Crossroads

On Sunday morning, I traveled with a Tantur group to Sunday Mass at a Benedictine Monastery and its church, St. Mary’s of the Resurrection, in Abu Ghosh, an Arab village west of Jerusalem. In the half-hour it took to get there, our Librarian at Tantur (herself a native of France who has spent time at this monastery) told us about the history of the place and the two communities who live there, both French: a community of nuns headed by the Mother Prioress, and a community of monks and priests, headed by the Father Abbot. We also listened to the Mass readings in English, as the Mass would feature these readings in French.

The community’s ministries are three-fold: (1) the usual prayer, work and hospitality of any Benedictine community; (2) ecumenical outreach, especially to the many Eastern Orthodox churches in the region; and (3) outreach to local Muslims in the village of Abu Ghosh.

This is my kind of place! Men and women religious, side by side; and working both ecumenical and interfaith engagement — exactly what I think we need to heal the world.

Before Mass, we wandered around the “Meditation Gardens” that surround the Abbey — lush gardens with palm, olive and lemon trees, grape vines, and every manner of growing and flowering plants. Stone walls line the walkways, and it is a place of great serenity and beauty.

Here are some photos I took. Notice the minaret in the center photo, its tower just barely peeking out on the left of the Abbey turret, seemingly side by side with the Abbey (but in fact, some distance away in the village).

 

The Church itself was built in 1143 by Crusaders (Hospitaller Order of St. John, now the Knights of Malta). It was built on earlier Roman ruins, but archeological evidence and biblical references document human activity on this site for at least 6000 years. A spring of fresh water helped draw and keep civilization after civilization there.

The Crusaders believed they built the Church on the site of the encounter with the risen Jesus at Emmaus described in the Gospel of Luke (Ch. 24, v. 13-35). In fact, scholars still debate the location of that biblical story. The Church and property were given to France in 1873, and in 1900, a monastery was added. Various orders of French monastics occupied the monastery since then, until the current order of nuns, monks and priests arrived from Normandy in 1976. As with all Benedictines, hospitality is central to their ministry, and they welcome visitors warmly.

The interior of the Church is beautiful, with some of the frescos preserved from the 12th century. The photo below shows the interior of the Church, just as it looked to me, a visitor in the rows of benches toward the rear of the church. The monks and nuns (as well as a few priests in our group who were welcomed to concelebrate the mass) were seated choir style in the wooden seats shown in the photo.

It was a beautiful mass, with nuns and monks as well as the priests serving roles in the liturgy. Every part of the mass was sung, all of it in either French or Latin (I could even sing along with some of the Latin!). When the the Gospel was sung by the presiding priest, one of the nuns played an oud, a very special stringed instrument owned by the Abbey (ouds are one of a huge family of stringed instruments used in various places throughout the Middle East).

 

I felt so much “at home” at this abbey, maybe because of all the orders of religious, I know the Benedictines best, having spent time for years with the Benedictine Sisters of Erie, Pennsylvania. I most certainly hope to go back to Abu Ghosh, and explore the village as well as spend more time at the Abbey before I leave Israel in the spring.

The Abbey has a wonderful (and unusual) website, if you’re interested in exploring more:   https://abbaye-abugosh.info/en/home/

 

 

 

 

 

Steven Tompkins, a man I don’t know, posted to Facebook this weekend that he and a delegation of “politically involved New Englanders” had arrived in Israel to meet with their Israeli counterparts to learn about each others’ political systems.  I learned that Mr. Tompkins is Sheriff (an elected position) of Suffolk County, which includes Boston.

Why did I see this post?

A friend of mine on Cape Cod is a friend of his, and so I was notified when she posted a reply, telling him that her friend (me), the former president of Cape Cod Community College, was also in Israel. More than 220 other people posted messages to this man, messages of encouragement and congratulations, cheering him on in his mission.

If you know Facebook, you know that this sort of interaction is quite common on the Facebook platform. So what struck me as remarkable about this one?

Of the 220+ replies, I would estimate that at least a third of them said, often among other words, “Be safe!” or variations thereof. That too is an interaction that is quite familiar to me. As I prepared to depart for my seven months at Tantur, my friends and family (too many of them to count) also said “Be safe!” and variations of it. Often they accompanied the sentiment with a promise to pray for me.

