Marlin & Sally in Jerusalem

Random Questions and a First Step Answer

(The first photo is of a plaque by the Sea of Galilee, the second is of an Israeli soldier exchanging glares with a Jordanian soldier across the Jordan River.)

Last week, Sally and I traveled around the Land of the Holy One.  We helped some pilgrims see the sites and experience the culture.  It was both comfort and joy to watch folks as their eyes were opened to the wonder of this wonderful place, as well as to the tragedy of the ongoing conflict.

We drove up the Jordan Valley on Highway 90.  Part of the drive was in the West Bank, Palestine, and of course, part of the drive is in the State of Israel.  As we meandered alongside the Jordan River, we could see the country of Jordan.  All along the way were green houses being worked by Palestinian refugees, many who are now citizens of Jordan.  The next day, we stood on a hilltop and gazed at the land of Syria.  We could see areas where Palestinian refugees were camped, none of whom are citizens of Syria.  A short time later we walked around the ancient ruins of Caesarea Philippi, the place where Peter declared his faith in Jesus of Nazareth as the Messiah of Israel.  As we walked around this place, where many gods were once worshiped, we talked of the uniqueness of Jesus, and the significance behind Jesus putting THE question to his disciples here and not somewhere else – “Who do you say that I am?”  I wondered again what answer Jesus was expecting.  I expect Jesus was pleased that Peter got it right the first time.

As we drove from there back down to Tiberius and the Sea of Galilee, we were aware that Lebanon was only a stone’s throw away, at one point just over a hill to our right.  From all this seeing, talking and thinking came a few random questions. Who is kin to whom?  How come peace is so hard to come by here and in the world?  Who is profiting from failure to find peace?  How do we either move these folks on to other pursuits, or make peace more profitable to them than conflict?

Then, of course, the echo of THE question: Is Jesus the Son of the Living God?

If so, then so what?

“He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels’” (Mark 8:34-38).

That night, I was awakened by a storm that suddenly blew in across the Sea of Galilee.  The wind was wild and frightening.  I thought of the disciples, four miles out, nearly the middle of the lake, in a boat, rowing in vain for safe harbor.  These men thought they were dead men rowing, and of course, they were.  I thought of Jesus sitting somewhere on a hilltop watching them struggle.  I saw the wind, the waves, the fear.  I saw all of these reflected in the eyes of Jesus.  I saw Jesus push himself to his feet, his body leaning into the wind, his eyes on his followers in that tiny fishing boat.  I watched Jesus climb down from that high place and walk toward the edge of the sea, the furious, angry waters crashing over the rocks.  I watched as Jesus stood rock still, staring out over the stormy scene.  Then without looking down or up, but steadfastly straight ahead, Jesus began to walk on the water in the direction of his sinking group of followers. Jesus walked on the water, we are told … HE WALKED ON THE WATER – INTO THE STORM. Either that, or it is just a nice, fanciful story.  You can decide for yourself.  I’ve made my decision.

Why walk on the water?  Why not simply calm the sea? What is the upside to risky behavior that involves water walking, cross-bearing and self-denial?  And why are we being asked to engage in this same kind of risky behavior?

The answer, my friend, is not “blowin’ in the wind.”  THE answer is hanging on a cross, stepping from a tomb, and ascending into the heavens.  THE answer is Jesus, of course, and the questions never stop being asked, because we’d like a different answer than the one we’ve been given.  We’d like a Jesus who didn’t walk into the storm, didn’t lose in order to win, because then we wouldn’t have to either.  We could join those who profit from failure, and never risk losing anything except that which doesn’t belong to us.  Instead, we are called to risk everything we have, and everything we’ve become, in order to be in the midst of the storm with those who are struggling against the oars.

I know that we cannot walk on the water, but Jesus can and Jesus did.  Answering that we believe Jesus to be the Son of the Living God means little unless the answer involves action as well.  Jesus of Nazareth’s story is the story of God stepping out from heaven’s safe harbor into this stormy world that God created and that God continues to love with the fierceness of a mother who would never abandon that which was made in her and came through her – never.  In fact, says the Psalmist, a mother might abandon her child, but not so God – never so God.  God is with us.

I think of firefighters who run toward the blaze, of soldiers who move toward the battle, of Christian Peacekeepers in Hebron who escort Palestinian children to school, shepherds to their fields, farmers to their olive groves.  I think of you and me and wonder, into which storms are we to walk for the sake of God’s vision of lion and lamb sharing a meal that doesn’t include the flesh of the one to satisfy the hunger of the other?  I can’t answer that for anyone but myself, but I can challenge you to struggle with me to find an answer that would please the Living God.

