Jerusalem, My Happy Home: Part 2

“Pilgrims here do not bring decisions with them. They come here to seek prayerfully the decisions God wants them to make. And God will always surprise us.”                                                                                           

                                                              The Rt. Rev. Sulheil Dawani

                                                              Bishop of Jerusalem

speaking to GAFCON 2008

The surprises have already begun. But all in due course.

Jet lag mostly overcome, we awoke to another beautiful morning in Jerusalem. Blue skies. Birds singing. “Biblical plants” growing in gardens. Wandering about the old stone streets and sidewalks, crowded with a wide assortment of humanity, gives me a sort of Indiana Jones feeling. Yesterday, we found a neat little “Educational Bookstore.” All the books were Palestinian polemics – not saying that disparagingly, only to name a genre. It reminds me of leftist bookshops in Argentina -- and they serve espresso.

The best part of being here so far is Eucharist in the side chapel at the Cathedral, celebrated at 7 a.m., simply, reverently, no music, no sermon. Bishop Dawani presided today as the multitude swelled to 11. I love these services. I loved them at Harvard Divinity in 02, when Professor Coakley, an erudite systematic theologian with mystical leanings, would celebrate. (Gordon Kaufman, another famous theologian there, quoted Sarah from her student days as saying, “I am not good enough to be spiritual. I am religious.”) It was my favorite service as a parish priest. I miss this simple, reverent, quiet service so much!!! And yes, somehow the Eucharist feels special – the anamnesis more palpable  – do this in remembrance of me – here where it was instituted and first celebrated.

On our first day of unstructured time (before the class starts), we explored the heart of the Palestinian Quarter of the Old City, that being the site of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and the Russian Orthodox Church featuring excavations going back to the time of Jesus. On this second and last day of unstructured time, we ambled toward (but not much into) the Jewish Quarter of the Old City, that being the site of the Western Wall and the Armenian Patriarchate. It was a process of acculturation, which goes along with overcoming jet lag. All part of getting ready for the class beginning tonight – preparation along with reading.

One mystery I have been reading about is what Jesus did in the Temple, why he did it, and what, if anything, it had to do with his crucifixion. Huge question. It has to be set in the context of a general shift in religions around the globe in the 800 BCE to 200 CE era away from animal sacrifice toward something more spiritual like bhakti (devotion) or medication practices in Hinduism, study and practice of Torah in Judaism, etc. The Jewish shift away from Temple sacrifice and toward ethical religion goes back to the 8^th Century prophets, particularly Micah and 2^nd Isaiah. The idea of initiation into the people of God and the engagement of the Kingdom mission outside the Temple authority structure was certainly part of Jesus’ message. But it doesn’t explain what looks like an assault on the Temple.

Here’s a clue. Jesus’ call to repentance may have included repentance from violent nationalistic revolt. His prophesies often related to what would happen to Judah if they persisted in a path toward such an uprising. (Borg, Wright) The words that accompanied Jesus’ symbolic action were: “My Father’s house should be a house of prayer for all people, but you have made it a den of lestos.” “Lestos” is usually translated as “thieves” and understood to mean swindlers suggesting the moneychangers and purveyors of doves were ripping off the pilgrims.

“Lestos,” however, does not mean a swindler or general practitioner of theft by chicanery or slight of hand. It means one who robs by violence. It is a bandit or brigand. In 1^st Century Judah, brigands tended to be political outlaws, more like terrorists than simple thieves. Every time Josephus uses the word “lestos” it refers to such a political outlaw. Herod’s Temple was regarded as a symbolic symbol for the nationalist uprising in Jesus’ day, just as Solomon’s Temple had been in Jeremiah’s day. Jesus echoed Jeremiah in his critique of the Temple and, again like Jeremiah, foresaw its destruction not by supernatural second sight, but by counting the number of soldiers Judah had as compared to Babylon in Jeremiah’s case or Rome in Jesus’.  This analysis courtesy of N. T. Wright. For a long time, Jesus’ prophesies were interpreted literally as the end of space-time. Given that interpretation, he was simply wrong. A more historically coherent political read of his prophesies, he was tragically right. It all happened in 70 CE.

