Gifts of Grace

Jaffa Gate (road leads from here to OT Joppa)

As a tourist walks through the Jaffa Gate, excitement swells with the sight of David’s ancient Tower on your right, lively restaurant alleys on your left, the cobble-stone road marked by marching soldiers in your path, and straight ahead, the mysterious, magical bazaar. You plunge in and discover the world of the holy land!

As a pilgrim walks through the Jaffa Gate, all those same exciting sensations occur, with one added: a sense of expectation. For the pilgrim there is always the possibility of the eternal breaking in, the holy wonder of maybe meeting God in the mix. The pilgrim comes to the holy land desiring to encounter the Divine. Pilgrim senses are attuned, hearts are focused on what is beyond what is seen. When the encounter happens, it invariably comes in the form of love, because God is love.

Damascus Gate at night

There are many gates in Jerusalem because it's a large, walled city, and you need formal exits. One of the most dramatic is the Damascus Gate. Here the road to Damascus begins, on which the apostle Paul received his remarkable, life-changing vision of Christ.

Skull-like hill of the Garden Tomb

Not far from the Damascus gate, back in 1883, a British army officer called General Gordon was having his breakfast on the city wall. Looking out from that vantage point he saw a skull-like indentation on a rocky cliff. "By George, I think I've got it!" he cried, wiping his mouth on his napkin, folding his newspaper, and telegraphing England.

"Got what?" you ask. After all, no-one was looking for Golgotha, the Place of the Skull, where the cross had stood, were they? The hill and tomb had already been found, and were commemorated in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, consecrated in 330 AD.  Ah, but a wall had been built around the city by Suleiman the Magnificent in the 1500's, putting the Church of the Holy Sepulchre inside Jerusalem, and we all know that Jesus was crucified "outside the city walls".  (In the 1800's, excavations had been minimal in this area, and they didn't know that Suleiman's wall was not in the same place as the original wall. Since then, it has become clear that the Holy Sepulchre Church was originally outside the old walls.)
 

The rock face of the Garden Tomb

Questions about the true location of the cross and tomb had risen, so when General Gordon spotted this skull-like hill outside the wall, he thought with joy that it may be the real Golgotha. And since there was a tomb close to this unique hill, in a setting much more like the English ideal of Jesus' early-morning resurrection garden, General Gordon forged ahead. Though Queen Victoria did not approve the location, "The Garden Tomb" was developed as a holy site.

Cathryn entering the tomb

There it was we went on Mother's Day weekend - just an ordinary weekend in Jerusalem. The tomb, carved in a rock wall, looks like a Bible story book painting, and you can go inside. Even if it isn't the actual tomb of Christ, it's nice to visit! The garden is owned and tended by England, and it's filled with snapdragons, hollyhocks, pansies and roses, mingling among palms, fronds and local vegetation. Stone benches are placed artfully throughout, allowing space to pray and ponder the wonder of the cross and resurrection.

The still, small snail!

I sat on one, quiet under the trees, as still as a snail on a clay pot nearby. I listened to birds singing gloriously overhead, accompanied by a Tamil group raising their voices in song, and a distant European soloist belting out "To God be the Glory!" The sounds melded together from all quarters of the garden, and of the globe, in equal worth and praise to God. Creation lifted its voice as I sat. I lifted my heart.

Then I turned my head. In this garden of resurrection I saw a pink amaryllis growing, just one stem with two glowing flowers on it. I walked over and as I did, my sister Cathryn came from another path. "Look, Cath!" I said.

The pale pink amaryllis is a flower of special significance in our family. My Mum had been given one and tended it through the long winter of her suffering. It bloomed just in time for her birthday, as radiant and lovely as her face, and we have a picture of her with it, the flower as large as her smiling countenance. 

Now here was a blooming amaryllis, alive from the dry ground in this place of death and resurrection, and it was God's gentle smile on Cathryn and me, as we remembered our beautiful Mother on Mother's Day weekend. It was a true pilgrim encounter with love. We exclaimed and wept and took photos!

