Sunday at the First Protestant Church in Jerusalem

"Now there was a man in Jerusalem called Simeon, who was righteous and devout. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was on him. It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. Moved by the Spirit, he went into the temple courts. When the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him what the custom of the Law required, Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying: “Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you may now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all nations: a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and the glory of your people Israel.” - Luke 2

First Field Study

The central idea in my mind throughout our first field study was the mixture of people, religions, cultures, backgrounds, and practices all converging here in Jerusalem. As Dr. Wright explained, the situation can be exemplified by a group of trees all growing together - their historical roots intertwined, their trunks distinct, but their branches again intertwining together. The City Quarters as well as the Church of the Holy Sepulcher bring to life a bit of this mixture of culture.

The City Quarters give a glimpse into the ongoing tensions, yet at the same time companionship, of the multiple ethic and religious groups living and worshipping among each other. At the beginning of our trip, I might have identified very closely with the Jews and the Roman Catholic Church, not to mention the Protestant groups of the city. As I returned I pondered how intricately my own heritage is also connected to the Eastern Orthodox Church and even in some ways the Arab people.

It was interesting to see and learn of the rebuilt Jewish Quarter. I am just beginning to appreciate in some manner the way that archeologists must do their work under restrictions. I am thankful for those who have retained a bit of the historical look of the city, yet I am also aware that very little I see dates back even to the time of Christ, let alone the cultures before. Though I might have known of the layers under the city, I am amazed to see in person what a bit of the excavations look like. As we walked today, my mind was racing through how the different groups of Jews must feel as they pray at the Wailing Wall or hear the Muslim prayers rising from the minarets. I wonder what the Christians feel when they take turns worshipping in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher or in daily relations with the Jews. I ponder how the Muslims view the tourists taking pictures with very little reverence of places and structures that they call holy, or what goes through the mind of the Arab that locks the Church of the Holy Sepulcher every night. In these Quarters are people – lives that I don’t yet know or understand very well.

Our visit to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher brought many of these thoughts to a head. I realize my own connection to the people gathering here. My understanding of Roman Catholic Church has begun to form, but I know that I lack similar sympathy for the Eastern Orthodox Churches. Yet one must grapple with questions of faith and existence. If these people are responding to the same Gospel and worshipping the same trinity, I sense I should be able to sympathize with and worship with them. Our histories are so intricately intwined; Why are our lives and practices so separate?

I return from today’s field trip with more questions than answers, but I know that the puzzle has just been thrown in front of me. I only have a sense of the colors and objects included in the picture, and now I look forward to finding pieces that fit together. I feel comfortable in the city now, which will give me many opportunities to go in and observe daily life. I am excited to see the picture of the puzzle.

Tel Aviv and Old Jaffa

Our first day on the land was a tiring but exciting one. With little information, we boarded a bus whose driver said he would get us to Tel Aviv. He let us off at a corner and told us to go back and turn right. Seeing a bus stop, we ignored his instructions, nearly boarding a bus going in the opposite direction to Lod. Finally on a bus we believed headed toward the central bus station we hoped we'd know when to jump off. The stop was spotted, but not what we expected. The station was like a huge bus garage making our street directions almost pointless in the maze of stores and terminals. When we showed our hostel directions to a group of people, Nadia, a local, said she lived near where we were going so we followed her through the maze. Everything is about as I pictured. The streets are a bustle of activity with beautiful stores next to piles of rubble, trash overflowing a nearby alley, the scents of wonderful food overtaking the air. Nadia pointed us a few blocks ahead and told us where to go. The Florentine hostel was everything I hoped, but it was booked. The owner said he really wished he could host us "strong young men with big backpacks," but he already had too many people sleeping on the couches in the lounge. He directed us on to another hostel in Old Joffa.

There, we found another beautiful place to stay just a few blocks from the coast. The sounds of the city mixed with the surf and the prayers from the nearby minaret. After leaving our bags, Matt and I headed to the city, grabbing an amazing meal of "dost" - something we hope to find again. It was like a bagel filled with cheese, olives, boiled eggs, mushrooms, and tuna fish, grilled like a panini. A walk along the Mediterranean completed our day and a sound sleep was in order.

Our trip to Jerusalem was a life and death adventure in the typical sherut. The drivers here are described as "aggressive and defensive" at the same time. If there is a spot open in traffic, they will race for it. They take turns at the fastest speed possible and fight to be at the head of the pack. At the same time, they are continually honking, not so much out of road rage, but rather to let other drivers know where they are - that they are passing or coming up behind. The sherut driver dropped us off and pointed us "up the hill and then continuing down the small path." Unfortunately we took the wrong of 4 small paths and ended up at the bottom rather than the top of Mount Zion. With a bit of uphill hiking, and the scaling of a few fences, we reached our destination.

preparation makes perfect

My clothes are by my suitcase, my passport is on my desk; it seems that I will be leaving this place I've called home for 18 years to travel farther and longer than I ever have before. After reading Metaxas' new biography on the life of Bonhoeffer, I can't help but wonder what these adventures are preparing me to do. Bonhoeffer ended his first visit to America in turmoil, thinking he had made a mistake. Little did he know that his experiences with the African-American Church were foundational to his immediate fight against the Nazi treatment of the Jewish people. He apologized to the German Church for leaving the struggle, not realizing that his time in America would give him grave devotion and great courage to face "evil incarnate." It seems that God does not waste our time with pointless experiences. Instead, he uses every tidbit and morsel to shape us, prepare us, and use us. May we be faithful, may we prove to be sealed in the book of life.