EDITOR'S NOTE: ParishWorld.net Theology editor Paul Dion, STL, is travelling with his wife Isabel to Jerusalem for further Theological studies. His trip purposely coincides with the celebration of the Holy Week in the Holy City. During his pilgrimage, Paul will be posting daily reports for our ParishWorld.net readers direct from Jerusalem, the city where it all happened. Travelers to the Holy City will tell you that setting foot on the very ground where Jesus once walked, can be a very spiritual experience. Spending the Holy Week in the Holy City, where the entire Passion of Christ transpired 0ver 2000 years ago, is a truly special event in one's life.
We share with you, our readers, the Holy Week spiritual journey of one who walks the streets of Jerusalem as Christians worldwide celebrate the suffering and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ. Please come back to this blog daily and be a part of "The Holy Week experience Live from the Holy Land."
We share with you, our readers, the Holy Week spiritual journey of one who walks the streets of Jerusalem as Christians worldwide celebrate the suffering and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ. Please come back to this blog daily and be a part of "The Holy Week experience Live from the Holy Land."
You will see Paul Dion's daily reports from the Holy Land in the COMMENTS section of this post.
"WE'VE ARRIVED IN JERUSALEM!" My report 3/28/07
"MORE TALES ABOUT THE JOURNEY TO GET HERE," My report 3/28/07
"OH LITLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM," My report 3/29/07
"JERUSALEM, YOU ARE MINE!" My report 3/31/07
"JERUSALEM! JERUSALEM! JERUSALEM!" My Palm Sunday report 4/1/07
"WHAT MAKES THE HOLY LAND, HOLY?" - A Short Meditation, My report 4/2/07
"JERUSALEM, MT ZION AND PEOPLE" My report 4/3/07
"THE HOLY LAND - It's all about the Holy Land," My report 4/4/07
"Last Supper Reflection frim the Holy Land," My report 4/5/07
"DO THIS IN MEMORY OF ME," mY REPORT, " My report 4/6/O7
Please click POST A COMMENT at the bottom of the post to add your own comments on any of his reports from the Holy Land.
Please click POST A COMMENT at the bottom of the post to add your own comments on any of his reports from the Holy Land.
"Jerusalem, My Jerusalem"
By Paul Dion, STL
By Paul Dion, STL
Why is my soul crying out this way? What is the source of these groans of longing that keep escaping me from the deepest recesses of my soul?
Growing up I only felt this way for one other city, The Eternal One. Then some forty years ago Jerusalem took hold of me and has been twisting my heart strings for all that time. One time, 35 years ago I was on my way there when the superiors of the Mission interrupted my journey with orders for me to proceed post haste to New York to quell a fiery problem that had ignited suddenly in the ranks.
Now, I am going. I have tickets, borrowed money to sustain myself, a school to attend and a reason for going. Now, all I have to do it to get there.
Believe me, since we (my wife too, of course) made the decision to attend this school I have been examining my conscience. I am so timorous that God is going to find that rock that I struck twice rather than to trust Him. I am scrubbing every corner of my heart and soul to assure Him that I have a clean house that is in order.
All I can say is, I'm not there yet, and I pray that God has kept me around this long because He wants to give me the chance to see His Home Town so that when He takes me by the hand to walk me home I'll know where to go.
I have promised that I would take you all along with me through the magic of the Internet. I will make good on my promise. You can see that this is not a sight-seeing expedition for me. This is a walk on the edge of spiritual reality. I can assure you that you will not get my take on the politics of the region.
If I get the chance to place my prayer paper in a crack of the Wailing Wall, all your names will be on it. If I get a chance to dip my toe into the Jordan (Lord, not just my feet, but my head too...) I will shiver for all of you. As I walk the Via Dolorosa, I will gladly place myself in the position of the weeping mothers of Jerusalem so that I can weep with them while I am still alive so that I won't weep later.
I will share these moments with you in short spurts. I don't think that I want to take too much time away from My Host. After three weeks of school and meditation in Jerusalem, we will pray with our father in the faith, Benedict XVI in Rome, my Rome. St. Francis and St. Clare await us in Assisi along with some of my La Salette missionary classmates. We will wash ourselves with the tears of our Weeping Mother at LaSalette and then celebrate the glorious Immaculate Conception in Lourdes.
God willing, we will take some of His Spirit back for everybody here at the parish as well as for all of you who are connected to us and to our Savior electronically. We will bring back some of the motherly love and courage of His Sweet Mother. God willing, we will share His infusion of Grace through this event with you who have stayed home.
We invite you to pray with us as our journey allows us to be enveloped in the aura of His salvific journey to Earth. If something happens to me over there, (You know) then you sure won't cry at my funeral. If you do, I'll take my prayer paper out of the crack !
Growing up I only felt this way for one other city, The Eternal One. Then some forty years ago Jerusalem took hold of me and has been twisting my heart strings for all that time. One time, 35 years ago I was on my way there when the superiors of the Mission interrupted my journey with orders for me to proceed post haste to New York to quell a fiery problem that had ignited suddenly in the ranks.
Now, I am going. I have tickets, borrowed money to sustain myself, a school to attend and a reason for going. Now, all I have to do it to get there.
Believe me, since we (my wife too, of course) made the decision to attend this school I have been examining my conscience. I am so timorous that God is going to find that rock that I struck twice rather than to trust Him. I am scrubbing every corner of my heart and soul to assure Him that I have a clean house that is in order.
All I can say is, I'm not there yet, and I pray that God has kept me around this long because He wants to give me the chance to see His Home Town so that when He takes me by the hand to walk me home I'll know where to go.
I have promised that I would take you all along with me through the magic of the Internet. I will make good on my promise. You can see that this is not a sight-seeing expedition for me. This is a walk on the edge of spiritual reality. I can assure you that you will not get my take on the politics of the region.
If I get the chance to place my prayer paper in a crack of the Wailing Wall, all your names will be on it. If I get a chance to dip my toe into the Jordan (Lord, not just my feet, but my head too...) I will shiver for all of you. As I walk the Via Dolorosa, I will gladly place myself in the position of the weeping mothers of Jerusalem so that I can weep with them while I am still alive so that I won't weep later.
I will share these moments with you in short spurts. I don't think that I want to take too much time away from My Host. After three weeks of school and meditation in Jerusalem, we will pray with our father in the faith, Benedict XVI in Rome, my Rome. St. Francis and St. Clare await us in Assisi along with some of my La Salette missionary classmates. We will wash ourselves with the tears of our Weeping Mother at LaSalette and then celebrate the glorious Immaculate Conception in Lourdes.
God willing, we will take some of His Spirit back for everybody here at the parish as well as for all of you who are connected to us and to our Savior electronically. We will bring back some of the motherly love and courage of His Sweet Mother. God willing, we will share His infusion of Grace through this event with you who have stayed home.
We invite you to pray with us as our journey allows us to be enveloped in the aura of His salvific journey to Earth. If something happens to me over there, (You know) then you sure won't cry at my funeral. If you do, I'll take my prayer paper out of the crack !
You will see the rest of Paul Dion's daily reports from the Holy Land in the COMMENTS section of this post.
22 comments:
"WE'VE ARRIVED IN JERUSALEM!" My report 3/28/07
This is being written about six hours after we terminated a 42 hour saga from San Diego California to Jerusalem in the Holy Land. I am catching up on my e-mail rather than on my sleep because I know that you are wondering what ever happened to me over the last three says. Well, now you know.
We have checked in to the theoological and biblical study Institute that we will be attending for the next three weeks. We are very glad that we arrived three days ahead of the kick-off date for the start of the intense stuff. First we will be able to fight off jet lag and second we will be able to test our wings on the local streets.
Israel is a rather clean country. Cleaner, much cleaner than some that I have lived in and worked in. We got here, showered (what a relief), got a slam, bam fresh breakfast (what a treat!) and revelled in the view that we have from our room over Bethlehem. After that we read every bulletin board in the place, and were so overwhelmed by the amount of information that we decided that we would walk away from it a little bit and hit it again a lttle later or maybe even tomorrow. I can assure you all that it is going to be one tightly sausage-packed three weeks.
In a short while we will attend Mass here at the Institute and then we will move on to our second non airplane meal in nearly three days.
I have decided that I am going to fight the jet lag thing toe to toe, mano a mano, nose to nose. I don't want to waste time sleeping. I'm too old for that.
Now you might think, "So what's he talking about all that peripheral stuff for? I thought that he was going there to make himself holier. Let me tell you that the impact of being here hit me in the waiting room before boarding the plane for the flight in from Frankfurt.
Have you ever been in a room with 300 Jewish people of all ages going home for Passover? If you ever had a religious experience that strong, you get my meaning. That room was full and there were so many stand-by's that it was impossble to determine who had a ticket and who didn't. The tension, through the light-hearted coversations was palpable. It was semi-animated, bu semi-subdued too.
Somehow, I felt that with that kind of relationship to God, who needs a ticket? The equivalent of a small city crammed itself on to a humongous plane, a 340-600, one of the largest that is made and the sides were bumpy from the elbows forcing the walls near the window seats out because of the internal pressure. So we rode into Israel in those spiritual circumstances. Now how do you expect a guy to put the experience into words?
Somehow, God had to be there in a special way. Because when we went outside the beautiful Ben Gurion Intgernational Airport in Tel Aviv, to the shuttle van island the residents were being their natural selves. There wasn't a single person, from the union steward to every driver who wasn't shouting. It was beautiful. I could see Pontius Pilate up against this crowd. He wouldn't have survived these people either.
I'll keep you informed as we go along. First though, I'm going to go talk to Jesus and His Father at the Mass, chow down some and maybe get back to you a little later. Ah, Jerusalem, my Jerusalem, I can't wait to walk your narrow streets.
That's it for now. I will tell you some stories about conversations that I had in those 42 hours I mentioned earlier.
MORE TALES ABOUT THE JOURNEY TO GET HERE, My report 3/28/07
I'm taking my eyes off Bethlehem for a few moments to deliver on a proimise with some true episodes taken from the 42 hours of travel that it took to get into position to look out on "The Little Town."
Episode 1.
LAX (Los Angeles International Airport). We are disastrously late. We get off at the wrong gate. We jump back into the car and go to what we think is the right gate. The clock is ticking. It is the wrong gate. Number 2 son, our driver has been sent home because "we're OK." Fortunately we are close to tghe "right" gate. We go. We have only about 15 minutes before check-in closes for our flight. We are in an impossible line. I jump out of line and go to the curbside check-in guy who miraculously, is alone and waiting for customers. I tell him our plight. He queries, "Where are you going?" I say, "Jerusalem". He says, "get your bags over here and I'll make it happen. I work on tips, so you have to help me make it happen." As Batman would say, "Holy Bribery!" We bring him our bags, he takes our tickets, runs off to somewhere into the bowels of the airport. Five minutes later, we have tickets back, baggage claim checks, voluminous instruction from him one what to do and how to do it. I succumb to the "bribe". Can it be a sin if I am on Pilgrimage? As we finally part company, he says "Now remember me at the wailing wall". How can I forget?
Episode 2.
