Holy Land Pilgrimage 2015 from Mary Street, the Epiphany in Winchester

This post was written and posted on Saturday, 24 January, following Mary’s (and everybody else’s) safe arrival home. 

I have always known, in a way, that Jesus walked. Bible stories from childhood describe Jesus walking from town to town, walking up into the hills, walking to Jerusalem, stopping by the well and speaking with the Samaritan woman in a walk from here to there. But, I didn’t have a more concrete comprehension of what that meant until being in Israel/Palestine. Many of us walk for recreation or exercise. We ‘power walk’ because we’re told to get exercise or we park as close as possible to the grocery store door to walk as little as possible. I grew up in a family with parents who scoffed at the notion of joining a gym to get something you should be getting from hard work. Walking was a means of getting from point ‘a’ to point ‘b,’ and I still like to walk better if I’m actually going somewhere.

Jesus was always going somewhere, physically and spiritually. He was not accepted in his own hometown, so he walked to Capernaum, the area where he taught the beatitudes on a hillside similar to the one we walked to from our comfortable, air conditioned bus. The country is lush and green, the air is filled with birdsong, and the Sea of Galilee shimmers in the distance. The Valley of Angels was ahead of us, a beautiful sight of high, green mountains shaped like angel wings in the distance – the valley through which Jesus would have walked. But he also walked hard roads, through a dry and barren valley on the Roman road to reach Jerusalem from Jericho. We stood high above that valley at sunrise on a cold morning and I tried to imagine walking in such a vast expanse of land in a time when that would have been my only option for getting around. He spent forty days and nights high on a mountain being tempted by Satan. After riding a cable car halfway up the mountain, we climbed a steep path to the Orthodox monastery where the stone on which he stood is venerated.

On our last two days, we spent time in Jerusalem retracing parts of Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, and then Jesus’ final walk through Jerusalem after he is condemned to death – the Via Dolarosa. We stood on the remnants of the Roman steps Jesus and his disciples would have used to come into the city and we prayed in the Church of All Nations in the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus leaves his disciples to pray and fully submits to God’s will, knowing, it seems, that the end is at hand. Walking the Via Dolarosa early in the morning through the old city market before most of the shops are open, we stood on first century stone at one point, the stones on which he also walked, and we made our way to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the site of Golgotha and the tomb from which he rose from the dead.

Jesus’ many journeys across his land and his spiritual journey that we retraced are much more real to me now. I came away from the Garden of Gethsemane in awe of the act of submission he made, filled with joy that God’s will became his own along with tears of sadness for his death. I am both challenged and inspired by all we saw and did and am certainly renewed in my commitment to walking the road Jesus offers me.

Holy Land Pilgrimage 2015 from Scott Street, the Epiphany in Winchester

This post was written and posted on Thursday, 22 January, but reflects an experience of Scott's which occurred earlier in the week.

In the market from Damascus Gate to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, we went into a booth in search of a gift for Mary’s prayer partner.  We came to a shop with a very solicitous salesman who offered to sell us what we wanted and much more.  At one point, he asked us if we had been to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and we said that we had.

He replied, “I love the Church.  I go there often. It is a holy place. I go in the daytime when the light is better.  You can see more.  When you go there, don’t just look at the big things, the bright things.  Look away from the crowds, at the details. They are beautiful.

“I am a Muslim.  My friends ask me why I go to the church, because I am Muslim.  Christians, Muslims, Jews, we all worship the same God.  How we choose to worship that same God shouldn’t matter.  People who fight over how we worship are stupid, or they don’t understand that we worship the same God.”

I pondered this for some moments, then found myself saying to him, “I wish that more of us felt that way.”

Here I was in Jerusalem, in a market stall a stone’s throw from where Jesus carried his cross, speaking with a total stranger, a Muslim, a Palestinian, praying out loud the hope that more of us could share this man’s belief in the one God.

Holy Land Pilgrimage 2015 from Solomon & Suzanne Owayda, the Epiphany in Winchester

This post is from Wednesday 21 January 2015, and was posted on Thursday, 22 January.

When you get a group of 38 people on a pilgrimage for the first time, the chances  are very high that there is someone who is always late, or obnoxious, or just a pain in the behind.  As our time together winds down it is clear that we have beaten the odds and are fortunate that this group has been such a pleasure to travel with.