When it is all said and done, those who will hear “well done” are those who do something more than sit on the hilltop and watch the storms rage below.

I close my eyes and see Jesus taking that first step.  It causes me to wonder …

Summer Risings

"I wish God didn't die on the cross."  The words floated over the front seat of the car and circled the rear-view mirror like a halo.  She's four-years-old and trying to make sense of the dark side of Holy Week.  She's Emma!

"I know," her mother responded. "That is sad, isn't it?"

"But guess what?"

"What?"

"When summer comes, he's alive."  Yeah Emma, that's right.

Friday Prayers

And immediately something like scales fell from Saul’s (Paul) eyes, and his sight was restored. Then he got up and was baptized, and after taking some food, he regained his strength. ¶ For several days he was with the disciples in Damascus, and immediately he began to proclaim Jesus in the synagogues, saying, “He is the Son of God.” (Acts 9:18-20)

¶ Then I looked, and I heard the voice of many angels surrounding the throne and the living creatures and the elders; they numbered myriads of myriads and thousands of thousands,
singing with full voice, 
    “Worthy is the Lamb that was slaughtered
    to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might
    and honor and glory and blessing!”
Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them, singing, 
    “To the one seated on the throne and to the Lamb
    be blessing and honor and glory and might
    forever and ever!”
And the four living creatures said, “Amen!” And the elders fell down and worshiped. (Rev. 5:11-14)

“Follow me.” (John 21:19b)

Psalm 30:4-12

¶ Sing praises to the LORD, O you his faithful ones,
        and give thanks to his holy name.
    For his anger is but for a moment;
        his favor is for a lifetime.
    Weeping may linger for the night,
        but joy comes with the morning. 
     ¶ As for me, I said in my prosperity,
        “I shall never be moved.”
    By your favor, O LORD,
        you had established me as a strong mountain;
    you hid your face;
        I was dismayed.
       ¶ To you, O LORD, I cried,
        and to the LORD I made supplication:
    “What profit is there in my death,
        if I go down to the Pit?
        Will the dust praise you?
        Will it tell of your faithfulness?
    Hear, O LORD, and be gracious to me!
        O LORD, be my helper!”
       ¶ You have turned my mourning into dancing;
        you have taken off my sackcloth
        and clothed me with joy,
        so that my soul may praise you and not be silent.
        O LORD my God, I will give thanks to you forever. (Psalm 30:4-12)

Let us pray:

Son of God, you have revealed yourself to us and we are no longer blind.  Thank you!  We bless and thank you that you have removed the scales from our eyes so that we might be seeing, and seeing be believing, and believing be proclaiming that you are the Son of God.  Thank you!

Lamb of God, we join our voice with those of the angels surrounding the throne and the living creatures and the elders: “Worthy is the Lamb that was slaughtered to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!”  Lamb of God, you are worthy.  You are worthy.  You are worthy.

O LORD God, it is night and we are weeping.  The dead pile up and we sit beside them and we grieve.  It is dark and scary, and almost more than we can bear.  In this dark time, we hold our own children a little tighter.  We keep them close to us.  O LORD God, hold us, and keep us within arm's length.  O LORD God, comfort those who mourn, those who have suffered grievous loss in these last few days.  The sound of their weeping lingers.  We hear them, and their cries remind us of dark nights passed, and promise us of dark nights to come.  Listen, O LORD God, and come to sit with them as they cry.  It will be a long night.  O LORD God, give them eyes to see ahead, in a day to come, that pinhole spot of light, and seeing, give them faith to believe that somewhere ahead there comes a day of dancing joy.  O LORD God, only a second of such a sighting would be answer enough for us in this night of sorrow.

Risen Jesus, we bless and thank you for inviting us to follow after you.  Now, Risen Jesus, in the bright light of your resurrection, give us eyes to see our dead enlivened, clothed with joy, and singing at full voice, “To the one seated on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever!”

And in the power of this vision -- a vision that we can only see through tearful, scale less eyes -- we say “Amen!”

Hidden Wounds

(This photo is of a Muslim family watching the Palm Sunday procession from their terrace.  Second photo is of an Israeli soldier watching the Foot Washing Ceremony at the Church of the Resurrection.  Third is of a group of soldiers by the Western Wall.)

