Every Day, and then the Rest

Every Day, and then the Rest

My last Shabbat reflection was a poem about a bird in Rehavia. She’s a fine little darlin’ and she is still singing. Always in the morning she sings, sometimes at night, and every now and then she belts out her beautiful melody in the middle of the night. I’m puzzled when she sings at night. Maybe she is so happy that the rest of Jerusalem is sleeping that she is compelled to sing. Maybe, in fact, it’s the only time she can hear herself sing.

Shabbat is a time when we should be able to hear ourselves sing. It doesn’t really matter what the song is that we are singing. An aria, a dirge. Mournful, contemplative, joyful, the song that you sing is the song of your heart and the very essence of what is stirring inside of you.

But if you can’t hear your song, what is the point of singing? If you can’t hear the rhythm of your heart and listen to its nuanced notes you become nothing more than, as Paul writes in Corinthians, a noisy gong or a clanging symbol in a world of loud and boisterous voices.

The Sabbath gives you the time and the space to listen to your unique and beloved song. What an incredible gift that God has given us in this Shabbat. In fact Shabbat is not only a gift but it is built directly into the rhythm of life. Sabbath rest is intentional, no, essential for us. First to give glory, honor, and praise to God who loves us dearly, and secondly to be able to hear our song and to listen to the yearning, the need, the love that resides in our hearts. Being true to ourselves in this created and sometime dangerously noisy world is what God desires for us.

I will go to bed this evening and will sleep with one ear opened. I sleep in delightful expectation of the Rehavia bird’s song. Her melody is a soothing reminder of God. Of love. Of silence, and of rest.

Every Day, and then the Rest

A Bird in Rehavia

There is a bird in Rehavia
who busy’s herself long before the sun’s rays warm the stone walkway;
long before the kiosk’s shutters open and the Turkish coffee is put up.
She nests in the crossroads of migration,
neither coming or going,
certainly no intention of leaving.
Rehavia is her home.
She warbles
and dawn wakes the night.
But the horn of a taxi,
And the bus engines sound.
It’s time to get up and her prophetic song fades into the day.

©Wagner 2008

Every Day, and then the Rest

It seems as if I get later each week with my Shabbat reflection. I think I even missed last week’s entry. I’ve been trying to understand why this is. Why don’t I just sit down and write it on Saturday each week, the Jewish Sabbath? Surely there must be something to write about. There must have been some moment of grace, or a moment of peace or a reflection on rest and renewal that I could record. To say that it was Shabbat, and that I wouldn’t use my computer is, for a non Jew, not authentic at all.

What I’ve realized is that, for a Christian, Shabbat really is Sunday and not on Saturday. We intellectually know this, especially us church workers. Going to church on Sunday is part of a Christian’s programmed identity. It stems back hundreds of years for us and through layers of Christian theology. Sunday-Church-Sabbath, it works together sort of like the Trinity. Sunday is our day of rest.

But more importantly than rest, it is a day set aside especially for renewing our grace filled life and relationship with God. It’s a day when we can, and hopefully we do, set aside all that consumes our time and energy during the week. We can put down our worries and concerns trusting that God will protect us and give us strength to pick them up again.

After morning worship, thanksgiving and praise, for me there is a Divine aura that encircles the rest of the day. It feels different, even here in Jerusalem when the rest of the population is back to work and beginning their weekly tasks. The day has a distinctive feel to it because it is infused with God’s spirit and that is made so visible and tangible to us because I have rested in grace.

So, what does this have to do with my weekly Shabbat reflection? Nothing and everything. I’m on Sabbatical rest this year. It’s a year to rest. It’s a year to dig very deep into my spiritual life and nature without outside interruption. It’s a year to do things when I am moved because I can and I want to, not because I must. Shabbat Shalom my friends, you can decide if this was last week’s or this week’s reflection!

Every Day, and then the Rest

Fruits and vegetable somehow always look fresher and riper when you buy them in an open air farmer’s market. So you can imagine the produce at Mahanah Yehuda, the souk to end all souks, in Jerusalem. Each day there are strawberries as big as golf balls, even bigger, and they are as sweet and delicious as Godiva candy. There are persimmons and pomegranates, grapes, oranges, bananas, cantaloupe. Just about any fruit on earth is there for your shopping pleasure. Even dragon fruit is there when it’s in season.