We are also fortunate to be writing this blog towards the end of the pilgrimage. It has been a lovely 11 day journey, and we are enjoying every bit of it. But it took us several days to get to know and understand this place. The first few days, we were like kids in a candy store, trying to take it all in as quickly as possible. Now towards the end of our journey, we are taking it in slowly, trying to dwell and take in every single detail and try to understand this place that is cherished by the three Abrahamic faiths.

 Even though our days start very early it is wonderful to be at these extraordinary sites just with our group and not with other pilgrims or tourists; it is a little quieter and provides opportunities for the Holy Spirit to reach us. I (Suzanne) looked forward to being a pilgrim to learn about the history, geography, archeology, and art of The Holy Land in the hopes of feeling and experiencing the Holy Spirit. Quite frankly, the times in which I have felt the presence of the Holy Spirit have been few and far between; but today while waiting for The Church of All Nations to open I started walking around the Garden of Gethsemane. I probably walked around it four times and as I was walking I felt a sense of peace and a presence.  It was the same feeling I had during our Eucharist on the hill over looking the Sea of Galilee, just a sense of quiet presence and peace.  The reading and beautiful impromptu singing by Mary Ann Haagen while in the "cellar" where Jesus was imprisoned (at the Church of St Peter of Gallicantu) was for me a very touching moment. I hope that every pilgrim in our group leaves this place with a few moments of peaceful presence.

People come to this place for various reasons, and the expectations are different. It might be on someone's " bucket list", and it is a matter of checking the box. To others, it is a spiritual trip, and perhaps  to others just a vacation. Some come here to get close to God, while others to get closer.  When I (Solomon) started my pilgrimage, I did not know what to expect. Maybe some sort of  an epiphany, or some sort of a " holy revelation", or an answer to many questions. None of the above happened.

 And then, something happened.

It happened every time I spoke to the people, the living stones. It happened when I spoke to children who were trying to sell us "something" or just trying to talk to someone who will listen. It happened when I spoke to the shopkeepers who in addition to selling wanted to describe what truly is happening here. It happened when I met my cousins who did not leave--while others left--but who stayed in Palestine. It happened when I went to the house where my mother grew up, and could hear her and her 8 siblings playing in the courtyard. It happened when I spoke to locals priests, workers,and just "ordinary" people. It happened again and again. I am not sure how to describe it, but I know something happened. I do hope something happens to everyone of the pilgrims.

We also hope and pray that something happens in this land so that suffering ends and peace prevails.

Holy Land Pilgrimage 2015 from Ted Kellogg, the Epiphany in Winchester

The following is from Ted Kellogg, a member of the Parish of the Epiphany (and a former warden), written on Tuesday, 20 January 2015 and posted here early on Wednesday, 21 January. 

After a relaxed breakfast of hummus, olives, eggs, yogurt and Satar (a mix of thyme and assorted other spices served at every meal here) your intrepid pilgrims headed out to the Princess Basma Center for Disabled Children on the Mount of Olives just across the Kedron Valley from Jerusalem.  

Although the Center is named after Princess Basma, the aunt of Jordan's president Abdullah who is a major supporter of Arab charities and first sponsored it, the main source of ongoing support and funding comes from the American Friends of the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem a charity that several members of our parish support.  Our tour guide Niserene introduced us to the Center's mission and work then gave us a chance to see first hand some of the terrific work being done on the behalf of children starting life with very few breaks in their favor.*

The children and their families have to overcome all of the usual difficulties that their disabilities entail while dealing with the added burdens that living in an occupied land present.  As difficult as life must be for these children and their families, it was wonderful to see the love, care and respect offered them by the Center's staff.  I believe that many of us were thinking of Mathew 25 "I was a stranger and you took me in...I was sick and you visited me" as we departed.

After leaving the children, we drove 20 miles from the Mount of Olives to the Dead Sea dropping from an elevation of around 2,600 at the Mount of Olives to about 1,380 feet below sea level at the Dead Sea.  Fortunately for those brave enough to swim in January, the decline in altitude brought with it an increase in temperature from the mid 50's to the mid 60's.  The swimsuit portion of our trip was accompanied by an energetic chorus of Gilbert and Sullivan's Hippopotamus Song.  "Mud, mud glorious mud, nothing quite like it for cooling the blood..."  We are happy to report both that swimming in the Dead Sea is just flat out fun...and that this is not a photo blog.