I came to understand these are expressions not only of caring for me, but also a signal that they believe Israel to be a place of uncertain safety. That people make the same comments to a man whose profession is public safety reaffirms my interpretation.

“Don’t worry,” I would reply, “I am safer there than in gun-crazed USA!”

Unfortunately my words turned out to be more prescient than I would ever want. Just in the two months since I came to Israel, the Las Vegas shooter killed dozens of people and injured hundreds more, and in a tiny town in Texas, a shooter killed 26 people as they prayed at their Sunday morning church service. And those are only the “big” ones that receive huge media attention. At the rate of gun deaths in the U.S. (more than 30,000 a year), another 5000 people, at least, have died by gun violence since I left the US in early September.

It’s interesting (in a macabre sort of way) to experience these incidents from afar. Over and over, I was asked by Israelis and Palestinians, and visitors here at Tantur from all over the world, “Why? Why does the US not do something, anything to stop this??”

I have no answer. By far, the US allows more guns in private hands than any other nation on Earth. By far, more gun deaths occur in the US than any other nation on Earth. It is a record that should shame us.

Some politicians and public officials rushed to say that the shooters in these two cases were mentally ill, and indeed they were. But the gun defenders offer this “excuse” as if we can’t prevent the mentally ill from “going off” on shooting sprees. First of all, this defames people with mental illness, the vast majority of whom are not violent at all. And second, it begs the question: mental illness exists in other countries too, yet they don’t have this shocking incidence of mass shootings, not even close.

We have to do better. The world is watching.

 

 

This very week marks three important anniversaries here in Israel, all of them resulting in much pain and conflict. In public ceremonies recognizing these historic events, the mood is somber and public figures speak of “commemoration” not “celebration.”  Let me recognize also that some of you — dear Crossroads readers — know far more than I do about these events and their aftermath, while others of you have had little reason to know these histories. So I dare to write because they have commanded so much public attention and debate throughout the world but most particularly here in Israel.

October 31, 2017 – 500th anniversary of Martin Luther’s 95 Theses nailed on the Wittenberg Cathedral door. We’ve had many commemorative events including a lecture here at Tantur and a culminating observance, a worship service on October 31 at the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer in the Old City of Jerusalem.

The lecture was fascinating: a Luther scholar from Finland and an ordained Lutheran cleric (and university administrator) discussed Luther’s views of the “Other Children of Abraham” — namely Jews and Muslims. It’s not pretty. Though I knew this would be the case, I’m no scholar of Luther and the actual quotes from his published work were quite shocking to me.

In fact, I felt embarrassed to hear those words spoken aloud when I knew our audience included at least one Jew, a member of the staff here at Tantur. Afterward, he told me he had read Jewish scholars who wrote equally venomous condemnations of Gentiles. Regardless, it seems to me that the power differential during centuries of Christian persecution of Jews meant that Luther’s words ranked higher on the “Despicable Scale.”

It was also fascinating to hear that Luther never expected the Pope to be so outraged as to excommunicate him; rather Luther thought he would be able to drive reform from within the Roman church. The scholars theorized that because the Pope was also fighting the Crusades for dominance in the Holy Land, he was driven to excommunicate Luther because he didn’t want dissension in his own ranks that could weaken his position. At the same time, we learned that the leader of the Turks in the battles for the Holy Land, Suleiman, developed an abiding interest in learning more about Luther – a classic case of “the enemy of my enemy is my friend!”

The scores of Christian sects that emerged from the metaphorical (and sometimes actual) fires of the Protestant Reformation all seem to have a stake here in the Holy Land. Along with many heartfelt ecumenical efforts, we also have endless conflicts and shifting bargains over who gets to do what, and when at all the Christian holy sites.

November 2, 2017 – 100th anniversary of the Balfour Declaration, an act of arrogant colonialism by the British, who literally claimed the right to determine the future of the land then known as Palestine, now Israel. The Declaration — a letter by British Foreign Secretary Lord Arthur Balfour to a leading British Zionist, Baron Lionel Walter Rothschild — declared British support for a homeland for the Jewish people. It laid the foundation for the 1948 creation of the modern state of Israel.

