Author: labellemorena

Seyi’s Holy Land 2023: the final post!

As I reflect on what was the last day of our pilgrimage, I am also reflecting on my process of publishing my experiences to this blog. Writing is “always there” for me and poetry specifically, is always accessible wherever I am, as long as I have a pen and paper. (And if that is not available, then I’ll use my phone.) But this was my first time to share my poetry with the unknown world of the internet. It has been a process of choosing to be vulnerable while hyper aware of my words at the same time, using my core value of authenticity as the guiding light through it all.

I give many thanks to the awesome Penny for inviting me to be a guest author on “Always Bridging”. The opportunity was a wonderful gift and it deepened my processing of the pilgrimage experience. And I am grateful for those who have read these posts and joined the journey through this virtual lens.

Now with much gratitude: I present the ultimate (last) post for the series.

Pilgrimage Day 8: We started with Sunday service at St. George’s Cathedral and had the very special opportunity to meet with the archbishop. After lunch I spent time in St. George’s courtyard, where I sat in the sun writing (and re-applying my sunscreen!), soaking up the beautiful space (photo shown below). Later, a subset of us visited the Hadassah Medical Center to see the Chagall Windows. I was not previously familiar with this famous artist’s work. It was another wonderful opportunity to observe beautiful art and learn about its inspiration and history. The Medical Center also featured other artwork; my favorite piece was the sculpture shown in the photo above. I deliberately captured “Healing Our World Together” in the background.

I wrote my last poem for the pilgrimage during my time in St. George’s courtyard that afternoon, my final letter to the Holy Land.

3/12/2023 1:26 pm

Dear Living Stones,

In courtyard peace, we sit at nexus with time’s changing hand. A people who wander from exile to exile the other. Let us remember this: We are all of the land. In bread and olives, the cheese offers this blessing for new life. Water flows upstream to see the gifts that The Fountain spoke to The Well. Here I sit, with birds calling for a new way to be. The Fountain reminds me that there is always room for renewal in its pool. Just come closer.

In stillness, today there is not a cloud in abundant sky to cover my shame. I am still afraid. Fear binds me to this chair draped over thorns, vines in regret. But even the fruit fly who sips my coffee reminds me that I am okay.

In grace, I kneel before The Fountain. Flounder dreams below arches of the bishop blessed. Surrender sealed in water holy. Relinquish all you carry to the sacred: this pool.

In reflection, I see the bird nest hide. I have lost my shadow. We drown our memories together. It is here that I find my peace in St. George’s courtyard, underneath God’s grace in the Jerusalem Sun.

In depth with gratitude,

Seyi

It has been four weeks since we returned from the Holy Land pilgrimage. I did not post on the last two days of our trip for the sake of my sleep: the whole falling asleep after dinner and waking up to post before midnight was taking its toll. But I did maintain my daily poetry writing, so I have two last poems to share. Consider this the wrap up for the “Holy Land 2023 (Seyi)” series! This will actually be my penultimate post to cover our second to last day; I’ll post the last day of the journey separately.

Note: While the poems were written four weeks ago (and dated accordingly), my preamble reflections are from today looking back at memories and photos.

Pilgrimage Day 7: We started our day visiting a crusader church in Abu Gosh. The church had a beautiful crypt where I felt this somber peace. Then we journeyed up a hill to have our last group Eucharist overlooking the city (photo shown above). I remember it was so windy that day; I tightly wrapped my prayer shawl around my head. There were a couple highlights for me that morning. We sang “There is a Balm in Gilead” twice: first as a group inside the crusader church and then during the Eucharist as Dean Steve prepared the table for communion. This is one of my favorite songs, a traditional African American spiritual, and it melts my heart every time I hear the Compline Choir sing it at St. Mark’s Cathedral. A second highlight was that we did the peace during service in the tradition where everyone says peace to every person in the group. I found this very special as we were approaching the end of our journey together.

Later we returned to the Judean desert to visit Qumran, the site where they discovered the Dead Sea scrolls. I took the photo below as we left Qumran, with a view of the Dead Sea in the background. We then spent the afternoon swimming in the Dead Sea, which was fantastic! You had to float on your back and keep your head above water; it was an unexpected core workout. I kept trying to face the mountains of Jordan as I floated in sea. The view of the mountains was epic. I felt both tranquility and awe as I watched them on the beautiful clear day. And thus my inspiration for the penultimate day of our pilgrimage.