It is a short, intermediate flight. There is a wonderful, clean-cut young man sitting next to me. He turns out to be friendly. The conversation starts with introductions common to seat-mates on airplanes. As it turns out he is from Texarkana, Texas. I never though that anyone was ever from there. Here is one! He is part of a twelve student contingent from a small private Christian School, on the way to Rome for an educational experience. After I get over my Oooo-ing and Ahhh-ing about that, he asks, "Where are you headed?" I say Jerusalem. Now guess whose impressed? The conversation was so warm and intimate, so spiritually fulfilling for both of us that it is quasi impossible to describe it. I could not get over the fact that a seventeen year old person could be so articulate in his convictions about his faith in Jesus. He could not get over the fact that he was talking to someone who was actually on pilgrimage to Jerusalem. He also told me that he felt pretty good talking to a Catholic who was so friendly and sincere. Neither one of us pulled out the ready-made, shortcut ecumenistic talk that sometimes happens in these conversations. We just sat on our convictions and talked honestly to one another. It was great. At the end, I asked him to pray for me in front of the Pieta' and he asked me to pray for him in Bethlehem. I think of that and I get kinda weepy. It was the fastest two hours that I have ever spent in my entire life.
Episode 3.
We're standing in the "passport control" line at Ben Gurion International Airport in Tel Aviv. Behind us a middle aged woman pulls up and asks if we are in line. I get this swift, blazing retort that flies through my head and fortunately never finds its way out of my mouth, like, "No were hung out on the line". My wife and I just smile and say that indeed we are in line. This starts the conversation and soon she is gushing with the spirit of Jerusalem. She is Swiss and Israeli by citizenship and Jewish by faith and life style. She has two professional children living in Jerusalem because it is their homeland. She comes here often to cook and to regale herself in the company of her grandchildren. She inquires if we are Christian and I reply, pointedly that yes, indeed we are...in fact we are Roman Catholic. By now two people have cut into the line ahead of us. I never saw any non-Catholic person ever light up so brightly upon hearing my confession of faith. That made her gush all the more profusely about Jerusalem and its spirit. She warned us not to spend too much time seeking to visit all the corners of the city. She kept saying, "It's the spirit" of the city that is important. She kept saying, we don't choose to be born, we don't choose our mother, we don't choose our homeland, but we survive in the spirit of what and where we are born into. I have never, ever received such a lesson in spirituality as I got from that intense, Jewish Mother, right on the same soil that Our Jewish Mother perhaps harbored such thoughts many times as she grew up in the spirit of the message and the mission that she had been given.
These three stories sum up what we have been living ever since the word got out that we were coming to Jerusalem. Notice that we are the only Catholics in all of them. That is what makes them all so special. They make our mission easier because they tell us that Jesus came for us all. I hope that you enjoy them all and believe them to the point that you will know that it would be pointless to cry at my funeral.
"OH LITLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM," My report 3/29/07
Here it is 9:15 in the morning and we set out for the Home Town of Jesus, Bethlehem. It is not far. We walk to the check point leading into the West Bank town. The entry is easy and a flash of passports is all that is needed.
The zig-zag between barriers is uncomfortable and the military presence is low-key but palpable. We come out the other side and there is an army of taxis waiting for passengers who presumably are going to the Nativity Church. The drivers are eager for fares and they are rather assertive in their sales presentations. We tell them politely but firmly that we are not interested in riding to the site but that we want to walk.
"But you can't walk there, it is five kilometers!" they say. (About three miles)
They jump in their hacks and follow us, blowing the horn and the price goes all the way down to "free". we say, "No." Finally after about one half mile, they relent and we continue walking. After all, we want to take in the city as well as the church.
We are well rewarded. The people whom we meet are gentle and hospitable. They treat us well. It is easy to see that we are tourists, so they are friendly. We stop at a produce market and there are so many different kinds of fruits, vegetables and herbs in the place that the air is redolent with an aroma of freshness that is rare in the prophylactic atmospehre of the United States super market.
Of course there is also the unavoidable stare and wonderment about who a man with two non-caucasian women might be, but we go about our way and enjoy the experience. We leave the market and go about 100 yards when we see a young man deep frying some falafel. We stop and buy some so that we can have a munchy or two to sustain us once we reach our goal.
We follow the main road and before long, in between some major buildings we are surprised by a herd of sheep being watched by two young brothers. They are a rather steep escarpment and there is actually green grass there and the sheep and the brothers are able to stand despite the very steep terrain. We stop, take pictures and continue.
After another half mile or so, we see a small shop that has a display of hats. Since Isabel had not packed a hat, we stopped and visited with the shop keeper and finally bought a little hat made out of paper. Yes, paper. 100% paper woven into a brightly colored hat.
We heard for the first time the famous Palestinian answer to the Question, "How much?"
The answer is, "whatever you want to pay."
Careful, it's a trap. But you are expected to state your price. When you do, the game is on! It's like the taxi drivers. "I take you there for free." What you have to be careful for is that the price for leaving you will have to be paid.
Anyway, after about 45 minutes we arrive at the Church of the Nativity. It is mostly a Greek Orthodox Church, and has been since about the 4th century. There is a Catholic church staffed by the Franciscans that is adjunct to the main church. On the way we had noticed the scarcity of pilgrims on the streets. We also noticed that there were not that many taxis and busses on the way and no one else but us and the Palestinians on the street.
We had a rewarding pilgrimage promenade and we were rewarded by a church and a site that was not heavily populated. In fact, for the greater part of the two hours that we spent there, we had the run of the place.
It is impossible to relate to you just how misty eyed and choked up a person can get when the realization of where you are hits you. Right there in the square in front of the church, it is impossible to hold back the tsunami of emotion that engulfs you. I thought I was bad when I stepped off the plane in Tel Aviv. That was easy. That was only my big toe testing the water. Here, I and Belle and our dear friend Leticia are melting. I keep trying to tell myself that this is Holy Week, not Christmas, but my heart and my brain are out of synch.
For now and for the next couple or three hours it is Christmas and that's the way God wants it.
The church is massive. It has survived 17 centuries. It is not an artistic wonder, but it is an architectural mastodon. It hasn't gone anywhere and it doesn't appear as though it is going anywhere soon. Massive. The Orthodox priests are always on duty. Always ready to help whoever wants aid. They speak several languages and are very hospitable. I did not see any Franciscans except for their appearance at Noon Prayer which was very reverential with incense and Latin song.
I discovered that I still remember my "Our Father" and "Hail Mary" in Latin. The "Adeste Fideles" too! That is a miracle. After all, it's been 40 years! After they leave and the crowd follows them out, it is now 12:30 PM and we are alone in the crypt that is designated as the site of the Nativity of Our Lord. It is earth shattering to be there alone, quiet, without any interruption and with no extraneous noise invading the space.
I found myself not having to think. Not having to utter a syllable in prayer. All I had to do was to be there and let myself be rocked in Mary's arms with her baby for a half-hour. I go up to the sanctuary and a couple of the Orthodox priests are sitting there in meditation.
I join them, they motion to me to sit beside them. We are now a trinity of sorts, enjoying the presence of Jesus, each at his own level and each in his own way. I don't know about them because they work there, but I couldn't even feel the seat of the chair beneath me. Another half hour with the post-Resurrection Jesus together with these two priests was as close to heaven as I have ever been.
I arose after the two priests and went back to the crypt to join Belle and Leticia for what turned out to be a final thirty minutes of peace and quiet with the New Born.
We then got up and decided that it didn't look like we where going to die any minute soon, so we had better get up and head back to the Institute (about which, more later). But we couldn't tear ourselves away just yet.
It's hard to explain, but we were drawn into the heart of the town of Bethlehem, a town on a hill. I didn't see too many flat places there. We walked the bustling market place; took in the smells and yells; joked with people who were eager to try out their English speaking skills; ordered hot, spiced tea from the wandering tea purveyor, sat with him in a small square in the middle of the town and acted as though we owned the place. For that moment, we did.
After about on hour of acting as though we are Palestinians, we reluctantly left Bethlehem, knowing that the triumphal entry into Jerusalem awaits us in 48 more hours.
We walked back home, unable to talk around the knots in our throats about serious stuff, but finding a way to reminisce about the wonderful experience of walking a pilgrimage rather than using a mechanized conveyance to insulate ourselves from the reality of the people who missed their chance to protect Jesus from the elements many years ago. They reached out to us, took us in, warmed our hearts and showed us that had there been space in the inns of the day,
Jesus would have been taken in. It happened the way it did because it was the way God wanted it. It was the first symbol of Jesus, our true bread, the bread that takes away our hunger for all eternity, born in a manger where the food for the animals is is presented.
Let me just say that He fed me enough today that you won't have to cry at my funeral because I won't die hungry.
Mr. Dion, I have not been to the Holy Land but your description of Bethlehem and it's spiritual impact on you is very riveting and spiritually uplifiting. Thank you for keeping us informed and for including us all in your prayers. God bless you and your wife during your trip. Thank you again for the wonderful stories.
What a wonderful way to celebrate the Holy Week. Your first three reports are awesome. If this is an indication of what's to come during the rest of the holy week, I eagerly await your reports. We are all blessed by your presence in Jerusalem. The Lord's many blessings be upon you.
"JERUSALEM, YOU ARE MINE!" My report 3/31/07
Friday morning. Sunny. The first day of 'Summer Time" (Daylight Savings) in Israel. The sun comes up an hour later, but the extra sleep did him good. He is out there shaking everyone out of bed, daring us all to get out and celebrate the gorgeous weather that he brings.
So, up we get, do all the necessary things, including breakfast and before you know it, we are standing on the Street Corner waiting for a bus that will take us to Jerusalem.
The REAL Jerusalem. Not the 21st century version. The Herod and Pontius Pilate version.
Oh, yes, there is a difference. We have seen a city or two, from Manila to Jerusalem, and except for a few glaring little differences, they are all the same.
So, of course we opt for Pontius Pilate. We enter the Damascus Gate. This is a huge gate, a gaping hole in the powerful wall that "protects" the old city. It is fronted by a small public square where the prospective visitor to the inner city is greeted by many people selling and begging in the square presumably because they can't afford a license to sell inside. Cursory observation told me that there are perhaps not more holes in the inner wall to accommodate another merchant anyway. That's what I thought then. Now I know better. If there are no holes in the wall, some people find a way to sit in the street and sell their goods there. Everything from fresh mint to fresh fish. Great smelling fish too, believe me.
As we penetrate the area of the Inner City, we observe that the city is just coming alive. The aroma of newly baked bread and some interesting rice and other grained confections turn up the saliva quotient. Then we see a tray of assorted freshly baked desserts.
We can't resist. We buy, we eat and we are now flying, not touching the marble cobbles that make up the streets. Yup, I said it, marble cobble stones all over the place. Roman were really extravagant people, especially since it was only tax money anyway.
We have a rough map of the city and it is easy enough to find the way to our desired destination. Strangely enough, the street are generally marked so that the stranger can situate himself rather easily. If it were only the streets that had to be situated, it would be easy. There is such a kaleidescope of information that has to be processed in hustling and bustling streets that are barely 2 meters wide (2 yards and 6 inches and some are less) that it isn't easy to find anything.
I have to tell you that after two days in this environment, we are starting to get accustomed. We even are starting to talk about how we remember where to find items in Bethlehem. We are betting that tomorrow we will remember where to find items in
Jerusalem.