It also said clearly that “nothing shall be done which may prejudice the civil and religious rights of existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine” but that promise has not been kept. Both Christian and Muslim Arabs view the Declaration with wrath. Among Jewish sects, the liberals (Reform & Conservative) are frequently embarrassed and apologetic, while the ultra-Orthodox think it didn’t go far enough.

In the lead-up to the 100-year anniversary of the Declaration, the British government admitted that the Balfour Declaration should have explicitly protected the civil, political and religious rights of the people who lived there before Israel was created, but I think the statement in the original Declaration actually does state that clearly. The problem is that the commitment has not been honored.

The decades that followed the Declaration saw increasing migration of Jews to Palestine, even more so after World War II in the aftermath of the Holocaust. While many Jews see the establishment of Israel as at least some reparation for the unspeakable crimes of the Holocaust, the Muslim and Christian Arabs (Palestinians and others) were not perpetrators of the Holocaust but were disenfranchised from their own land. The bitter fruit of the Balfour Declaration still poisons and thwarts diplomatic efforts in this land.

November 4, 2017 — 22nd anniversary of the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin, then Prime Minister of Israel for the second time, having served as PM in the 1970s. Rabin was vigorously pursuing peace with Arabs through the process that came to be known as the Oslo Accord. Ironies over his death abound, and still resonate today in Israel, along with great sorrow over missed opportunity.

The assassin was Yigal Amir, a law student at Bar-Elon University and a right-wing radical who was enraged by Rabin’s concessions in pursuit of the peace accord and who claimed justification under Jewish law, a claim rejected by rabbinical scholars. In Israel’s political scene at the time, Benjamin Netanyahu, the current Prime Minister of Israel, led the opposition to the peace accord and some accused him of inciting the violence that led to the assassination, a charge that Netanyahu vigorously denies.

The murder took place as Rabin led a public rally to build support for the Oslo Accord. The assassin fired 3 shots and was subdued almost immediately by people in the crowd. Rabin was rushed to the hospital but died on the operating table within 40 minutes. In his pocket were the blood-stained lyrics of a famous Israeli peace song, Shir LaShalom which you can listen to here (with English subtitles):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sz8O0OcAA3c

Some believe all hope for peace died with him. Others refuse to give up, and the echoes of the disagreements over how and whether to achieve peace still mingle with the hope for peace, even in the negotiations over the details and language of the commemoration of Rabin’s death that will take place on November 4.

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The coinciding ceremonies and other public events for these three anniversaries, all in the same week, are a poignant reminder of how far we have to go, how urgently we must go to forge peace in the Holy Land.

 

I added one photo to the blog entry I posted just a few days ago, a picture of the olives as they lay on that cement floor, waiting to be winnowed from the leaves and twigs. But now, I also got a “movie” — 33 seconds of fast-motion video recording of workers doing the harvest. I thought I’d create a new blog for this — partly because the size of the file is very large, and I hope this works! But also because this way, all of you who subscribe will get a notice that something new is posted! Don’t worry, the beginning and end look like they’re upside down, but the film plays right-side up!

The video clip belongs to Allyson Van Maaren,  whose husband John is one of the doctoral fellows at Tantur, and the film shows both Allyson and her daughter Amanda helping. Allyson is climbing trees, while 15-month old Amanda is inspecting the soil!

A shorter version of this first appeared as my monthly column in my hometown newspaper, the Barnstable Patriot: http://www.barnstablepatriot.com/news/20171024/crossroads-harvest-time-in-holy-land  (27 October 2017)

Thinking of harvest time back home on Cape Cod draws to mind marshes clothed in bright red floating cranberries that are pictured in newspapers and cheer the hearts of those who frequent the back roads and byways of Cape Cod. Although commercial cranberry growers have dwindled in modern times, we still celebrate the sight of the bogs where they dot the landscape of the Cape, especially in their autumn splendor.