After our energetic swim, we were graciously invited to the home of our guide Iyad Qumri and his wife Simone in Jericho.  The main event was an exchange of gifts and stories with our secret prayer partners.  This writer cannot do justice to the many happy and prayerful stories exchanged, suffice it to say that we felt closer than ever to our fellow pilgrims after the afternoon of shared stories and will miss each other deeply on our return home.  

On the lighter side, we sat down together and watched a brief movie which helped break some of the tension that we have all been feeling with regard to the very visible injustices that we have witnessed perpetrated on the Palestinians by the more right wing factions of the Israeli government.  Should you need an upbeat moment, the video is available through this link:  www.youtube.com/watch?v=mgQfCUNf0no

After dinner our guest speaker for the evening was Mr. Ophir Yarden whose discussion of:  "Contemporary Issues - An Israeli Perspective" helped us to gain a far deeper understanding, if not clarity, on the range of Israeli political views from biblical, historical and security perspectives.  To bridge the gap, Mr. Yarden noted the important role that Christians can play as mediators in this conflict if only because their presence in the Holy Land reminds both sides that this conflict is primarily a political dispute not a religious one.  Political disagreements can be solved through political means as politics, to quote Otto von Bismarck, is the art of the possible.  Religious disagreements in this all too promised land have become absolute and dangerous.  

* For more information on the Basma Center's work please see:  http://www.j-diocese.org/index.php?lang=en&page=institutions&sub=12969833465

Holy Land Pilgrimage 2015: Returning to Jerusalem, from Kathleen Scargle McCormick, St. John's in Charlestown

We often start our days early on this pilgrimage, and today was no exception.  The call to prayer from the minaret began sometime around 5.   It was followed by the Ave Maria on the bells; one assumes from the Church of the Annunciation.  A cheery wakeup call at 6:15 in order to lineup luggage for the bus at 6:45 and eat breakfast.  I don't hate the early calls and with all the attention to prayer around us, it helps me focus on the day ahead.

After gathering on the bus, we check to see that our buddy is there.  Its an important part of the bus routine - no one gets left behind - at least not yet.  We begin the drive and it is shortly followed with a prayer.  I have come to love this part of the bus ride, where we focus in on what is ahead.  Iyad, our guide, then gives us a run down of the day:  a church in Burqin, a church in Nablus, a sweet treat, and the ruins of a church in Taybeh, followed by a brewery tour, and lunch and then a little store of local crafts right around the corner from us in Jerusalem.  In and out of the bus sometimes seems exhausting, but honestly it is worth it.  Iyad jokes, "if you don't like it, guess what?  no choice." We all laugh, we've become comfortable with his way and his jokes.

The day is foggy, reminding me of a place I sometimes call home, but it is also calling my attention to the fact I don't like leaving Nazareth.  Something was comfortable there - maybe it was walking in the town where Jesus walked, maybe it was the convent, or maybe it was that somehow Nazareth is a more relaxed town. 

Our ride is about an hour to Burqin, the site of a charming Greek Orthodox church, built on the site where Jesus healed the ten lepers.  There was a cistern and a place where the sick were quarantined.  It was a charming church, a place where few tourists go, but a place that reminds us of the many miracles Jesus performed in his public ministry.  We hear the story of the lepers, and prayerfully explore the church.  Manakish is the first of our treats today, a pizza like dough is on the bottom, olive oil is spread and za'atar is sprinkled.  A little tea, too, is provided.  Again, we are fed - by the story, by the place, and by the people.  

We then return to the bus and continue on to our next stop, Nablus.  Here, 1% of the population is Christian.  St. Photini's is our next destination.  As we approach, we sing a song about Jacob's ladder as we approach; and hear the story of Jacob.  St. Photini is the name given to the Samaritan woman, by the Greeks.  An orthodox priest greets us in the courtyard.  We hear his complicated story from Iyad.  This slight man, with a long beard is not only the priest, but the iconographer.  The amount of icons in this church are astounding.  This priest rebuilt the church after it was desecrated in 1979; its custodian having been murdered.   It is truly an incredible place.   The real treat, however, is below the first floor.