Dead Sea Drift

3/11/2023

What is dead shall perish in salt mine stars. What is life shall lift on

To sea above. Then greet forward the mountains for Jordan as you

Stand. We float under, together, this journey through these

Remembered lands. Hide our truth in caves with a whisper, on

Scrolls to make a poor man’s shoes. Walk path of The Teacher,

Your Prophet, My Redeemer, Our Lord.

The procession continues.

We hold our heads above to find our feet have already

Arrived. You cannot stand on this floor. You cannot face

The dead world down. You can only lift your heart

Up to sky, wrap your skin in mud ancient, and give

Thanks for your dried eyes. We entered this journey as

Strangers, learned to sing as friends; now our harmonies are

So subtle. You might have to be silent to see

This joy. Here we are, adrift in the Sea

Dead. Some hold on to land, others release the water. I wade

In clouds. Together we float on. Unified in memories,

Tethered by God’s grace in this,

His Holy Land.

Rays of sunshine captured in a view of the Judean Dessert.

Pilgrimage Day 6. There is often this saying that I hear people use about “being comfortable with the uncomfortable”. As our bus rolled into an Israeli settlement in the West Bank: I felt very uncomfortable. I also took to heart the preamble to our visit: we were meeting with a settler who lived there to learn about their perspective and have a respectful conversation. We were not there to debate. So I was fully present with our host as I sat on a (seriously) low bench with an expansive view of the beautiful Judean dessert behind us (photo shown above). I listened to him with an open heart and discerning mind. And I sat there with the resulting tension within me. The journey to seek understanding does not mean that we must agree with one another, but it does mean that we are able to see each other’s humanity. I was grateful for this opportunity to see our host’s humanity. I was also encouraged by his genuine yearning for peace. He believed that finding a resolution to this conflict between Israel and Palestine could serve as a light to the rest of the world.

We subsequently visited Mount Zion and the Church of St Peter in Gallicantu. I felt a deep sadness while down in the dungeon where Jesus spent the last night of his life in human form. Then after group prayer in the dungeon, I spent some time on my own in the upper church. I was awestruck by its colorful interior and the abundance of light that came through the dome. It lifted and soothed my spirit. The verse “All shall be well” started playing in my head from the song “Annunciation” by Kevin Siegfried. It is an Advent song that comes to me often throughout the year. And with this beauty and calm that followed the sadness and tension, I wrote the following epistolary poem while under the glorious dome.

3/10/2023 12:09 pm

Dear All Shall Be Well,

You play on repeat in my heart as I seek peace on this torn land. Sparkle gemstone raised over dungeon depths; I find stillness under arches. Transcending light, you watch over my day. Where you suffered, I ponder the night. I smell fresh eternal words in reflection. Dance the angels in circles above your altar. The sacred made colorful in domes.

Fall from restless grace these moments made series; we are draped in longing robes filled mosaic with glass. A call to prayer breaks the night; I waited for silence. Then troubles all left me to be with you, Lord. It is there I sit, in the light of your love. A New Day. You are the lute that sings hope to me. And in this verse I feel it is true: All Shall Be Well.

Faithful Listening

Yesterday was the fifth day of the Pilgrimage. It started early with a 7:30 am departure from Bethlehem. I still managed to do my daily morning meditation (nine minutes on “A Call to Presence”), squeezed in breakfast in seven minutes, and made it to the bus at 7:24 am. My feelings around prayer this day, though, could not be bounded by time limits and anxious eyes on watches.

We returned to Jerusalem and visited the Temple Mount. I am grateful for the time that we had at the Western Wall, the holy site for the Jewish faith. I prayed at the Wall and experienced some of my deepest spiritual connection; it was on par with my experience at the Jordan River. We then visited the outside of the Dome of the Rock (photo above) and Al Aqsa Mosque, St. Anne’s Church, and we completed the morning by walking the Stations of the Cross together with many other pilgrimage groups. I kept my hair covered with my prayer shawl for much of the morning, both out of respect for the other faiths and with a deepened connection to my own Christian faith.

I am the product of a multifaith union. My mother is a Christian and my father was a Muslim. My late father was on my mind for much of my time outside the Dome of the Rock; I am hopeful that he is proud that I made it to this holy site. The multifaith experience of praying and sharing faithful space at the Temple Mount was particularly special for me on this day of pilgrimage.