Likewise, it is harvest time in the Holy Land, in this case, the olive trees are ready to drop oil-rich savory treasures. Here the colors are muted: brown, stony fields form the backdrop for loosely scattered trees that are more broad than tall. The thick canopy of tangled branches support slender, dusty green leaves and black, brown or green olives, forming a crown held aloft by gnarly, twisted trunks. Only by standing very close to the trees can one see the precious thousands of olives that every tree will yield. The locals say that the trees produce on a biennial basis: every two years, the crop is bounteous in number, size and quality of olives, while in the alternate year, the trees seem to hold back on production, saving energy for the bumper crop the following year.

Both harvests require intensive labor of hands, legs, backs, and nowadays, machinery to bring the harvest to tables eager for their bounty. Whether cranberry bogs on Cape Cod or olive trees in the Judean hills, harvest time conjures up nostalgia for the old ways along with gratitude for the gifts of Mother Nature.

Tantur Ecumenical Institute, with its scholarly and interfaith missions, seems an unlikely steward of the olive harvest, but history reveals how Tantur came to manage some 500 olive trees on 122 dunam (about 30 acres). The property lies in what was once the hilly rural terrain between Jerusalem and Bethlehem. In recent decades, however, development has blurred the line between the city and its neighboring village. In the past couple decades, commercial, residential and highway construction now blur the edges: were it not for “the Wall” (Netenyahu’s so-called “Security Fence”), one couldn’t really see where Jerusalem ends and Bethlehem begins.

In the late 1800s, many Christian organizations began bringing various ministries to the Holy Land – schools, churches, medical services, and so on. Some denominations suspected that the intent of the others was to gain converts, and a kind of competition developed.

One group that moved in during that time was an Austrian chapter of the Knights of Malta, whose ministries have emphasized healthcare. They acquired the property where Tantur now sits, and built a hospital. The Knights left the surrounding olive groves intact, and preserved the agricultural enterprise along with their healthcare mission.

Later, the British controlled the property and used it to hold Italian prisoners of war during World War II. Finally, Notre Dame University purchased it in 1972, responding to Pope Paul VI’s request that they establish in Jerusalem a center of interfaith engagement and scholarship, in order to fulfill the interfaith commitments of the Second Vatican Council. Like the Knights of Malta, Tantur continues to cultivate and harvest the olives.

As many know, the olive trees that thrive in this dry, sandy soil loom large in biblical stories and historical records. Museums often display the large pottery jars that were used to hold olive oil and transport it, even on ships to places far from its production. Olive oil was precious for both cooking and light. And the trees are capable of extremely long life.

It takes five or six years for newly planted trees to begin to produce fruit plentiful enough for harvest, but then, year after year – even generation after generation – they continue to release their bounty to whoever is willing to devote the labor needed to harvest the olives.

Many people believe that some of the olive trees in the Garden of Gethsemane were there when Jesus meditated in agony on the night before he was crucified. Though possible, it’s unlikely. The average life span of these trees is 500 years, which still makes them among the longest-living trees on the planet. It is said there is one olive tree on earth that’s been certified to be 2000 years old, but attempts at carbon dating the trees in Jerusalem have been thwarted by the way the trees grow, gradually hollowing out in their trunks, where new growth then springs up. So the age of Gethsemane’s trees remains a question.

For centuries before Christ, however, and in all the centuries since, the olive harvest has been a mainstay of life, culture and economy throughout the regions surrounding the eastern Mediterranean. It’s been a rare privilege to witness the harvest here at Tantur.

In October, the harvest begins, and it goes on for many weeks. One by one, tree by tree, workers spread large sheets of porous fabric under the trees and climb the trees, literally shaking the trees and branches to loosen the olives. They move their ladders from tree to tree, and usually, the shaking doesn’t loosen all the olives, so workers “comb” the branches with their hands. It is hard physical labor, and although mechanical aids for loosening the olives are now available, many old-timers don’t like those devices, believing they bruise the olives and damage trees.

As the cloths fill with olives, they are gathered into wheelbarrows and transported to the cement floor of a garage-like room on the backside of Tantur, where workers winnow the olives, separating the leaves and twigs that cling, as these would adulterate the olive oil. Larger olives are cured in Tantur’s kitchen and served at meals, but most are bagged and about once a week, brought to the commercial olive press in Beit Jala, a small nearby town.

