Stations of the Cross

Somewhere in or near Jerusalem is the tomb of Jesus, perhaps in the huge church of the Holy Sepulchre near the center of the old city, maybe at the alternative location called the Garden Tomb (a very lovely place and blessedly quiet, even if it's 'only' a good example of the same kind of thing). Many people I've talked to have helped me by admitting we don't know, or even admitting that their particular location probably isn't the exact spot where something happened. These details don't matter. When we visit the tomb of Jesus, we'll always find that he isn't there.

On Friday I joined the Franciscans for the Stations of the Cross, which they do every week. The Stations are along the Via Dolorosa, which winds through the Arab quarter of the city and ends inside the Holy Sepulchre church. There's a copy of the fourteen stations inside every Catholic church - sometimes with images or text, sometimes just fourteen simple numbered crosses, but they'll be there somewhere.

The way they do this here is very simple, and beautiful. There were a small group of Franciscan brothers in their brown habits, and at each station they would stop, explain the station and read the appropriate scripture passage. They did this in three languages - Italian, English, and Spanish. Then they'd move on, saying enough prayers as we walked for everyone to arrive before reading the next station.

These streets are narrow, and during the day they are just regular streets with neighbors and shops and other traffic. So at times we needed to make an aisle for others to pass on whatever their business might be. It's a peaceful kind of commotion, though - not the noise and confusion I imagine happened on the first Good Friday.

It's hard to picture this as the place where Jesus was crucified and buried. The city has expanded since then, and a spot which was once outside the walls is now right in the center of the city. Also, a church has been built on that spot, and undergone a few cycles of expansion, destruction and rebuilding. Never mind that. The Franciscans here do end with the unofficial 15th station, the Resurrection, and we sang an Easter song, Regina coeli, laetare.

There is a place outside the city walls called the Garden Tomb, which most archaeologists say isn't the actual tomb of Jesus. But it is a tomb from around the same time period, and a lovely place which has been kept green. I was going to sit here quietly and meditate, but ended up singing a lot of revival hymns with an irresistable group from Kenya. Peter, their pastor, sends greetings to you.

Independence

Some people have asked what evidence there was of the 4th of July in Jerusalem, and the answer is: none at all. I nearly forgot what day it was, except that it was most definitely Friday (that's another post).

Having been reminded, it is a good excuse to think about the fact that I'm in a place whose own declaration of independence happened exactly 60 years ago and is still remembered by many people. A copy of that declaration is found at the final stop of the Yad VaShem Holocaust memorial, and looks very much like the USA document, with all the signatures at the bottom. There is also a film of Ben Gurion making a speech explaining what is happening, what they are doing.

But I think independence is available to everyone regardless of what moment we are at in history. There is a way of praying that Moshe showed me, where before you eat you dip a little piece of bread in salt and taste it. To him it means that "if you have bread and salt, you have the basics and that is enough." Taking something with a grain of salt means thinking for yourself. Traveling in a place with so much diversity of thought, religion, language and culture, will either make you crazy, or force you, help you, to think for yourself, to be independent.

Yesterday morning I finally got to Bethlehem. I was scared to visit there, and the main reason was actually that I know no Arabic whatsoever. I can't even recognize a few letters and sound out words, and I realize that behind that lack of basic knowledge is a whole language and a sophisticated culture about which I know very little. To admit this is humbling. It also felt scary to me, even knowing that it's a well traveled destination, people have seen tourists before, and in my experience most people want to be helpful. But the instant I arrived, I realized there was nothing to be afraid of.

I visited the Church of the Nativity, of course. I also received a direction to stop in and see Soeur Anne Marie at the Carmelite convent located just next to Bethlehem. Sister gave me the address and some directions that weren't all that clear to me, but the first one was easy ("Get on the 21 bus and go all the way to the end"). After that I tried showing the address and the street name to people I saw, with no success. Then I said "Carmel." Oh, Carmel! Why didn't you say so! I'll take you there.

Sister Anne Marie came running to meet me. She is very enthusiastic, smiles and laughs a lot. She wanted to tell me all about their founder, Bienheureuse Marie of the Crucified Jesus, known as the Little Arab Saint. They have a museum in which you can see the furnishings of her room. The visitor is invited to put on her mantle and recite a prayer which she composed. Marie seems to have been quite an independent spirit. The Carmelite life style is quite restrictive, and in one painting, her veil was depicted as very similar to a Moslem head covering. But Marie clearly chose her own way, and in fact designed the architecture of two monasteries she founded.

Only after I'd heard all about Bienheureuse Marie did Sister tell me a little about her own life style. She is a cloistered Carmelite nun, which means that she spends almost all her time strictly inside the walls, praying. They speak to each other and work with their hands for only a short time each day, and she leaves the convent only for errands. Later this week, she will go to Jerusalem to buy medicines for the sisters and pick up the mail.

After visiting there, and the Church of the Nativity, I stopped for lunch at a place called Peace Restaurant. I didn't see a menu and couldn't have read it if there was one, so I pointed and asked for "something like that." "Sandwich?" asked the owner. Yes, sounds good! The sandwich I got was probably the best sandwich in the world, a generous helping of crunchy falafel and vegetables when I was very hungry.

One boy about ten years old asked me (as almost everyone does) where I'm from. I told him and asked him where he was from. He laughed - "I'm from here." Then he stopped laughing and said "I'm from Palestine. I'm Palestinian." His eyes were shining like he really wanted me to hear that and remember it.


On the way back I took the other bus, from the other side of town. This one takes you through the checkpoint and you have to walk quite a long way along the wall between two territories. On the Palestinian side, the wall has been decorated with controversial statements, such as:


Apartheid is wrong.

Once past the checkpoint, I rode another, different city bus looking out over fields where the shepherds might have watched, and where Ruth might have gleaned in the fields of Boaz.

This is probably my last post. I'll be boarding the plane tonight. It will be good to be home. Thanks for reading and maybe see you soon ...

Jerusalem sights and sounds

My strongest impression of Jerusalem, so far, is the sound of the place ... especially the way people's footsteps echo in the narrow stone streets of the old city, but other things too. People's voices, speaking any number of languages. Kids playing soccer or volleyball anywhere they can find a place. Today, after a long tiring morning (the wise start early, before the sun gets too hot and everything shuts down), I found the Austrian Hospice coffee shop for a little lunch and a cool place to sit. They were playing some of my favorite light classics such as Rachmaninoff's Paganini Variations. But around half past noon, the muezzin next door had another idea. He and Rachmaninoff traded phrases for a while.

This morning I was able to walk up to the Temple Mount and walk around the Dome of the Rock. It's an amazing place and while the mosque itself was closed, you can see quite a lot - the beautiful delicately painted ceramic exterior for example, and if you look at just the right angle you can even see how the light comes through inside, through a glass door. I found someone good to show me around, who knew some short cuts and explained something about Moslem prayers and what the different things in the courtyard are for - seats and water faucets for washing before prayers, niches that face Mecca, several little subsidiary mosques for use by the people who work there.

In the afternoon I found my way part way up the Mount of Olives. There are several churches on the way. My favorite is Dominus Flevit, which is a small friendly Franciscan place a good stiff walk uphill. Instead of stained glass, they have a plain glass window over the altar, looking out over Jerusalem, and with natural tree branches in their garden framing it on either side. Anyone who manages the walk is welcome to sit in there as long as they want and think about how Jesus wept over the city. On the way back, I passed the Garden of Gethsemane, which I had visited earlier, and was given an olive branch from one of the trees.

This is a wonderful place, and I won't pretend to be able to figure it out at all.