The Old City (I guess that Capitals are better for that name) is divided into at least four sectors. The Muslim, the Christian, the Jewish and the Armenian. Make that five, the Greeks have a good corner of the territory. There is a distinct flavor to each sector and after a while it is possible to identify the sector by its charateristics of note.
The Christian sector (Armenian and Greek sub-centers) smells different (of course) is not quite so loud (Natch!) and has much less ornate churches (Mosques?) but has some exceedingly old buildings, relics older than the flashy buildings of the Muslim sector.
Of course there is also a change in the music that emanates from the stores in the distinct sectors. It is interesting and helps you to find your way, but is is also distracting. It is not the worse distraction.
Something hit me today that never hit me before. I have lived in Rome, Italy before and was surrounded by all kinds of holy places and beautiful things. I would go to the miraculous churches and basilicas and see it all and hear it all, and it never struck me that so many of us get captured by the trivial, and sometimes quasi-truthful factoids of the army of guides who show people around.
I remember getting kidnapped by that same phenomenon. Some friends came home from a visit to the the Holy Land and spouted out all kind of useless information to us.
I am so disappointed now, after my enlightenment today that I didn't ask them, "Did you pray?"
It hit me today, 48 hours into the environment that the guides and the trinket vendors are stealing my meditation time away from me. There is always someone in your ear hawking something.
After a few hours in Jerusalem today I started telling them in no uncertain terms that I had come here to pray, not to be told that this building had been built by Herod in 12 BC. I don't care that the streets were built by the Romans with Hebrew slaves, right in their own country. I also don't care if you're going to sell me something at 1/2 price that has been made in China with "Jerusalem" woven on top, probably by some underpaid Korean. I've only been here for that short a time and I have lived for that much more time, and it only now that I wake up.
"Boink!", where's my V-8?
I also wondered a lot about why people come here. I can't help but think that they come here to wipe the stone where Jesus was prepared for burial with their sick child's shirt; some come here to burn a candle for a few minutes inside the Sacred Sepulchre so that they can take it back to Mama who is old and frail and lives in Broken Rock, Alaska, or some such metropolis. Who knows, maybe she will live a year or so longer.
Buying souvenirs is a big one. It is time consuming and requires an awful lot of energy to remember who should get what and for what reason. (That having been said, don't worry y'all, we've got you covered. Heck, I didn't say we were perfect, now did I?)
Remember what I said yesterday? "How much do you want to pay?" How do you suppose we found that out? Enough of that nasty talk.
Like I said we went to he Old City because this was Friday and there is a Stations of the Cross along ghe Via Dolorosa (The sorrowful way) every Friday of Lent at 4:00 PM. So we got there at about 9:30! We didn't want to be late.
We also wanted to visit some important things and do some private reflecting and meditating beforre ghe crowds got to be too pushy. So we walked the Via ourselves, imagining what it was that the onlookers saw on that fateful Friday some 21 centuries ago.
I'm here to say that it would not have been easy. Jerusalem doesn't have too many flat spaces. Lots and lots of altitude changes that you have to negotiate by means of paved stairs. The whole place is like a series of staired terraces.
So there is Our Man, Our Savior sweating, bleeding and weak from the torture, bare foot, of course, trying to negotiate the crooked road, sharp turns, steep climbs and merchants no doubt yelling at him, "Don't get blood on my cloth", "keep your sweat to yourself, heretic!", "Hey you just knocked my coffee table down, creep!" and finally I could not help but see the fishmonger's delivery guy yelling, "ALLO, ALLO, AALLOOO!!!" all the while bullying his way through the crowd with a large container of freshly delivered fish just in from Gallilee on his shoulder.
I know that it could have been that way, because it just happened to us this morning.
Our private way of the cross ended at Golgotha, as they all do, in the church of the Holy Sepulcher. It's a good thing that the walls are three feet thick. This morning they had to be to contain all the people who were inside.
Inside this immense church which is owned and operated by the Greek Orthodox Church you will find the place which is revered as the site of the annointing of Jesus to prepare Him for His burial; the point on Golgotha where Jesus was nailed to the Cross; the point on Golgotha where the Cross of Jesus was planted; the point on Golgotha which is revered as the site where Mary held her Son after they detached Him from the Cross; finally, the point on the earth which is revered as the burial spot of Jesus, accompanied by the stone which is revered as being the one that was rolled away by the angel.
I am not ashamed that it was too much to get our emotions wrapped all around all of that in one two hour or more period. Not only is it a lot, it is a lot with a horde of people crushing one another to get the ideal place in line to be the first and to be able to bee the longest to pray while holding up 500 other people who want the same thing that you do.
You have to hear the cacophony in order to be able to appreciate it. You have to be able to witness the frustration on the faces of the Greek Monks before such a human circus.
We got through it all. we prayed in it all. We kept our cool. We didn't anger any Monks. It was twelve thirty, so we went to a small restaurant for lunch. We relaxed and prepared to participate in the public Stations of the Cross later in the afternoon. Now that was quite an experience.
After what we had done in the morning, we thought that we would be OK. We were, but we were OK in a crowd of about three hundred people winding their way through the streets that I told you about earlier.
I was not exaggerating, I saw merchandise accidentally struck to the ground and trampled. The group was split in two by a
maintenance crew pushing a cargo cart through the street and the group ws met head-on by a group of workmen comng home from a day on the job. I wanted so badly to ask them if there was a "Simon" among them.
Don't worry about us. We are still being rocked in the arms of Jesus. We know what we are doing here. We also know that you know what we are doing here.
So we'll continue to hang in there together and you will come to get why I don't want anyone crying at my funeral.
God bless your hearts, Paul and Isabel. It has always been my lifelong dream to be in Jeruzalem, especially on Lenten season. Reading your reports, and looking at snaps of the surrounding, its as if i was already walking thru, and feeling the passion of the holy land. Like an old friend of mine, who once visited the place, said, 'A person will never be the same after he has been THERE', not after personally witnessing some healing auras that linger in and around the Golgotha.
Wow. I feel like I am there too. Your reporting skills are very palpable and riveting. I will not miss any from now on. God bless you and Belle and keep the news coming. I feel so uplifted when I read them. Thanks for the prayers too and you are in mine. Lucia
JERUSALEM! JERUSALEM! JERUSALEM! My report for PALM SUNDAY
Up and at 'em! 9;00 AM, we fill a bus and leave for a place about 7 miles away that is reputed to be the place near Bethany the Jesus would have broken bread with the disciples from Emmaus. It is here that the Crusaders built a church to commemorate the event of the meeting and the travelling of Jesus with the two disciples. The story comes to us from the Gospel of Luke, chapter 24, verses 13 to 35.
The church is massive and it is beautiful in its own way. Some time in the distant past the property was given to some French Benedictine monks who occupy it and maintain it to his day. The monastery property is also occupied by a community of Benedictine nuns. Our director took us there to give us a sense of history about the place and also to allow us to appreciate a very high quality Palm Sunday liturgy. The liturgy was conducted in Latin and in French.
The music was mostly Plain Chant (Gregorian Chant) but there was some modern music as well. It was all "a cappella" since it was the beginning of Holy Week, the organ was muted. There were very few lay people there, mostly French people living in the Jerusalem area. The monks are not that numerous, so the liturgy was very intimate and very well done.
Those of you who are familiar with my blog know that I am not a fan of Latin in the liturgy when lay people are in attendance. I think that Latin Liturgy should be reserved for those who understand Latin. Latin in a monastery is understandable because the inhabitants of the monastery understand Latin. Since the monastery is their territory, they have Mass in the language of their territory. (You dear reader are hereby informed that I understand Latin) To that lasat nasty remark I have to add that I also understand French fluently. In sum, the liturgy, outside of the chant was conducted in French for the sake of the audience.
My story is this. During the chanting of the Passion Story at the Gospel time (in French) I was very engrossed by the beauty of my mother tongue as the foundation for the chanted gospel story. When it came time for the episode concerning Peter's denial of Jesus, I was no longer hearing the cantor. I was listening to my maternal grandfather telling me the story, just as he so often did.
I got through the first two denials in good shape. I was starting to tremble a bit during the third one. I lost it completely when my grandfather said, "and immediately after Peter said that, the cock crowed." I'm full of goose bumps now, remembering the moment.
Jesus hammered me with that one. The son of David got to me there, in David's town, by letting my grandfather tell me the story in my own mother tongue. That's one thing about God, he doesn't play fair. You can ask anyone, Noah, Jonah, Amos, Moses, Paul, anyone. God always gets His way. I know that He was letting me know that` this morning. Why is it taking me so long to learn?
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Back to the Institute for a quick lunch and back out at 1:30 PM to join the procesion from Bethany/Betphage to Jerusalem along the route that Jesus took on His triumphal trek into the City just before His condemnation. It was a real liturgy. Why, even the police and the military were there to see to it that the crowd didn't get unruly. Just like it says in the Bible, "Lord, reprimand your disciples. They're getting out of hand."
But you know what? We were "ruly". We were loud too. Flashy too. International too. French, Italian, Nigerian, German, Polish, Spanish, USA, Croatian, Russian, Israeli Christians, priests, sisters, monks, Isabel and I.
Three kilometers, up hills, down hills, up steps, down steps, across a main road that was closed even though it is a workday in Israel. But for one day, the Christians had them outnumbered. This was the day of King David's blood line. It seems that "they" know better than to mess with Him,
Along the way there were some things that were notable. As usual, the Polish were singing most of the way. when they would sing an internationally famous hymn, we would all join in. Well, not all, after all the line was At least 1 and one-half kilometers long.
Several thousand people. All of them at peace. All of them wondering why the military was there. All of them pushing, shoving, shrugging, stepping, slipping, sliding and squeezing to get closer to the front of the line for the final blessing by the patriarch of Jerusalem in the garden of St. Anne's Church.
If Jesus had shown up in person today, He would have felt right at home. We were ready. We were behaving just as everyone else did in His time. We were having fun. The Poles were doing the praying, so the rest of us could do the celebrating.
On a final note. There was never any doubt that we were in Jerusalem today. But there is one powerful memory that will never leave me. The cadenced chant of the crowd that would break through and continue for about 15 or 20 minutes at a time during this 2 hour pilgrimage...Yup, you guessed it, "JERUSALEM! JERUSALEM! JERUSALEM!"
"Jerusalem, Mount Zion and People" My report April 3, 2007
Just a short note to let you know that we are still alive. We left our Institute at 8:00 AM and made our way to the Old City. We started our day at Mount Zion and walked around the Armenian Quarter. It was rather quiet because it was early in the day. Our director took us around and showed us some curiosities about the city and after the tour we told him that we had opted to stay in the city for a bit longer.
We then proceeded to seek out a place to eat. The one we found was excellent. when we got there we were practically alone. After about 15 minutes the place was jammed. Looks like we found a very popular place by happenstance. We got into some very friendly conversations with the owner of the establishment. We didn't get much chance to deepen our relationship because the customers began coming in and he was the one greeting and serving. Talk about hospitality.
