A Poem by Oscar Romero

A friend shared this with me, and I was so moved by the words. Oscar Romero, the archbishop of San Salvador in El Salvador, was murdered in 1980, as he celebrated the Eucharist.

For those of us engaging in God's work in the world, his words are a welcome balm to the fear and anxiety that we are somehow not doing enough.

A Future not our Own: A Prayer/Poem by Oscar Romero

It helps, now and then, to step back

and take the long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of
the magnificent enterprise that is God's work.
Nothing we do is complete,
which is another way of saying
that the kingdom always lies beyond us.

No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No programme accomplishes the church's mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.

This is what we are about:
We plant seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces effects beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything
and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.
This enables us to do something,
and to do it very well.
It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for God's grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results,
but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders,
ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.

Sermon: Epiphany 1

Since I always preach without notes, this is an approximation, as clearly as I can remember, of what I actually said.

The sermon you are about to hear is not the sermon I intended to preach. Rather, at 11 o'clock last night, I chucked the whole thing and started over. It seemed clear to me that the events of the day in Tuscon could not go without comment or reflection in this place, with all of us together.

I first learned about the shooting on Facebook. As the day unfolded, I found myself returning repeatedly to the TV to learn more. I thought about my good friends who live in Tuscon. I hoped they were OK. I prayed for the victims and the perpetrator. And, as news commentators struggled to fill airtime and began rushing to judgement about what happened, I began to wonder how we look at this heinous event from the perspective of people of faith. As Christians?

Our lectionary gives us help in this regard. Both the Acts of the Apostles and the Baptism of Jesus give us some guidance. I'd like to look at both passages, in reverse chronological order.

Our reading this morning from the Acts of the Apostles begins with Peter saying, "Truly, I understand that God shows no partiality." God shows no partiality. This is an remarkable statement coming from Peter. Peter grew up in occupied Israel. He grew up in the small town of Capernum. David and I have been there. We saw the remains of the stone foundations of the small houses where people lived, and the remains of the synagogue where Peter worshiped. We know that Peter grew up under Roman occupation. We know that his life was often in danger because of the Roman occupation. It was the Romans who crucified his friend and teacher, Jesus.

In the early days after Jesus' death, there was real tension about who Jesus message was for. Was it a Jewish message or a broader message. Paul was the spokesperson for the spread the news far and wide camp, while Peter really believed that it was a message for the Jews alone.

One night, Peter had a dream. In that dream, God lowered a sheet down from heaven. That sheet was filled with all of the animals the Jews considered unclean for eating. Peter heard God's voice saying, "Peter, eat." Peter, repulsed, denied the invitation several times. Finally, God told Peter that nothing God makes is unclean. Immediately, Peter woke from his dream to a knock at the door. Messengers from Cornelius, a Roman soldier, were at the door, asking Peter to come and see Cornelius.

Peter went with them. Once there, he began to teach about Jesus and told Cornelius, this soldier who was occupying Peter's country, this foreign Gentile, "Truly, I understand that God shows no partiality." Wow.

I have been increasingly horrified in recent years at the way our discourse has deteriorated in this country. We have lost the ability to be civil. To disagree without being ugly. We have set ourselves into camps: liberal, conservative, progressive, evangelical, democrat, republican. The list goes on. And, we have become totally disrespectful in how we talk with one another across our imaginary divides.

I was reading several different news sites posts about the shooting last night, and already the ugliness had started. One person used the word "demoncrats" to describe a democrat, while more progressive folks were saying equally ugly things about conservatives. And, if you don't go online, you can see the same uncivil discourse in the letters to the Editor in the Berlin Daily Sun.

Friends, it must stop. It's far too early to say what caused an ill young man to go on a violent rampage. But, whatever happened, it cannot have been helped by our violent discourse.

The other way our scripture helps us to reflect today is through the baptism of Jesus. The next thing that we will do after the sermon is renew our own baptismal promises. Among the promises that we will make, we will promise "to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourself" and "to strive for justice and peace, and respect the dignity of every human being."

Friends, our role as Christians is to be role models. In this congregation we have folks from both sides of the political aisle. We are liberal, progressive, conservative. Our baptismal promises call us to a higher ground. A higher stance.

Today, and from this day forward, I invite you to do your part to make a difference in how we interact with one another. AMEN.

Leaving Jerusalem: 10 March 2010

I've got a couple of other posts to write about this trip, including the one about yesterday. But tonight, what's really on my mind is leaving Jerusalem.

I have fallen in love with this city. There's something about the air and the energy here that captures my attention. I've learned how to stare down drivers when I want to cross the street. I helped a new arrival to the city get oriented with her map yesterday. Baloney, pita bread, olives, cucumbers and tomatoes seem like normal breakfast.

