Day 7: The Wailing Wall

It was a weird day. The wailing wall was nothing like I expected it to be in terms of how it looked as you approached it. It’s basically the original foundation of the Temple built by Herod the Great. This same Temple was smashed in 70 A.D. by the Roman Army who sought to put down the Jewish revolt. Sadly, because it is the Sabbath, no photography was allowed in the Wailing wall area and I obeyed their directive out of respect. I had prepared a few scrolls to place in the Wall, one for my family (all of them), one for my parish, and one for the high school. I did one other for a few people I know that are opening themselves up to the idea of the priesthood, diaconate, religious life, and for one other that is struggling with a 3rd order vocation. The last one was for people in great need like my friends in Haiti, for my friend Stan who is in prison, and for the many people that I know that are looking for work and are having financial difficulties.

As you approach the Wall, you must have your head covered. As you walk closer to it, down a long ramp, you pass through hundreds of orthodox Jews who pray out loud and read from scrolls and books containing the Torah. As you get closer, you start to notice the small pieces of paper, thousands and thousands of them, all containing serious petitions from all those who worship the one God of Israel. My first job was to find places to smash my notes in with the rest and this took some time. Afterwards, I did what I saw the others doing and I laid my forehead on the wall and began to pray. As you’d suspect, I prayed for my family first, then in thanksgiving for this opportunity to pray here in this most sacred place where Simeon and Anna greeted Jesus as a baby at His presentation, where He taught the scriptures as a young man, where he drove out the vendors from selling, and where I found myself weeping all of a sudden. There was a massive, deep blue sky overhead with strong winds pushing white clouds by very fast. The air was cold with a strong wind which made my tears cold on my cheeks. I saw no reason to dry them as I began to understand the purpose of praying here. My prayers turned to those in need that I know and strangely to my ancestors and to my children’s grandkids and so on. When you are faced with a place that seem to know so much time, it seemed natural to pray for all of my family, living, dead, and those who are not among us yet. Spending time in Jerusalem, you begin to appreciate how temporary your situation is. It’s easier to see yourself as taking a few breaths and then laying down to sleep in the Lord all in the context of the passage of time. I think I will have gained patience and perspective to some degree on this pilgrimage, which will be good news to my wife and kids.

Fr. Charlie asked me to preach at Mass today. I spoke mainly about how important it is for us not to have traveled all this way and not continue that journey on the inside. Going to the holy land won’t make you holy any more than putting your car in the garage makes it a garage. So I’ve been trying to find moments to pray on the bus, in the morning, even while eating. Letting silence lead me to that place that the Church Fathers called the 8th day. It is good to pray on the Sabbath. It is good that no cars can operate in the Jewish Quarter right now. It is good to see all the shops closed. It’s a lesson that Walmart could learn from, and that Chik-fil-A already knows. Tonight is our last night in Jerusalem. The bells are ringing out 4:30 p.m. as I type this. The Sabbath will be over at sundown, so I plan to make my way through the narrow streets of the Old City one more time, to walk the Stations again, and settle into silent prayer, quit talking and listen to what God wants to teach me this night. Tomorrow we head to Jericho and into more new discoveries of very ancient truths of God. Shalom...

Day 6: The Desert and the Dead Sea

Today was a welcome change to the hustle and bustle of the Old City. Today, we travelled more distance than any day since we’ve arrived here. Today we went out into the Desert. We first visited Masada, King Herod’s impenetrable fortress hewn out of solid rock overlooking the Dead Sea. The have a cable car that can take about 50 people up at a time so up and down was easy compared to the old days. 930 Jewish lives were lost in a massive siege that ended in suicide for all inside the fortress. As the Roman Army worked for two years to gain access to Masada, they finally had it within reach when everyone inside decided they would rather die than be enslaved by the Romans in 70 A.D. The temp shot up to the mid-80’s today and since we visited no churches today, many wore shorts.