Descending to the well,  I wonder, was this really both Jacob's well and the well where the Samaritan woman spoke to Jesus? I don't know, but the sense of the holy is there.  We hear the story of the Samaritan woman.  One of the pilgrims is called on to help draw water that we will drink.  I am near the front and help both to lower the bucket into the well; it seems a long way down.  We bring up fresh water and drink from the well.  A little more time to pray and look at the church and then back to the bus. Our next stop is a bakery in the town.

Treats from Iyad are always interesting because we get to try things we wouldn't know to order.  Today, we are stopping to sample Kanafeh, a pastry soaked in a sugary syrup.  There was another, too, with shredded wheat wrapped around a cheese. It was quite sweet.   We wondered, could we ever eat again?

Next, we drive to Taybeh; in biblical times it was known as Ephraim.  It is a 100% Christian town, a rarity in the Middle East. One unfortunate part of the story we hear, is that Christians are a minority in Israel and the occupied territories, many have fled the area, in search of a better way of life.   Arriving at St. George's, I'm reminded of the ruins I've visited in England, vast stone structures with large chunks missing roofs, windows, and doors.  People bring trinkets or expensive items and leave them in the ruins as an offering.  Occasionally, someone brings an animal to sacrifice.  Evidence suggest that habit still continues.  Some people talk of the "thin places" here, where you feel just a bit closer to God. One has to agree.  

Oddly enough our next stop is a brewery!   Taybeh's brewery (of the same name) is run by a family with links to Boston, and inspired by the American craft beer movement.  They have been quite successful and have been inspired to start a winery and also a hotel.  We sampled some beer and then moved on to a tour of the brewery.  As we left a shepherd herded his flock.  I find myself thinking about all the times the Bible has become real on this pilgrimage.  Sometimes it happens when you expect, other times it is totally unexpected.

No one thought lunch could be eaten, but again we were served a wonderful meal - our mezze included many things which have now become familiar, hummus, olives, little salads and pita.   Then, we were served a delicious meal of chicken and onions over rice cooked with sumac, the spice, not the poison.  Fortunately, we were given a sweet orange to end the meal.

We returned to St. George's, which felt like coming home. Pilgrims settled back into their rooms and met for dinner. Compline followed.   I have been fed many ways today - the call to prayer, the food, the people, the songs, the prayers.  
P.S.   I found out that three bakery workers were attacked by Israeli soldiers on Monday  in Nablus.  There were no signs of trouble the day we visited but my heart is heavy.  The lack of peace in this holy place breaks my heart.  Weep for Jerusalem. Pray for peace.

Holy Land Pilgrimage 2015 blog post for Saturday and Sunday, 17-18 January 2017 from Susan Reed and Diana Reed & Mary Adkins

This post comes from pilgrims, Susie Reed of Sag Harbor, New York, 

and Diana Reed & Mary Adkins of Washington, Pennsylvania.

Today felt like a day that we have been moving inexorably towards on our Holy Land pilgrimage. Our first five days were spent in and around Jerusalem and Bethlehem, and this afternoon we literally "came up" to Nazareth. (This is the Holy Land and the Hilly Land!) Our itinerary followed Him, from Nazareth to the Jordan River to the Sea of Galilee to the Sermon on the Mount, ending at Capernaum.

We descended from the hills of Nazareth, proceeding northeast to the Jordan River. Our guides, Iyad and Mark, pointed out the Valley of the Dove to the west, which is the path Jesus would have taken walking to the Sea of Galilee and the Jordan River. As our bus left Nazareth, Father Thomas said to us, "You can never tell what will move you on a pilgrimage. Sometimes the things you think are "supposed to" move you don't, and it's the surprising and unexpected things that do. Today, as we spend the day visiting the places of Jesus' ministry, let's try to be quiet. Often it's hard to hear when we're all chattering."

1. The Jordan River. As we approached, Iyad warned, "Don't expect the Mississippi." The Jordan River isn't a creek, but rather a fast-moving stream. Before we arrived, our driver, Mohammed, stopped, and the bus and Iyad jumped out, returning with several olive branches in his hand. 