And now, it's time to leave. Don't get me wrong: I miss friends and family like crazy. I'm ready to be back at St. Barnabas. But my heart aches to leave this city and I am already plotting my return.

Today, Anne, David and I ventured to the Armenian Quarter of the Old City (where I had yet to go). We enjoyed a lovely lunch of Armenian food (not dissimilar from what we've eaten in other places: hummous, eggplant salad, Armenian yogurt, Kibbuh, and a great chicken dish). Then, Anne and I took the rampart walk (a walkway around the top of the wall which encloses the Old City and gives you a rooftop view out over the city - the three of us did it for the first time yesterday) to return to the College. We walked beyond our departure gate, to the end of the walk - which took us nearly 2/3 of the way around the city.

As we walked, I realized that the rampart walk was a fitting way to say goodbye to the Old City. As we walked and talked (and walked and climbed stairs, and walked.....), I looked out over Jerusalem, trying to memorize what I was seeing. I have photos galore (I think over 800), but I didn't take my camera today; I want to carry some of these images in my heart and mind.

This will be my last post from Jerusalem. We depart from Tel Aviv quite early in the morning, and arriving in Washington around 6PM (local time). I am so thankful for this trip, which has changed me in so many ways.

Monday 8 March 2010: The Way of the Cross and The Church of the Resurrection

I woke up early this morning, well before the alarm. And that says something, as the alarm was to have gone off at 5:20. Our instructions were to be ready to leave the College at 5:55AM and to keep silence. Our mission: to walk The Way of the Cross.

The Way of the Cross, or the Stations of the Cross, traces Jesus journey from his arrest to his death on the cross. Walking the Way of the Cross in Jerusalem is a whole different experience from walking it in a church, using pictures on the wall (which is how I've done it for my whole life).

We used the book A Walk in Jerusalem: Stations of the Cross by John L. Peterson. It's a progressive and intercessory version of this ancient service. I am grateful that we've been given the copies we used, as I will use this version again in the future, when leading the stations.

It will come as no surprise to learn that I found praying the Way of the Cross in Jerusalem to be a moving experience. It was early in the morning, so the streets weren't bustling. We were asked to keep silence, so it really was prayerful. The intercessions were powerful. But, in the end, what brought tears to my eyes, repeatedly, was watching my fellow pilgrims. We come in all ages and sizes. We have a range of physical abilities. And, having now walked the actual way of the cross, I get why Jesus fell three times. The roads are difficult and it's a climb. The tenacity of my companions was moving. And in a number of cases, those who volunteered to carry the cross were those who already bear significant burdens. As I watched each one take up the cross, I cried.

We ended at the Church of the Resurrection (from its Greek name Anastaseos), also known as The Church of the Holy Sepulchre (no longer its preferred name, this is what the Crusaders called it). Based on gospel information, scholars believe that Calvary (or Golgotha, the Place of the Skulls) and the tomb were actually in close proximity. Within the Church of the Resurrection, you can find Calvary, the anointing stone where Jesus' body was prepared for burial, and the empty tomb.

Church of the Resurrection is another place where there is so much bustle and so many pilgrims, that it can be a bit overwhelming. [Also, because of something called the status quo, the custody of the church is shared by Greek Orthodox (who hold the largest share), Eastern Orthodox, Roman Catholics (called the Latins, here), Armenian Apostolic, Coptic Orthodox, Syrian Orthodox, and Ethiopian Orthodox churches, with a Muslim family acting as keyholder. As you can imagine there is always a great deal happening liturgically, and sometimes different things are competing!]

We entered the church, and went down to the regular tombs. Then, we queued to touch the rock of Calvary. I was most moved by the anointing stone where Jesus' body was taken from the cross and prepared for burial. To this day, people come and pour oils on it, and so it is redolent with the scent of perfume. After I knelt to touch it, my hands came away smelling sweet. I carried that scent with me for hours. Finally, we entered the empty tomb. In the spot where I knelt, grooves have been worn in the stone by the hands of centuries of pilgrims, kneeling as I have, in this empty tomb.

There are several places around the church where pilgrims of old scratched crosses into the stone walls to mark their pilgrimages. I traced several crosses with my thumb as I passed, to add my own cross to the walls, to take my place among centuries of pilgrims to this holy place.

When we finished there, we were on our own. A friend has a Palestinian friend who cooked a few of us a remarkable lunch in a communal bake oven. We ate chicken baked with onions and potatoes and a beef/lamb mix baked with tomatoes, eggplant, and red peppers, all scooped up with pita bread.