After the noon meal we got over visiting the pool of Bethesda where the cripple man was cured, we started back to the school because time was running out. On the way we passed a spice shop that was beautiful and aromatic. I walked around smelling spices for about 15 minutes and the shop keeper was ecstatic to see this old man enjoying himself so much. At another moment we passed other shops where we had stopped a time or two before and the shop keepers greeted us and recognized us. Then we went to the head of the bus line and before we got there, we stopped and bought a bundle of mint for our tea from a Bedouin woman seated at a street corner.
When we boarded the bus, the driver was one who had been polite to us a couple of days past. He recognized me and I recognized him. We smiled and greeted one another. Can you imagine that from a bus driver?
I can't help but think that even though they did not have busses in the time of Jesus, they sure had spice shops, coffee shops and such. Jesus had to be recognized as he moved around. He didn't spend that much time in Jerusalem, but as a man He had to come here to pray and render hommage to God as a Jew.
Jerusalem was the only temple for a religious Jew to pray. (John 4, the Samaritan Woman story) I'll bet that every time He came down from the Galilee, he would be greeted by people along the way who recognized Him. It is easy after just a few short days here to understand how people could corner Him and question Him. He and His band of disciples sure couldn't hide.
It is clear to us now that no matter if it was just the second time that he made the trip, He would be recognized. Especially if He took the same route down. If He weren't recognized on the way down, when He hit the City, there was no hiding.
It doesn't take long in Jerusalem to be recognized. Especially in the enclave that is the Old City. Those wall not only keep friends and ennemies out, they keep them in too. It's pretty tight in there. So believe me, Jesus didn't have a long life.
Jesus didn't have much time in Jerusalem. Given the nature of this City, He had plenty of time to make an impact. People here enter into your soul very quickly. Even bus drivers!
Jerusalem is not a brick and mortar place. Jerusalem is a people place. Jerusalem is a God place. Jerusalem is loud and in your face. Jerusalem gets under your skin and never seeps out. Jerusalem captures you in its own heart and never forgets you. Just ask anyone who has faith enough to believe in this place, and that is what you will hear.
It is an incredible place. It can only be appreciated by Faith and in Faith. Even those who are physically here have to have Faith to appreciate it. I don't think that it can be any other way.
"WHAT MAKES THE HOLY LAND, HOLY?" - A Short Meditation, My report 4/1/07
This is a question that I never asked myself before. It didn't think that I had to. After all the Holy Land is the Holy Land because Jesus was born and brought up here. He taught here and got into trouble here and through His troubles He brought about our salvation. Everything was clear and easy.
After all, the "Holy Land" was as far away from me as Heaven is now. So, early in life, the only thing that made the Holy Land holy was my faith in Jesus.
As I got older and became more informed about geography and geo-politics I began to make judgements about the historical events related to this part of the world and I began to have doubts about the holiness of the place. I have to say that during these give-and-take moments with myself, the holiness of the Land was still anchored to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. In accord with St. Jerome, I believe that the land is the fixed testament.
Now that I have set foot here, I am more than sure that the Land is an object of my faith as much as the Scripture is. Everywhere I look, I can't help but to see God.
There are a lot of realities that confront the person who crosses into the Promised Land. There are claims and counter claims of who did what and where it was done.
Was Jesus anointed here? Did Jesus walk here? Did Rachel die here? Was Mary born here? Was Jesus born here? Was the Cross planted here? Are you sure that this is where Jacob's well was/is? Where exactly is Emmaus?
The exact point of the location on your GPS may not be the exact point of the historical moment which you seek. But if you understand the statement of Saint Jerome, your faith tells you that your faith in the Land is telling you through the gift of faith that God did His work here and is still doing it, in you and in everyone else who believes in Him and in It.
Today we did not go out into the Land. We stayed inside and meditated and contemplated our situation. I assure you, the very stones, trees and weather let us know where we are. There is no escaping it. It is the gift of faith that makes it happen.
This Land is no different than any other. It is the first world. It has Mercedes Benz, Volvo, Citroen and others. It has electricity, inside plumbing, paved roads and good sewage systems. It has solid housing and a good industrial base.
Yet, all the time we were inside, we were contemplating the Land upon which we are located. We are all firmly rooted in the faith that this Holy Week is not going to be the same as Holy Weeks we have celebrated before. This one is happening in the right place, the only place.
This Land is the center of the world. This Land is the connection between time and space. When Holy Week is celebrated here, it is at the right time and in the right space.
This is the place where God handed down His covenant to Abraham and David. This is the place where Jesus took the covenant from His Father and transmitted it to all the generations that He promised to Abraham and to all the time that He promised to David. This is the Place. There is no other.
It is written that even if the people greeting Him as He entered Jerusalem stopped shouting and celebrating that even the very stones would cry out to announce Him. Believe me, they do. In many ways His people have stopped shouting their "Hosannas" but the very Land continues to bellow His presence in the world.
Yes, this is the only place where Good Friday is still real in both time and space. There is no comparison between Jerusalem and Parish, London, Madrid, Tokyo, Rio de Janeiro, Havana, Ottawa or Washington, D.C. and With all due respects to Frank Sinatra, "if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere."
Here you make it with God or break it in denial of God.
This is the Holy Land because the Landlord is Divine. This is His Land. Despite the centuries of fighting and squabbling, He has never reliquished His control. No matter who is fighting over it militarily or politically, He never lets it loose. It is always His. Even religious people who fly into emotional fits over space allocation and time scheduling can't erase the gift of faith that He has planted in the hearts of His people. Like the Scribes and Pharisees of old, we cannot take it away from Him. It comes from His heart to ours and in a certain sense that makes it eternal.
Tomorrow we will go up to the City. We will spend some six hours there, with Him. Like Him we know that the Temple awaits us. like Him we know that a small percentage of our entire life will be spent here. So we will make the most of it.
Like Him we will return to our individual and personal Galilee and read from the Scripture and share the moments that we spent with Him in the Temple with our people. Like Him we will endure the whispers of the "insiders", the recounters of contumely who sit by the gate and glare.
Like Him we will leave the Temple with more resolve than ever, fortified in the blessings of His Father and ready to face whatever He and His Father send as goals for the Mission. Like Him we will not fear to lay down our lives for the sake of the Covenant. Like Him, we will live the the law of Moses enriched and completed for our own salvation and for the salvation of those with whom we come in contact per His providential plan.
Yes, indeed this Land is Holy. Blessed be he Lord, God of power and might who brings justice and peace to all on earth who seek it in faith and love.
"The Holy LAND, It's all about the land" My report 4/4/07
Today, I want to tell you about the catechism of the Land. The Holy LAND. It has to do with the Gospels, of course because for the time being we are in Jerusalem and Bethlehem. Today, we made another pilgrimage to Bethlehem. It was different from the first one in several ways. The first one we made after being here for barely 24 hours. Now we have been here for an entire week and today we had our director as a guide. On top of that, the "old hands" who are still at the school have been telling us a lot of things about the place, specifically Jerusalem and Bethlehem.
One of the major disctinctions between today and our first pilgrimage is that the first time we were typical church-going Catholics who spent a lot of time indoors. Today, we stayed out-of-doors and followed Jesus, Mary and Joseph around in a different setting.
Today, we shook hands with the land. Not only that, we embraced it too. We crossed over from Jerusalem into Bethlehem and headed for the ruins of King Herod's palace that he had built in Judea. I have to say that I have seen enough Roman ruins to last me a lifetime. So whatever King Herod did here was his business. I did get a twinge of sadness though when I realized that`this magnificent project had been built by the slave labor of the occupied Jewish people of the last part of the first century before Christ.
Since this place was rather far removed from the center of the town of Bethlehem, we went through a lot of sheep herding country, some olive grove country, some vineyards and a lot of hills in a topographical area known as the Judean wilderness.
It is very pretty to see. It is not lush, but it is green, for now. We are told that the last of the rainfall has come and gone and that now all the green is on the way out in favor of the brown that is sure to follow. Our Southern California readers will know exactly what I am talking about.
On our way across the landscape, we had to stop the bus twice in order to let some small herds of sheep cross the road. I was mulling all this over in my mind as we were looking over the Roman ruins. I was hoping that we would soon reboard the bus and get to the "good stuff."
That moment finally came and off we went. We back-tracked somewhat and then took a button-hook turn to the left and entered a part of the rural world that was rather different. It is rocky with extensive patches of grass. Is is sharply hilly. Believe me, God's country is craggy, tough land. The ups and downs are frequent, short, sharp and demanding.
They are also good communicators because they don't lie. They "say it" like it is. By the same token, they reach out and care for you. Folded over in the ups and downs are numerous caves in which a shepherd and a goodly flock can take cover. I have attached a photo or two of myself in such a cave.
It is deep, has a fairly high ceiling and is about 10 yards wide at the mouth. Some of these caves have some hidden corners. Some have craggy shelves where the back and side walls give way to irregular indentations.
This land was shouting out to me, just like a Jewish Mother, "Wake up! I took care of Jesus. I protected him. He didn't need a five-star hotel to make it. I took care of Him. Nice cave; twenty or so sheep and a donkey warming the place up; shelter from the wind and the cold, is that so bad?" I have to admit, it is not as bad as you imagine it could be until you see it. I can say for sure that I personally will take Jewish Mother Earth's word for it on this one.
The other thought I have is that Jesus was a much more outdoors type than we are. The apostles were fishermen, open boat fishermen, mind you.
The travel that Jesus did was all on foot, out in the open. The preaching and teaching that He did was outside. He didn't hold forth in 10 and 15 million dollar auditoriums with a bank of audio-visual equipment to help Him out. His audio-visual aids were the sheep, the birds, The flowers, the fig trees and the wheat grain to name but a few.
He talked about the rain and the birds of the air, the vine and the seed and a few other things that you all know about. Jesus didn't spend that much time inside. Not nearly as much as we do by a long shot. So the land and the climate of this part of the world was tailor-made for a person like Jesus. That's why the Land, as St. Jerome said, "Is the fixed Gospel." It shouts it out to me every day. There is more to come. One day at a time.
Now I have to tell you a Bethlehem story. I know that is is Holy Week and all, but one little Bethlehem story won't break the mood, trust me.
There is a church in Bethlehem, about 200 yeards away from the church that sits over the cave of the Nativity. It sits on a grotto (cave) that is known as the milk grotto. Thence the church is known as the Milk Grotto Church.
As the story goes, Mary and Joseph had just gotten wind of the decree from Herod that all male children below the age of two were to be slain. So to protect their new-born, the Holy Family got itself on the move, away from the grotto where the child had been born and on their way to Egypt.
At a certain moment, it was time to feed the baby, so Joseph got busy seeking some shelter. He found a suitable cave and a friendly shepherd, so Mary entered the grotto, sat on a rock and proceeded to nurse Baby Jesus. As the Baby was finishing His meal, a couple of drops of Mary's milk fell to the ground. Slowly the walls of the grotto began to turn snow white and so they remain to this day.
But wait -- that's not all. It is said, and has been documented, that the powdery white substance from the walls of the grotto have a special power. Ladies with lactation problems who have mixed the powder from the walls in their tea, coffee or other drink have been known to begin producing nourishing milk for their infants. It has also been documented that women with specifically female health problems have been cured by the same substance.
Finally, the church has a stunning icon in one of the corners of the grotto that depicts Mary nursing the Child Jesus. I have yet to take a picture. I will do my best to revisit the church and finally get a souvenir for you all.