We drove down a quiet dirt road and disembarked at at an isolated bend of the river. It was indeed a fast-moving stream, approximately 10-feet wide A few old wooden boats were pulled up on the bank, and tall cattails lined the river on both sides. It could have been   AD 27. 

We commenced by singing Shall We Gather at the River. Then, together, we renewed our baptismal vows. Father Tom walked down to the Jordan, dipped the olive branches into the river, and with a big smile, showered us with the waters of the Jordan. We were baptized here, just as Jesus was by John. This was a high point for all of us, especially for Susie, who had never been baptized. 

2. Mount of Beatitudes. The Mount of the Beatitudes looks over the Sea of Galilee and many of the sites of Jesus' ministry. We visited the simple octagonal church designed in 1937 by the Italian architect Berluzzi, which reflects Jesus' eight "blessings. Our group walked to a hillside near the church and read the Beatitudes aloud. While we tend to read these today as calm and soothing they were in fact radical, demanding and countercultural. 

St. Ignatius of Loyola (founder of the Jesuits) developed something called the Spiritual Exercises in the mid-1500s. They are a compilation of meditations, prayers and contemplative practices that include actively imagining and projecting oneself into scenes of the Gospels in order to help people deepen their relationship with God. To be speaking, and listening to the words of Jesus in the exact locations where he uttered them was deeply spiritual. 

We returned to the bus expecting to move on to the next site. Instead we stopped abruptly at the side of the highway. As we disembarked. Iyad asked us to stand along the fence facing the Sea of Galilee. We were then instructed to turn around. Halfway up the hill across the road was a grotto, high enough for a person to stand. There, at the front of the grotto was one of our group, Carol Bellamy. None of us had noticed she'd left the group. Now she began to speak to us. reading the Beatitudes from on high.For that moment, we were the local people, looking up at a spot from which Jesus might very well have addressed the crowd. It was surprising, dramatic, and moving. "When I was reading aloud up on the hill, what struck me was that The Beatitudes are just as true and relevant today," Carol said later.

Our group then ascended to the top of the hill together and shared communion in a small grove underneath an olive tree. The intimacy and beauty of the communion was one of those "surprising and unexpected" things. 

3. The Sea of Galilee. Our lunch at a local restaurant fittingly consisted of whole grilled fish from the Sea of Galilee (Tilapia, also called St. Peter's Fish, along with the delicacies we've come to enjoy—(hummus, tabour, salads, and pita). Afterwards, we proceeded to a famous local kibbutz where we viewed a boat from Jesus' time which had been discovered buried in the mud banks of the Galilee. The boat was painstakingly removed and restored. It took scientists nine years to dry the wood, which had been waterlogged for 2000 years. We then walked out onto a dock and boarded a boat, which took us out out onto the Sea of Galilee. The water was calm and magically sunlit as we sang Abide with me, fast falls the eventide.

4. The Church of the First Feeding of the Multitude at Tabgha. Our next stop was this beautiful Byzantine-style modern church built over the rock where Jesus laid the loaves for the feeding of the 5000. This is where it happened, people! (The church also has exquisite mosaics of the kinds of wildlife you would see around Galilee.) 

5. Church of Peter's Primacy. We walked a few minutes up the road to this church, where Jesus asked Peter three times, "Do you love me?" We know the rest of the story. Unlike the white sandstone churches in Jerusalem, this one is built with the black basalt rock common to the area. In the center of the church is a huge raised, felt rock where Jesus made breakfast of bread and grilled fish for the apostles. On his visit here in the mid-1960s, Pope Paul VI climbed the stairs and fell to the ground to hug the rock

6. Capernaum. Our final stop of the day was the ruins of Capernaum—the town Jesus chose as home base for his ministry. About 1500 people lived here during that time, and there are remains of many houses, as well as huge stone mortars for grinding wheat and pressing olive oil. Jesus' father, Joseph, was a "tekton"—a stonemason who might have built these implements, and it is likely that Jesus learned the same trade. 

The Galilean town of Capernaum was the center of Jesus' messianic activity. It was strategically located on the Via Maris, a busy Roman road that stretched east to Damascus and west to the Mediterranean. Jesus chose many of his apostles from Capernaum, including the fishermen Peter, Andrew, James and John, as well as the tax collector Matthew. In the center of town is the site of Peter's house (where the paralyzed man was lowered through the roof). The remains are now covered by a modern church. Just a few paces away are the ruins of a 1st century synagogue where Jesus may have taught.

