Prayers and passages

It’s Saturday morning and everyone is late onto the bus. That darn Sabbath elevator stops on every floor! And the other elevator might as well be a Sabbath one because all non-orthodox people are using it, so it stops continually too, picking up passengers! We depart – we’re going to Emmaus, Place of the Spring. 

Water is crucial in this dry land. The Sea of Galilee is their only fresh water source, fed from seven springs. River Jordan carries the water south, and that water is siphoned off at every turn. (This is why the Dead Sea, its ultimate destination, is receding at the rapid rate of 1 metre/year.) The first 10 kms of the Jordan are exclusively on Israeli territory, so first right of tapping is theirs. This leads to huge questions for water consumption for both sides of the river - and for the future of the land in general.

Frescoes on walls of Crusader church

Off we go to Emmaus.When I hear the Arabic name of our destination, "Abu Ghosh," I suddenly have a memory: whispering light in Crusader church, murals glowing on walls, deep stone crypt beneath, monks and nuns singing a capella in procession, gleaming cross, candles, flowers, all in French. I remember it! We are going to one of my favourite spots - and I didn't even know it was Emmaus! Today my eyes are opened, my heart warmed!

Gardens blend east and western style

The gardens alone are worth seeing! Gently hued, lavishly overflowing, cheeky in combining an English garden with Mediterranean trees. The result - refreshing and compelling as sparkling streams!

"To gaze and gaze on Thee"

An oboe plays as we enter, notes rising, falling in dancing slow motion, suspended in gleaming shafts of light. Hushed, we pay attention, glimpsing walls where iconoclastic Islamic faithful erased faces but left the main Christian images intact. Down below in the crypt, water glimmers from the spring that drew people to Emmaus in the first place.

We meet down in the crypt

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We are drawn, living water sparkling, here where Jesus broke bread, poured wine, opened eyes then vanished. Outside, Yossi plays Bach under green branches, adding a lilting Israeli twist fitting for this wonderfully blended garden. We sit under the sign of the Roman Legion X and imagine troops passing, stopping to drink from the spring inside. Funny it's near water, not fire, that hearts burn "Christ is alive"; but as long ago in the Emmaus story, so they do, deeply, now. We drink in the meaning of the music, and quench our inner thirst.

Marching orders come, and Amiel the bus driver glides us through narrow, winding roads filled with traffic and shouting drivers, landing us in our enormous vehicle without a scratch on the Mount of Olives. Through throngs of visitors we walk the narrow Palm Sunday trail, waving branches in our hearts. Sun shines, Jerusalem glows across the valley; we feel joyful though we're walking among graves. This mountain is where the Jews spend more than a mortgage to buy a burial plot.

In fact, graves from all ages lie here; perhaps this is metaphorically the valley of the shadow of death - certainly the shadow fell here for Jesus. A detour takes us to the graves of the last two Old Testament prophets: Haggai and Malachi. Here they lay, waiting the coming Messiah. When the time was right, he came. Today hundreds of his followers have come too; maybe they think it's the right time, but it squeezes us!

A lane into quiet in Gethsemane

Not for long! Yossi takes us by the path less travelled, and that makes all the difference! We arrive in a beautiful, secluded spot, filled with quiet, like on the night when Jesus prayed and was betrayed. In quiet I ask, have I betrayed him, time and again? I have, and do.

Gethsemane, we already know, means "oil press;" here the Lord Jesus was crushed, pressed, bruised beyond measure as three times he prayed, crying out, "Not my will, but yours... not my will ...yours." And so the betrayer came, in the will of God. The jar of Jesus' life was sealed at both ends by those words, "Your will be done" - through Mary at conception, and now from his own mouth. We are quiet, reflecting, and could stay all day, here away from the bustle, but like Jesus on that night, we move on.

Night sky in the church

We move to the crowds. Not the crowds of accusation, as he did, but to adoring crowds in the massive Church of All Nations, located in the "official" garden of Gethsemane. It's worth the wait as we see the soaring night sky in the ceiling; night like the hour of Jesus' garden prayer; and join our unvoiced prayers with the prayers of ages.

Absolom: my son, my son

On to another tomb: Absolom's - problematic son of King David. A tomb can't assuage grief, but it marks it: Absolom's grave is enormous, just outside the city walls, with the bloody Kidron valley between (bloody because water and blood from temple sacrifices high on the other side flowed down here.) The blend of architectural styles reflects the ongoing interesting Mediterranean crossroads.