Tomorrow is Holy Thursday. I will get back to you then. we are praying for all of you, believe me.
Paul Dion, STL said...
"Last Supper reflection from the Holy Land," my report 4/5/07
"Take and eat, this is my Body. Do this in memory of me."
Today we are celebrating the Last Supper (Passover) of Jesus Christ, according to the narratives of the Synoptic Evangelists. We also carry the Washing of the Feet in our minds and our hearts since it is the Eucharistic vision of Service as envisioned by the Lord Himself.
"Unless you allow me to wash your feet you shall have no part with me."
Lately, I have come to live a dynamic part of my life and have come to an insight about what memory means. I have to tell you about my relationship with my Paternal Grandfather, Joseph. Yes, he was a cabinet maker. He was a one - handed cabinet maker because he sawed his right hand off while he was still young.
My Grandfather was revered by his children in a state of reverential fear. I had no such feelings for him. to me he was a warm and cuddly friend. He was my favorite story teller. He was telling me stories all the time when he wasn't teaching me to read or to play checkers or how to play cards. He never taught me how to do the easy things.
He always talked to me as though I understood everything he said. Even when it was perhaps the third or fourth time I asked about something, he never became impatient with me.
He also never told me stories about his past. I never even asked. The only stories he ever told me regarding someone growing up was Jesus. The only grown-up stories he ever told me were the ones about Abraham, Joseph, Isaac, Noah, Tobias and of course Samson. He told me about the adult Jesus too and His apostles. I repeat, never one single story about his own childhood or adult past.
I am telling you this because ever since I arrived in Jerusalem I have had as much communication with him as with my spouse. Maybe more. Everywhere I turn I see him telling me the story of the Nativity, of the flight to Egypt, of the Last Supper, the gambling for the seamless garment, the crying women of Jerusalem, the entry to the city on an ass being cheered on by a wild crowd. I have a host more of the stories that my grandfather told me, but they are too numerous for this reflection.
The point that I am trying to make here is that my grandfather is not in my past these days. He is so present that I feel him every waking moment. I hear him telling me about that perfidious Peter who lied three times about knowing Jesus even though his accent gave him away.
Last Sunday when the Benedictine monks sang that part of the Gospel in my mother tongue (French) I shed hot tears. My grandfather was shaking with laughter as he often did at that line when Peter lied about his accent. My Joseph would laugh at that because he knew what it meant to have an accent. The few times I heard him speak English, he could never deny that he was French Canadian. He used to choke at the point of the story when Peter denies Jesus for the third time, denying his accent.
During the time when we walked the stations along the Via Dolorosa (The Way of Sorrows/The Way of the Cross), he was there. Look at that dirty Roman, Pilate, condemning Jesus. Veronica, ah Veronica, I should have named one of my daughters Veronica, but we don't have any relatives with that name. Look at her. You be like her. Don't worry about what others will say about you. Just be like her. Help people when they need it.
I am not remembering these things. I am living them. Right now. When Jesus told His disciples to do it in commemoration of Him, He didn't say, "remember it" He said "Live it".
Not in the past but in the Eternal present. Yes, it is possible. My grandfather is proving that to me right now.
We are getting ready to go to the place where Jesus was condemned to death by Pilate. The Cenacle (The Upper Room) is not open for public liturgy. We will participate in the Liturgy. We will live the moment. I will be sitting with my grandfather watching Jesus telling Peter to watch and to learn what Jesus was teaching him (us) with a towel around his waist and a wash basin at the feet of His disciples.
Somehow, I am going to have to take the leasson too. After all, I wouldn't want to disappoint my my Grandfather and His best Buddy, Jesus.
"Do this in memory of me"
My Jerusalem report for Holy Thursday, 2007
By Paul Dion, STL
It is 4:00 PM and we are headed for the Old City of Jerusalem. This is not going to be easy. It is 8 miles to the north of us here in the outskirts and we have to fight traffic caused by the fact that this is a year when the Latin Church, the Orthodox Churches and the Jewish People all celebrate Easter/Passover at the exact same time.
Every one is in Jerusalem. They come from all over. They are from every place that you can read in the Acts of the Apostles and then some. Add North and South America, Australia and maybe a few other places to the list and you have an idea of what happens to a city that normally houses about 750 thousand at a time like this.
But that includes the [part that is outside the walls. The inner Old City is really a sardine can for most of the day. Vehicula traffic is tight outside, foor traffic is frightening inside. Israeli police and military have the dictatorial first and last words about who goes where and how. So, getting from here to there can get very interesting indeed.
Twenty five of us get on to two small busses and are on the road to Hebron which leads to Jerusalem. Before we know it (30 minutes) we arrive at the one gate that is open and closest to us. We know that we are going to a church that is about 3/4 of the way across the City. We debark, start going through the gate.
As I get to the other side of the thick wall, I hear music and look over my right shoulder. There is a blind man sitting in a niche in the wall playing music for alms. I only have time to snap off a quick picture before I lose the group in the press of the crowd. It is attached for you.
The 25 of us dive into the foot traffic that is forcing its way down a ten foot wide cobble stone street. Even the shop vendors have to be careful not be be trampled. They have to keep their eyes on the merchandise that is hanging on the outside walls of the shop. Not to prevent theft, but to prevent damage.
Stop and go; squeeze and push; twist and turn; get twisted and pushed; get squeezed and shoved; try to watch your step, but you can't see your own feet. shop keepers are disappointed because here are a thousand or more people every 20 minutes going by their establishment but not a single sale. It just has to be frustrating.
The crowd presses on and shortly we come to an intersection. Bad news. We have to go left and the road to the left is only 8 feet wide. The sad news is that no one breaks off to go right while some go straight and the rest goes left. Nooo, not today, everyone is going left. So left we go after coming to a dead stop for about five minutes while things get straightened out some 20 feet ahead of us in the mess at the squeezing intersection.
I am convinced that even Jesus couldn't save this one. So the squeeze and the twisting and turning continue and occasionally someone's foot gets stomped on.
Some of you with suspicious natures are thinking, "careful for your wallet!" Ha! no one can move either arms or legs in motions free enough to get inside his or her own pocket, never mind anyone else's. Actually, I didn't have my wallet in my pants. Belle is so small that she can protect it and her stuff in her little 'round the neck pouch and we come out of it OK.
Some of us are getting to know the old city a little bit so we suggest a right turn at a place where not too many others are turning. The lead person raises a hand, waves to the right and off we go, like drops from a faucet, falling off to the right into a short connecting road that we know is a short cut to where we are going. It helps that we know this short cut and that not too many others know it. It is at best 7 feet wide. But it doesn't have any merchants, so we fly down it and make up for a gob of lost time.
In five short minutes then away from the maddening crowd, we reach the Via Dolorosa and the Church of the "Ecce Homo" (Behold the Man). This is going to be the beginning of our liturgical Holy Week. It is situated at the "Lithostrotos", the Place of the Rocks, as it says in the Gospel where Pontius Pilate presented Jesus to the crowd. The church serves as a convent for the Sisters of Notre Dame of Sion who run a Biblical Institute out of the same building complex.
We go up to the church which contains an old arch of the Praetorium in its architecture. It is here that we celebrate the Holy Thursday mystery of John's description of the Last Supper. The music is fine and is rendered mostly by the nuns with the congregation joining in. The homely is delivered by a Jesuit who is attached to the Biblical Institute which was mandated by Leo the XIII. The washing of the feet was rather touching. All those in attendance were invited to participate. Many did, Belle and I among them. It was very touching.
At the end of the Mass, we were invited to the upstairs dining room for our supper. The dining room is off to one side the roof garden of the building. The view from the roof is exhilerating. Jesus would never have had this view because there were no lights in His day. Besides, on this night He was otherwise occupied.
After the simple supper, French style, the congregation from the earlier liturgy gathered in the street in front of the convent/church and once all together, started to walk toward the Mount of Olives which is where the Garden of Gethsemane is located. We were going there to pray with Jesus.
For young people, a short 25 minute walk. We walked past the garden of Gethsemane and went to a garden about 800 or 900 meters higher up the Mount of Olives in order to be quiet. The crowd in the original garden was altogether too large and too "touristy".
The climb up the Mount is a sharp one. Perhaps a 50% incline. It was worth it. We entered an olive garden, read the appropriate scripture passage and spent about 30 or 40 minutes in silent meditation while over looking the crown jewel of the world, Jerusalem.
Then, like Jesus, only not under guard and unshackled, we proceeded down from the mount and as it says in the Gospel, crossed back through the Kidron Valley and proceeded up the other side, drifting to the left (west) from the direction that we had taken to go up the hill. We walked a total of about three, maybe 4 kilomete4rs doing this until we reached the church which commemorates the famous (or is it ignominious) Cock-crow reminding Peter of his sin.
This church is a jewel. It is stuck to the wall formed by the north side of the Kidron Valley. It is a jewel of a church. It is built over the jail that is said to have served as a holding cell for Jesus before the the trial proceedings went any further. The church is named, Gallicantu (Cock-crow) and has some breath-taking mosaics on either side of the altar in some exquisite alcoves. To the left there are three repentant male sinners become saints, with Dimas (the Good Thief) in the middle.
I here beg your pardon, I forgot the names of the other two. But they too are repentant sinners who turned from lives of debauchery and dishonesty to become penitent hermits and ultimately revered as saints before the 5th century AD.
On the right the mosaic has Saint Mary Magdalen in the center with Saint Catherine of Egypt on one side and Saint Pelagia on the other. The two saints that we don't normally know have similar biographies to the men. Saint Catherine is recognized as one of the patrons of Israel.
Our night ended here. In a church built especially for us sinners. A church dedicated to us as a reminder that there is hope. A church that reminds us that we are in good company with the likes of Peter, Magdalen, Dimas and others. We came back to our beds, thinking that there was no sleep for Jesus this night.
Now it is Friday morning. Isabel and I are going to spend our afternoon and early evening listening to JERUSALEM speak to our hearts for a few hours. We will follow the way of the cross (Via Dolorosa) and attend a meditation service in the Saint Mary's Melkite Church (a rite that is connected to the Pope) and come home to reflect on the experience and prepare for the vigil.
"Jerusalem - Good Friday" My report 4/6/07
Good Friday in Jerusalem is enough to make anybody believe that it would be better spent in West Rusty Nail, Alaska. Although that is only a passing feeling, it is a real one. You ask yourself, "what am I doing here?"
This can't be real. The way of the Cross is so fully impacted that women and little children are crying about it because they can't get where they want to go. Adults are crying about it because their vital juices are being squeezed out of them. Adults and children are praying for some kind of breeze so that the odor of humanity, not great, believe me, would be wafted away.
Occasionally a shop keeper will be heard shouting in English, "this is no longer the Holy Land."
It doesn't matter that the wave of humanity swelling by his shop doesn't understand because it is shot through with at least twenty-five or thirty different language groups.
What he doesn't undertand is that this is still the Holy Land and always will be. Soldiers or no soldiers. Christians from all over the world are here, and this year Jews are coming too because the concurrence of the Easter/Passover religious celebrations of all three religious groups, (Latin, Orthodox and Jewish).