A small Palestinian Muslim child, 4 or 5-years-old, burrows his face deeply into the skinny chest of his 10-year-old brother.  His family has just hastily removed all their belongings from their home.  The furniture and clothing, all they could carry, lie in a heap just outside their stone-block home.  Big brother has explained that in a matter of minutes, the soldiers will destroy their home.  The little boy’s eyes express the terror that his tongue cannot describe.

An 18-year-old Israeli soldier stands guard over the seven children of this family.  His eyes too tell the story that he would never allow his tongue to repeat.  Later, he’ll go home, close the door of his room, and look in vain for a shoulder on which to cry.

Both children have been wounded today, and these wounds will show up in a variety of ways, none of which will be recognizable to those who have not suffered similar hurts.  These are the hidden wounds of occupation, and these wounds are as hurtful and damaging as any other.

This illegal occupation must end.  And all people of faith, no matter what the tradition, are charged to do whatever they can to help end it.  For the sake of that little boy, his brother and sisters, and his 18-year-old cousin standing guard, this occupation must end.

As followers of Jesus, we must help Jesus find his voice in matters like this.  For this is the truth: Jesus is not here.  Jesus is sitting at the right hand of the Father.  Jesus cannot speak into the world except through the Holy Spirit inspired voices of Jesus’ disciples.  We who love Jesus and believe that through Jesus God means to redeem the world, must tune our ears to the cries of the suffering, both the oppressed and the oppressor, and with loosened tongues speak forth a vision of fairness and freedom for all of God’s little ones.

It is all well and good to think of mission as the saving of souls, but when this is all we think mission is about, or even primarily about, then we miss the message of Jesus who charged his followers to feed and give drink and clothe and shelter and visit those who were hungry, thirsty, naked, homeless, and in prison.  To do these acts of kindness and justice is to apply healing balm to the hidden wounds that our Lord knew first hand in his own flesh-and-blood experience.

The little boy’s home still stands, thanks to the intervention of a group of Jesus’ disciples, joined by a Jewish Rabbi who came to stand with them as they stood alongside this Muslim family.  How long this home stands depends on many things, among them the resolve of those people of faith who are committed to speaking out against that which is so clearly a violation of human rights.

For the sake of the children, let’s find our voice as well.  We don’t need to speak against one side or the other, but rather speak for God’s vision of a world redeemed, restored and reconciled in Christ, through Christ and with Christ.

I can speak up for that.  Can’t you?  This occupation must end.  If we who follow Jesus say that clearly, loudly and repeatedly, then I promise you, it will.

A Worship Outbreak

It happened near the end of a three-hour Installation Service for the Nineteenth Bishop of the Anglican Church in Jerusalem.  We were milling around taking Communion when the outbreak occurred.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I believe we were in worship all along.  I’m not one of those folks who views worship as something you feel or don’t feel.  Worship is not some fickle state of mind that you can get into whenever you feel the urge to connect with the mighty God of the Universe.  No, worship is a state of being in which you enter the moment you put yourself in the right place and time.  Worship can happen anywhere, that’s true enough, but worship best breaks out in a crowd or at least in the company of two or three like you who have gathered with the hope that the great God of Creation will show up as well.  And God often does, I think, and this whether or not we think it or feel it or even know it.

The magic of worship is not in the coming of God, because God shows up at worship and often no one seems remotely aware that God is with us.  The thought of that bothers us a great deal more than it bothers God, I think. God is like the grandmother sitting in a big chair by the fireplace of her daughter’s home.  The grandkids are running around.  Her daughter and daughter-in-law are making something in the kitchen and she hears them joking with one another.  Her son and son-in-law are sitting on the floor playing “go-fish” with the older grandchildren.  The old woman sits with this contented smile on her face, almost enthroned you’d say, and absolutely delighted to have the whole family together.  Her husband has been dead three years now, but at times like these she has him right there with her as well – a communion of sorts.  Of course there is much more to God than this image, but this image is a part of God as well, or at least so I imagine.

A young Palestinian  girl began singing the sixties civil rights' song, “We shall Overcome,” and the veil separating us from God suddenly  parted.  When I heard the song, I was walking toward these two clergymen robed in jeweled splendor, and I just stopped, causing a series of rear-end collisions. I jerked my head around to the front of the huge church, and everyone around me followed suit.  It was pure joy that I felt, joy and wonder and hope too.  I felt this wave of hope wash over me, and then over all of us together.  The hundred or so clergy who were seated in the very front of the church, separated from the rest of us, but with us too, stood up and clasped hands with one another.  The black robed Orthodox, Eastern, Greek, Armenian, Copts from Egypt, and the Roman Catholics with their beautiful red stoles and cumber buns, and the Protestants too, including the Reformed Church in America President of General Synod – there’s a title for you – all singing along with the children.  The church was filled with the sound of mystery – hope, joy, wonder – and everyone was smiling, including, I would imagine, God, who was sitting in our midst watching us with adoring eyes.