I walk along each vendor who is hawking his merchandise; there are hundreds of them who are ready to make a sale. “Geveret, b’vacashah, Mrs. Please”, and he points to some luscious looking fruit or vegetable. But I pass them by. I stop at the usual places; the cheese man who gives you slices of samples and says for each cheese that you taste, “it’s the best cheese in the world”. I stop at the salad and olive man who always seems distracted, but somehow gets your order right even though he has talked to two other people in the meantime. And then I go to the fruit man with his dreadlocks. I pick up some bananas and a couple of pears that are soft and ripe and ready to eat and give him my shekels. As I begin to walk away I see some cantaloupes.

I pick one up and sniff it. Hmm, it smells ripe. It’s not too soft and looks rather good. It’s been a long time since I’ve had fresh cantaloupe. Another fruit vendor makes a sale. It’s rather heavy and since I’m walking I throw it into my large carry all for a safe journey home.

My knife makes the first cut into the melon and, to my surprise; it’s not the usual orangey-melon color inside. It’s green! It looks like the inside of a Honeydew melon. How strange I thought. I smelled it again and looked at the outside of the melon and sure enough it was a cantaloupe. I still didn’t believe that it was cantaloupe until I tasted it. It was sweet and delicious, just as cantaloupe ought to be.

Sometimes we are asked to trust and believe in the simplest of ways aren’t we? When we are so sure that things must be this way or that in order for our lives to be in order, God throws us a curve ball out of left field, and we are urged to trust that everything will be ok. It’s God’s humorous way of shaking us up and reminding us of who is in charge of this great creation. If God wants to create cantaloupes that look like honeydew melon on the inside, who am I to argue? I just needed a gentle reminder.

Every Day, and then the Rest

A knock on the door startled me. It’s not often that I get unannounced visitors or intentional visitors for that matter. My Jerusalem apartment is a garden apartment according to Israeli’s. I call it a mole hole. It’s out of the way in this four floor apartment building because to access it you have to descend street level by seven steps and walk down the side of the building.

I get up to answer the door. A clean cut man, 30ish or so, tried to talk to me by using some hand motions and noise. It was clear to me that he was hearing impaired in some way. He handed me a piece of paper and scribbled on the paper was a message, in French. My knowledge of French is even less than my knowledge of Hebrew. So, I couldn’t read his message. Although I instinctively knew where this conversation was headed, I grabbed a book written in English and I said, I read and speak English only. He pointed to his ear to let me know that he couldn’t hear me. I pointed to the book again to indicate that I only spoke English. He pointed to his ear and mouth to let me know that he couldn’t hear me.

OK, whereto from here? I looked at him and shrugged my shoulders. A part of me was hoping that he would just go away, I knew what he wanted. He was persistent and made signs of eating, hand to mouth. I gestured back at him with my palm turned upward, my thumb gliding over my other four fingers in the universal “I want money” sign. He smiled and shook his head yes. I smiled and gestured “wait a minute”.

I had been collecting spare agorot since I moved into my apartment. Agorot are these annoying lower denomination shekels, like pennies. Only they are much worse. They’re big for being worth so little and heavy in your purse. My intention with the bag of spare agorot was to put it into a tzadaka, charity box somewhere or hand it over to a beggar on the street of which there are many. But now the beggar had come to my door.

Without thinking we come to God’s door each day with our deepest yearnings and needs hoping and praying for a handout. I wonder if, when we beggars knock on the God door, does God think…you again?....what do you want now?...ah, another handout?....let me see if I have some spare change lying around. No, the door is always opened to us even if we think God has just opened it a crack. And, there are no communication problems. God understands the words we use, the gestures we make, the tears, and even our inability to voice our desires. We can come openly knowing that our presence will be fully received by the Divine’s presence. We all beg, and we are all received.

I gave the beggar the agorot plus a few extra shekels that I had in my wallet. He thanked me and left. We are to give freely and unconditionally as God has given to us. It’s not always easy is it? But then again we are not God. Let us pray for the courage to be more God-like in our giving to each other when we are approached by someone in need.