After Masada, we made our way to lunch with the Essenes at Qumran, the ancient center of the sect John the Baptist was believed to be a part of. This is also the site back in 1948 where a shepherd boy discovered the Dead Sea Scrolls while looking for a lost sheep. We got to within 50 yards of the actual cave where they were discovered. This is something that I’d read about in the past and was fascinating to walk through the recreated settlement, thanks to the work of Josephus and a bunch of smart archeologists.

Next, we went to the beach where many of us swam in the Dead Sea, which has about 27% salt content, hence nothing can live in it. The mud is very good for the skin so some of us went for a swim and enjoyed the gooey stuff, smearing it all over. I did not partake as the sun was very high and my Irish/German skin would toast for sure. Instead I sat in the sun and marveled at what lay in front of me. First, it was beautiful. Blue sky meeting haze, and finally resting on the mountains of Jordan, just across the sea. More immediately was the beach scene in front of me. From my spot in the shade under the lifeguard’s shack, I watched people speaking ten languages have fun together. Old men hauled their 4’ tall water pipes down to the beach to smoke with friends, watching their grandchildren play. While there were many languages spoken, everyone seems to know soccer. I counted five informal games and maybe ten more balls in play between a few friends. I watched Muslim women dressed in black from head to toe, holding the shower chains for European women in bikinis trying to wash the mud off their bodies. It was a sea of humanity present as I saw people from Germany, Scotland, America, Canada, Jordan, Jerusalem, etc... There were Christians swimming with Muslims, with everyone enjoying rice with saffron and the wonderful smells of meat cooking over fires. Some boys beat out the rhythm of songs they knew on an empty gallon can and an antifreeze bottle, creating a dancing frenzy. While all entered the water in varying skin colors, they emerged black from head to toe, causing you to wonder who they were and where they were from until they got into the out-door showers. The black mud brought everyone together in a way that I know made God smile today. I will never forget that scene as it played out in front of me. It was as if God was saying to me, look, these are all my children; I care of each one of them the same.

On the way back to Jerusalem, we stopped at an old section of an original Roman road that went from Jericho to Jerusalem, the same road on which the Samaritan outcast rescued the man from the scriptures. We stopped, got off the bus, and climbed a massive incline to a small mountaintop outdoor theater where Fr. Charlie offered Mass. The winds were so strong up there at times I could not hear what he was saying and I was standing right next to him and downwind! Fr. Charlie is a big guy, and twice the wind pushed him so hard he lost his footing. We were joined at our impromptu Mass by a camel, a donkey, two boys about 2 and seven, and three men trying to sell us jewelry and offer camel rides. It was something to see!

The only other thing of significance to report is that I absolutely love pita bread. When it is fresh, I’d rather eat it than what I’m used to. It’s delicious with every meal, especially with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Hmmmmml... good!

Day 5, Jerusalem: Mt. Cavalry and more!

Day 5

Today started out scary for me. First, we got wake up calls at 4:30am (as if that wasn’t scary enough) so that we could celebrate Mass together at the Church of the Holy Seplachure. Thing of it was, I was to preach the homily. So picture walking in the pre-dawn hours through the Old City of Jerusalem to a huge stone church. Upon entry, we walked up a flight of very steep stairs to the site of Mount Cavalry where there is a Roman Catholic altar set just a few feet to the right of the massive stones on which Christ’s blood was poured out. There is no singing of any kind allowed at this particular altar, ever. Seriously, I was way out of my element and used to the more comfortable confines of our temporary parish chapel at Saint Albert the Great or the familiar Holy Trinity Chapel at KCHS. I don’t remember much of what I offered in the message but I remember talking about the scripture from Paul when he says, “to those that are given more, more is expected.” To be standing on the very site of Christ’s death was an incredible gift, similar, I think, to Thomas wanting to stick his hand in the Lord’s side. I have always accepted easily His death on a cross both historically, theologically, sacaramentally, and soteriologically. Now I have this added gift of seeing the actual place, walking the ground, being surrounded 24/7 by devoted pilgrims who all speak the same language of our common faith in Jesus Christ. So I can see things, even part of the oldest walls of Jerusalem that Jesus would have also seen. I have visited now the caves where the Holy Family came to its fullness in the birth of Jesus, in incarnate Word of God. it’s heavy stuff they’re serving up over here in the Middle East.