Cactus & bougainvillea

Yossi points to a cactus plant: "Jews are known to be like the cactus," he says. "Prickly on the outside, but tender inside!" We board the bus; the time is coming for him to hand us over for the afternoon to the care of a Bethlehem guide (Yossi, being Israeli,  doesn't have a permit to work on the Palestinian side of the wall - and he's happy for them to have the business anyway. "Shop there," he tells us; "they need your money more than we do.")  But his pain in leaving us, his concern, his expression of hope that we will enjoy it - to the point that he can't help do a bit of guiding, and mentions various historical details we should have in mind, in case they aren't covered ... well, we come to believe the cactus tale! When he's gone we feel bereft.... as Jesus' disciples felt after the Garden of Gethsemane was over, and he was taken from them.

It's only an afternoon! The Bethlehem guide is simple, telling us Bible stories, pointing out the fields of Boaz and Ruth that led to the birthplace of Jesse, their grandson, and David their great-grandson. This is why Jesus was born in Bethlehem, because he was from the line of David and each family had to return to the birthplace of their ancestors to take the census. Joseph and Mary returned to Bethlehem.

First stop for us is an olive wood factory - we observe men doing fine handiwork and learn the four stages of olive wood curing.

My friends, the Bethlehem grocers

Not the carving that chose me, but a lovely Last Supper.

Then it's off to lunch - and what joy for me! We're just behind the large border- dividing wall, the road of the grocery store I used to shop in when we lived here! I go over and say hello to my friend Elizabeth and her brother! It's a very happy reunion!

Then off to buy olive wood products - I find a smooth, small carving of the Last Supper, made from a single piece of wood. When I was on the Isle of Patmos a few years ago, I bought a simple, painted, Ethiopian icon of the last supper, and the icon keeper told me "the icon chooses you; you don't choose it." Perhaps something about the Last Supper chooses me. It's the ongoing reality of Christ himself feeding us. There is nothing: no community, no life without him. I am desolate, thinking of it. The abandonment he felt on the cross is real.

Down the slopes of shepherd's fields

Finally we see the sites: Beit Sahour - the field of the shepherds is first. In a rough outdoor chapel we sing Silent Night, imagining angels appearing to lowly shepherds here. We're on a hill overlooking the town. Wonder and awe fill the story. My mind comes back to the present, and we remember that today we sit where the lowest of the land still live: Christian Palestinians, 2% of the population; marginalized and voiceless. The angel speaks to them and for them: Fear not!

Roof pierced with holes like stars

Christmas-card-like murals

In the centre of the Church of the Shepherds is an altar-like table donated by Canada! We're told that this is a secular building; no services take place here. It makes sense that Canada would donate a table without faith connection! It's helpful, though!

All around are murals like Christmas cards; above the roof is pierced by shining holes. Radiant beams from heaven afar stream in, and we sing "hallelujah!" Well, we really sing "Gloria - in excelsius, Deo!" Guests from around the world, inside and outside the small church, join in! Christ, our Saviour, is born.

The line to the Church of the Nativity winds around the building - so I'm pleasantly surprised when we get inside and find it's the shortest I've ever seen! Still, it takes 40 minutes to get downstairs, during which we hear unceasing Greek Orthodox prayers rising like incense. The entrance to the stable is hot and muggy, but no-one complains. We stand with bated breath, waiting for the Christ-child's birthplace. Kneeling, I kiss the star that marks the spot. O Holy Night! This is it - where God appeared in human form. Night divine! ... I must admit, I wiped my lips afterwards - too much general human contact mixed in there! Thank goodness Jesus didn't do the same!

Arches in St. Catherine's quadrangle

Tombs of baby boys killed by Herod

 St. Catherine's Catholic church next door will close at 5 pm, but we have time to read of the birth of Jesus, and we pass the graves of the innocents - those boys who died at Jesus' birth ... as the baby boys died in Egypt so long ago when Moses lived. The Bible is a wondrous story, with parallel lines of grace and pain and truth, always leading to rescue.

Traffic jams at the border

Our longest wait of the day comes not with a holy site as its destination; it's the checkpoint border between Palestine and Israel. We learn that they put cute soldier girls there so that the media can't say mean men are beating up innocent travellers. The cute girls are strict, though; every vehicle trunk is opened, luggage checked. Drivers get out.

Guard at the checkpoint

This would be a daily part of their commute - WAY worse than a Sabbath elevator! We watch clever contortions by other vehicles as they turn and flee. We have no escape, nor do we want to. We sit still and understand more, and are glad when finally we're on the other side, with no requirement of returning for a repeat experience, as so many have to, day by day. We breathe the prayer again, Shabbat shalom.

David and Pauline between Jerusalem crosses