Every Day, and then the Rest

Over the weekend our group from Yad Vashem took a tiyul, an excursion up to the western Galilee. We stayed overnight on Kibbutz Lochamei Ha Ghetaot, a kibbutz that was begun by fighters and survivors from the Warsaw Ghetto uprising in April of 1943 during the Shoah. On the kibbutz is the Ghetto Fighters’ Museum which is dedicated to education and remembrance about the uprising. Next to Yad Vashem it is an important center for Holocaust studies and unlike Yad Yashem was begun by young Zionists and survivors of the uprising.

One of the exhibits was devoted to the righteous gentiles. These are non-Jews who risked their own lives to save and hide Jews from being transported to work or concentration camps and even worse, their death. As you walk in to the display there are panels of individual black and white photos of people. Their backs are turned toward you. One out of about an hundred photos was facing frontward. This photo was sepia and it had the name of the person. He or she was a righteous gentile. It is sad but not surprising to see so many people who turned their backs, turned a blind eye, flat out refused or ignored to help their brother or sister. Many of the bystanders where Christians, people of faith.

There are many passages in the Bible where we are asked to speak up and live out our faith. The righteous gentiles did just that. The prophet Micah asks, “What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, love kindness, and to walk humbly with God.” Jesus tells us in the Sermon on the Mount that “Blessed are the peacemakers… the ones who hunger and thirst for justice.” If we believe in a God who loves all people and a God who longs for peace and justice then we are God’s agents of peace and justice in this world. There is no alternative. It is our obligation to remember, and our mandate to continue to work towards a life that is free from hatred, violence, and prejudice.

People who helped to save Jews….they were led by their faith or some moral imperative to respond to hatred and anti-semitism in real and tangible ways. There are people who have become known righteous gentiles…Oskar Schindler, Meip Gies, Rev.Andre Trochme, many others. There are many more people who hid Jews, fed them, and helped them to safety and freedom who did not become famous. They are ordinary people like you who, by their actions, become extraordinary examples of God’s love in this world by living their faith in every day life.

Every Day, and then the Rest

Sitting in the pews of St. Catherine’s Parish at the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem is not quite the spiritual experience that you might expect. The ebb and flow of pilgrims groups bring a hushed awe into the sanctuary and cameras flash as they look upon the stained glass rose window of the Holy Family. They endeavor to record this beautiful work of art and moment for the years to come after they have returned home. Who can blame them? It is a beautiful church.

As one group of pilgrims exit there is a second of silence. Then, the silence is broken by the squeaking of sneakers shuffling on the stone floor. Another group has entered the sanctuary whose acoustics are extraordinary. Squeak, squuuueak, squeak, sq, sq, squeak. And then they too stop to admire the window. Some of them light a candle for peace and some stand there with their eyes wide open simply looking up.

I’ve renamed the Church. Rather than St. Catherine’s, a more apropos name is the “Church of the Squeaky Soles”. Every soul that walks into the church without even realizing it leaves his or her individual squeaky sole sound in the great sanctuary, a symphonic offering given faithfully to the Holy Family. If ever there was something that would keep the baby Jesus awake it would be all those squeaky soles. Forget the lowing cattle or those angels flying high above singing glory in the highest.

Our squeaky souls are exactly what he was born to hear. Me and you, each one of us squeaks loudly out of the circumstances of our lives. Isn’t it good that in the holiest of places we can show up in our noisy sneakers and find acceptance and love?

Every Day, and then the Rest

A little late due to the events of the past two weeks......

On the day after Christmas a Christmas Carol Sing was hosted by Augusta Victoria Church on the Mount of Olives. We sat in semidarkness with lit candles singing our favorite carols accompanied by the pipe organ whose sound filled every possible space of the sanctuary. It was magnificent. The pastor gave a brief meditation which began, “What brings you here, to Jerusalem, to the Holy Land?” A holiday? Family? Friends? Or maybe it was a star. She was talking about the star of the Epiphany which lead the wise men to Bethlehem to worship God’s love revealed in Jesus.

She then read the rest of the account of the wise men who had been warned not to return to Herod. So, they left for their own country by another road. They needed to get home. The familiar route through the hills of Judea back to the east was no longer safe. So, being the wise men, they took a different way back. Maybe it was a route they also knew just as well or maybe it was one they had never been on before. Let’s assume they returned to their home safely, content from being in the presence of the babe.