Before heading back to College, Anne and I shopped. I've come to appreciate the scarf here - having worn one virtually non-stop in all kinds of weather. Scarves, or pashmina, can be shawls, or scarves, or merely decorative. I now have a collection, as well as beautiful piece of jewelry. Oh, and I "accidently" bought the most glorious icon of the Virgin and Child. It was not on my agenda or my list. But, she literally jumped off the shelf into my arms and I could not resist her. I then learned that the original hangs in in the Virgin's tomb in Gethsemane, where I have been (though I did not see her there). She will enrich my prayers when I return home.

Sideways view of the Church of the Resurrection entrance.

Pilgrim crosses, scratched into the walls. I am there, now, too.

Pilgrims waiting to touch the rock at Calvary.

Dome over the empty tomb (with a bit of the enclosure around the empty tomb on the bottom right).

A view of some of the iconography around the church. Additionally, you can see more of the structure which houses the empty tomb on the right.

Dheisheia Refugee Camp

Today, we visited the Dheisheia Refugee Camp, on the West Bank, bordering Bethlehem. It was a very moving and challenging experience. I'll write more about the trip tomorrow, as it's late. But, I wanted to share photos.

Just a bit of background: The Dheisheia Refugee Camp came into being in 1948, after the state of Israel was created, to hold temporarily, those Palestinians who were displaced from their homes. It was expected to be temporary, only a couple of days or a week. The third generation of children are now being born in Dheisheia.

Dheisheia is 1 KM square, and 12,000 people live there (that's more than we have in Berlin, NH!).

When that many people live in such a small place, you can only build up. Check out how the levels are stacked. Also, buildings may only be built out of cement block so that the Israelis can bulldoze if they need to. I wonder how much weight the bottom levels can hold. There's no park space in Dheisheia, the kids play in the crowded streets.

Here's a close up of a building, so that you can see the construction.

There's very little open space. Life happens on the roofs. We could hear kids playing football (soccer) there, too.

Graffiti and art were everywhere. The text on this one says, "Stop the wall." The wall referred to is the wall that rings all of the Palestinian lands. You can't leave without passing through a checkpoint.

This garage art shows how the state of Palestine has shrunk over time.

Dheisheia is so close to Jerusalem; you can see it off in the distance in this photo. And yet, for the people who live here, it might as well be the moon. They have no documents. They can't leave the West Bank. They have no homes. For many, they have very little hope.

Saturday 6 March 2010: An Excursion

Today, we went on an optional field trip to Masada, Qumran, and the Dead Sea.

Masada is a venerated site for Israelis. It marks the spot where several hundred people stood down the Roman invaders for several years, before being overtaken, during the revolt of 70CE. What actually happened on Masada is unknown. The old story is that the rebels all committed suicide, rather than being taken by the Romans. Recent archaeological evidence suggests otherwise.

Masada is important for Israelis. Anne and I wandered into a tour being offered by an Israeli guide. After he finished, Anne and I both went off and grabbed our journals and wrote down what we had heard.

He said that Masada and Yad Vashem (the Holocaust museum) were two touchstones that formed the Israeli psyche. In both cases, outside powers told the Jews that they would kill them and the Jews did not believe them; then the Jews were killed. In Masada, they were forced to kill themselves; in the Holocaust they were exterminated.

He said that all Israeli children are brought to both Masada and Yad Vashem, so that they can know the stories and understand what will never be tolerated again. The guide said that his parents were Holocaust survivors and of their whole family, they were the only ones to get out. "I have no cousins," he said.

"So, now, when people say they want to kill us, we believe them. So, when Ahmadinejad says that he wants to attack us with a nuclear weapon we believe him. From now on, we will strike first. People think the Israelis are jerks, but really, we don't care. We will never be in this weak position again." He went on to tell the group (who must have been from the US) that Israel is the first line of defense (which is true) and that if Ahmadinejad gets through Israel, he will go to Europe and then to "you guys."

His words were a helpful window for me into the Israeli psyche. Is there a single Israeli psyche? Probably not, actually, but his words represent one of them.

Some of the ruins at Masada.

Qumran is the site where the Dead Sea scrolls were found. There are ongoing archaelogical excavations at the remains of the village there.

This is the cave where that Bedoin boy found the first jars that unleashed all of the work in this area.

Finally, we went to the Dead Sea. It was shockingly warm (30C, about 80F), so I got to swim. Or, as my friend Ben says, I bobbed. I think I'm the tiny ant in the middle of the photo. In fact, I never float, I'm one of those folks who sinks like a stone. So, floating was a great joy to me.

Friday 5 March 2010

Our morning was spent on the Mount of Olives.