And now that I am up in the wee hours of night because I took a nap after dinner, here are a couple poems inspired by a faithful morning.

Two Minutes

(A poem written in two minutes-ish)

Two minutes to have
Two minutes to be 
Two minutes to love
Two minutes to dream.
Two minutes to wander
Two minutes to lose
Two minutes to call
Two minutes to scorn.
Two minutes to walk
Two minutes to fall
Two minutes to ache
Two minutes to say no
Two minutes to listen
Two minutes to let go.
Two minutes that I feel
Two minutes that end
"You have two minutes and your time starts now."
And I know 
That my prayers to God are worth more
Than the binds of this earth could offer.

Wall West

3/10/2023 2:53 am

I wrote down the desires of my heart. God already knows. In courtyard of holy, I cover my head: the daughter of a Christian mother and a Muslim father. I pray at the Western Wall with my Jewish cousins, my sister in Christ by my side. God hears all our prayers together, even as layers in voice blend crystals for ears. Sunshine pulls me forward, winds lift my back, and the Rock holds gravity for us all.

A Wall protected by stone, I feel faith of ages. Touch the Spirit longing with finger tips. God already knows. We cannot see the reason, we cannot see the pull. You may stand in doubt watching our tired feet. My faith calls me to stand on, when my soul feels no more. Numb to time, numb to limits, numb to eyes that see me bleed. I found my place for prayer in stone hands. And so, I stand with my sisters in faith at Wall West.

Lift up, we raise our prayers to God, sliver by sliver. He already knows. Backward glides, I face the Wall in hope, my hair still covered, heart still longing, my spirit exposed. And I already know. For God has never turned His back on me.

Pilgrimage Day 4: we spent the day entirely in Bethlehem. While I definitely appreciated the sacred Christian sites that we visited, it was the moments of living into present day ministry that moved me the most. We spent the morning at St. Vincent Creche Orphanage for abandoned children, where we had a morning Eucharist before meeting the young children there (who were up to the age of six). We also spent some time at the Separation Wall that divides Israel from the West Bank. I returned to The Wall later in the afternoon with some fellow pilgrims to spend time at Banksy’s Walled Off Hotel (photo above). Returning to The Wall was not on the official pilgrimage itinerary; detours during pilgrimage are also a part of the journey.

I have a mixture of strong emotions and thoughts around what I saw today. I am grateful to our Dean Steve for his homily this morning: it both framed the day and served as a compass for me to navigate through the experience. What stood out to me most from the sermon was the call to 1) resist the temptation for judgement and 2) hold on to hope.

The epistolary poem below came to me after our group reflection (where I finally allowed some tears to fall), dinner, and a nap.

Hold on to Hope

3/8/2023 11:10 pm

Dear Hope,

I wait for you in wee hours of revelation, low with minutes fat on expectations. And your presence flows from worn courage still. In an amphitheater of cruelty, I struggle to abstain from the war of judgements. You remind me that my work is not to follow knights into battles of hatred endless. My work is in reconciling that which I do not understand; to build compassion in an oasis unknown.

You are my fearless guide on roads ripe with rose thorns, haunted by confessions from corporate soldiers. They whisper back to a conscience left long before they sharpened bayonets, reloaded bullets, and decorated grenades.

You give me a strength to smile when my heart drowns in sadness; my feet ache in defiance. You show me that knowing you is to touch the Darkness, smell the Fear, and feel God’s Love all around nonetheless. Zip up cobble stone fortresses to stand down occupied caves. There is abundance this night. Hope is invitation at dusk to let go. Let go of anger, let go of laments, lay down in surrender at Manger Square. No wall can separate you from the angels’ comfort that all shall be well. And even they weep for orphans left in the streets. Trauma upon trauma, nightmare upon dream. Hope is the blanket that holds us all.

You are the ground spring that quenches gaps under joy and kisses memories too heavy to pull. You are the mountain path that living stones walk on through cold desert days. You are the promise everyday saints profess in smiles. And you… are… the sunrise who caresses our collective awakening.

I hold on to you, Hope, on this scattered morning and in the broken glass of night. You bind my fragments together in a beloved harmony that sometimes is out of tune, but is a song to God’s purpose, nonetheless.

Still Tuning