Our day following Jesus' path was exhilarating and exhausting. Standing on the Mount of Beatitudes and floating on the Sea of Galilee were extraordinary "you are there" experiences. Just as profound were the simple sharing of Communion under an olive tree; of re-baptism alongside a riverbank, and receiving Jesus' words with the same clarity and power they conveyed two thousand years ago.

Holy Land Pilgrimage 2015: Monday, 19 January 2015, Back at St. George's Guesthouse

Dear Friends,

We have returned to St. George's Guesthouse in East Jerusalem. Our time in the Galilee was filled with prayer and singing, lots of laughter (and also some tears), an increased connection to this land, to our sisters and brothers who live here, to one another, and of course to our Lord. We were particularly glad to have Simone Qumri with us for this part of our pilgrimage (her husband is our guide, Canon Iyad Qumri); she is grace personified. 

We worshiped yesterday at Christ Church in Nazareth, literally a few steps away from where we stayed, the convent of the Sisters of Nazareth (a French order of RC nuns who were invited to start a school there in the mid-1800s). The Rector, Father Nael Abu, was extremely gracious to us, and welcomed both Tom Mousin and me to join him at the Altar for the celebration of the Holy Eucharist. Another group of pilgrims (Presbyterians) from Austin Theological Seminary were there for worship as well. After the worship service the Rector spoke to us about his experience, the ministry--clearly thriving--at Christ Church, and we listened carefully as he described what it's like to be an Arab-Palestinian-Christian-Israeli; try to get your head around all four! 

We will post more throughout the week. 

This evening, as we say Compline in the nave of this beautiful cathedral, we'll do so in solidarity with all who remember Martin Luther King, Jr., and all who work for a just peace. The adage "struggle is long, but hope is longer" seems apt for this national holiday, and also for what we're experiencing here. So too do these words from St. Paul: If possible, so far as it depends upon you, live peaceably with all. (Romans 12:18).

Faithfully,
Thomas

Holy Land Pilgrimage 2015: A few images from the Galilee

Boats on the very calm Sea of Galilee, Saturday, 17 January 2015

Renewing our Baptismal promises at the River Jordan, Saturday, 17 January 2015.

The Reverend Thomas N. Mousin, Rector, St. John Church in Charlestown, takes a bundle of olive branches soaked with the water from the River Jordan, to sprinkle us as a reminder of our Baptisms. 

Holy Land Pilgrimage 2015, from Michael B. Chesson, the Epiphany in Winchester

The Church of the Holy Make Believe

After our visit to Bethlehem and the Church of the Nativity, I felt that the morning's experience had cost me a good deal of my faith.  I silently said a pious little prayer for the grace to recover at least part of it.

Thanks to our priests and two wonderful guides, we arrived quite early.  Manger square was cold, slippery, and wet.  Deep in an encounter with the other, one of my favorite quotations did not intrude on my scant consciousness: "An haughty spirit goeth before a fall." For that spirit was mine.  Bouyed by kind souls and the grace that I prayed for, I have begun to realize the depth of my fall.

After some introductory remarks, we were given our liberty to roam about, but sternly instructed to meet by 9:00, or perhaps it was changed to 9:30, at the rear of one of the several churches that cling to the complex "like barnicles," a figure of speech used by two different writers I have encountered since our Holy Land pilgrimage arrived in Jerusalem.  I wondered idly which writer was the plagiarist, or whether both had lifted the language from yet another author?  The change in time was only a mild irritant for one who likes certainty, but bridles when urged to be flexible, a near constant admonition.

Some places we were told not to enter lest we cause a theological or possibly a diplomatic crisis leading to another holy war, a term that I group with those used by military historians, like "friendly fire." Both can kill you, but always for the best of reasons.

I realized then that I was in the supposed birthplace of the Prince of Peace, the Nazarene whose nativity was moved in a wonderful slight of hand by leaders like Jerome, reeking with incense, as Helena reeked with the gold and power of empire that enabled her to find the true cross, an Indiana Jones in the garb of an empress.  It is contested ground, but I had known that even before our bus ride from Ben Gurion airport to the St. George's guesthouse, through a landscape marked by walls, razor wire, and restricted access highways, a nightmarish blend of the Jim Crow South and Orwell's 1984.