At the olive press, the bags are marked and workers wait, sometimes for hours, for their turn at the press. Jars of fresh olive oil are the end reward for all this work. The olive oil is then shared 50/50 between the Palestinian workers who do this hard physical labor, and Tantur, whose chef uses the oil all year for the meals we enjoy here.

Like the cranberry bogs on Cape Cod, the land bearing olive groves sometimes becomes more valuable to the owners if sold to developers, and as the olive groves decline in number and size, the price of olive oil escalates. It’s a familiar story as the agricultural age ceded to the industrial age, and perhaps explains why we nostalgically cling to the vestiges of our bogs on Cape Cod and the olive groves in Jerusalem.

Photo by Diana Sayegh, Tantur staff.

A shorter version of this first appeared as my monthly column in my hometown newspaper, the Barnstable Patriot: http://www.barnstablepatriot.com/news/20171024/crossroads-harvest-time-in-holy-land  (27 October 2017)

One benefit of living at Tantur is the multitude of clergy here for various programs, and from various faith traditions. One can worship with others almost every day — Catholic masses, Syrian Catholic, Anglican, masses in Greek or French, other Christian services as well as prayers in Jewish or Muslim traditions. The opportunities are nearly endless.

Last week, however, I joined two masses that were both remarkable and moving, and could not be more different.

The Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem’s Old City is one of the holiest sites in Christendom, believed to be the site of the tomb of Jesus. As one enters, a flat stone slab greets you, usually surrounded by worshippers who touch it, venerate it, believing it to be the stone upon which Jesus’ body was anointed before placement in the tomb.

Almost all day from 9 am onward, the Church is crowded with people, tourists and locals alike. In the innermost part of the church, is a chapel with an outer chamber (small) and an inner chamber (tiny) that are believed to be the actual tomb of Christ. This innermost two-chamber “tomb” has been adorned and decorated in marble, gold, precious stones, candles and lamps — hardly the way it would have looked in the time of Jesus. Never mind that assertions about the tomb are disputed by scholars — these places have been sanctified by the prayers of the faithful.

Most of the time, the line to enter those chambers snakes around the outer expanse of the church, hundreds of people waiting for their chance to enter the two-room “tomb.” Very early in the morning, however, one might encounter few crowds, and indeed, groups with a priest may make a reservation to celebrate mass there. Ours was at 6 a.m. last Wednesday, so we left Tantur in our shuttle bus in the dark, then walked through the quiet streets of the Old City to get to the church. The Continuing Ed Group, as we call them, here for a 3-month program of retreat and learning, includes 5 priests.

All of them robed, one of them was the main celebrant while the others took turns standing beside the primary celebrant at the altar in the tiny inner chamber during the mass. The rest of us (20 or so, including several faithful who just happened to be in the church and joined our group) stood in the small outer chamber, and each of us took a turn to go (bent from the waist to clear the tiny door) and stand with the celebrants at the inner chamber’s altar. At the Eucharist, the priests came out of the inner chamber to serve communion to all of us who stood in the outer room.

It was in all respects, right down to the English language, the mass with which I’m so familiar, yet it was a mass like no other I had ever joined. It was over in a half-hour, and we cleared out to make way for the next group and their reservation. After another 30 minutes or so of quiet reflection, we emerged from the Church into the streets, first of the Old City, then the more modern parts of the City, which were filling gradually with people beginning their morning, and on that particular day, large groups and families of Orthodox Jews streaming their way to synagogues to celebrate another day of Sukkot, the week-long Jewish festival that ends the autumn Jewish holidays.

Three days later, the second liturgy: in Arabic. Every Saturday evening, a local Palestinian Catholic community uses Tantur’s chapel to celebrate their vigil Mass.

The chapel in this picture looks a bit forlorn and even cold. The Palestinian Catholic community, though numbering only about 20, fill it with warmth and joyful song. I had attended this mass the previous week, so I knew what to expect (I thought).

Last week, two religious sisters in habits were enormously welcoming but seemed a bit worried that perhaps I and Brother John (one of the Continuing Ed group) had stumbled into something we didn’t understand. They spoke to the priest, a Franciscan in his brown robes and sandals, who came to us and spoke in English: did we understand the mass is in Arabic?