I’ve always found the thought of returning home by another road to be an incredibly provocative thought. Many a preacher has spun a good sermon around this phrase and Barbara Brown Taylor, a noted theologian, Episcopal priest and preacher wrote a book entitled, Home By Another Way.

My friend and colleague, Cynthia says, there lots of different ways to get home, the point is that we all have the same home. There ARE many ways to get home. Some are so familiar that all we have to do is close our eyes and we get there. Other times we might be diverted by a roadblock or a police blockade and have to walk out of our way to get home but, we eventually get there. Jerusalem knows that I’ve taken many routes to get home, some well-known to me and some, let’s just say were kind and sympathetic to me and lead ME home. But, I got home.

You know when you have arrived home. You’re settled, you’re comfortable. There is a sense of stability and familiarity. Home is a place where you can hide from the world and rest, or just be yourself with no demands except those which you place upon yourself. You are content and at peace. That peace, home for Christians, is revealed in the love of Christ.

Thank goodness we all take different roads home. There would be a major jam up if we were on the same road. Thank goodness that home is a place of God and by God.

Home, sweet, wonderful, peaceful, redemptive, engulfing Home.

Every Day, and then the Rest

Aren’t you afraid? That was just one of the great, profound, silly, or hilarious topics of conversation at a warm and wonderful Shabbos dinner last night. Fear! Around the table was a rabbi, a Jewish educator, a rabbinical student, a yeshiva student, a jewelry maker, a young woman who just made alyah, a recent widow from the United States, a Philippino Christian and me. At points during the dinner we were with tears of laughter in our eyes.

We eventually wound our way to the topic of fear and quickly realized that we had a question in common. Aren’t you afraid? Each one of us has been asked that question of our lives here. We make our homes in Israel….aren’t you afraid? We ride public transportation….aren’t you afraid? We have Palestinian friends….aren’t you afraid? We venture into a crowded souk….aren’t you afraid? We go to Bethlehem….aren’t you afraid? And, of course, we laughed together at what seems like a ridiculous question. But then we became silent. The rabbi said that the fear people ask us about is the fear within themselves. How easy it is to project one’s own fear on someone else.

More than likely there was some such fear within each one of us when we came here. How could there not be when you come to a place that is so foreign and different from our previous understanding of life and living. But when the unchartered waters of our life experiences become familiar, fear does dissipate. Philip Berrigan, an internationally known peace activist and former priest writes, “Fear is a reminder that we are creatures – fragile, vulnerable, totally dependent on God. But fear shouldn’t dominate or control or define us. Rather, it should submit to faith and love.”

Fear does, finally, in the end, have to submit to faith in God. If not then our lives will be lived in darkness and despair, in anxiety and trepidation. Faith in God enables us to get out of our own way, to trust, to be open, and to proceed into the future that is only filled with promise and hope. God reassured Isaac that he would not be alone and would be blessed with offspring for Abraham’s sake. Moses restores confidence in the Israelites that God is with them, don’t be afraid. An angel appeared to Mary saying, “Fear not young woman, God has found favor with you.” The heavenly hosts appeared to the fearful shepherds saying “don’t be afraid” and they hurried off to the place to where Jesus was born.

Fear and faith are twined together. Fear is a cry of human abandonment. Faith, in the miraculous and reassuring power of God’s strength and love is the antidote to our all too only human fear.

Every Day, and then the Rest

“Imsh’allah, orthodox” the grey bearded, priestly hatted Christian orthodox cleric yelled out to us. He did not break his stride. By God’s will, you should be orthodox, really was what he was saying.

On Saturday I was walking in the Christian Quarter of the Old City with an acquaintance, a Melkite priest of the Greek Catholic Church. He had on only a clerical collar with his sweater; no robe or hat that would reveal his church allegiance. My new friend, a good hearted soul with a well rounded laugh yelled back, “orthodox, the true faith”. His laughter echoed off of the ancient stone street. He was untouched by the obvious religious slur.