Then, as if choreographed for affect, we sang “Up From the Grave He Arose.”  A dozen of more languages singing, “He arose!  He arose!  Hallelujah!  Christ arose!”  All the dignitaries recessed out of the building for pictures.  The rest of us began to exit as well, and then the magnificent Cathedral organ belted out – yes, belted out – the Hallelujah Chorus.  Wow!  That did it for me.  I was in heaven, or heaven was in me.  Very cool!

It was a long service and I was glad to see it end.  We walked out into the real world of kidnapped journalists, cement walls, separated people and hopeless causes, and I prayed that the outbreak of worship that we had just experienced would break out of us and into the world into which we were walking.  You know what?  It might.

Friday Prayer

(What follow is excerpts from the Lectionary passages for this Sunday, and a prayer offered from them.)

“Peter put all of them outside, and then he knelt down and prayed. He turned to the body and said, ‘Tabitha, get up.’ Then she opened her eyes, and seeing Peter, she sat up.  He gave her his hand and helped her up. Then calling the saints and widows, he showed her to be alive. This became known throughout Joppa, and many believed in the Lord” (Acts 9:40-42).

    “For this reason they are before the throne of God,
        and worship him day and night within his temple,
        and the one who is seated on the throne will shelter them.
    They will hunger no more, and thirst no more;
        the sun will not strike them,
        nor any scorching heat;
    for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd,
        and he will guide them to springs of the water of life,
    and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes” (Rev. 7:15-17).

“What my Father has given me is greater than all else, and no one can snatch it out of the Father’s hand. The Father and I are one” (John 10:30-31).

Psalm 23
¶ A Psalm of David.
    The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want.
        He makes me lie down in green pastures;
    he leads me beside still waters;
        he restores my soul.
    He leads me in right paths
        for his name’s sake.
 
     ¶ Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
        I fear no evil;
    for you are with me;
        your rod and your staff—
        they comfort me.
 
     ¶ You prepare a table before me
        in the presence of my enemies;
    you anoint my head with oil;
        my cup overflows.
    Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
        all the days of my life,
    and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD
        my whole life long.

Let us pray:

Shepherd Lamb, risen from the dead and raised into the throne room of heaven, we bless and thank you for leading us into green pastures, beside still waters, and into life that does not end at death’s door.

Shepherd Son, one of us and yet one with the Father, pray for us that we might be among that which cannot be snatched out of the Father’s hand.  Pray that we might be held fast and that we might be comforted to feel the power in your powerful grip.  Remind us, Shepherd Spirit, that being held fast can feel hard to us and even be painful at times.  Pray, Shepherd Son, that dwelling securely in the hand of God, we your sheep might boldly live lives defined by the power of resurrection.  Grant us power to raise the dead so that many may believe that you are LORD!  You are LORD!

Shepherd LORD, standing before the throne with your scars visible for all to see, heal us of the hidden wounds that separate us one from the other.  Feed us with the bread of life so that we will not hunger for bread that does not satisfy.  Give us living water to drink so that we will not draw our water from wells poisoned with prejudice, bitterness and hate.  Shelter us under your wings so that we will “fear not.”  Wipe the tears away from the eyes of those who mourn, those who suffer, and those who have lost hope.

Shepherd Jesus, loosed on earth and reigning in heaven, send your Holy Spirit upon all who hold positions of power and influence.  We pray for President Bush and all who are in his inner circle.  We ask you to give him the Wisdom of Solomon who was wise to listen to many voices, but to listen for only one.  Help President Bush to discern your will, and then give him the courage to follow the way in which you would have him walk.  We pray for other world leaders as well, both trusted friend and perceived foe, asking that you, Shepherd God, would give them your vision for a world of peace and fairness for all people.  And we also pray that we who follow after you, may also know when to follow after them, and when to shout out to them of the dangers we see ahead.  Give your people ears to hear, tongues to speak, and hearts to do so in love.

Shepherd Christ, friend of widow, orphan and alien, grant us mercy so that we might be merciful.  Shepherd Christ, good to all who came to you seeking after the good; fill us with goodness so that we might be good.

This we pray in the name of Jesus and by the power of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Holy Fire!

Holy Saturday!










Holy Fire!