The spiel given to pilgrims by A-list guides now tells one that my Lord and Savior was born not in a wooden stable but a cave; that the inn that was full was not a franchise brand, but a cave full of cousins; and that Mary gave birth in a recess of the cave that offered some privacy, but was also used by animals.  There may have been a manger, but it was carved out of stone, but yes, it would have had the benefit of animal warmth, like any stable.  It's one of my fondest childhood memories, that babe and the animals.

I had become increasingly uncomfortable before our group gathered.  Seeking a quiet place, not to pray but to think, and try to control my nerves, I found that I was back home, with the sexton, lectors, and ushers all rushing busily and importantly around the church.

When our group did finally gather in respectful silence, one of our number being designated as pool photographer, the church and the Latin Mass was soon awash in a flood of stereotypical Asian tourists, each with at least one camera, and some with a battery of electronic gadgets.

We soon left the guitar strumming Mass, a ceremony that could have been found in almost any American Catholic church, for a Greek Orthodox service, or perhaps it was Armenian.  What I do recall was the metal scaffolding, and one little cherub swinging on his own personal liturgical jungle gym.

And oh the wiring!  Haitian wiring simply cannot compare with the Palestinian variety.  It's all exposed, whether inside or outside. 

Our worship had become a movable feast for, led by our faithful guides, like Virgil leading Dante, they found a service deep underground where we became, if only for a moment, participants and not mere spectators.  The ancient officiant wore a stocking cap of a design I've never seen in the Bean catalog, and he looked a bit like the misshapen character in The Lord of the Rings movies who keeps whining about "my precious," the difference being that this ordained and vested gnome really did dispense the precious.  Seldom have I tasted better.

Still, I was overcome by the profusion of trappings and decorations in worship spaces that looked as if they had not been dusted in a century, if ever.  The walls, or in some cases canvas tarps, were covered by carefully framed black and white photographs of dignitaries, all male, whose highest earthly honor was to rate their likeness being hung somewhere in the God complex.  Few living now remember them, and even fewer knew them.

Emerging, finally, from the welter of competing Christian services, we were told that the wild cacophony of unintelligible liturgies was produced by only three denominations that "controlled" the space, unlike the six that compete at the NFL level in the Church of the Resurrection in Jerusalem.

Bethlehem is a sad, tawdry little tourist town that one could find in a thousand American burgs.  There was nothing that made me feel spiritual, much less holy, depressed as I was by the ever present wall.  The excellent food and attractive gift shop, both run by "cousins" of our chief guide, could not disguise the sour taste I felt when I discovered that the "authentic" shawl pressed on me by a street vendor had been made in India.  It does make me look a bit like Omar Sharif, but in wire rim glasses and without the bedroom eyes.

After my Bethlehem visit I felt, not like a rude beast lumbering somewhere to be born, but a sullen sinner who wanted to rant but lacked an audience.  I wanted to escape, to get away even from my fellow pilgrims.  But I could not.  As our guide Iyad reminds us, "you have no choice."

I reached bottom on the bus ride through the checkpoint back to St. George's when I read one of the many handouts we've been given.  In "Bethlehem," Annie Dillard says everything I felt and have tried to say and achieved an epiphany, while telling me I've not even reached the level of an agnostic much less a heretic or atheist.  Who better to teach that lesson than the Pilgrim from Tinker Creek.

Tomorrow we head into the desert.

Michael Chesson

Holy Land Pilgrimage 2015, from Alice Krapf, St. John's in Charlestown

This post reflects our day from Wednesday, 14 January, but was posted on the evening of 15 January 2015. 

We are off early to Bethlehem, passing by the Jaffa Gate and seeing much more of the Israeli section of the City.  Clean streets, impressive buildings, especially the housing, without equipment and wires hanging off the roofs and sides of the buildings.  Less than 15 minutes later, we sail through a long line of cars and the checkpoint and find Bethlehem.  I was prepared for a modern city, a tourist city; but I did not expect to find a city hanging on a steep hillside with lovely vistas, and I certainly didn't expect to see it completely surrounded by a 30 foot high concrete wall (Iyad says there is a part that is a fence). 