Oh yes, we said, we wanted to join them. No problem, I’ve always liked going to masses in other languages. The mass is always the mass, you know what’s going on even if you don’t understand the local language. After all, I grew up with the Latin mass!

Among the 20 people attending were older and younger men, families with small children, women ranging from older teens to the very elderly. The singing was hearty and beautiful, echoing off the marble walls of the chapel. A couple of the songs John and I even knew by melody if not the Arabic words. One family with children contributed their boy — perhaps 7 or so — to ring the bells at the Consecration and to pass the donation basket, tasks he obviously enjoyed enormously — his beaming smiles could’ve lit the room in pitch dark!

This past Saturday evening, I attended that mass again, this time with another of the Continuing Ed group, Sister Agnes from Hong Kong. She had the Order of the Mass on her handheld tablet, in Chinese. After brief consultation with the Arabic-speaking sisters, the same ones who had welcomed us the previous week, the priest (a different one this time) brought me an English Bible, opened to the New Testament Reading for that vigil mass (in this case, one of Paul’s letters to the Philippians) and asked me to read it, in English, at the right time in the mass.

I hesitated — I’m a lector, and I love to read for masses, but if I read in English, wouldn’t there be members of the congregation who wouldn’t understand? No matter, said the priest — they have their own “Order of the Mass” and indeed, I had noticed that the week previous — everyone followed along with the Arabic text of the readings, the responses, the lyrics of the songs in their weekly mass leaflets.

So the priest celebrated in Arabic, songs rang out in Arabic, the congregation gave Arabic responses. One layman in the congregation read the Old Testament portion in Arabic, and then gestured me to the podium for my English reading of Paul. Exchanging the Sign of Peace could not have been more authentic, fully understood no matter the language — As-salamu ‘alaykum.

It was an extraordinary gesture of hospitality to include me in their Eucharistic celebration — truly a communion.

One of the unexpected and delightful aspects of living at Tantur is the presence of children. Many of them. Some staff and graduate students doing research or writing their dissertations are the parents of young children — 8 of them as of last week, but that census is always changing as people come and go.

Joseph. Sebastian. Carmel. Zoe. Ari. Amanda. Rowan. Daniel. Ranging in age from 14 months to 10 years. And quite a cast of characters they are. Meals in the common dining room are always convivial, but also entertaining with the antics and charm of the kids. Particularly in the dazed aftermath of the massacre in Las Vegas last week, the children provided a welcome and joyful diversion for at least this adult.

A couple weeks ago, a volunteer couple (Dana and Maureen, themselves grandparents) decided the children needed more outdoor toys, and a kids’ party to inaugurate the new toys. The Rector dug into the budget to buy, among other things, an inflatable pool and a slide. Maureen saw to the brownies, and in a storeroom somewhere in this huge facility, Dana found an ice cream maker, the old-fashioned kind that requires ice and salt around the central reservoir filled with cream, sugar, vanilla and egg… and a hand-crank (the older kids were put to work on the crank!).

Maureen was designer and referee for the games: relay races including the 3-legged variety; another involving an egg (raw) on a spoon held aloft while running; and a third required a plastic spoon held between upper lip and nose while holding a paper plate between the knees. It’s hard to say who won, but the volume of laughter measured the fun. And not only the kids: parents and graduate students jumped right into the fun too.

The children were not only having fun — they were watching the adults have fun — no alcohol, no daredevil antics, no laughter at anyone’s expense, just good great joy. They’ll remember this in a few years when they may see other less wholesome ways of partying.

Another example: in the dining room recently, we had rice noodles for supper, tomato sauce to top them, and if you wanted, pieces of chicken. One of the boys, I noticed, was picking up masses of noodles with his fork, lifting it to his mouth, and biting off chunks of the mass. Some strands slapped his face, others fell back to his plate. I was using what I think of as the “Italian method” — twirling some noodles on the end of a fork until I had a nice, tight ball the right size to fit my mouth without the noodles painting my face. After a few minutes, I saw the boy was imitating my method.

The children are watching. No matter what we do, they are watching, and they will imitate us. Let’s remember that as we react and move forward after the horrific murders in Las Vegas. The children are watching.