After we celebrated Mass, the sun slowly rose and drew light across the blue sky as we walked the traditional stations of the cross. As you walk from station to station, you have to dodge people, small narrow, diesel tractors hauling trailers filled with all manner of goods, and garbage everywhere. Some of the stations are clearly marked, as with Veronica’s wiping Jesus’ face, and where he fell the second time, others are marked only by a round steel emblem affixed to the stone walls under which we walk. We all took turns carrying His cross through these narrow steps, climbing always towards the Church of the Holy Seplachure. You should try to come here someday; the things that happen in your heart are surprising, cause great joy, and sudden sadness at times. While we were in the middle of the stations this morning, one woman began to sob, trying to conceal her grief. it was as if a wave came over all of us in that holy place... Many wiped tears away from our faces and even Fr. Charlie’s voice faltered a few times.
Once we completed the stations, we walked back to our accommodations and shared breakfast with a room full of pushy Germans who thought waiting in line was optional. I try to take these cultural differences in stride as I’ve traveled pretty extensively and know what to expect.

I took a nap after breakfast and awoke to catch our bus that took us to the Pools of Bethseda, where Jesus healed the paralytic in John 5:1-15. You sort of stand there, leaning over a steel railing and gaze down upon the ancient ruins of a Byzantine Church, a temple to a pagan God, and then you see this sign in the ground that spells out the site on which he cured a man who had suffered for 38 years. It slowly dawns on you that the scriptures are opening as a massive door, through which you’ve seen light through a crack for your whole life, sitting in the pews. The door swings open more fully as this realization comes to you in waves. You want to pray, you want to cry, you want to sing, you want to kiss the ground on which you stand... And then it’[s time to move with the group to the next spectacular thing, the Church of St. Anne where the Virgin Mary was born. It’s tough to hold it all together when you stand most of each day in front of a huge machine gun firing grace at you from all angles. I am physically weary from walking and climbing hundreds of steps as we move about, but what causes me the greatest fatigue is the work my mind and soul are doing. My horizon is shifting and changing always as I confront one scene after another. Now we descend into under the floor to visit the cave in which mary was born. I pray a quick Hail Mary, shoot a few photos and we move on to the Chapel of the Flaggelation where Jesus was whipped, tied to a pole. A few minutes later, we find ourselves descending again under ground to the actual site of the jail in which he stayed the night before he was crucified. The floor of this jail is covered with huge stones onto which horizontal grooves had been cut by Roman road crews (giving horses beter traction when wet) and mark the site called Gabbatha, where Pilot received Jesus, washed his hands of Him, and finally handed Him over to death. Like I said, it’s all heavy stuff to try to digest.

In the afternoon, we were all cut loose to do what we wanted. I went back, took a nap, and awoke in time for the good light that comes each afternoon and went out and shot for myself. I rarely do this even though I get immense satisfaction from it. I need to shoot for me more and not just for cash... I miss my family something fierce and wish I could talk to them on the phone a couple times a day. When it’s time to go home, I’ll be ready but I feel like I’m taking so much in each day here in Jerusalem.

Day 4, Bethlehem!