The wall makes several  statements beyond the obvious ones of separation and fear.    Palestinians have painted posters on it, with stories of the occupation, along with slogans, a little art work and some basic graffiti.  At one point, we stand in front of barbed wire,  an observation post with conical roof looming above us.  It looks like something from a prison, and I can think of some other historical antecedents, but don't really want to go there.  Later, someone comments that violence has substantially decreased since the walls have been built.  But that has also been accompanied by rerouting of roads, the checkpoints and other driving restrictions.  It has also resulted in a major decrease of the Christian population of Bethlehem, now down to 18%.

The town itself is quite pretty and appears much more prosperous than East Jerusalem, newer, all white limestone, washed by wind and sun.  In the near distance are rolling hills, dotted with other Palestinian towns, more walls, and new Jewish settlements.  The settlements are also a surprise, not rural or even suburban, but many thousands of multi family apartments in mid and high - rise buildings, whole cities of well over 100,000 people.   They represent a massive, coordinated effort - architectural, governmental and financial; the real estate developer part of my brain starts calculating the myriad vested interests in their creation and sustained operation.

The political situation has quickly incurred on what I think is my primary purpose for being here, so it is some relief to arrive at a quiet Manger Square - it is about 8 a.m. In the morning!  The Church of the Nativity is, of course, under construction, lots of exterior scaffolding with about two workers, no hard hats, hauling construction material up in what looks to be a reinforced plastic bag. OSHA would be horrified.  Construction inside also, in the Greek Orthodox portion of the building, with three tiered chandeliers and more sanctuary lamps than I can count actually hung from the construction scaffolding.  OSHA would be apoplectic, at this, especially if they saw the three year old using the scaffolding as a jungle gym.  We plaster ourselves against a wall a few steps below this makeshift sanctuary, with its incredibly rich backdrop of elaborate gold framed icons, trying not to intrude.  There is a busy pageantry with its own choreography of singing, ring kissing and movement of people around the altar.  The congregation responds, sings, stands, etc., with no prayer books or hymnals. 

We head down a stair into the room said to be where St Jerome wrote the R.C. Bible, referred to as the Vulgate, with two faithful women helpers, and then further down into a multi room cave, recently excavated, that Mark says is more like the Christmas manger than the official site.  It is lovely in its emptiness, and a good place for us to gather for a reading from Matthew and a heartfelt rendition of O Little Town of Bethlehem.

Outside again, there is a lovely cloister with orange trees, anemones, freshly turned earth, and elegant double columns. I could stay here all day.  I look through the entrance and see four women in headscarves, and realize they are all from our group.  A photo opportunity impossible to resist, we manage to find about eight of us at once.   We visit the Roman Catholic sanctuary off the cloister, which is a nice space, but the service with multiple tour groups and nine priests, seven of whom are in bizarre white chairs, does not draw me in.  When Iyad signals we should leave, I'm wondering whether we've been thrown out like the early Christian initiates who have to leave after the readings and before the Eucharist. 

When we do finally get into the area with the star in the floor which represents where the Christ child was born, I'm impressed by its smallness and cavelike appearance despite the tapestry, marble and gold.  An old R.C. priest with a brown watch cap conducts a beautiful Eucharist in Italian in a minuscule cave two steps down (the location of the manger) from the birthplace.  I think it must be very hard to concentrate on a holy task when there  are no assumptions one can make about the intentions of the impromptu congregation, which changes constantly. 

After lunch, we stroll the Shepherds Field, which is a lovely garden and in no way suitable for sheep.  But it has an archaeological excavation of a typical cave of the region, and a chapel with marvelous acoustics.  We are treated to a gorgeous concert by Korean nuns and then try our own voices out on the space.  We are fortunate to have good representation from the Parish of the Epiphany's choir and Father Tom Mousin's excellent voice and conducting.

We are all exhausted when we get back, but rally for dinner and conversation after, getting to know each other better.  We seem to be a pretty comfortable group.  There is a cake for Carol Bellamy's birthday and she shares with us a present she received from some local UNICEF colleagues she visited: a carved manger scene, with a wall and watchtower as a backdrop; when she turns it around, there are the Magi, unable to get to the manger.