by Susan Colten
We were tourists today. And if I do say so myself, my feet appreciate
it if they do not have to do anymore work for the rest of the evening. I might be speaking for all of us.
Today was a ‘free’ day; that
means we had nothing scheduled, planned or promised. We decided together that
we would go to Jerusalem. To catch the
bus we first had to go through the Apartheid Wall. It was sobering to see: the wall painted with
signs of protest, the cement partition separating people from the land, the
barbed wire, the queue line, armed guards with bullet-proof vests, showing
‘credentials’ through the glass, watching the checking and recording of each
Palestinian who passed through while we merely had to show the front cover of
our US passports. Through the gate we
caught the #21 bus to Jerusalem. Our
stop—Jaffa Gate, Old City.
Not far inside the old city
we were shoulder to shoulder with others from around the world making their own
pilgrimage. The Dome of the Rock was
closed, but we did see the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, walk Via Dolorosa,
slip out the Lion’s Gate to see Mt of Olives and Basilica of Gethsemane, and
contribute our prayers at the Wailing (Western) Wall. And we did all that before lunch on a
delightful rooftop restaurant in the center of it all.
In some way or another today
we seemed to be struck with our humanity, or observations on what it means to
be human. For some of us that meant
recognizing our different expressions of our faith and its traditions, like the
Orthodox Church of the Holy Sepulcher and the Wailing Wall. For some it meant hearing the familiar
language of a dear land, Ethiopia (ok, yes, that was Caryl), and overhearing them ask the familiar
question “Do you know where <so and so> is?” not wanting their friends to
get separated from the group. For some of us, our humanity was shown when we
women each sat with a local woman on the return bus sharing food, aspirations,
conversation (even if they were deaf), or directions.
For all of us in one way or
another it was an appreciation of humanity in reflecting on the physicality of
Jesus in his life and death. It was so even as we asked if that was really the
stone/rock/cave/tree/road of one commemoration or another. It was so even as we wondered, “Do I
kiss/genuflect/stand in line/cry/sit silently?” in these same places. These were the desires for the reality to be
made more real. These were our desires
that our response be worthy. And so we
joined in with the busload after busload of pilgrims—Asian, European, American,
African—in our attempt to find, perhaps, the origin of our faith.
This evening, however, I am
reminded of the words of Luke’s Easter story not to look for the living among
the dead. Jesus Christ is indeed
alive—in the life of our congregation, in the life of our sister church in
Bethlehem, in the life of all to whom this grace has been given. In the relationships we are establishing here
we shall see signs of the resurrection.
On our way back from the bus
stop this evening, Dave and I were passed by a pre-wedding processional. We reached the church just in time to see the
bride alight from her car and enter the church.
She was indeed beautiful. And for
me she represented life and love and hope in the future.
Tomorrow we worship with our
sister church, Christmas Lutheran Church of Bethlehem. I anticipate enjoying a fuller sense of what
it means to be the body of Christ.
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