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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.

Cousins across three faiths

What an absolutely remarkable day! We visited the Jerusalem Princess Basma Centre, a school for Palestinian children who have disabilities. We walked the stations of the cross along the Via Dolorosa worshiping as we remembered Jesus making this very journey. And we met two fathers from Parent Circle, one Palestinian and one Jew, who each lost their school-age daughters in the conflict and now tell their story as friends who seek peace. Each experience could make for a post in itself.

What struck me most deeply though was in the morning when we stepped onto the Temple Mount, a sacred spot venerated by Jews, Christians and Muslims. Airport-type security checks were required first. My heart swelled as I stood in the coolish sunshine and noticed the cast of delicious characters of three faiths, all descended from Abraham, all monotheistic.

Later, after praying at the Western Wall, I waited in the bathroom line behind two elderly-and-wrinkled Jewish women. We began laughing as we tested the doors to find the next available stall. While I couldn’t understand their words, we related in our quest to find an open door. Imagine our shared delight when this was the first one that opened as I turned the handle:

Sharing our human condition over basic needs with laughter…what could be better?

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

Thank God for levity

As the bus pulls away from our hotel each morning, Father Steve tells us a joke. Here’s an example: “Why does Jesus like donuts so much? They are usually not self-centered, unless they’re holy, that is.”

Laughing at myself is available too, like when I read a sign wrong and did my business in a private stall in the men’s restroom. I didn’t discover my error until I walked out and saw the women lined up to enter the other room, a line I had conveniently avoided.

It’s a good thing the giggles abound because again today we encountered some tough realities at Saint Vincent Orphanage as well as the West Bank barrier wall.

We are laughing and crying as we roll along.

Postscript

Jesus Wept – John 11:35

In the morning we dipped into the Jordan River where Jesus was baptized by John and in the afternoon we experienced the City of Light for the first time on our pilgrimage.

On the bus ride into town our guide, a Palestinian Christian, walked us through thousands of years of her homeland’s history. After dinner we heard from Dawod Nassar of the Tent of Nations, a family farm dedicated to bridging, located near Bethlehem.

The situation here is, in a word, complicated.

I am humbled to write more, to write at all.

I am utterly grateful to be here now.

I returned to my room and wept.

*Photo by Deborah Person