So is the life in Jerusalem where your garb defines your order of religious loyalty and practice. It’s where your attire can be a source of consternation to another. Unfortunately it is highly unlikely that things will change in the foreseeable future. As Rudyard Kipling said, “East is east and West is west and never the twain shall meet”.

Somehow, I just don’t think this is what the apostle Paul had in mind when he wrote in the book of Galatians, “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.” (3:27) Are Christians not all of one baptism? OK, I know that is a problematic question, but, at the very least, shouldn’t our metaphorical clothing resemble the cause of Christ? The clothing that we slip on might well define our doctrinal position on the Christian theological spectrum. It is also the material clothing that covers up what is in our hearts and minds.

I believe that the Sabbath rest presents us with an opportunity to take off the outer garments of life which define and divide us. It then gives us the time to examine the inner garments our souls. Let us clothe ourselves from the inside out in the beauty and grace of God’s great love. Let us put on justice and peace so that our lives are unmistakably walking in the path that God has prepared for us.

An Advent Reflection

Today the sun was brilliant at Ein Kerem, a suburb west of Jerusalem. It is said that after the angel appeared to Mary, she travelled from Nazareth to this place to visit Elizabeth. Elizabeth too was with child. After their embrace of greeting and joy possibly they sat under an olive or almond tree and sipped tea. Maybe they strolled along a stone path and picked up the dried pomegranates that had fallen to the ground. Perhaps Mary glanced out of Elizabeth’s kitchen window into the terraced Judean hillside. We do know that when she saw Elizabeth she expressed her joy in the beautiful song, now known to us as the Magnificat.

‘My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, for he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants for ever.’

Mary’s faith must have been great for such a young, young woman. While other girls her age were occupied with adolescent activities, Mary was with child by the Holy Spirit. In the blink of an eye, her youthful womb had become a temple for the Christ who would be born some months later. She understands her new role as best as she could and in faith, her soul, her body, her character, her entire self magnifies the Lord. God has broken into humanity through Mary. And the world was changed. Mary sings.

Honestly, I probably wouldn’t sing such a great song, at least not at first. Let’s face it, most of us wouldn’t. It’s a big task to give birth and to give birth to Jesus, well, that’s a whole other story in and of itself. And it is. It is the Christian story of redemption and hope. Transformation comes through this tiny babe and his young mother. Thank goodness that Mary accepted this call upon her life with such profound and uncomplicated joy. Because from that birth onward we have been charted for a new life and a new hope.

Ein Kerem today is not the same place as it was over 2,000 years ago. The name is not the same either. It has had its conflict and struggle just like every other piece of land in Israel and Palestine. Yet its place is secured in the holy terrain of Christendom. The photos are of the Church of the Visitation cared for now by Benedictine Monks. I found it to be a very serene setting and I could imagine Mary glorifying God in the way that she did. May your waiting be filled with peace for soon the Christ child shall appear. Amen.

Every Day, and then the Rest

It’s the wee hours in Jerusalem and the city, which usually is a hub of varied activity, is quiet. The weather the past few nights has been mild, so walking has been pleasant. A friend and I walked her little white poodle in and out of the streets of our neighborhood, Rehavia. We passed several Hanukkiahs whose candle glow had begun to dim since they were lit at sunset. People were walking. We passed a group of teenage, religious boys who seemed to be having some Hanukkah fun joking and pushing one another around so we named them “Hanukkah Hooligans”.

We rounded the corner back to our street and passed a rose bush. She said in a very pensive voice, “Roses in December.” That’s it. No explanation. None was needed. I was filled with warmth. The rose bush is still in bloom and the fragrant white flower was illuminated by the moonlight. Roses in December. How lucky we are to have roses grow in December. When the weather is unpredictable and the days are short, no matter where you are, you need a rose in December.

The rose that we saw reminded me that there is goodness in this disparaging world. We need not sit in darkness and hopelessness because roses are to be found in the most unexpected places. A warm cup of coffee, a bowl mom’s chili, a chat with a friend, a letter from a lover, in Shakespeare’s words, “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Roses in December are any place. The rose is goodness and light, hope and affection.

The rose is God’s divine mercy, and love, and redemption reaching out to us in this world. It will always be in bloom and ready for us to behold.

