Holy Sounds

On any given weekend you can hear the holy sounds of this not-so-holy, holy place.  Five times a day, and louder on Fridays, the Muslim call to prayer waifs across the city.  On Friday nights, forty-five minutes before the sun has officially set, the Jewish shofar trumpets the call for religious Jews to begin celebrating Shabbat.  And on Sunday mornings, the church bells ring – oh how the church bells ring.

The holy sounds in the not-so-holy, holy city of Jerusalem.

There is, however, such power in these sounds, so much hope and promise.  Even now I can hear the Muslim call to prayer – I mean right this very minute – and think that something is happening that ought to be for the good.  People are praying to their God, and in the very act of praying they are opening themselves up to the possibility of revelation and transformation.  No matter that some of you reading this are thinking that this God to whom these folks are praying is no God at all, or a small “g” God, or even the devil, as I’ve heard some say – these folks are praying and they are serious about this praying, serious enough to get dirt on their foreheads as they bow to the ground.  They are praying, and this cannot be bad – can it?

I just left a small group of pray-ers myself – just eleven of us – not quite enough to make a band of disciples.  We prayed for this not-so-holy, holy place.  We prayed for Jews and Christians and Muslims, as well as the many others who are none of the above and are in fact turned off by all of the above – which might include you!  We prayed.  We sang too – “Every time I feel the Spirit moving in my heart I will pray.”  Didn’t sing it worth a hoot, but sing it we did.

And I guaran-dang-tee-ya that right this very minute, there are Jewish folks down at the Western Wall, and they are praying too.

Lots of holy sounds in the not-so-holy, holy city.

There is an epidemic of child abuse in the not-so-holy, holy city of Jerusalem.  It is a dirty little secret, of course, and the cries of the children rise up to the ears of a holy God, the God who is attune to silent signs and growl-like groans.  Are these prayers too?  Is the sound of a hurting child a holy sound?  Domestic violence is a scandal in the not-so-holy, holy city.  Women silently scream for freedom and justice.  Are these soundless wails prayers as well?  Is the sound of an imprisoned spirit a holy sound?

And sometimes it seems as if God too makes sounds – creation groaning, the wind whispering God’s prayers back to us.  “Remember, you were aliens too.  Care for the widow, the orphan, and the stranger within your gates.  Remember.  Remember.  Remember.  Do justice.  Love goodness.  Walk modestly with your God.”

Lots of holy sounds.  Who’s hearing what, and who’s hearing all?