We left Tantur Ecumenical Institute in a small bus, headed for the Old City of Jerusalem. At the bottom of the hill, as the gate slid open, we saw two cars perched on the islands between inbound and outbound lanes, each with a wooden platform mounted on its roof, topped by a Jewish man dancing in raucous joy. Aside from the garb that told us they were Orthodox Jews, they would have looked at home in any dance club in London or New York City.

They are members of a sect of Judaism called Nana-Nachman (after their leader Rabbi Nachman), and they believe the Messiah will come sooner if the world has more joy, and so they dance – just one of many varieties of Judaism in this land.

At the Old City, we gathered at the Jaffa Gate, about 20 of us from Tantur, – staff, volunteers, clergy and religious, professors and doctoral students – and we waited while others joined us from many of the dozen or so organizations that participate in “Praying  Together in Jerusalem.

A brochure explains in English, Hebrew and Arabic: “Praying Together in Jerusalem is a movement whose participants believe in the power of side-by-side prayer to bring friendship, respect and, ultimately, peace between people of all faiths. Gatherings have been held since October, 2015 on the last Thursday of every month at sunset, … praying at various venues within and outside the walls. Our hope is to be joined by members of all faiths who wish to show their love of the Holy City and all its inhabitants through a public expression of our faith.”

The leaders were Russ, a Holy Cross priest who is Rector of Tantur, and Pita, a British-born Jewish woman (two of the co-founders), and when the evening advanced enough toward sunset and the group had swelled to a certain size, they organized us to walk through the Old City to the Dormition Abbey (a Christian site) which is also the home of the Tomb of David (a Jewish site).

Then we climbed, up, up, up, stone steps and then wooden steps, to the roof with a magnificent view of Jerusalem at sunset.

The leaders explained the vision, especially for those joining for the first time, and they also explained that while ordinarily Muslims join us, only Christians and Jews were present tonight because of a tense political situation in the city this week. Israeli authorities were clamping down more than usual on freedom of movement for Muslims, especially in the Old City. There had been a killing of three Israelis (one soldier, two border guards) at a checkpoint earlier this week. Jewish High Holy Days were in progress, with Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year for Jews, to begin at sundown on Friday. It had been impossible for the Muslims to get to the Old City for Thursday night’s Praying Together in Jerusalem.

So we gathered all together briefly, then the Jewish participants turned toward the heart of Jerusalem to pray in their tradition, and the Christians formed a circle to pray in our tradition. Fr. Russ led us in a service of Prayer for Peace in Israel and Palestine, a beautiful service that concluded with singing the St. Francis Prayer (“Make Me a Channel for Your Peace”). Finally, we all came together again, reflecting on our common value to find ways to make peace in the face of the relentless and painfully prolonged conflicts of the region.

We dispersed as the last bits of sunlight faded and darkness descended, but with the light of a small seed of hope in each of our hearts. Make no mistake: peace will be hard to accomplish, and will require hard work and measured compromise on all sides, but people of different faiths coming together, sharing our hopes and our commitment, may be the necessary bridge to resolving the conflicts of this troubled land.

A sweet and fruitful new year to all our Jewish friends and neighbors, this night as Rosh Hashanah ushers in the high holidays at sundown. Tomorrow the shofar will be blown and the holiday continues until the holiest day of the Jewish year, Yom Kippur.

It is such a privilege to be here in Jerusalem for these holidays, among the staff and visitors at Tantur which plays a very special role in bringing together people of different faiths in ways that deepen our appreciation for the the incredible diversity of ways that we humans find to worship G-d. {for readers who may not know, the tradition in Judaism is that the name of the Holy One is so precious, so exalted, that to write it down is to debase it, so one writes “G-d” rather than risking offense).

If you don’t know much about the Jewish High Holidays — Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, now would be the time to get your Google rolling! Some of what you find will help clarify how Christianity emerged from its roots in Judaism.

Meanwhile, an ordinary day at Tantur. I’ve gotten a desk and am sharing an office via the graciousness of Issa Daboub, our House Manager who has handled logistics and the facility in all its complexity for the steams of visitors (and the staff who serve them) for more than 30 years. Issa is a Palestinian Christian who lives in Bethlehem and earned his Master’s at Boston College.