Today we visted Bethlehem for the first time. If it was a small backwater town in the time of our Lord, it is still that today. It is cut off from Jerusalem by a huge electrified wall of steel and concrete fence. the fence was erected in the name of security but everyone seems to understand it was put up to keep those living in Bethlehem from the job opportunities that lay just beyond the wall in the more prosperous Jerusalem. Nabil tells us that to get through requires special papers that are difficult to get and often involves 4-6 hour waits to pass through the security gates. it was a sad thing to see as there is a great valley that separates Bethlehem from Jerusalem: the Shepherd’s Field. We celebrated Mass in a small cave that just fit the 45 of us on that site, where the Annunciation took place. Luke 2, speaks of them being visited by an angel of the Lord who said, “You have nothing to fear! I come to proclaim good news...” Again, I found reading the gospel on this site of this occurence no less than awesome. It was hard to keep track of my job as Deacon in the liturgy as my mind and heart kept running in circles around each other.

After visiting a small Christian shop in Bethlehem, we went next to the Church of the Nativity, devoted to where Jesus was born in a manger. The thing of it is, all I can ever remember growing up as a kid, and even now as an adult, was a sort of barn looking wood structure filled with animals and hay. It turns out that they were actually in a cave. The main opening area of the cave would have been for dwelling and cooking with plenty of access to light from outside and fresh air. This was also the area in which an Inn would have been placed for those needing shelter as they travelled. The more interior of the cave was for livestock. When Mary and Joseph arrived in Bethlehem to report for the census, there was no room at the Inn, which is why they proceeded to the rear of the cave where the animals would have been kept. We all got to actually visit and touch the place of his birth, which is in a deep cave, hidden about 30’ below the main altar in the Church of the Nativity. Let me tell you that standing in this most holy of places really gets you. You come to realize how special a place this really is, set apart from all modernity, only being lit by candles. it took my breath away and made my mind do somersaults with my heart in tow. Think of it. It’s simply amazing to be a witness to that which I’d required faith to believe before our visit. We sang Silent Night with Fr. Charlie leading us. The Germans and others who were also there joined in. I can remember just three years ago, visiting the little church in Germany where that song was written, and how special it was to sing it there. And now to be singing Slient Night while staring at the back of the cave where the Holy Family came to be that night so long ago. Whew...

Under the Catholic side of the Church in their caves, we found small areas with altars set aside to honor St. Jerome who brought us the Vulgate Bible as well as the “Holy Innocents” that were killed when XXX was trying to execute all children up to two years old in an attempt to kill Jesus, thiniking that this would once and for all quash the Christian “cult.” In staring down into that cave, my heart was heavy for all children who have died through the violence of many wars and by all un-natural means.

Our last stop today was the visit the birthplace of John the Baptist as well as the site of the Visitation. Luke 1: 39 says Mary set out in haste for the hill country... and greeted Elizabeth.” They weren’t kidding! It was a mighty hill even though we only walked up the last 1/4 mile of the journey. While it was steep, it was worth the wait. The Franciscans are marvelous caretakers of all of these holy sites in Jerusalem and Bethlehem. We found the site where there is still a well where John the Baptist was born, and then the Church of the Visitation which commemorates Mary’s meeting with Elizabeth to annoucne the good news. We prayed the Magnificat together in the place where Elizabeth’s words were first spoken. “My sould proclaims the greatness of the Lord...”

Day 3, Jerusalem!

We met with the Patriarch walking distance from the Franciscan “Casa Nova” where we are staying. He was very nice and spoke to us at length about the difficulties for the Christians living in the Holy Land. He then offered his prayers of us and Benediction. Our next stop was the Mount of Olives. Yes, “that,” Mount of Olives. We walked alongside a 1st century Christian cememtery and reflected on the four tears Christ shed for Jerusalem’s ultimate rejection of him as Messiah and Savior. We moved from there to the Garden of Gethsemane. Again, yeah, “that one.” It’s so totally radical to be speaking of these places not in abstract terms from the daily readingsm, but from the horizon of standing amid the olive trees some 2,000 years old. The Mount of Olives was a seminal moment for me as it was the first place we went in which I knew Jesus walked. Yes, “THE,” Jesus.
As powerful and full as my faith is, it may come as a shock to many of you that this has been a shock to me. I got on a plane three days ago with every intention of deepening my faith by putting my own eyes on these holy places and walking the ground itself. But it seems unreal to me even now to have done it. And even though I have now been to the Mount of Olives and to the actual Garden of Gethsemane, I still find it hard to get my mind around how to cope with this information. It’s not so much the historical significance our guide Samil is offering us, but rather what to do with my heart and the way it turns inside me as we discover Christ around every corner.