VEXILLATIO - Detachment

LEG X FRE  - Legion 10 Frentensis (of a sea strait)

The next day we all went to a Crusader church at Abu Gosh. I was keen to go because I'd heard about the frescoes and the acoustics. The church is part of a Benedictine community of both monks and nuns who meet together for services. We were struck by the beautiful grounds – it was a weekend for gardens - and we went to the low wall where an inscription from 2000 years ago tells us that the Roman 10th legion of Emperor Titus was here.  (The Crusaders came 1000 years later, and built the church on the same site.)

After the Crusaders had left, the church was used as a stable until 1899, when French Catholics bought it and turned it into a monastery. There is something profound about that history, especially when you go in and see the magnificent frescoes, wall paintings from ceiling to floor, which had for ages given glory to God in the simple presence of animals! The frescoes, though dimmed and worn by time, are breathtaking. In their midst, simple, soaring stone arches curve and call our eyes and voices upward, creating a sanctuary for worship. 

But why did the Romans and then the Crusaders build here, some way from Jerusalem? (It took about 45 minutes by tour bus.) You just know there’s a history to every story in the Holy Land!

The Well, with underground spring

Steps to well/baptismal tank

We found the answer downstairs in the crypt, which is home to an ancient well, now a baptismal tank. Water is essential for thirsty soldiers. But this water was holy, and so the church was built over the well. It’s the well of Kirjath Jearim from Scripture (that's the village's original name, still often used. “Abu Gosh” is the name of a brigand family who took over!)

Ages before the Romans or Crusaders, in the time of the Prophet Samuel (1150 BC), Kirjath Jearim was home to the Ark of the Covenant for 20 long years, until King David brought the Ark back to Jerusalem. With the Ark came the very presence of God! It’s a good story to look up in the Bible, with the drama of the Ark carried on an ox cart, and it was amazing to be on this very holy ground. That morning, a sense of expectation hung in the air.

The family gathers, a little nervous!

Grandmother pours water

We soon discovered why! After the monks and nuns processed in, after the sermon had been preached (in French!) and hymns echoed through the wondrous acoustics, a priest led us all downstairs to the well. There, on this non-local Mother's Day, a beautiful baby baptism took place. An infant girl, smiling and cooing, was presented to God. Parents, grandparents and godparents took vows. The babe's simple dress was removed and, splashing and laughing, she sat naked in a copper basin over the ancient baptistry well. The basin had been filled by her grandmother, godfather and a nun.

The priest baptises the lovely baby

Robed in beauty, all is well!

Three times the priest poured water from a silver cup onto her head as she wiggled and squealed! Then, lifted again from the water she was whisked into the most gorgeous three-layered white baptismal gown, final prayers were said, and there she was, beautiful and new. Her grandfather wiped away a tear or two. Nuns and monks smiled broadly. The mother looked relieved.

Tribute to a wonderful Mother

How good God is, on this non-mother's day in Israel to provide such a mother-blessing to us pilgrims! I had gone expecting music and art. I had received, in addition, a sweet reminder that God loves families, and they, since ancient times, are recipients of His tender blessing. I was reminded that we all, naked and vulnerable as children, are bathed in God’s mercy and dressed in pure, wondrous, beautiful grace.

As we approach the time of benediction and departure from this holy land, I pray the pilgrim sense of expectation always goes with us. God is near, whether in a garden, a soldier's garrison, a stable or a special service. May we all have open hearts to receive His abiding love!

My 15-year-old Mother's Day gift
under huge, much older trees!

The gift of a sister's visit!

My 12-year old Mother's Day gift, in action!

With our friend, Cal Dolfo-Smith

Mourning and Celebration

A fighter jet flew over as we sat drinking coffee. Strange, we thought, but let it go. Perhaps it was a training exercise. That was the morning of April 19. Paul went to his library office as usual.

Saving the orphans -
sculpture at Yad Vashem

At 10 am a blaring air raid siren wailed its loud, insistent tone. Elliot, Oliver and I listened for a few seconds; then as it went on, anxiety began to rise. We heard Father Tim's voice on an upper balcony saying clearly, "People are supposed to leave their apartments and stand outside" so we hastened to obey. (We weren't sure how being outside would help us if there was an aerial attack, but followed the instructions.) The siren soon ended and we went back to our desks, wondering what that was all about. Maybe someone had escaped without a permit from behind the wall at Bethlehem, and they were chasing him, I thought.