Yesterday I rode the Palestinian bus (yes, the public bus system includes Israeli and Palestinian busses, worth another blog post sometime). I caught the bus just outside the lower gates of Tantur and rode to the heart of Jerusalem, then walked to Notre Dame Center of Jerusalem near the Damascus Gate of the Old City. Notre Dame Center has nothing to do with Notre Dame University, rather it’s a papal facility that houses pilgrims to the area, but amid the giant tourist/pilgrim busses was the small 19-person passenger shuttle provided by Tantur so folks in central Jerusalem can more easily get to “Tuesdays at Tantur,” a lecture series. Along with those I greeted and accompanied on the shuttle ride, about 75 people attended the lecture on “Interreligious Dialogue as a Method of Peace Building” by Rabbi Ron Cornish, a speaker and author who is passionately committed to peace in this land that is beset with conflict.

This was the first of what will be a weekly adventure for a few months this fall. I say “adventure” because of course I got lost trying to find my way from the bus terminal near the Damascus Gate to the Notre Dame Center. Thank goodness I left early! Thank goodness for Google maps in my phone, which helped, in spite of my notoriously awful sense of direction! And thanks be also for small blessings like the charming residential neighborhood I saw as a result, with its soothing gardens and stone walls, and ordinary people including children playing with each other and their colorful outdoor toys.

This week also I’ve been working with a Swedish clergyman, here on World Council of Churches work; a Scottish Anglican  priest who is a Tantur Scholar in Residence; staff member Brooke, a Quaker, who works with Continuing Education programs such as the 3-month program for clergy; and assorted other consulters to create a prayer service in observance of the World Week of Prayer for Peace in Israel and Palestine. Later today, Brooke led us in a Quaker meeting (shortened somewhat) for Evening Prayer, and at dinner, Raanan sang the Hebrew prayers for the first night of Rosh Hashanah. He is a rabbinical student in his final year of seminary and Tantur staff member who organizes, among other things, Tuesdays at Tantur.

Where else in the world could I have such a diverse religious experience? It takes my breath away!

 

 

The image here is the front entrance to the Tantur Ecumenical Institute but I would have to post a dozen photos to give you a sense of the place. I chose this one because it shows a bit of the lushness of the place, even evident at night.  I breathe in the intoxicating aroma of the Jasmine tree that stands on the left side of the door. Rose bushes are everywhere. We also have scores of olive trees; plus pomelo, lemon, lime, cherry, apricot and other fruit trees as well as vegetables. These are all used by the cooks who prepare our meals.

We have the creatures too: some black and white birds I’m told are a type of crow. An orange ring-tailed tabby named Greg who greets everyone, plus lots of feral cats who keep the snakes, scorpions and geckos under control.

The people who are here are equally lush — Christians of all stripes, Muslims, Jews, all committed to honoring the spiritual journeys of everyone here and to promoting interfaith dialogue.

To name just a few: a couple who are also volunteers here from an Anabaptist community in New York. My office mate is part-time staff and a rabbinical student finishing his last year in a Conservative Jewish seminary in Jerusalem. The Rector is a Roman Catholic priest of the Holy Cross Congregation and there are priests of various Christian denominations from the Philippines, Australia, India, Scotland, Ireland, to name just a few. There are many graduate students, several of them couples with young children, who are here for research or writing their dissertations. Many staff are Palestinian who must cross the border wall check points every day to and from work.

There’s a prayer service at 5:30 each evening just before dinner, and anyone can sign up to plan, organize and deliver the prayer service. Any of the clergy who offer other liturgies notify the community on a sign-up sheet near the reception desk, so we can all participate in the religious rituals of many faiths.

The richness of this place — theologically, culturally, geographically — is astonishing. I can hardly believe my good fortune in the opportunity to be a member of this community for 7 months, and I suspect I will remain connected in some way even when my 7 months ends and I return to the States.

At evening prayer last night, a priest from Kentucky with a beautiful voice played his guitar and we all sang the Prayer of St. Francis at the closing (“Make me an instrument of your peace…”), and at the opening, a country gospel song I was not familiar with, “On the Wings of a Dove” — you can listen to it here and add it to your  own prayers for peace. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Re8zGk47GNM
Pax, Shalom, Salaam