Hoooly Cow!

The day before Orthodox Easter in Jerusalem is filled with smoke, fire, heat and mystery.  I like it.  I like it a lot.

The fire begins in the Tomb of Jesus – still empty by the way – and spreads outward throughout the city and even beyond as the fire is flown all the way to Greece where it lights the paschal candle there.  The Greek Orthodox and the Armenian Orthodox patriarchs enter the tomb together.  They have been searched and found to be without fire – although I’m told that the Greek Orthodox patriarch somehow has the fire hidden underneath his clothing.  No matter really, as the miracle is not fire emanating from the burial place of Jesus.  The miracle is the two patriarchs in the same small space and neither killing the other.  A few years back, there was a shuffle that was rough enough to have the police come in the Tomb to break it up, but this year, shared fire – a miracle.

The miracle is also connected with thousands of people from all over the world gathering in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and in the narrow streets all around the Old City, waiting for the fire to come out of the tomb and into their lives.  It is a powerful moment, or at least it has been for Sally and me the two times we have experienced it now.

It is smoky.  It is hot.  It is chaotic, frantic, loud, a bit frightening, and somewhat risky as you are literally surrounded by fire held in the hands of excited people.  And did I say hot?  It is really, really hot.

This is not a Pentecost event.  I was told this clearly by an expert in the field of Orthodox liturgies.  “No,” he said in his crisp, wonderful British voice.  “The Holy Fire is not about Pentecost, but rather is the prelude to Easter.  It reflects resurrection power waiting to explode out and into the world.”  Okay, I believe that.  I like that, as well – the mighty power of God lying dormant on the Saturday before, waiting for the right moment to burst forth in the raised person of Jesus.  I like that thought a lot.  I like to think that maybe this mighty power of God is lying dormant again, in some people, some place, and waiting to burst forth again in a dynamic, dramatic way.  Maybe in you or me, or maybe in us together.  Maybe – what a thought, huh? 

But you can see Pentecost in this event as well, can’t you?  You really can’t miss it, can you?  I mean, come on – smoke, fire, people speaking in different languages, the spreading of the fire all over the city, and far beyond, into Turkey and Greece and Europe and eventually into the whole, wide and wonderful world that is so loved by God that God would do something like this. Excitement, chaos, joy, tears, laughter, weeping, risk-taking, danger – this is Pentecost as well, isn’t it?

The resurrection of Jesus was hot, dangerously hot – to-hot-to-handle hot.  “Mary, don’t touch me” hot.  And we’ve somehow managed to reduce the heat to tolerable levels.  Not hot, not cold, just right.  No, it was hot.  The resurrection of Jesus was not an engraved personal invitation securing a place for you around the table of God.  No, a thousand times no!  What’s hot about that?  What’s risky about that?  Jesus was raised in order to demonstrate the power of God to transform even death into new life.  It is the power of transformation that is the mighty power of God.  And such power is hot, red-hot, too-hot-to-hold-onto-hot, power that must be shared or it will burn you up hot.  It’s burning bush power, fire bursting out of Jesus on the mountain power, fiery tongues power, fiery sermons power, fiery crosses with fiery martyrs hanging on them power, turn-the-world-upside-down power.

This power is not for you or me alone, not a personal relationship with Jesus power.  Jesus did not live and die, and was not raised to merely save you and me from hell.  Jesus lived, died and was raised to unleash the power of God to redeem the world – to transform the world into something that looks and feels like heaven on earth.

You are not who or what is foremost on God’s mind or in God’s heart.  Nor is God particularly grieved over your well-healed neighbor’s hardness of heart.  (Check out Jesus’ parables if you think I’m mistaken about this.)  It is the widow, the orphan and the oppressed in your midst that occupy the mind and heart of God.  Activity on their behalf is activity that motivates God to release resurrection power.  This has always been so, and continues to be so, even though we might not like to think it is so.  It is, and you know it as well as I (or me, whatever).

In the next few days, another Palestinian family will have their home destroyed by the Israeli army.  This family lives just a mile or so from Sally and me.  Soon, unless a miracle occurs, a man, his wife and seven children will be homeless.  You won’t read about it in your papers, or hear about it on the news.  The cries of this family will rise to heaven, and there they will be heard, there they will be recorded, and there their tears will be gathered and stored.

It is there also that we will be judged.

“Lord, Lord” we’ll cry.

And Jesus will either say, “Well done.”   Or, “I don’t recognize you.  Were you among those who fed me, clothed me ...?” and you know the rest.

I told you – hot stuff!

