A Walk on the Wild Side

Portions of the sermon given March 1, 2009

I can think of no more powerful a story than this account of Jesus’ baptism and journey into the wilderness as we begin Lent. Because of where we have been, the story stands out in living color. I see the upsweeping of green hills in Galilee and the quiet, but steady rush of the River Jordan in my minds eye. I even see the wilderness, perhaps as the West Bank or the dry desert hills just outside of Jericho where Bedouin shacks dot the hillside and camels stubbornly stand by. These days, the River Jordan divides Israel and Jordan and the two countries vie for water rights. In order to cross over into either country, you need to be able to tolerate an intimidating passport check, complete with cocked AK 47’s and border police.

The River Jordan IS cold this time of year! Just before leaving Galilee, we stood in the River as we remembered our baptism and received a blessing for the journey ahead. As we lined up to enter the water, a heron flew overhead and the sun danced in the trees across the creek. It was easy to imagine Jesus coming down to the water to be baptized by the wild and crazy John, so full of the spirit, so compelled by the power of the living stream to wash away the old and flood in the new.

According to Mark, Jesus enters immediately into the wilderness for forty days, facing the temptations of Satan, hanging out with wild beasts and finding the strength of angels. Sometimes after a blessing, we barely have time to dry off before we are flung into the wilderness again, to do battle with the good and evil forces of life. This story is given to us to remind us that we will be blessed, but never coddled, in this life; along our way we will encounter the wilderness, with its accompanying temptations, wild beasts and occasional angels.

We enter the wilderness when we experience injustice that cannot be easily fixed or unrelenting loneliness that isolates or conflict that will not be healed. There were times on our pilgrimage when we experienced the harsh tragedy of land divided and people torn apart by the terrible burden on mistrust and hatred. We witnessed the huge wall that has been erected between two holy cities, Jerusalem and Bethlehem. We stood in the cold streets of a Palestinian Refuge Camp and walked through the halls of Yad Veshem, the Israeli Museum honoring the Holocaust. We walked upon the ancient stones of the Temple Mount, and circled the Dome of the Rock, a sacred place to Muslims. We followed the footsteps of Jesus on the Via Dolorosa and entered the Church of the Holy Sepulcher where five Christian denominations try to share rights to the space. Jerusalem is the city where the three Abrahamic faiths collide and crash into each other like difficult children playing in bumper cars.

Today, Israel and the Palestinian Territories are a wilderness where mistrust and disregard is full blown and actively pursued. It is a world where there is separation, tragedy, anxiety and profound despair. A world where there are walls and guards, guns and checkpoints, borders and broken promises.

But there were times of grace-filled blessing on our pilgrimage, Blessed Wilderness. In Bethlehem, children collected shattered glass from the destroyed buildings of the last Intifada and have made tiny dancing angels out of the shards of war. At the border, Israeli mothers come to watch and witness and to make sure that no one is harassed or held back without cause. Father Michael McGarry rises each day to give witness to the hope of peace between people and neighborhoods and continues to pray without ceasing for a just and lasting peace.

The world breaks everyone, but in the broken there may be blessing. We are broken open to discover the hope that is God’s in the midst of human despair. If we rely on our own strength and willfulness, we will never achieve the peace we long for, but if we can imagine the peace that is beyond our understanding, in the heart of God, we have a chance. May God create within each of us, an opening, a blessing in the wilderness, a spacious place for grace and hope filled transformation.

"Unpacking" the Trip

The pilgrims have returned. Maribeth de Jong is back in Chicago, Katherine Fulton is in Florida for a work conference, Peter and Susan Purdy flew back with the rest of us and are now on their way toward southern California visiting friends along the way. We have all begun the process of "unpacking" our trip.

Hossam, our guide in Israel, told us that our pilgrimage to Israel/Palestine and Jordan was far from over. He advised us that, in fact, it had just begun; as we started to tell friends, relatives, workmates, and others about our travels, we would discover aspects of the trip and have reflections on the experience that we didn’t have time to consider while moving at such a rapid pace. I am taking his wise counsel seriously.

Little bits and pieces:
As I unpacked yesterday, I found pink sand from Petra sprinkled liberally over the right side of my suitcase. I thought of Patricia and how much she loves to find the sands of Lake Michigan in her shoes at the end of her summer stay there. I remembered the walk into Petra, the much-appreciated glass of hot tea in a cave, Pat Cross and Elizabeth waving to us as their cart driver shouted “Make way for the queen.”

As I took a shower this morning, I realized that I was washing away some of the henna on my hands and the shampoo from the Turkish baths.

As I ate my fried egg sandwich for dinner yesterday, I was once again impressed by the wonderful food offered to us morning, noon and night everywhere we went. We could have lived on the appetizers alone—plate after plate of small salads and great bread.

As I awoke this morning at about 5:00am, I was aware that I didn’t have to be down at the bus at 8:30 to begin our day’s activities. No one would be waiting for me. There would be no roommate check. I was on my own, outside the closeness of the group, writing lists of what I wanted to do today by myself.

None of these observations merit much contemplation. Perhaps the process of "unpacking" the trip begins as it began--with routine tasks and reassuring conversations. But I am trying to stay in the moment, noticing that I both appreciate being home and am longing for the community of the group. And, above all, I am remembering the incredible time we had together.