Isabel and I decided that we would go to a nice quiet place to be able to enjoy some peace and quiet during our liturgical experience in Jerusalem. We arrived in the city at about 2:00 PM. Most of the "small" liturgies were starting at three.
Before entering the church for the liturgy, we stepped over a few yards and visited the Cenacle, the upper room where Jesus and his disciples had their Last Meal together. It is a simple bare room with only a very stark reminder of its Christian Connection. This is so because the Jewish people revere it as a part of David's tomb. It is part of a site that contains a small museum of Holocaust Memories. We spent a few moments there in prayer and received some instruction about the place from a Russian Orthodox priest who speaks English.
When it was time for the liturgy, we presented ourselves at the Abbey of the "Dormition of the Blessed Virgin Mary". This abbey and the connected church revere the tradition that Mary fell asleep before she was carried away body and soul to heaven. The abbey houses a community of German Benedictine monks, and so we were sure that the liturgy would be well prepared and very meaningful. We were at a linguistic disadvantage since the main language of the ceremony was German. We had one prayer book, so we followed along.
I was ecstatic when the chanting of St. John's passion story began because I immediately recognized the traditional Plain Chant melody. I found myself chanting to myself in English, with occasional flashes of memory of the Latin phrases. The liturgy ended with a procession into the crypt of the monastery where a "coffin" awaited thye crucifix that had been used for the veneration of the congragation. After anointing the crucifix, the presiding priest placed the crucifix in the coffin and covered it with an extrrememly ornate black and gold mantilla.
In the anteroom of the grotto or crypt where the coffin is, there is a statue of the sleeping lady. All around there are altars that have been donated and built by the religious and civic leaders of various countries. There are special mosaics of the representations of several important apparitions of Our Blessed Mother. We took some pictures and when we reviewed them, lo and behold, clear as day in one of the pictures, we caught the mosaic of Our Lady of Guadalupe which we had not perceived before. It was now 5:15 PM and so we left the abbey and headed for the main church of the Holy Sepulchre in the center of town.
The Stations of the Cross along the Via Dolorosa started at 5:00 AM and ran all day, non-stop, maintaining one or two stations of space between the one ahead and the one behind. Even Orthodox Christians who do not have the strong devotion to this pious practice were lining up for their place in line. Orthodox priests were presiding.
We were walking the streets at about 6:00 PM and there were still three or four groups on the stations. We saw an Armenian Group and a Russian Orthodox Group plus two Latin (Roman Catholic) Groups of different languages and nationalities. We were doing our Chubby Checker Twist from the location of our finished Good Friday Liturgy to the church of the Holy Sepulchre.
Along the way we would duck out of the way of the main current and slide into a church that was still in prayer. We stayed and prayed at the Armenian Cathedral for 15 minutes or so before diving into the "flow" of things again. Going in the same direction, generally because that was the way the human river was flowing, we found a Greek Catholic Church and wiggled into that one for a few moments of prayer.
The Armenian church was not full in comparison to this Greek church. The singing was better in the Armenian Cathedral, but it was easier to pray because there was less public movement. After giving our praise to the Lord and thanking Him again for dying for us and making the "n-th" resolution never to sin again, we threw ourselves in His merciful arms to be carried to our next destination, the church of the Holy Sepulchre.
Much to our surprise, the plaza in front of the church was not chock-a-block with humanity as we thought it would be. We could even see our way into the main door of the church. Please remember that I told you that this is the church that is reputedly built on the Golgotha and contains the revered site of the Crucifixion and the Resurrection.
The Good Friday services start at 3:00 AM and go on for most of the day. The church is partitioned into about four sections, each for a different set of Christian religious groups. There is no admittance except by "personal" invitation, meaning that you have to have a ticket. This is tightly regulated because all the groups want access to the distinct sites of the "nailing to the Cross", the "planting of the Cross", the "descent from the Cross" and the "placing of Jesus into the Tomb".
If you are being distracted from your prayerful reading by this convoluted description, please forgive me. If you are thanking God for not having to suffer the disappointment of being here and being shut out of the Holy Sepulchre on good Friday, say a prayer for me too for being able to write it for you.
I guess I strayed there. The bottom line is that we got in because it was nearly 6:00 PM. It was not quiet. We knew that it would not be, but we had our quiet time in the liturgy that we attended. We found a corner of quiet and a good vantage point to watch the deep piety of the pilgrims who were seeking God in more tactile ways. Thousands of them.
To quote Acts, "Now there were devout men (and women, of course) living (and visiting) Jerusalem from every nation under heaven...The were Parthians, Medes and Elamites, People from Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pomphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya around Cyrene, visitors from Rome - Jews and Proselytes alike -- Cretans and Arabs..." (Acts 2; 5 to 13)
We just sat there, wachcing it all and allowing ourselves to be washed over by the sweet grace of the Universal God who loves every single creature, No matter where the creature lives.
We left there at about 6:30 PM and made our way to the gate where we knew that our transportation would be waiting at 7:00 PM.
We had been filled with the mystery of Good Friday. My previous meditation about our Holy Thursday will let you know that our way of the Cross was rather different this year. We have walked the Via Dolorosa at least three times so far during other days of Holy week. We walked from the Mount of Olives accros the Kidron Valley in the footsteps of Jesus who walked it under guard, being conducted to His trial.
That, dear reader is powerful medecine. That is as close as anyone could get to the authentic way to the cross. We will never forget it. We will never forget our Good Friday. If by these simple lines we can help you to make the decision to come to the Homeland of Our Savior, you'll never, ever be tempted to cry at my funeral.
"Jerusalem Pilgrimage - Holy Saturday," My report 3/7/07
This was a quiet morning. We prayed the breviary morning prayer together and then we went back to our room and did our "Easter Cleaning".
At about 3:30 PM we left the Institute and headed for the Spiritual Center of the earth, Jerusalem. There we made our way directly to the Holy Sepulchre to meditate and to experience the spirituality of the universe of people who would be there.
We were not the only ones honoring the visit of Jesus to the "Nether World" ("Hell" in the Apostles' Creed) of the Old Testament Saints, inviting them through our common First Human Father, Adam to follow Him to heaven. This thought has come to us through the ages from an ancient homily that has been in the Holy Saturday Morning Prayer in the Breviary for many, many years.
The church was awash in humanity. The obligatory tourists were there, but the sincere and awe struck pilgrims were there too. We made our way into the grotto that is preserved and revered as the site of the finding of the True Cross by Saint Helen, the mother of the emperor Constantine.
After spending some time in silent prayer there we wound around the corner and ducked into a small chapel and there listened to an old Franciscan priest describe some of the aspects of the church to a small group of Italian visitors. He pointed out a short piece of column that was standing in a niche and stated that this is reputed to be the base of the column against which Jesus was scourged. It was a solid moment for us and a solemn one as well, but the next moment was even more powerful.
As we left the chapel we encountered a Franciscan and we asked directions of him in Italian. He responded in Italian and then quickly asked me if I am Italian. I said that I am not and he then asked Isabel in Tagalog is she is Filipino. She answered yes and he then carried on a short conversation with her in perfect Tagalog.
I finally asked him, "Where are you from?" He looked at me with a sly grin and said, "Brazil; and you?" So I told him and he said, "In the Land of the Acts of the Apostles, there is no such thing as 'I don't understand' in any language." We all laughed and then he indicated that he was going to Vespers (afternoon prayer).
We found out that his name is Carlos and that the Vespers were being sung right there in front of the Sepulchre itself and that they were for everyone. So we got one the booklets that were distributed to the participants and sung the Vespers of Easter Sunday with the Franciscan Fathers of the Holy Sepulchre, right there before the tomb of Jesus.
It was one of the most glorious moments of my stay in Jerusalem. A very close competitor to the procession from the Mount of Olives to the Church of St. Peter of the Cock-Crow on Palm Sunday. There was more to come.
Since the day was fast becoming evening and we were going to celebrate the Vigil Liturgy at the Church of the Ecce Homo, the one built over the Lithostrotos, we ducked into a local eatery for a quick supper before running out of time before the limit for holy communion fast. As if we had to worry about that on the vigil of Easter, right?
After eating we went to the site of the condemnation of Jesus by Pilate, the place called "Gabbatha" in Hebrew, Lithostrotos in Greek, the paved place. (John, 19; 13)
It is in a section of the Old City that is perhaps a short kilometer away from Golgotha, the site of the Holy Sepulchre Church. It is an impressive location and the rock work is worthy of the Romans. I have seen many paving jobs that the Romans have done and this one is second to none. It is no longer on the surface, visible to everyday passers-by. It is also scarred with the markings that soldiers made in the stones to serve as "boards" for their dice games.
This is a place where the historical Jesus really visited me. You have read that Jerusalem as a whole talks to me. This is one specific site that also talks to me, loud and clear. Here I see something with which I am familiar, having experienced Roman roads before, Via Appia in Rome, for instance. The place of the judgement is one of those complex locales that grabs me and doesn't let go. It is one of those places that I will not forget because somehow it replicates the images of it that I have had since a very young age. It is a place that makes the hustle and bustle of present day Inner Jerusalem explain the reality of the "kangaroo court" condemnation of Jesus.
There we were, beneath a solid and simple, but nevertheless elegant church in the courtyard where our sins succeeded in their effort to substitute a common criminal, Barabbas for the Son of God, the first and the ultimate Good.
I stood there and realized that Paradise was won that day by Jesus who stood up to the government of the day and said, "You would have no power over me if it weren't given to you from above" and as He was standing up to the forces of evil and saying, "You cannot take my life from me for I lay it down willingly. I have the power to lay it down and take it up again."
Some days I know that Jesus defeated sin and death on that day. Some days I feel just like He did. "Bring it on!" Some days though, I feel like Peter before the insolently challenging maid, reminding me that my accent betrays me, and I betray back, thinking that I am brave and courageous.
ooooooooooPPPPPPPPssssssss! I am being enlightened by Jesus these days. I have been given another life, I think. Lately I've been thinking that God gave me life to bring me here and shake me up properly so that I can be fit for the house that He has for me in heaven. I thank Him for putting those thoughts into my heart.
We went from the "Pavement" to the Liturgy of the Easter Vigil. It was well done with some excellent music and a great homily, but no baptisms. We were left to the thoughts of our Elect in Southern California, waiting for the moment of their Dying and Resurrecting in Christ.
After the liturgy we walked our way out of the City, came home, retired with the resolution that we would attend Easter Mass at the Ecole Biblique de Jerusalem (The Biblical School of Jerusalem), the site of the church that reveres the location of the martyrdom of St. Stephen, the first follower of Jesus to lay down his life for his faith. Good night.
"The Dead Sea Comes Alive" - My report 4/11/07
Our Easter is over. We celebrated it with Mass at 11:00 AM in the Jerusalem church dedicated to St. Stephen, the first martyr of the Church. It was a quiet ceremony led by the Dominican Fathers just outside the Old City of Jerusalem.
From there we went to the Holy Sepulchre to commemorate the Resurrection. When we got there there were not too many people, relatively speaking because the Passover was finished and there were only Christians inside the walls (relatively speaking, again.)
We then went back to the Institute for our festive Easter dinner. It was a spit-roasted Lamb.