Every Day, and then the Rest

In Psalm 137 the Psalmist laments over the destruction of Jerusalem. He also laments because the people of Israel are now, tragically, exiled to Babylon. Their captors are asking them to sing one of “those songs” of Zion. But they couldn't. It’s just not the same. All meaning has been removed from their song and nothing resonates with them. All they can do is hang up their harps on the willow tree branches, lament, and weep. They aren’t in their familiar surroundings, so why bother? They ask, “how could we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?”

Although we may not like to admit it, how we sing God’s praises, where we sing the Lord’s song, the customs and rituals that we enact each year are a significant part of how we express our relationship and love for God. We should be able to praise and pray to God wherever our location, and we do, but it’s just not as simple as that. Especially when those “holy” days, holidays roll around. Those days are filled with tradition and tradition gives us a sense of belonging, stability and connection. And, who are we without relationship?

As Christians enter Advent, the weeks before Christmas, the time of waiting, watching, and expectation of Christ’s birth, I am searching. How do I mark this time of the year, which, for me is as equally important, maybe even more so, as Christmas? It’s during this marked frame of time that I spiritually prepare to receive the incarnation of God’s love. Without this spiritual work, without living intentionally, Christmas day is nothing but a big present fest.

It is difficult in Israel for me to sing because right now it is a foreign land. My surroundings are not familiar to me and the predominant season is not my religious season. Hanukkah is beautiful but it’s not Advent. Candles will be lit commemorating a miracle, but it’s not my miracle. I will have to search to find some familiarity in celebration and thanksgiving. But it’s not impossible. This is the season of miracles you know!

My advent wreath this year is not a wreath but a plate of olives leaves from the trees on my street. I will light a new candle each week in anticipation of Christ’s birth. My tree will not be a tree that I have cut down. Israel plants trees for heaven's sake! Rather it will be some small branches that I’ve picked up on the street and will prop up in a corner of my apartment. The ornaments will not be my beloved family ornaments but found items: some pottery shards, a pine cone or two, some small bits of Jerusalem stone, and a couple of angels that I’ll watercolor.

In darkness it is able to find a glimpse of light and hope. When we can’t sing in our own land and in our own way, and with the people we love, we are provided a different tune. That is the gift of God’s love.

Every Day, and then the Rest

I think that I have taken the meaning of Sabbath rest to the extreme. It's not that I've had a wild and crazy week here in Jerusalem. I haven't stuffed myself full of turkey and dressing, cranberries and pumpkin pie so that I need to sleep it off. Nor did I get up yesterday at 5:00 am in order to get to the stores for morning madness Christmas shopping. No, none of that, I just slept until 11:45 am on my own. I did not have to get up in time for anything. There was nothing on my mind that prevented me from sleep. And so, I did. And I feel good.

I do think that this is what God means for us to rest. Maybe not stay in bed half of the day, but to take one day and entirely rest from worry, work, and running around like crazed people. To stop everything that we are doing and to relax, rest our bodies and our minds. Perhaps we don't realize what we do to ourselves, how we drive ourselves to the brink of exhaustion and then do just a little more. Or maybe we do but fail to listen to our bodies and minds and creation around us. Who are we giving honor to then?

Shabbat, the Sabbath is a time to stop what we are doing and to give honor to God and to all that God has unselfishly given us. Today the sun is out and I can feel the warm rays on my hands as I type this reflection. I can hear birds chirping and a dog barking in a distance. I see roses and bougainvilleas refusing to give up their glorious colored blooms to the ever changing season around me. There are leaves that have dropped and are brown on the edges and other leaves that have turned golden yellow but continue to cling to the branches. I can hear a father and his children singing about Shabbat and then laughing together and a little boy runs past me in the street kicking a ball because he could. What do you notice today?

Our hearts can open so much more fully to what's around us when we are rested and when we take the time to do so. God can speak to us, move us in ways that we might miss otherwise when we are busy "doing" life. And, conversely and more importantly, we can give honor to God, fully and without complication when we stop what it is we are doing, and rest. Honor and love to the God who, for us has given the Sabbath, who for us has modeled a way to live in this world.