Helping Hand

(The third picture was taken in the Romanian Orthodox Church.  It is a fresco of Jesus' descent into hell.  You see the gates of hell are broken and Jesus is lifting up Adam and Eve out of their tombs.  The last photo is one of my favorite paintings in all the churches of Jerusalem.  It is from the Russian Orthodox Church of Mary Magdalene.  I took this during a 2 hour service.  I looked over and the light was just perfect.)

She is old, very old – 80s or 90s old.  She is standing on a narrow step half way up or half way down the descent or ascent into or out of Mary’s Tomb near the Garden of Gethsemane.  (Where you place her depends on whether you are a glass half empty or a glass half full type of personality.)  Mary’s Tomb is a subterranean cavern, deep and dark and holy.  Whenever I come here, which is often, I think about baptism.  You descend into the darkness of death, and then you ascend out into the light of life.   Coming and going, down and then up, it is a rite of a sort, I think.

The old woman is wearing a dark, yellow dress – golden, I guess you’d say – printed with bright red flowers.  She is neither smiling nor frowning, but rather wears the look of one waiting patiently for someone or something.

I don’t know who she is or where she is from, but probably she is a pilgrim in Jerusalem for Holy Week.  She does not have the look of a local.  Because she is at Mary’s Tomb, I going to guess she is either Armenian, Russian or a Coptic Christian from Egypt.  I venture this because Mary’s Tomb is a holy site for each of these brands of Christianity, and she does not strike me as from the West, so therefore not Roman Catholic, or Protestant, like me.  (For a variety of reasons, some political and some theological, Mary’s Tomb is not a holy site for Roman Catholics.)

Suddenly, the old gal swipes out her left hand reaching for the right arm of a young man who is on his way up and out of the darkness.  He is heading for the light coming in through the narrow entrance of the Tomb.  Her hand grazes his arm.  He looks down at her with surprise, but keeps on walking.  You can see in his eyes that he is thinking that she is more than a bit strange.  To be honest, I’m thinking the same thing.  Then a second young man comes into range and she swings her left hand at him, elbow slightly bent, thus putting her arm in a tight little arch.  She hooks him.  She lashes on to him like one of those circus performers hooking an arm onto someone running past on a galloping horse.  She pulls him to a complete stop.  He is alarmed at first, wondering who or what has him in tow.  She looks up at the light and jerks up her chin to let him know that she wants a lift – a helping hand.

And the young man, sporting a thin goatee, presents her with a marvelous smile.  She nods at him, and together, one slow, little step at a time, they make their way out of the Tomb and into the light.  I am so stunned and filled with such joy at this mini-resurrection drama that I don’t even think to take a picture.  I just stand and watch and smile.  I’m thinking that this is a God-moment.

Here’s a God-honest truth to go with this honest to God moment: The Palestinian people need a helping hand as well.  And certainly, these oppressed people are not alone in this desperate need.  The world is filled with people standing and waiting for someone to come by, someone with the power to deliver them out of slavery, and into promised light and life.  They need someone to walk with them, arm in arm, out of this present darkness, this pit of hopelessness.  I think, like this old pilgrim woman, the Palestinian people, and others like them, are waiting for someone to come by who is heading toward the light.  Most of the folks walking by are headed in the wrong direction, or so it seems to me.  Who is it that is heading toward the light?  Who is it that is walking up and out of death and darkness, instead of down, down, down?  Is there anyone out there who has a vision that is not driven by fear or greed, but rather by hope and vulnerable sharing?  And if such a one were to come by, would the Palestinian people have the courage and faith necessary to hook on to that potential helping hand? 

As we come out of Holy Week, these seem to be the most important of all wondering.  Is there anyone who offers the vision of Jesus?  Is there anyone who is willing to suffer and die for a vision of a world where suffering and death are seen as the only way toward wholeness and life?  I’m talking now about a vision that involves people with power willingly setting power aside to walk beside those who are powerless?

The weak wait for the strong to begin moving in the right direction.  Not all of the weak are waiting patiently, but all of them are waiting.  They have little choice except to wait. 

If asked, the old woman might say that waiting is easy when you believe that someone is coming.  She knew that someone was on the way up, and that if she just kept reaching out then sooner or later she would latch on to the right person, one willing to be slowed and inconvenienced for the sake of a weak, old woman needing a helping hand.  And I expect she knew from experience that such a person did exist, because this wasn’t the first time she snaked out her arm looking for a lift up and out.  And it probably won’t be the last either.