Tonight our class began with a surprise. 17 Episcopal Idahoans are here!!! I had somehow picked up there would be a couple of folks from the potato state – but I had figured they’d probably be Catholics or Presbyterians. Then my friend, Stephanie Crumrine of Twin Falls, asked me on FB if I had seen the Idaho contingent, so I knew they would be Episcopalians. Then they turned out to be most of our class. For those who don’t know, Linda and I became Episcopalians in Boise and regard Idaho as our spiritual home.

All of a sudden, titling this blog “my happy home” did not seem ironic anymore. We met briefly and headed to the Cathedral for Eucharist. There we sang just one hymn. It was Cwm Rhonda (Guide me O thou great Jehovah – only here they sub Redeemer for Jehovah, out of what I guess is a sensibility to the Jewish prohibition on speaking the Divine Name) – which is unto Wales as Danny Boy is to Ireland. And Wales is my ancestral home. I thought as Peter said, “It is very good for us to be in this place.”

Jerusalem, My Happy Home: Part 1

Our feet are within the bounds of Jerusalem.

The trip was long and had a glitch on the front end. But all in all, it was not inordinately arduous – just long. Flying into Tel Aviv, my first impression was that it is green, very green. Immigration, customs, and security at the airport were all low key. I had expected more suspicion and firepower.

We took a cab from the airport to Jerusalem. The taxi driver was Iraqi. Felt like home. He asked where we were from. I said, “Las Vegas” and he turned around to look, impressed. That is always fun in international travel. They’ve all heard of us.

He drove us though the outskirts of Tel Aviv, which looks to be a modern high tech city. We hear the cool young Israelis live here. At first, I thought they sure have a lot of cell phone towers here. Then I realized these really are palm trees.[i]

On through the countryside. Green, verdant, in active agricultural production. We drove into the moonrise, a full moon over green hills. As we came through a canyon we saw the lights of a city on a hill. Isaiah 2.2. It is a small city on a substantial hill, but you certainly get the point. The lights are not our bright colored lights. They are simple white lights shining out over the darkened lowlands.  Matthew 5:15-16 is about letting the light of good works, the witness for justice, shine into a darkened world. Seeing Jerusalem across the valley called that text to mind.

Once we were in the city, the fireworks started. They continued into the night until we fell asleep. It is Purim. We were warmly greeted at the College by Honey, the minister of hospitality, a deacon who hails from New Orleans by way of Hawaii. She fed us left overs from a party earlier today, plied us with wine, and packed us off to our rooms – where we fell into bed and slept the night away.

Our first day began with Eucharist in a small holy dimly lit chapel of St. George’s Cathedral. There were seven in the congregation. I was the lector, and also coached the deacon on how to pronounce phylacteries. Bishop Dawani was there so we met him as well. It was a quiet, sacred Eucharist – my ideal way to worship these days. I already look forward to doing it again tomorrow.

After breakfast, we went to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. It leaves me confused. The overarching feeling is one of holy space. It has a numinous feel like John the Divine in New York only more complex and convoluted in an Orthodox sort of way. But there is the unseemly division of turf with various Christian sects “controlling” this part for a certain time and others controlling other parts for other times. The small-mindedness of trying to control and ration grace is in striking contrast to the feel of mystery in the building itself. But that is precisely what I am here to get a perspective on – the beauty of our faith and its troublesome off-putting shadow.

We stood in line to enter the structure that houses the putative burial place itself. There is something psychologically compelling about going into and out of a place so small. On the one hand, the notion that this is actually the place of the burial is so unlikely that I felt gullible and superstitious to go there at all. (I hope to go to the Garden Tomb – some distance away – which has a better claim to authenticity – but still a highly speculative one). On the other hand, I told myself that this place was rendered holy by the prayers of millions of people who had honored this as the tomb of Christ for hundreds of years. Facts matter less than prayers when it comes to bestowing sacrality.

But I was confused by the prayers too. People were weeping on the way into the tomb – and more were weeping on the way out. I am not even remotely critical of their emotions. But I do wonder what it was about. If they were weeping at the site of the crucifixion, I would have gotten that clearly – but this site commemorates the resurrection. I have known a lot of folks whose religion is so centered on Good Friday that they never make it to Easter. I wondered what was on their hearts and what hope they held for joy.