Every Day and Then the Rest

Thursday night a friend and I were walking back from the shuk at Makane Yehuda. We both looked up at the same time to see if the man on the third floor of an apartment building was out on his balcony. He was. Each of us, during our own strolls in our neighborhood, discovered a man who always, no matter what time of the day or night, is sitting at a small table with a book, presumably the Torah. He faces towards the Old City of Jerusalem.

The apartment building adjacent to mine is adding an outside elevator and refurbishing the front entrance with walkways and a patio out of golden Jerusalem stone. The men who are constructing the elevator start very early in the morning, often it’s a noisy wake up call. You also find in the same vicinity of the worksite, foam rubber pads that they use to stop and pray throughout the day as Muslims are called to do. The noise stops when the men pray.

A Christian congregation, who worship in the bottom of a building on Yaffo Road, also have offices on the 14th floor of that same building. Right next to the offices is a chapel with windows that overlook Jerusalem. They have a prayer watch wherein an individual or group takes a one hour watch and prays. There are twenty-four watches, seven days a week. Each one of the watches are filled.

Jews come to the Kotel, the wailing wall, to offer prayers of the heart and written prayers in the holiest of holy places. Muslims prostrate themselves in prayer in unlikely places; outside of their cabs, in a small corner of a plaza. Nuns pray the rosary inside of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. I am confident that at any time of the day or night in Jerusalem, prayers of the people are being offered to the Holy One, God, the Beloved. How can this not be a thin place?

The apostle Paul told the Thessalonian people to do three things. To rejoice always, to pray unceasingly, and in every circumstance give thanks. Jerusalem is a city that prays unceasingly. I am reminded of Paul’s words each time I walk out my door because prayer is such an essential part of people’s lives here. To dedicate one’s life to prayer, and in prayer is an our expression of God’s great love for us. To live your life as a prayer is the ultimate gift that we can offer.

Every Day and Then the Rest

The music of G.F. Handel filled Augusta Victoria Church this noonday in Jerusalem. In all of the church there was not one inch of space that was not filled with brilliant sound. The sound of voices, the sound of a magnificent pipe organ, the sound of symphonic strings and oboe. Laudate pueri Dominum declared God's grandeur as its eight movements curled their way up to the mosaic rafters of the vaulted ceiling. Perfect pitch, perfect harmony, each note synchronized with the other along side of it. Even the icons looking down upon us were filled with song and came alive with radiance.

Music has that way about it. It expresses the ineffable in ways that transcend out human understanding. We are left simply to feel the divine through sound; to absorb the miracle of life and breath before us. Handel's work gives voice to Psalm 112, the blessings of the righteous. Happy are those who delight in God's commandments...the upright will be blessed...they will be remembered forever.

After the concert I climbed the tower of Augustus Victoria which looms over the holy landscape. In one direction I saw Jerusalem and in another, the Judean desert dotted with Arab towns. Faintly I could see Jordan. This is a place of unrest and turmoil but also of peace and calm. However you want to name it, no matter what you think of it or whatever side of the political spectrum that you decide to spend your time, it is here that God has chosen to expose humanity for our delightful and dreadful ways. It is here also that God calls so many faithful to.

It is good that there are people among us who are honest enough to admit that things aren't perfect but, in spite of it all and determinedly so, will continue to work towards justice for everyone. The Psalmist calls them righteous and Handel gave musical expression to their intent today.

Every Day, and then the Rest

By foot, Jerusalem is not the easiest city to negotiate. The streets wind around; they descend and then ascend the hills of Yerushala’im. They change names. Keren Hayesod becomes King George Street, Sderot Hayim Hazaz becomes Sderot Hanasi Ben Zvi. Add to all of that, the Hebrew, Arabic, and English transliteration spellings on the street signs and you find yourself out on a half a day trek rather than a quick trip to the local shuk for a bunch of bananas. Memory, therefore, becomes a prime indicator of your whereabouts. I rely on mine often - turn left at the pharmacy, go past the café with the red and black sign, look at the street sign that says Ussishkin and know that it really means Ibn Ezra Ussishkin and Ibn Ezra will run directly into Rehov Ramban. I’m home!

Christians observed All Souls Day this past week. We remember our friends and loved ones who have died very recently or perhaps forty years ago. The bells toll, we strike a pleasant chord and we light the eternal flame within our heart so that we can clearly see and hear our beloved once again. Our lives are blessed by their presence and their memory is a source of continual blessing for us. On this day memory becomes a balm in which we can hurt and heal, forgive and ask to be forgiven, laugh and cry.