My post Holy Week prayer is that the weak will not lose faith in the strong, and that the strong will not lose sight of the light.  And yes, I think of Jesus descending into Hell itself in order to lead the dead out into the light.

I’m tempted as well to think of Jesus coming back, and to hope that Jesus is on his way.  But I don’t expect Jesus to come back today, or tomorrow either, for that matter.  And I don’t think a lot about the 2nd Coming.  I am concentrating on the 1st Coming instead, and trying to get in step with the one who came then, and who came then to lead us out of darkness and into light.  I’m thinking about Jesus – living, dying, descending, rising, ascending, sitting, waiting, and one day coming.

And I’m wondering why no one is latching on to my arm.  Am I not strong?  Am I not heading in the right direction?  Am I not walking close enough to the weak to be grabbed?

I wish I’d never seen that old woman.

Foot Washing

I went to two foot washing services today.  I saw two of Jerusalem’s three patriarchs – one Greek and one Armenian -- stripped down to their linen underwear.  Not a pretty sight, and yet, quite stunning in its symbolic beauty.  I found my little Protestant heart strangely warmed.

The Greek Patriarch processed out of the Church of the Resurrection – the Holy Sepulchre – and on to a platform that was erected for the Maundy Thursday event.  The platform represented the Upper Room.  Along with his Excellency were twelve Greek Orthodox priests – representing the disciples.  You would have to admit that the man was sartorial in his splendid vestments, head crowned with a striking cap.  (The cap has a name but I don’t know what it is and I don’t feel like looking it up.)

What moved me was the contrast between the man with his robes, and then with out.  When stripped down to almost nothing, you were startled at how little he was, and how insignificant he looked.  And remember, this is a powerful man in Jerusalem.  I cannot convey to you how mighty a man this is to the people of this place.  He has power.

Of course, I thought of Jesus.  And you can go ahead and think of Jesus too -- as if it is possible not to.  Jesus emptied himself, Paul said.  He took on the role of a servant.  I watched as the Greek Patriarch of Jerusalem was stripped of his outer shell and revealed as small and frail -- just a man.  I remembered how Jesus stripped himself of his glory and came down -- to be a man.  To those celestial stars who saw him then, all light and might, did he later look small and frail, all skin and bones?  I was moved by it, I tell you.  You would have been too.

Then there was this woman and her crucifix.  She touched my cold old Calvinist heart as well.  At first all I saw was the wooden crucifix – a cross with the figure of Jesus hanging by a thread – and I saw as well, the arm that was holding it in the air.  That’s all I could see – just Jesus on the cross being held in the air by a skinny, wrinkled arm.  And that arm held up in the air that old, wooden Jesus-hung cross for most of the two-hour service.  No Aaron or Hur came to help either.  Seriously, she hardly lowered that cross. 

I kept trying to see her face, but the crowd obliterated it.  I became obsessed with seeing who it was who was so stubbornly bent on getting that crucifix into the service.  What did that thing mean to her?  Was it special for some reason?  Was she hoping that holding it there in this place and at this time would bring special blessing on it?  Or was she blessing the event with this crucifix?  Maybe she purchased it from one of the shops on her way to the service and wanted to make sure that Jesus was represented by more than just this skinny, little churchman with the long, gray beard.  Maybe she wanted to remind us all of what was next for tiny, emptied Jesus.

I didn’t get the chance to ask her, but I did finally see her face.  Nice face.  Nothing special about it, except that it housed the eyes of a believer.  There is a ton of people in Jerusalem for Holy Week and Passover.  It is a truly awesome experience to be with so many people who are so happy to be in this place to celebrate and remember who they are and what they are to be about in the world.  You see Jewish families hustling down to the Western Wall for different Passover remembrance events. (I watched young Jewish soldiers taking pictures with their cell phones at the foot washing service.) You see Palestinian Christian families hurrying to their various churches to commemorate significant happenings in the life of Jesus.  You hear a hundred different languages being spoken by people from all over the world who have come to claim their identity as a part of the family of God.  You watch Muslims watching all the different people in all their strange outfits, and you know that they are thinking, or maybe just hoping, that somehow all of this involves them as well.

And, of course, it does involve them too, doesn’t it?  The old stories from the old book involve us all.  And this is not so because I say so, but because the humble man who wrapped himself in both a towel and a cross says so.  Jesus said so loudly, clearly and not merely with his words, and I think Jesus would be pleased if we would say so as well – loudly, clearly, and not merely with our words.