We began at the Church of Dominus Flavit. (I have to say that, as far as church names go, I really like Dominus Flavit, it's just fun to say!) The site is not fun. It marks the spot where Jesus sat and wept over Jerusalem, in Matthew 23:37: Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! The church itself is shaped like a teardrop, and the window behind the altar looks out over Jerusalem. My fellow pilgrim Gareth gave a lovely reflection on this space, and you can read it at the Jerusalem Mile project blog here ( I really recommend it).

After hearing Gareth's reflection we were given much time for prayer and photos. I sat on the wall for a long time looking out over Jerusalem. I understood why Jesus wept. This beautiful city is so embroiled in conflict. The parties have changed many times in the last 2000 years, but it's still a city at war, still a city that stones its prophets.

First, the church of Dominus Flavit. Next, another sideways view: the window behind the altar. Finally, the view from the Mount of Olives, looking out over Jerusalem.

We walked down the Mount of Olives to the Garden of Gethsemane. I had a hard time not being seriously crabby there. It was full to overflowing with people. The church was lovely. It's called the Church of the Agony, but most folks refer to it as the Church of All Nations, as donations came from around the world to build it. The gardens were beautiful, but fenced off so that we couldn't actually get to them.

I fretted a bit, and then sat down on a bit of the edge of the wall with a view into the garden. Almost at once, my annoyance abated. I listened to the conversations going on as people walked by my little perch. One man said, "Jesus really was a revolutionary, and as the church has been institutionalized, we've lost that character....." and then he and his companion were out of ear shot. I couldn't even recognize most of the languages, much less understand them. I was struck by the fact that most of us had come here, on pilgrimage, because of the pull of this first century revolutionary. Then, as I continued to look into the garden and pray, I could almost picture Jesus in there, afraid, wondering what would happen, and then betrayed by one of his close friends. Powerful.

First, the Church of All Nations, then my view into the Garden of Gethsemane. Finally, an ancient olive tree, perhaps dating close to the time of Jesus.

After lunch, we visited the Syrian Orthodox Church of St. Mark. This church is on the site believed to be the home of St. Mark, and venerated as the site of the Upper Room. In the Upper Room, Jesus ate his Last Supper with his friends; he washed their feet. In the Upper Room, his disciples hid after his death and resurrection. In the Upper Room, he appeared to them, and the Holy Spirit came upon them with tongues of fire. Holy holy space, it was.

Sr. Justina, one of the caretakers of the church, prayed the Lord's prayer in Aramaic. It was sung in a haunting and beautiful way; I could scarcely breathe. I asked her later, and she told me that all prayer and worship in her church is sung, except when they read from the Acts of the Apostles; she invited me to worship with them on Sunday night, which I will do if we are back from our Sunday adventures in time. Sr. Justina also told us much about her life and faith. She is one of the 1 million people who still speak Aramaic at home and in worship.

We had to go down to get into the Upper Room, Jerusalem has risen in 2000 years, as buildings have been built on top of one another. There, Andrew led us in a mediation about Eucharist, reminding us that the Last Supper was the Passover meal, a meal of Liberation! The passover lamb was sacrificed to mark defeat of slavery in Egypt. We were invited to offer prayers about Eucharist, and there were many lovely ones. Mine: Help us to remember that when we gather at your table, Lord, we are eating a Liberation meal.

First, Sr. Justina. Next, an icon of footwashing at the last supper, and finally, the sanctuary at St. Mark's.

We walked from St. Marks, to the Church of St. Peter Gallicantu. This French Church is on the site of Caiphas' House. Gallicantu means cockcrow, and it marks the spot where Jesus was brought after his arrest, and where Peter denied him three times. There are also caverns under the church that may well have been where Jesus was imprisoned after his arrest. It's one of the places that made the drama of those events more real for me.

The church was lovely, full of art. I impressed my friends by translating the French that ringed the cross on the ceiling (and myself, too, in actual fact!).

Next to the church are a set of first century steps that lead up the Kidron Valley from the Mount of Olives. Jesus would have walked those steps as he moved from the Upper Room to the Garden of Gethsemane as a free man, and then back up the steps, after his arrest.

First, St. Peter Gallicantu, next, the cross from the ceiling. Finally, the steps leading up through the Kidron valley.

A number of us left the Church of St. Peter and went to the Western wall to observe Shabbat prayers. I really didn't understand much of what I was seeing. No one person led what was happening. Men gathered in small groups (families? minions? I really don't know) and prayed either alone or together. Groups broke into song; a few danced. There was added tension to the event. Earlier on Friday, violence broke out on the Temple Mount: 15 Israeli soldiers were injured and two Palestinians were shot. All around the Old City, and at the wall, were lots of soldiers with assault rifles and other weapons.

We couldn't take pictures at the Western Wall after Sabbat started, but we were able to take photos of the preparations.