The End of the Journey

It is 10:09pm, the end of a very long day. As the blog mistress, I wanted youto have some word from us before we started for home. And I really wanted you to know that our visit to Petra, while cold and windy, was extraordinary. Then shortly after returning to our hotel, most of the women of our group left for a Turkish bath, followed by hand, feet, arm, and leg henna painting done by Bedouin women of the community. We are tired, full, beautifully clean, and discreetly decorated. Everyone else has gone upstairs to pack—and I need to as well. We start a very long journey tomorrow morning that will land most of us in Berkeley on Monday afternoon. Please send us your prayers for safe travel. A great number of us will be in church on Sunday, March 1, to share communion with you and to be welcomed back to the fold.

Jeruslaem to Petra

This has been a full day of travelling. We left Jerusalem at 8:30am and arrived in Petra in Jordan at 6:45pm. The hardest part for me was saying goodbye to our marvelous guide Hossam, an Israeli Arab Christian, who has been with us since we arrived in Israel. His spirit, professionalism, and knowledge has been invaluable in navigating this complex and immensely confusing situation. We are collectively mourning Hossam, but we are also very excited about visiting Petra tomorrow.

The highpoint for me today was the lunch dish, a speciality of Jordan, called makluba. Chicken, rice, vegetables, and spices are cooked in a pot and before our eyes turned out on a huge platter. It was delicious. But we have not been lacking in wonderful food. Hummus, babaganoush, pita and other breads, and lots of fresh salads have been staples of our lunches and dinners.

We send you our love and will be back in Berkeley on Monday—as hard as it is for us to believe.

Three Great Faiths in One Place

Our journey today began with the Western Wall where Jewish people come to pray. I was only allowed to pray on the women’s side, seeing women sobbing and bobbing back and forth, involving their hearts, minds and bodies in their earnest prayers. It was sad to see mothers standing on plastic chairs, peeking over the separation wall to witness their sons’ Barmitzvahs. We were especially blessed to see an extended family beating on drums, while dancing down the narrow stone street on their way to the Wall for their son’s Barmitzvah. The young boy balanced proudly on his father’s shoulders as his family clapped and sang.

This is a land of three great faiths, yet a land of walls and barriers. As we climbed to the glorious Temple Mount, there were security checks and soldiers with guns and piles of bullet-proof shields. Guards of one faith guard Pilgrims of another. So as I stood where Jesus preached in the temple and gazed at Al Aqsa Mosque with its golden dome and bright blue mosaic tiles, I was deeply moved, feeling I was in the center of the world of faith. Children with bright smiles shook our hands and greeted us with friendly “Salems.” Such great contrasts!

My heart was later broken open as I wandered through the Holocaust Museum, seeing short film clips of survivors’ tales of horror. I went to the Children’s Memorial where thousands of twinkling stars were shining in the dark, while hearing the names of children who were killed.

We saw so much more today, but it was all amazing!

Written by Becky Wright

Stepping Back into the Old Testament

Today (Wednesday, February 18th), we took a giant step back into Old Testament history as we descended from the heights of Jerusalem to the harsh Judean desert. With its rocky cliffs inhabited mostly by wandering ibex and the ever visible Dead Sea, we began our journey with a stop at Qumran. Here two centuries before Christ, the Essenes, a break-away sect, lived in isolation where they prayed, bathed and re-wrote on sheep skin many of the Old Testament books. When faced with an inevitable Roman invasion in 68 A.D., they stored these texts in clay jars in the caves which they inhabited only to have them discovered by a Bedouin shepherd in 1947. Today, we know them as the famed Dead Sea Scrolls! How amazing it was to hike around these ruins, hear this history and see the almost inaccessible cave of discovery.

Further down the shores of the Dead Sea, with its azure water and receding shoreline (an environmental concern for Israel as the Sea’s fresh water sources are diverted for agriculture), we visited Herod’s palace/fortress at Masada. Less known by Christians, it is a special site of pilgrimage for Jews because of the 900 zealots who held the site against the Romans at the end of the Jewish revolt and the fall of Jerusalem in 73 A.D. In the end, rather than surrender to a legion of 10,000 Romans sent to capture them, men, women and children committed mass suicide as opposed to surrendering their faith and themselves to their conquerors. Happily, we could reach these imposing mountainous ruins by a spectacular funicular ride where we walked among the remains of Herod’s lavish palace together with busloads of local Israeli village school children exploring their own history. Following a well earned lunch at the foot of the cliffs, we made our way to the shores of the Dead Sea for a delicious float in those warm but acrid waters. And then – like so many others – we headed back through the security checkpoints to Jerusalem.

Planting An Olive Tree in Bethlehem

Today, February 17, we ventured back to Bethlehem for the second time. After stopping to shop a bit and to visit the Church of the Nativity and the grotto where Jesus was born, “according to tradition,” as we say, we moved on to the East Jerusalem YMCA. We were met by Beha Hilo, a gorgeous Palestinian young man, who runs the Olive Tree Campaign among other things. He and Charlotte have been in touch trying to set up this time for us to plant trees. Unfortunately the weather did not cooperate. The fields were muddy, after yesterday’s rain, and olive trees don’t take to being planted in mud. So we had to settle for a very informative conversation with Behar and his boss, Nidal abuZuluf, the manager of the Joint Advocacy Initiative, and the ceremonial planting of just one tree in an area close to the Y. I found the experience moving and strangely exhilarating: we all took turns breaking up the soil and digging the hole, we placed the little tree in the hole, and patted the dirt around it. We will leave this land having actually done something to help, symbolic as it was.