On Monday we went to the West Bank and visited a refugee camp, the third largest one in the country. It was a magnificent experience. It gave us a different take of life in the Holy Land.
I and Belle went into the Dead Sea today. It is a very strange feeling to be there. Your body stays nearly 60% out of the water and it is very hard to orient yourself. When you get out, even though you shower, your body feels funny for hours after. She and I both got a couple of drops of water in our eyes and it stings for about 5 solid minutes. I accidently took some into my mouth and I gotta tell you, that is not a pleasant experience. When you look into the water at different angles you can see that there is something like oil or some substance other than water that you are in.
I have taken a shower now and I feel a lot better after six hours of being in the Dead Sea for 10 minutes. Our quide told us that the salinity ratio is 30% salt and other minerals as against 8% for average sea water.
We were there with 10 Australians from our group. The Dead Sea will never be the same. The shoreline of the Dead Sea shows the markings of a shrinking phenomenon. They claim that it is receding by as much as 3/4 of a meter per year.
The reason why we were here is because today and tomorrow we are going to be studying the geography and the topography of the Southern part of the Holy Land to get a feel for what the Bible means when it says certain things about the land itself.
We were deep into the Judean desert today. We visited the area where David was when he was hiding from King Saul. When Saul found out that Davis was at En Gedi, he went after him with thousands of men. David caught him sleeping in his tent at night and insteqad of killing him, cut off a piece of Saul's night shirt. He then crossed the canyon and went to a mountain top and when Saul arose, David showed him the piece of his night shirt from a safe distance. Read all about it in 1 Samuel, chapter 24.
We also visited Qumran, the site where many old testament manuscripts were found. There is also some belief that John the Baptist would have done some of his preaching and baptizing in the Jordan near this area, just north of the Dead Sea.
There is not doubt that it would have been a trick to find food in these parts, so believe the bible when it talks about locust and stuff like that. This is harsh, harsh country.
Tomorrow we have another field trip to the City of Jerusalem. The Wailing Wall is on the agenda. That does not mean that you can cry at my funeral.
I'm going to do it for you tomorrow. We will pray for you and we will talk about David a lot, I am sure. Then on Thursday, we're off to Galilee. We hope to check out the fish from the lake where Jesus walked on the water. They say that it is mainly Tilapia. I'll let you know.
"Jesus of Galilee, The Nazorean" My report for April 12 and 13, 2007
The Holy Week and Easter finished with a superb banquet. We took Monday as a recuperating day and spent some time in a refugee camp.
Tuesday we dedicated to time on prayer, study and preparation for our trip to the Galilee. We knew that we were preparing to come to the area of the Holy Land where the Holy Family settled and Jesus grew up.
On the way here we stopped by Cesarea Maritima, just outside of Jerusalem on the Mediterranean shore to go over some of the Acts of the Apostles stories.
This port of the Mediterranean is a jewel of Roman elegance. It is everything that Rome is, only far across the sea. The 2,000 year old ruins stand out and define a city that still is able to capture the imagination and make you want to be there.
It is no mystery that Peter and Paul and Phillip who lived there wanted to stay there and work. Some of Peter's best early work was performed here, and to here Luke's story in Acts read on-site is an astonishing experience.
The hippodrome on my right, the amphitheatre on my left and the ocean in front of me while inside of me, Peter is catching on to the mission that Jesus sent him to do.
My feet did not touch the ground at all for the hour and one half that we were there visiting with Peter just a couple of days after the Resurrection. This is a site that the Romans left behind and is physically ruined, but believe me, after living for four years in Rome forty years ago, when I saw
this two days ago, my heart would not stop leaping in my breast.
Say what you will about the Romans, I enjoy what they acccomplished because it is a testimony to deep human participation in the creative power of God. Even though they were the occupying force, I don't blame Peter for wanting to be there for a while. It sure was better than Galilee. Not that Galilee is chopped liver, but Cesarea is better. You can read all about it in Acts, part of it in chapter 10.
From there we continued North on our way to Galilee. We stopped by Carmel and considered the work of the prophet Elijah and his contest with the Baal worshippers. (1 Kings, 18; 20 - 46)
Of course we came to appreciate the changing topography of Israel. We came down from the rocky heights of Jerusalem and followed the sea coast route from Cesarea towards Tel Aviv and Haiffa.
We turned right and went through the food basket of the country, named the Jezreel Valley. Except for its size, it resembles the Central Valley of California, one of the fertile food baskets of the United States. Like the huge valley in the United States, this smaller one is fertile but needs a lot of maintenance to make it productive. There is water, there are springs and such, but like in Calilfornia, there is no major river carrying water to the land. It has to be brought there. Neverthless, the results are the same.
After Carmel, which is high, high up, and the story of Elijah is fascinating, we continued to head Northeast towards Tiberias. After several hours of separation from Jerusalem, we saw the Lake of Caparnaum off to our left. We reached the edge of Tiberias and started our descent to 250 meters below sea level to reach the shore of the Lake.
If I was impressed by Cesarea, I was blessed by Tiberias. Not so much by the presence of Jesus. The Scriptures do not record His ever going to Tiberias. I was almost re-baptized by the sight of the water of the lake. Calm, cool, undulating and very quiet. No boats on it at this hour.
We checked in to the hotel and went to our room. When we slid the drapes back all we could see was Lake Gennesareth. All we could think of was Jesus out there talking back to us from the lake.
This is not Roman Country anymore. This is Jesus Country even though we are near the Decapolis and we are in the Roman Capitol of the region.
Here, in our hearts, Jesus reigns. Here in our hearts we hear Jesus say, "Did you come here to listen to the word of God or did you come here because you have eaten and you want to see another sign?" (John, 6; 26 ... )
We are here because we want to listen to the Land and to the Spirit speaking in our souls.
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We also went to Nazareth today. I will save that meditation for one more day for you.
Tomorrow we will visit the shore cities that Jesus visited and preached in and we will ride the boat back from Bethsaida to Tiberias. About nine miles.
I am sure that Isabel and I will be trembling with a ton of feelings as we take the trip. This is the World of Jesus. This is the land that was pressed by His feet. This is the water that washed Him and His disciples. This is the Lake that could not swallow Him. He calmed it once and walked on it another time.
This is the place to be in Galilee. Every little ripple that flops on the shore says, "jjjjjeesssssUU'sssss."
How are we ever going to leave this place? I'll let you know when it happens.
Galilee and back
Up by the shore
Down by the River
Up by Caesarea
Down by Jericho
Rome on the sea
Joshua in the desert
Up at sea level
Down to - 300 meters
West again to Jerusalem
Up again to + 800 meters
Up to Galilee at 75°F
Down/up to Jerusalem at 62°
We have gone from Dead Sea
To Gennesareth Sea
We laughed and sported on the first
We prayed and feasted on Tilapia from the second
So we sought David at Ein Gedi
Where he spared Saul's skin
And found Saul's body at Bet She'An
Where the Philistines beheaded him
We've been from the Manger to the Cross
From Bethlehem to Bethsaida
We've met Nazarenes and Gerazenes
We've met Bedouins and activists
Students and teachers
Housewives and soldiers
Vegetable vendors and beggars by the gates of the city
We've eaten pickled fish from a modern place unknown
Since Magdala's pickling and salting business
Has not a stone upon a stone
On Mount Carmel we relived Elijah slaying Baal
On Mount Tabor we visited Jesus, Moses and Elijah
On the Mount of Beatitudes we reflected on daring thoughts
On the Sea we sang the song of the fisherman
While the Sea was calm it embraced us in its mystery
I wondered if it still felt the footsteps of Jesus
And still smiled at the sound of Peter's cry for help
We visited ruins, ruins and more ruins
Whatever they meant to my spiritual companions
They spoke to me in the depths of my being
After four years in Rome, among so many ruins
Seeing Hebrew ruins supporting Roman ruins
Carries a message which I will try to decipher in days to come
We visited an authentic recreation of the Nazareth city of 2000 years ago
It was a rather pleasing place and quite well planned
They fed us a noon time meal from those days
The ladies of our community tried their hand at cooking native bread
Too bad Jesus was not there to provide the wine
We visited a great number of "historic" sites
And took in a myriad of grandiose sights
We have visited "Golgotha" and the "Tomb"
We have visited the Church which marks the spot where the cock crowed
And several others which have more "Religous Imagination" than historic confirmation
We have visited places that are deeply real
From the caves of Bethlehem to the Garden of Gethsemane
From the Lake to the Jordan
From Bethdaida to Capernaum
From Nazareth to Gennesareth
From Galilee to Judah
From Jerusalem to Bethania
From the Kidron Valley to the "Paved Place", Gabbatha in Hebrew, Lithostrotos in Greek
Every step of the way we lived the divisions of God's land
The Holy River Jordan which reminds us that though it divides
It also unites by feeding all people who live by it
We saw the boundaries of Samaria and Judah, still a bad idea to try to cross them
We saw the boundaries of Israel and Syria, and I was thinking of Saul/Paul
We saw the cities that the Romans built and the infrastructure that they installed to support them
How true that the more things change, the more they stay the same.
So you think you got it tough? Check out John, Zechariah and Elizabeth
By Paul Dion, STL
I visited the hometown of Jesus' cousin today. What a neat place! Lush with fresh green trees, abundant flowers, singing birds and of course steep hills which lead to breath-taking views over the valley below which leads to the Jordan and the Dead Sea.
This is now a town of upper middle class and and well to do Jewish people. It is a wonderfully bucolic town of a rather small population with a lot of clout. It is beautiful and makes you want to say, "I could live here."
It is however, my opinion, that this is a case where you have to be careful what you ask for. I have vacationed in towns like this before. They are great to visit and great to leave. But, hey, there is no danger that I will ever live here, so I enjoyed myself.
There are the "obligatory" churches that "mark the spot" of Mary's Visitation to her cousin Elizabeth as well as the spot where John was born. Like our Biblical Studies director said as we approached, "We know that it happened somewhere, so it might as well be here." Well said.
This is a jewel of a spot. I have a wonderful picture of a sculpture that occupies the entry to the church yard. I do not have time to download it tonight, but I will get it for you tomorrow. It is really quite well done. You'll see.
This is a case of the land speaking to people. This may not be "The Spot", but the tradition and the Land say that it is. It responds to some of the description that is in the Bible and it is close to Jerusalem.
Zachariah was the priest in charge of the Holy of Holies in those times and because it was his turn and his term, he had to go to Jerusalem just about every day. It wasn't far. Maybe about 4+ to 5 miles. About one and one-half hours' walk.
He was cornered by an angel in the Temple while he was on duty, as you recall and struck dumb. But Elizabeth did conceive despite her old age and Mary took off from Nazareth, at least 100 miles away to the north, and came to the village of En Kerem just outside of Jerusalem to help her cousin in the first throes of her pregnancy.
Now that I have experienced this Land with my arthritic knees, let me tell you that I have a first hand experience of the tough mother that we have. No wonder that Jesus is said to have grown in stature, wisdom and faith and that he was obedient to His parents. With a tough mother like Mary and a father like Joseph who is said to have walked about 6 kilometers, one way, to work every day, most of us would have been obedient too.
Can you see your mother saying to you, "If you don't behave, you'll have to walk with your father to work tomorrow."