Inside the Church that is on that site it is very dark, on purpose. Most of the stained glass is violet in color, matching up very nicely with our current Lenten season. In the center of the sanctuary and at the foot of the altar is a huge piece of rock whicvh has been revered for centuries by millions of pilgrims as being from the garden where Christ wept, crippled with fear about hsi own death, all while his disciples slept through the night. Standing up to read the gospel from that votive Mass was difficult for me, reading once again the account of Jesus, abandoned in the garden by his supposed friends.

The image I most remember from today is the huge olive tree trunks in the Garden which is all fenced in now. They are massive and black and have been gnarled through 8,000 seasons and their 5’ round stumps show massive scars and evidence of damage through the centuries. But from some of the holes where great boughs once hung are now new growth branches, sprouting from deep within each stump. We are those new growth branches, seeking the light of Christ and to be fed by our Father in Heaven, with the help of the Holy Spirit. Each of us are part of yet another generation of disciples, trying to learn the Lord, trying to include Him in all we do each day, trying to make something real burn in our hearts from the old trunks of Tradition and the Holy Scriptures. It is good to be here in this place.

pilgrimage to the Holy Land, Day 1/2

Following delay on delay we have finally made it to our hotel in the old city of Jerusalem. We left Knoxville by bus from the Chancery at 10:30a on Sunday. It is now Tuesday morningat 6:30am and 12:30am back in Knoxville. glad to be here! We will have time for a shower and breakfast before heading out this morning... thanks be to God to have finally arrived at our destination almost one full day late.

I've been thinking a lot about where we've come from today and how far we have travelled to finally be in this ancient city of Christ. But no matter how far each of us has come and what kinds of financial hoops we have had to jump through to make it possible, there are three journeys that we've all embarked on. the first is to jerusalem, the second, we've gone on a journey away from our homes and all that is familiar, and last is most important: the journey into our hearts. Certainly Christ is everywhere but we will be constantly surrounded by reminders in the coming days of his physical presence, ministry, teaching, torture, death, and resurrection. It's too real to actually be here where He walked. Where He died. Where He rose to His heavenly Father, and where he awaits us to join Him in paradise. something to think about...

dpat

We have a Bishop!!!!

In the earliest Church, the bishop consecrated gifts on the altar of sacrifice and the deacons distributed the Body of Christ to the Faithful. In keeping with that tradition, one ciborium was purchased for each parish in the Diocese so that all of the leftover hosts from yesterday's Mass of Episcopal Ordination could be shared with all of the faithful of our Diocese, through my brother deacons carrying it back to each parish. Today, I will pick up the ciborium for my parish, Saint Albert the Great, but on my way from Sacred Heart, I will stop at the Holy Trinity Chapel at KCHS and mix in some of the consecrated Body of Christ from the Mass yesterday. In this way, our school will also share in the one table of the Lord from yesterday. May we recognize that we are part of one holy catholic and apostolic Church, and that our Shepherd has returned to us in the person of Bishop Richard F. Stika. As you come to Mass in our chapel throughout next week, realize you might be receiving a host consecrated by our new bishop in his Mass of Ordination. If you do, it's no different than what was already in our tabernacle...

because it's ALL AWESOME and ALL JESUS!!!

May this old practice give you newness of faith today.

Please pray for me as I travel on my first pilgrimage to the Holy Land for the next eleven days.

Vivat Jesus, dpat :)

Bishop Stika speaks to young people