At about 10:30 am I hopped onto a bus and went to town for groceries. All the Israeli flags were at half-mast. What had happened? The Palestinian bus riders didn't seem the best people to ask, so I went ahead and did my shopping. It was a little quieter than usual in the store, but no-one commented, or if they did I couldn't understand them.

I sometimes take a taxi home from grocery shopping. Clambering onto an already-crowded bus with great bulging bags of groceries leads to a lot of stares, so I get the shop to call a cab. A friendly, talkative driver pulled up, his mini-Qur'an dangling from the taxi's rear view mirror.

Just outside Tantur

"Why are the flags flying low?" I asked the driver. He spoke good English but didn't know what a flag was. When I'd finally made myself understood, pointing to the star-embossed Israeli flags on the street, he was full of information. "This is the day that Israel remembers the Holocaust" he told me. "Many people died. They have silence and remember. Then one week later, next Wednesday, all the shops are closed. All day they are silent. They remember soldiers who died in 1967. That night the prime minister makes a speech. Then they have a party, and everyone is dancing in the streets!" I thanked him, feeling enlightened.

The star of the Jews

Holocaust day! That made sense of the fly-over and the air-raid siren. Israel is haunted by the holocaust; is founded on its history. It was the holocaust that provided an impetus for Western forces to give the Jewish people a homeland after the war. Israel was established in 1948 as a result, celebrated on April 26, their Independence Day. But first, most terribly, came the Holocaust. And this was the day to remember it. The siren sounds and people stop to show respect, standing outside.

The thought of the holocaust and of joining in with this nation's wounds stayed with me. That night I lit a memorial candle. I lit one every night of the week, for six nights. Each night, one candle commemorated one million Jews who died in the Holocaust. Can you imagine? One small light for a million lives. It hardly seems right, but at least it was something, in our home.

Yad Vashem, the holocaust museum, was a fitting place to go that Sunday afternoon. The name "Yad Vashem" comes from Isaiah 56:5 - "And to them will I give ... a place and a name that shall not be cut off."

The Nazis obliterated their prisoners' names and identified them only by numbers. Heads shaved, clothes removed, uniformed, nameless, they became unknown. One victim wrote, "... I should like someone to remember that there once lived a person named David Berger.” (David Berger in his last letter, Vilna 1941).

Then they were thrown into mass death pits, or exterminated by fire. Burial is very important in Judaism. Jews believe that Messiah will call you from your grave on the last day. But the Jews of the holocaust had no burial, no grave. They were extinguished, with no place and no name.

So Yad Vashem was built. Yad Vashem is more than a museum to the holocaust; it is a living memorial to those who lost their lives in the holocaust. As much as possible, every person whose photograph is displayed in the museum is named. Every known Jew who perished in the holocaust is recorded, though there are some known only to God. Not simply a historical recounting of what happened, the museum has become a final resting place for those to whom it happened. It also stands as a reminder and a warning never to let it happen again.

Nazi memorabilia

Looted Jewish menorahs

From Swastika flags to charges of blame (Christians included), to thankful tributes for those who provided refuge, the museum retells the deprivations and atrocities committed on the Jewish people of the world, in and around WWII. We stood on recreated cobbled roads from Warsaw and saw the wooden side of a cattle car that had herded people to their death. In the middle of one room was a tragic pile of well-worn shoes in every style and shape from that era; shoes that had belonged to people with choice and personality.  The shoes have survived beyond their wearers. In other rooms we saw rich spoils of war; remnants of a cultured, creative society.

Cart to remove bodies

"Heil, heil."

And then there were the photographs. Pictures of living skeletons, people of great intelligence, dignity and worth, their great round eyes staring at us helplessly. Photos of naked bodies lying in heaps like worthless rubble. We saw the slow tears of survivors talking on video camera - these were former war children who had managed to climb out of death pits alive, having heard the gun shots and final cries of their loved ones buried beneath them. We heard stories of terrible, killing hunger. (Having teenage sons, I can hardly imagine the pain of these youths' excruciating emptiness). We heard and saw it all in stark concrete rooms filled with the shards of beautiful lost lives, amid the rousing background cry of thousands cheering "Heil, Heil".

It was moving, sobering, silencing. It was respectful, tragic, meaningful in its timeless tribute. But, bottom line, as Elliot said, "It was horrifying." The harsh truth slapped us. These were people from many, many nations with two things in common: they were Jews and they were murdered. Six million.