I can practically guarantee that you would do all in your power to avoid that miserable one hour and fifteen minute stroll by your father's side.
And what about Elizabeth, Zachariah and John? Hmm, that jewel that they live it has about 10 feet of flat ground in the whole place. You want tough, you got tough. You think that living in the flat desert is tough? Try living in the steep hills in and around Jerusalem.
We were there today for about three hours. we had to change direction every so often so that both our legs could stay the same length. We couldn't allow ourselves to keep turning eithe right of left for too long of we want to maintain our body's bi-lateral equality.
Any of you who are left out there thinking that Zachariah, Elizabeth and John; Jesus, Mary and Joseph were soft and sugary, lovey-dovey wimps, are sadly mistaken. These had to be tough people, both physically and mentally. They didn't let the terrain get to them and they didn't let the religious bozos get away with anything either.
This was the age of accountability. This was the age of, "You're not married. You've had five husbands and the one you have now is not your husband." (John to the woman at the well) "You are not pleasing to God because you are sexually involved with other women." (John to Herod) "Didn't you know that your father and I were worried?" (Mary to Jesus) "Didn't you know that I had to be at my Father's work?" (Jesus back to Mary) "The one of you who is without sin should be the first to cast the stone." (Jesus to the Pharisees) "Peter, Peter! Tonight by the time the cock crows you will have renounced me three times." (Jesus to Peter)
Jesus lived in the best part of the country. The Galilee is rich and fertile and the Lake is full of fish. Yet, good Jew that He was, He come to Jerusalem over hill and desert three times during His public ministry, that we know of, even unto death. Is that tough enough for you?
What about His cousin? His Aunt and Uncle? The non-biblical stories that are repeated verbally and written in some of the non-biblical books say that Zachariah was killed while trying to escape to protect John from being killed by the soldiers after the edict of Herod to kill all babies under two years old. Elizabeth managed to escape with the help of an angel.
Through our Biblical Scripture, we know that John grew up and lived to get his head cut off and put on a platter to please the woman in Herod's life. Is that tough enough for you?
I could go on all night this way. You get the point. We live so comfortably that we forget where the source of our life is. Our life comes from a cave. Not a bad cave mind you, a retro-fitted cave if you will, but a cave nevertheless.
We think that we have it rough when the hot water goes out for a day. I sometimes grumble when my computer goes out for a day. Come on! Jesus must be up there wondering where we think we come from.
Think about these things for a minute or two. If a light goes on and you get to understand something in a clearer and more spiritual environment, you'll know that you won't have to cry at my funeral.
"Let the Land Talk"
By Paul Dion, STL
What does it mean when I say, "The Land talks to me?"
There are seven experiences that I have had that happened and only after did they "talk" to me. Actually, there are eight, if I include my birth. That one surprised me so deeply that I was speechless for two years afterward.
The first one after that was the moment that I first set eyes on Michelangelo's PIETA.
The second one was when I was ordained to the priesthood.
The third was when I got married.
The fourth was when my first child was born.
The fifth was when my second child was born.
The sixth one was when I looked into the Grand Canyon.
The seventh one was spending three weeks in the Holy Land.
The three weeks is coming to a close. We leave on Monday, April 23, 2007. The way I feel now, it is impossible to leave this place. We will go away, but it will not go away. There is no "sweet sorrow" in this departure. There is no letting go. The Land will not let you go.
Once the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob has let you set foot on His ground, you can never think that you will be free of it. You don't even have to throw a coin into the fountain to earn the right to come back. Because you made it here, you belong to Him forever through His favorite place, His hometown, His fishing hole, His hills, His food and His voice in the wind.
Once He envelops you wih His breath, you know that you are in the right place. It doesn't matter whether Elijah was on THIS mountain. It doesn't matter that Saul was squatting in THIS cave when David spared him. It doesn't matter if this is THE HILL where Abraham was going to sacrifice Isaac. It doesn't matter that THIS is the bend in the Jordan where John baptized Jesus. It doesn't matter if this is the HOUSE where Mary was born and it doesn't matter if this if the RESIDENCE of the Holy Family in Nazareth.
What matters is that the Bible People are all alive here, from Dan to Beersheva, from the Mediterranean to the Jordan.
This is God's country and He still lives here, no matter what. The wind is His, the sea is His, the land is His. You feel Him caressing your cheeks and ears with His wind (Spirit), not always gently, I might add. You hear Him gently bobbing you up and down in the mysterious Dead Sea. You feel Him rocking you back and forth on His Capernaum lake, like a grandfather caressing his favorite grandchild. You feel Him pressuring your feet as you walk the rugged terrain of country and urban walkways. You listen to Him forcing you to swallow litre after litre of His air as you fight His law of gravity so often in uphill battles to go from one holy place to another.
You get to the holy place and you are still only sure of one, single, solitary historical fact: This is His Land, no matter where you are. These are His blessings, no matter where you are. This is where He promulgated His Law; this is where He turned His prophets loose; this is where He turned His Son loose. It's all His, no matter what your GPS says. It's all His no matter what the 12th century Crusaders say.
Besides the historical fact, there is the geography. It's His Jerusalem, no matter how many times it has been beaten and subjugated (35). It's His Bethlehem, His Jericho, His Dead Sea, His Qumran, His Ein Gedi, His Nazareth, His Beithsaida, His Capernaum, His Lake Tiberias, His Jordan River.
Since I have come here, a flood of ideas and inspirations has overcome me and I'm sure that it will ever stop.
Let me point out an easy one for you to recognize and to practice once you make your pilgrimage to God's Country. The Orthodox Christians, Greek Russian, Syrian and others honor the land when they are here, even the priests. When they approach a holy site, they make make three signs of the cross in succession, just like we genuflect three times before the cross on Good Friday. They bow very low, touch the ground with their right hand and as they straighten up they bless themselves, and this, three times in a row.
They've got it right. The land is first. This might not be the GPS site where Mary nursed her Child, but we are sure of one thing, this IS His Bethlehem. So why not revere this precise location to exercise our faith in Him? It's all His anyway. Right?
We took a boat ride on the Sea of Galilee and we dropped anchor exactly where Peter tried to walk on water. Sure, we did. Well, maybe not. But one thing is certain, it's still the same body of water. The water is just as wet now as it was then and Peter and Jesus did live a lot of their lives in Capernaum, less than one mile from where we were anchored.
We ate some of the same species of fish that Jesus ate with His disciples. (Tilapia, if you're wondering) I leave it to you to decide what is more important, the actual point on the globe
or the faith that this is the same body of water that contributed to the story of our Salvation.
I am here to assure you that the Lake of Tiberias has a little more salt in it now that I have been there than it had before.
Blessings to you all.
WHO COMES TO THE HOLY LAND?
WHY DO THEY COME?
WHAT DOES IT MEAN?
Fellow Pilgrims in the steps of the Lord. For the past three weeks you have been following me through the nooks and crannies that I visit here in the Holy Land. I have made a conscious effort to keep the trip religious and spiritual and I hope that you have enjoyed it. This reflection is a spiritual one too. Maybe after I get back to my home base in Southern California I will permit myself a moment of fancy when I can contribute something to
the Parishworld.net "Catholic Lifestyle Column." For now, however, I want to walk you through some thoughts about the Pilgrim Population, maybe I should say "wave" that God puts before our eyes every single day of our
stay in His Country.
There is not a corner of Jerusalem that is without Pilgrims. They are of all races, sizes, colors and languages. They have come to Jerusalem for the very same reasons that we have. They believe that it is the holiest place on earth. They come here because it is the one place where they can express their faith in the manner that they see fit with no restrictions, no "rules and regulations" and no fear that some superior religious person is going to make them do something that they don't want to do. They come here to meet God. And meet HIM, they do.
You see them talking to God everywhere and in many ways. On Easter Sunday FOX News was filming an item in front of the church of the Holy Sepulchre. As the technical crew was setting up the equipment, I saw the reporter face
the Monumental church, bow, cross herself and offer a short prayer before turning to her work. Belle and I approached her and asked, "Does Bill O'Reilly know that you are here? She laughed and said, "He doesn't speak Arabic, and I do." Touche! I mentioned the other day that the Orthodox people touch the ground with their hand
before crossing themselves with it. The Armenian people escort their bishop with a pair of uniformed guards armed with staffs that have a metal tip which they pound on the ground to announce the coming of the prelate. The Polish people sing wherever they go. The Jerusalemites always sing/shout, "Jerusalem". Many people rub everything they see either with their hand or a special handkerchief. I know one person who has a small rock from every meaningful corner of the Holy Land. People take pictures at all the wrong moments. People check out the prices of the trinkets as they are processing along the Way of the Cross. I presume that they are thanking
God for the reasonable prices. Nobody here thinks that making a proper, well organized queue is a form of prayer. Hustle, bustle and tustle.
Jerusalem is not a place for the faint of body and heart. It is a tough place. One of my colleagues in the Institute finally came to the conclusion that Jerusalem is uphill, "both ways". As he was saying this, we were expressing our awe about the number of "old" people who were in town for Holy Week. People with canes, people
with sons and daughters who had to hold them up and practically carry them up stair-ways that feature 12 to 14 inch risers and no hand rails. Just when they would reach the top, they would be ejected into a "street" with three times more people traffic than it could possibly hold in any other city on earth, except maybe Lilliput. But these people were here living out a desire that can not be extinguished, the desire to "see" Jesus on His home turf at least once in their life. They wait in endless joustling lines for hours to get 30 seconds of time to kiss the stones of Golgotha, to walk the stones of the paved yard in front of Pontius Pilate's balcony. They walk the Way of the Cross on uneven cobble stones, up steep steps, around strange corners, many yards back from the small speaker that barely projects the voice of the prayer leader. Those of us who have done it twice or thrice before know what is going through their minds and we don't wonder why they are doing it. We know. They are on the first step to heaven, these people who have saved money all their lives to come here from Greece,
Croatia, Poland, Germany, Russia, India, Ethiopia, Egypt, Spain, France, Mexico, Brasil, Canada, US, etc. The world is full of people who just have to come here once in their lives. The world is full of children who make sure that their mother or their father, or both if they are still alive, will make the pilgrimage to the Holy Land. As we went around, we saw them. We saw them at the caves of Bethlehem, crying in the corner, we saw them marveling at the mosaic of the Virgin Mother feeding her beloved Son, we saw them sitting on whatever ledge they could find trying to gather enough strength to keep going. We saw their sons and daughters hovering over them like angels with eyes that had nothing but admiration and love in them.
Finally, Jerusalem is not just physically tough, it is spiritually tough. When is the last time you were in a church full of people not 50% of whom were of the same fine-tuned religious conviction? The people we have presented to you above are Greek Orthodox, Armenian Orthodox, Melkite, Coptic, Maronite, Latin (Roman) Catholic, Polish Tradition (Old) Catholic, Lutheran, Anglican, Russina Orthodox, Greek Catholic and I can't count how many more. Yet, everyone is there for the same reason, it's THE JERUSALEM HOLY WEEK PILGRIMAGE. It's all about Christianity and what it means to the collective soul of the world. It's all about God talking to us all through His favorite creature, Human Beings. You gotta luv it. I do. Now that I have been touched by God, don't you dare cry at my funeral.
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