Perhaps it’s time to hold up the cross as a reminder, first to the church and then to the world, that we follow the one who took service to the highest possible level, and that this emptied savior calls on his followers to do the same.  Jesus washed the feet of all twelve disciples, even the one who would later betray him.  I don’t know what service to the world in the name of Jesus looks like on all fronts, but certainly the image of the Greek Patriarch of Jerusalem in his underwear gives us a starting point.

Dragging Out the Old

It’s an odd year in Jerusalem.  Some would say that every year is odd in Jerusalem.  Others would say that every year, everything is odd in Jerusalem.  This odd year has Holy Week falling on the same week for all traditions, the Orthodox, the Latin Church, and the Protestants – sounds like a listing of street gangs doesn’t it?  Looking back over our history, I think “gangs” might be as good a description as any.  Speaking of which, this year is also odd in that the Jewish festival of Passover falls on the same week as Holy Week.  Therefore, a good part of New York City is in town as well.  You can tell by the increase number of rental cars with drivers cursing at each other and at the rest of us as well.  Hell, hell, the gangs are all here.

According to Mark, on the second day of Holy Week, Jesus – with a New York City attitude – cleaned out the temple.  Jesus ticked off the Temple gang to the point that Mark tells us that they put out a contract on him.  Later, of course, we are told that Judas agrees to lead the hit parade.  And he does.

On Monday of this week, the fires were burning all over the Jewish Orthodox parts of the city and countryside.  On this second day in Passover Week, the Jewish people are cleaning their houses of yeast, and, for the most religious, of anything else that is old or useless.  Old yeast and yeast breads, as well as old chairs and tables, old magazines and newspapers, anything and everything old or broken is taken from the house and burned.  (Sounds like spring-cleaning in NW Iowa – all those fires in the groves, remember?)  I assume that all of this is preparation for the celebration of the Passover meal on Friday evening.  It symbolizes a cleaning of the community, and of course, of everyone connected to it.  A Rabbinic tradition connects yeast/leaven with evil.  It was fascinating to watch everyone getting in on the cleansing act.  Mostly men, but women and children too, were dragging out the old and burning it in the streets.  The smoke wafted over the city.

“My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations?  But you have made it a den of robbers.”

Whoa!  Calm down Jesus.

Oh for the days when prophets were prophets, huh?  When prophets actually said and did that which could get them killed.  Today’s prophets are rather bland by comparison, wouldn’t you agree?  Well, actually, there are no prophets today, right?  Prophecy came to an end when the prophecy of Jesus came to fruition and the Temple was destroyed.  No more prophets in Israel!  Good.  We don’t need any new prophets or any new prophecy.  And yes, that includes the false prophets who read Daniel and the Book of Revelation as if these were some giant jigsaw puzzle and they have the missing pieces.  No more prophets in Israel!  No new prophecy!

“You have Moses and the prophets,” Jesus said.  Listen to them, is what Jesus implied.  Just listen to them.  “This is my beloved, listen to him,” God declared on the mountain.  Just listen to him.

On the day that Jesus cleaned out the Temple, Jesus was quoting rather loosely from Jeremiah 7.  It is interesting that Jesus added the phrase, “for all the nations …” to Jeremiah’s teaching.  Here is some of the rest of Jeremiah 7:  “For if you truly amend your ways and your doings, if you truly act justly one with another, if you do not oppress the alien, the orphan, and the widow, or shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not go after other gods to your own hurt, then I will dwell with you in this place, in the land that I gave of old to your ancestors forever and ever. Here you are, trusting in deceptive words to no avail. Will you steal, murder, commit adultery, swear falsely, make offerings to Baal, and go after other gods that you have not known, and then come and stand before me in this house, which is called by my name, and say, 'We are safe!'—only to go on doing all these abominations? Has this house, which is called by my name, become a den of robbers in your sight? You know, I too am watching, says the LORD” (Jer. 7:5-11).

Now there was a real prophet.  And with Jeremiah’s words still echoing down through the streets of Jerusalem and beyond, and with Jesus amplifying them with words of his own, we don’t need any others standing in the doorway of our churches, synagogues and mosques declaring some new word from God.  We just need to get all the gangs together and challenge them to obey what has already been given to each of us, and all of us together.

So by all means, let’s drag out the old words from the old prophets and let them light a new fire in our cold, cold hearts.  Let’s allow these old words to cleanse our hearts of evil intention, and in so cleansing, open the way for fresh wind from the Spirit of God.

“You know, I too am watching, says the LORD.”  You see what’s happening, don’t you?  Well, says God, so do I!