Should we not recall our loved ones and set aside a day for remembrance? Why just a day? It honors our past, and more importantly it establishes a new foundation from which we can create, with God’s guidance, a new day. I believe that we could greatly benefit from a daily dose of remembrance. Knowing our past, finding the markers which guide us home, is indeed what God asks us to do. Remember the Sabbath day; keep it holy. Remember that I, the Lord God, brought you out of slavery into the land of freedom. Ahhh, yes, that’s where I’ve been, now I can move ahead.

And Jesus, during his final meal with the disciples, said to take bread and wine and to be in thanksgiving and love and to do it in remembrance of him. Every time Christians partake in the meal of remembrance and thanksgiving we do so because it redirects us back onto the path of God’s love.

This week I have lit the candle of remembrance for Loretta and Richard, my mother and father. Their souls are a continued blessing to me.

Every Day, and then the Rest

Ramat Raziel, a moshav outside of Jerusalem and close to Moshav Kesalon, had a book swap. There were all sorts of books; children’s books, books on Jewish tradition, thought, and halachah, romance and classic novels, historical novellas, “how to’s”, and even the old and new versions of Gail Sheehy’s Passages. I felt no need to pick that one up; why read about the passages in women’s lives when I’m living them? Some books were old and some new, many had well worn pages with dog ears. After looking at all the books, several times, I found one that I decided to take.

The pages are practically burnt sienna, the cover is a well worn, faded tourquise, the price - only 25 cents, the copyright date – 1949. Seeds of Contemplation by Thomas Merton now belongs to me. I think it’s no accident that the book was left untouched. In fact, always the faithful optimist, I see God’s providence hovering all over my acquisition. Souls need to be fed in abstract and concrete ways and, at different times. Right now, this book feeds my soul.

Merton writes, “Our minds are like crows. They pick up everything that glitters, no matter how uncomfortable our nests get with all that metal in them.” Ah hah, so, all that glitters is NOT gold as they say! Sometimes the glitter is nothing more than bits of scrap metal or tin foil not worth their weight in shekels. Why do we pick junk metal up that can be painful, itchy or scratchy, or worse yet, makes a scars our soul? Have we not eyes to discern the good from the bad, the divine from the profane?

Of course we do, we have the ability, wisdom, and gift of discernment with which God has endowed us. But before we can begin the process we’ve got to be willing to take a big old spoonful of humility. We do need to humble ourselves in a world that loves to boast.

Let’s face it, we don’t need so much in our nests. And for heaven’s sake we don’t need to hold on to the things that hurt us. With God’s help and in God’s name we can hold on to the things that nurture us and demonstrate God’s love for us. Merton’s book is one that I will hang on to for a very long time.

Every Day, and then the Rest

Before I left Connecticut the leaves were beginning to turn to their splendid New England crimsons and gold’s. I picked a few and pressed them because I wanted to remember autumn as I know and love it. I suspected that autumn would be different for me this year. And, it is.

This is a beautiful time of the year here also. The sun is still brilliant yes, but it has the feel and look of a sun that has worked it hardest to provide the deepest and most intense solar rays that it possibly could and now, needs a rest. Dusk and dawn are cooler and a simple breeze whispers to me to put on a sweater. The leaves are dusty as is everything in Israel but they still are content to hold onto their varied hues of green. It’s true though, like the sun, the leaves are tired too and when they clap in the breeze, only brittleness echoes.

Subtly, creation transforms itself into something new. The old will pass. The new will come. We will prepare for winter. It’s a blessing that we can count on this change. This divine change interestingly enough lends predictability to an uncertain world and sends rejuvenation in the face of death. We can let go and look ahead both at same time. Summer concedes to fall, fall slows down for winter, and winter prepares for spring.

The path of God is like witnessing the turning of the seasons. When we walk that path with each step taken, there is one left behind. A step is an act of faith, a belief in the future, and, at the same time a removal of doubt and fear. We let go to embrace the future. In God’s holy name may we traverse each day. In the splendor of the Creator’s seasons may we seek and find beauty and comfort.