Dome of photographs

Walls of record boxes

At the end of the museum is a round room with a high funnel-shaped dome, lined with photographs of people who perished. Their faces, some looking so familiar, gaze down on us from above. The top of the dome opens to heaven. On all the walls around are file boxes full of the names and documents of those who died. Thousands of boxes. Here at last these people truly have a place and a name. They are honoured well by those who will never forget.
 
Our last stop was the Children's Memorial. What a simple room, but how infinite it seems. The lobby is filled with photographs of children, and their voices sing to us in the background. We step in further. The room is very dark and high, lit only by candles. The candles are all there is. No more than five small, living candle flames. But these little lights are multiplied infinitely, like stars in the sky - the stars that Abraham saw when God promised him a child. Five hundred mirrors take those tiny flames and fling them heavenward, refracting and repeating; and so their reflection shines like innumerable lights on and beyond us. We are surrounded by their light.
 

A pastor's protest against indifference

This little light of mine

In the background of this room, names are read aloud, slowly, clearly, in an ongoing recording. Names of children destroyed in the holocaust. Destroyed but not forgotten. Each of the one and a half million children is named, with their age at death, and their country of origin. Slowly, thoughtfully, thankfully, each child has a place and a name in the shining darkness. I heard that it takes six months to read all those names.

The following Tuesday night at 8 pm, the siren sounded again. It heralded the start of Yom Hazikaron [Remembrance Day], just as the taxi driver had said it would. All the shops were closed for the next 24 hours. Not for the Holocaust now, but to remember Israeli soldiers who died in the six day war of 1967. My Jewish neighbour told me, "Everyone knows someone who died."

Oliver and I went outside in the darkness that night, and stood at attention for the siren. All of a sudden Oliver said, "I'm going to smell the red rose" (it does have a most beautiful perfume!) He ran off down our path. As he went, it occurred to me that, like my boy, this country of Israel is still very young. In dark remembrances they have hope. They believe the best is yet to come! That is what they fight for. That's why they have soldiers everywhere. In this ancient part of the world, they are just starting out, and it seems exciting.

Old light shines new

Thus the tears of Remembrance Day lead straight into the cheers of Independence Day, to Yom Haatzmaut, commemorating Israel's establishment. From half-mast flags and mourning they progress to full-out firework celebrations when the sun sets and a new day begins! The prime minister makes a speech at Yad Vashem, the holocaust museum, on that Wednesday evening, and as soon as he's done, the land undergoes a transformation, from death to life! The new day has arrived! There truly was dancing in the streets, and loud, lively singing.

Walls and guards sound familiar

I thought back to the fighter jet and siren. This one week had marked the long journey of the past hundred years. Seven days after holocaust remembrance, the Jews of Israel dance! They have a place and a name now that goes far beyond a museum, beyond a memory. They have a country they can call "Home".

As with any good home, may this, like Abraham's home, be a place of hospitality and grace, where all are welcome and God can eat and drink with people.  Shalom, Israel.

Weddings and Wine!

When Paul and I got married 24 years ago, it was in a small wooden chapel in a small town in Alberta. We would never have guessed that in 5 years we'd celebrate our wedding anniversary in Paris! Nor that 24 years later we'd be celebrating in Jerusalem! (Now I'm wondering where we'll have our 40th!)

This journey we've been on has been exciting and amazing in so many ways, and yet simple and straightforward in others! Both of us came from an overseas background - Paul starting in South Africa and me in India - and while that gave us a great inheritance of outlook and experience, in other ways we were incredibly poor and inadequate! (When the immigration officer found out I made $5000 a year in my church job, and wanted to sponsor Paul into the country, he just laughed and stamped the paper, saying if one could live on that, then two could!)

April 30 in our Jerusalem garden!

We've found joy in small things: walks and games, candles and flowers, reading and talking, serving, studying and debating. Not once in a while, but every day. We've shared ordinary moments and felt as if they were extraordinary. Most of the time we felt really lucky, even though we didn't own a car until we'd been married for nine years! We've noticed things like fallen leaves and beautiful skies, laughed over the same jokes and listened to similar music. We've enjoyed a matching pace of life and respected each other's different world views long enough to find a place where we could see the same view, or pretty close. As a good friend said, "We've honoured one another".