On the way back to St. George’s, we stopped at a souvenir shop. The owner said to me, “You are a bishop?” (I was not in clericals. I was in fact fairly unkempt.) “Yes, I said, but how did you know.” “I see it in your eyes,” he said. Hmmmm. I must give some thought to that one.

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[i] In Las Vegas, we disguise our cell phone towers as palm trees.

Jerusalem, My Happy Home: Prelude

“Jerusalem, my happy home,

when shall I come to thee?”

Literally tomorrow.

But the 16^th Century Hymn, Jerusalem, My Happy Home,  imagines the New Jerusalem, the Heavenly Jerusalem of the Book of Revelation.

“There David stands with harp in hand

as master of the choir;

ten thousand times would one be blest

who did that music hear.

Our Lady sings Magnificat

With tune surpassing sweet,

And blessed martyrs harmony doth ring

On every street.”

The supra-rational hope of Christians for centuries has been that the Heavenly Jerusalem is linked by some mysterious spiritual cord (chord?) to the Earthly Jerusalem to which I go tomorrow. As I shift my attention from church governance and our local struggles for a more just and free Nevada, I wonder what it is I hope to find, what I am looking for in the Earthly Jerusalem.

It is the pilgrim season but I think I do not go as a pilgrim. What is a pilgrim? What is a pilgrimage for? I no longer look for subjective spiritual experiences. What is my grail on this quest?

We made our travel plans without a clear sense of purpose. Linda and I will take a course on Jesus at St. George’s College. That is the first thing I am looking for. I want to know more about Jesus of Nazareth. Late in my clergy life, it has become important to me to know who he was.  When I first became a priest, Jesus was not so important to me as a vague notion of the Cosmic Christ. Then I met the Risen Lord through Ignatian prayer and he became the heart of my faith.

But what had the Risen Lord who dwelt in an invisible place accessible only to the religious imagination have to do with the historical Jesus. I thought the answer unknowable. I was a Jesus agnostic, and not without good cause.

The Biblical scholars who struck me as most honest said we could not know much about the historical Jesus – only the 4 literary Jesus characters of the Gospels. We could not get behind the books to find the man. The writers who painted pictures of Jesus took flimsy shards of evidence to build edifices. Conveniently the evidence always fit the picture of Jesus they wanted to paint. Luke Timothy Johnson chided them for writing books about “Jesus as I particularly like to think of him” – but it seemed to me that Johnson did the same thing. Vermes’ Jesus is a good rabbi. The Jesus Seminar gave us Jesus the cynic philosopher. Schweitzer, Jesus the apocalyptic prophet who turned out to be wrong.

As I have done my reading to prepare for this Jesus course, I have to my surprise encountered persuasive evidence based arguments for a Jesus who is pretty much the guy we find in the Bible – only we have to read the Bible in the context in which it was written. I believe now it is possible to know a great deal about Jesus of Nazareth and I hope to come back from Jerusalem knowing considerably more than I do today.

Now that I believe that such knowledge is possible, I can admit it is important. It is important because the Risen Lord I know must be one with Jesus of Nazareth if he is to be real, if he is to have flesh, if he is to connect with history where I live. Jesus matters.

One other part of my reading has captured my imagination. It is James Carroll’s Jerusalem, Jerusalem – the title, an allusion to Jesus’s lament over the city. The title evokes how the Earthly Jerusalem is the polar opposite of the Heavenly One, a place of strife and turmoil.

Carroll says to understand Jerusalem, you have to understand religion, war, and the connection between the two. Relying on Rene Gerard’s theory of sacrifice, he asks how prehistoric bloodshed on this site, how the slaughter of children on this site, how this Mt. Moriah where Abraham almost slew Isaac serves as the meeting place between our violence and our redemption – somehow playing out in the field of religion. What might the endless battles over Jerusalem tell us about strife in a local congregation or the challenges of forming relationships that would constitute a diocese? Is there a connection between the bloody power struggle that ensued after the death of David and the power struggles in churches today? What does it all say about the divisions in the wider church?

I don’t know. As I go to Jerusalem, these are thing I wonder about, things I hope to understand or perceive in a new way. But are they what God intends to show me in the City where David ruled and Jesus died? I don’t know. Perhaps we shall see.