegates and guests had given up in exhaustion and missed what should have been a rousing climax of the day. When I looked at my Twitter feed I saw where one person tweeted, “I hope this is not a metaphor for the missionaries’ lived experience.”

So, 3 worship events in 1 day, any or all of which could be a metaphor for the United Methodist Church. The day began in a large, nearly empty sanctuary which featured old songs sung badly. It ended at a General Conference event that was so laden with trying to do a thousand things poorly planned that there was little time or energy left for the One Thing that should have been primary. Between these two was a celebration of faith and obedience with historic significance reaching all the way back to the church at Antioch, where the Holy Spirit led the church to lay hands on Paul and Barnabas and send them out into the world with the Good News. This is the one that gives me hope for the Church.

Ash Wednesday return

Lent is back and here is my Ash Wednesday meditation for 2010:

Ash Wednesday meditation 2/17/10
Frederick Buechner has observed that “in many cultures there is an ancient custom of giving a tenth or a tithe of the year’s income to some holy use. For Christians, to observe the 40 days of Lent is to do the same thing with roughly a tenth of each year’s days.”

“After being baptized by John in the river Jordan, Jesus went off alone into the wilderness, where he spent 40 days asking himself the question what it meant to be Jesus. During Lent, Christians are supposed to ask one way or another what it means to be themselves.”

The ashes are an ancient biblical sign of repentance and symbol of mortality reminding us of the brevity and preciousness of this earthly life, that life is short and each day of it is a precious gift of God that should be treated with reverence and care. It is a gift that we don’t take for granted but a gift that we cherish and we know that one day we must give it up and let it go. That is the way of all the earth.

The Lenten journey is, in part, about letting go. Some say Lent is about giving up something, which may be true for some of us. Someone may give up red meat for 40 days, or chocolate or chewing gum or cigarettes or soda. You may give up watching TV one evening a week and spend that time writing a letter or visiting a lonely or sick person instead. You may choose to fast one day a week and donate the money you save to World Hunger. You may give up looking at other people’s worst points and look for the good in others. You may give up playing on the internet for hours every day and use that time for the love of God and the good of other people.

Some of us would prefer to take something on than to give something up. That is fine if you would like to add another hour of prayer time or Bible study or service or some other spiritual discipline. If you just can’t bring yourself to give something up but would prefer to take on something, be sure to take on something that is holy.

Lent is not just about giving something up but about letting something go. The Lenten journey recalls when Jesus resolutely set his face toward Jerusalem and what he knew awaited him there. We follow the steps of Jesus to the cross, which was the ultimate letting-go. We need to let go as well. What do you need to let go of?

Maybe you need to let go of an old anger or pain that you feel is yours, you are entitled to it, but now is the time to let it go.

Maybe you need to let go of some guilt, or regret, or remorse, let go of the inability to forgive yourself for something you have done or something that might have been. The cock has crowed; let it go.

Maybe you need to let go of some pet sin that has a grip on you but you have been in such denial that you do not even realize the power it has over you. To repent means to let it go.

Maybe you need to finally let go of your need to control others – your parents, your children, your friends, someone who is not behaving the way you want them to and you just cannot resist the desire to fix them. Let it go.

Maybe you need to let go of some relationship that is not healthy, not good for you. It is ok. Let it go.

Some of us will have to let go of a loved one who has passed away since last year’s Lent. A man in our church this week has had to begin the process of letting go and saying goodbyes to his wife of 62 years. This takes time. Even for Jesus, letting go was a process. That is why the 40 days.

And even as we begin the process of letting go, Jesus reminds us that you may need to let go of your very life so you can find it again. “You must find your life by losing it.” If you are still holding back, grasping, clutching, holding on, you may never be able to receive the great life God has for you.

Repentance means turning. It means turning away from anything that has become for us more important than God, our idols. It also means turning from our preoccupations with self and turning toward sincere love of God and neighbor. It can mean letting go of our lesser gods and our wasteful preoccupations and laying hold of something better!

When my father lay dying ten years ago this year, and it was clear that his illness had all but overtaken him, the hospice chaplain offered my mother this counsel: there will come a time that you will need to go to him and say, “It’s all right. We will be alright. It’s ok to let go.” This will help him in his own letting go and will make his journey easier. What do you need to let go of tonight, and in this Lenten season?