New, young life, up in Galilee

We travelled to beautiful Vancouver and spent two years there at grad school. Then it was off to England and Paul's PhD where, by a friend's kindness, we lived in a mansion that later was sold and became home to the head of Cambridge University. Our suite in it became a guest suite for Prince Philip! (It was from there that we hopped a plane with a $40 airfare to Paris for our 5th anniversary!) From England we went to Regina, a wonderful place to nest and have babies, which we did! Finally we moved to Calgary, to the heart of family and friends and familiar landscapes, where the prairies and open skies meet the mountains.

Beside the Cana well

Through it all, the ups and downs and seasons that come and go, there has been a spring of water that has kept us alive: too deep for us to see but near enough for us to taste. It has really been like the Holy Grail - the inexplicable, never-ending cup that is a fountain of eternality.  It refreshes, soothes, awakens, heals, cleanses and strengthens us. It is beyond us but within us.

When we came to Cana, I found out exactly what it was. It was wedding wine, made by Jesus!

The arches of Cana's church

A few days before our anniversary, we visited Cana, in Galilee. This is where Jesus performed His first public miracle. Well, the miracle really was somewhat private, probably at a family wedding, and it seemed to happen only because His mother hinted that He should do it and made sure that all was in place for it to go ahead, but that's how weddings and families go, and there it was!  It happened. A genuine, on-earth miracle! Practical and perfect. (And all those details - of the Son's initial hesitation, the mother's preparation, leading to the final production, make it so believable and real. Read John 2:1-11 for all the fun!) Once the miracle happened, there was no stopping it! No stopping the power of a loving, holy Spirit from bursting out in the world - which was always God's plan, for all of life.

Mary and ancient pottery

The wedding blessing ceremony
- where children blessed parents too!

This Cana miracle was about something so simple yet urgent as wedding wine! The party was only half-over but the wine jars were empty. Not a good scenario! Bride and groom were blissfully unaware. The wedding planner was frantic. Perhaps the mother of the bride knew Mary, the mother of Jesus. In any case, Mary intervened, told Jesus "they need more wine," and He made it happen. He didn't just fill wine jars. He got the water jars filled - these were enormous clay pots that held water not only for drinking but even for washing. Their water, fresh from the well, had been used to wash the guests' feet when they arrived, used to quench their thirst; maybe to wash their hands between courses; and you know how much water is needed for so many dishes! These pots were capacious! They were now empty. Jesus had the servants fill all six of them with water. Without a word, He turned that water into wine.

Try it; don't buy it!

Miniature wine jars for sale

There's a lot that can be said about this. I'll say only a little, because any miracle but especially a marriage miracle is beyond comprehension. But Ghada, our guide, who's from that area, told us that there would have been enough wine in those jars to serve the wedding party for ages to come! They would never run out! The Bible also tells us that this wine was better than the first, the stuff that had already been served. (I drank a sample sip of "Cana wine" that was sold for $25/bottle in the local shops. Believe me, those guests must have been grateful when something different was put on the table!) Because of Jesus, the party went on, and the marriage got off to a great beginning. ...What a good thing He was there!

Here's what I know: the wedding wine that comes from God never runs out. There's enough for all time. It is the fountain of eternal supply. The wedding wine He makes has nothing to do with how competent or wonderful the bride and groom are. It makes up, in fact, for incredible unpreparedness! And it allows the party to continue with unwitting joy! The wine is often mediated through the unseen, unknown intervention and kindness of family and friends; observant caring people without whom the marriage could be a flop, a fizzle or a full-blown fiasco! How grateful we can be in retrospect! Finally, and this part is especially wonderful to me today: the wedding wine that comes later is much better and far more remarkable than the early stuff. 24 years down the road, I know it's true!

There's no accounting for the miracles of Jesus. No accounting for the wonder of love that lasts and marriage that grows. It's all gift, and I'm so grateful.

Happy Anniversary, Paul! I love you! Long may the party go on!!

Wedding vow renewal certificate

Reclining - like in good old Bible times!

Anniversary dinner at "The Tent" restaurant

 

 Somehow Frasier thought he had to come too!

Big enough for a Cana wedding party!