Through a Prism, Darkly

Our churches need to go back to what we "know" and look deeper.  Perhaps this is what theology and so much of religious work is.  Aspects of Christian tradition are often taken for granted and those of us in dominant cultural positions often neglect the questions of how we got here and whether we should have (and I think the answer is most often "no").  Christianity has bound itself to Western imperialism in ways that have embedded such imperialism into our readings of the text in damaging ways.  What is liberating in some contexts is oppressive in others-- the work of queering theology is the work of unraveling normativity and its tendency toward oppressive categorization.  The image of prism helps us see these unraveled strands more clearly by separating unique interplays with the source material (light).  Our contextual lenses inform our readings of the text in ways that affect meaning and in ways that we are blind to, particularly if we belong to "categories" that operate in oppressive roles/are higher on the (unjust) "hierarchy" that our cultural lenses impose.  The prism allows me to access memory that is not my own in order to hope and work toward a world where our shared memory and experience informs our movement forward.

Pentecost and Protestantism

The line of Protestantism to which I belong (my denomination can be identified as "Mainline Liberal Protestant") is in decline.  Many Christian institutions are in decline.

Most who know me know that I have spent most of my millennial adult life studying religion in both secular and religious institutions.  I worship in a Protestant community.  My immediate family does not practice religion, while my extended family are Irish Catholic and Latter-Day Saint (Mormon).  All of these diverse traditions influence me, as does my working-class upbringing, my life as a resident of the Bay Area, and a millennial who grew up amid tech changing the world I lived in (between San Francisco and the Silicon Valley), and now my life living in a rural community on the outskirts of this urban sprawl.

I'm a weirdo.  I know that my identity as a foul-mouthed, Jesus-loving, over-educated, working class radical liberal is a strange place to occupy.  I often find myself in the in-between places of life doing some "translation work."  I try to explain religious positions to my atheist friends and atheist positions to my religious friends.  I try to have respectful conversations with the best friends and family members I have who are staunch conservatives as much as with my revolutionary liberal friends (and most of y'all know where I fall on that spectrum).  Somehow I feel this is part of my spiritual calling.

When I started studying religion, I did it out of love.  I had no intention of going into church work, but found a passion for something I'd essentially been trying to do in my bedroom with a stack of books and my Bible.  When people asked me if I was going to be a nun or something (because women aren't priests, lol), I explained my love for studying religion but that I didn't feel called toward ministry.

About 10 years ago, I had an experience that I would express as a call to ministry.  I excitedly composed an email to a pastor.  I would describe this feeling as finally seeing something that had been in front of me for so long.  It was like something written on dust on a panel of glass... I kept looking past it, refusing to see what was clearly in front of me.  As my focus shifted, I was able to see something I hadn't before... my call.

After that night and that experience, I felt a bunch of fear.  I no longer felt confident in sharing this call with others, but I started to form a goal of attending seminary.  It felt like something impossible, mostly because it costs $$$$ and I was, at the time, working 3 jobs while nearly-dropping out of college.  I was supporting myself while living in the city and trying to become my own person.

To fast forward through the turbulence of my young 20s and other formative journeys (dropping out of school, having a number of breakdowns, finding my way out of abusive situations, finding my call, my independence, mental health care, etc), my call has refined itself.

I knew my call was about translation.  This work is starting to solidify as my "lasting context" has also begun to solidify, and I have settled into a space I see myself in for the long run.  After all, my ministry was going to look different if I ended up smack in the middle of a city... instead, I'm smack in the middle of the mountains.

So here's some of what I believe about the spirit of my spiritual ancestors (what?):

Thousands of years ago, my spiritual ancestors started joining their cultures, peoples, and stories.  "We" (humanity) have been struggling to understand this world and the spirit that moves it since our birth.  The Hebrew Scriptures collect these stories and journeys and tell the truths of those searching for what matters and trying to retain a legacy for their children... to hold onto that which matters.

Somewhere along that journey, a guy named Jesus showed up.  He understood things in a way that many before him didn't.  He was a spiritual revolutionary, playing with the scriptures and traditions before him like mud.  Sometimes revolution is required and he got that.  He started something powerful by embodying something powerful.  He tied himself to his cultural traditions and claimed them for his generation and the needs of his time and the people of the world.  In the midst of that birth of something new and beautiful, he was abruptly executed.

In the wake of that great, world-shattering tragedy, his followers experienced something.  They were reborn in their mission and found something greater.  They rose up and re-wrote the story yet again, following the legacy of their leader.  They molded their story forward, spreading it with fervor.

As the centuries progressed and people tried over and over to pin down the appropriate way forward, we continue our ancestral journey of grappling with the spirit and stories we are given, the ways they entwine with our histories and present.

The Protestant Revolution began for many reasons in communities that decided a new way forward was necessary.  The institution was failing in its own missions and the ways it was telling our stories and interpreting them needed to be rethought (given how those interpretations were playing out in the world and the harm they were doing).  The Protestant tradition, in some of its best moments, sparks fire by claiming the tradition as our own for interpretation, as free to the people of God... a message similar to that Jesus guy.

Today our institutions are failing.  They fail to speak for and to people like me.  People who look like me are not in church.  People have different criticisms and stories to tell about this, but here's mine:

We're doing it wrong.  Our institutions no longer speak to this world.  They speak to a different one.  So it's time to get back to the mud of our traditions and breathe new life into them (and yes, that's a Genesis allusion, for those of you who are also seeped in biblical metaphors).  Here's my heresy:  maybe church isn't the answer.

I know, right?  The minister poo-pooing on the church.

I think it's time to break things down and build them back up.

Now, people have different spiritual needs.  The church is still working for some people (including me).  We need a new way forward, though, because I believe there is value in the stories and people we have held onto through the ages and passed on.  We, like other generations, have the right to reform our traditions to meet the needs of God's people.

The church has historically performed many functions in society.  They have provided literacy and education, distributed resources, explored the sciences and been entwined in medicine and healing, and provided moral formation.  While the church may be failing in some of these roles, our society hasn't necessarily fulfilled these needs in other ways... and I think that's the struggle our generation needs to address.

The loss of the church might mean some good things, like the loss of some damaging patriarchal structures, dogmatic worldviews, bodies that protect corruption and abuse... but it also means some bad things.  How do we meet these needs going forward, and what might our spiritual ancestors actually have to offer us in how we answer these questions, even if it doesn't mean "church"?

The mystic, scientist, and academic in me all believe that we can answer these questions.

I'm a pluralist.  We don't all need to take the same path.

But it is time to forge a new one.

Slavery

The rise of slavery in the United States came despite initial inclinations of colonizers to use white indentured servants (and therefore, hopefully, maintain more racial homogeneity).  In the beginning, enslaved Africans were a minority, but slowly began to make up more and more of the workforce.  They were also increasingly singled out, being denied weapons and considered lifelong slaves.  As servant populations became increasingly opposed to their treatment and began organizing, laws that had previously singled out black populations as being unable to own weapons became reasons for increasing enslavement of Africans in the U.S., since weaponless people are easier to control and less likely to rebel.  It became more "safe" and profitable for people to enslave African Americans (whose children they also entitled themselves to) than use indentured servants of European origin.  Inherent in the treatment and decreasing value and rights afforded African Americans was the idea that, like American Indians, African Americans were a "lesser" race that was inherently less intelligent, hard-working, and beautiful-- Thomas Jefferson was an example of the popular view at the time that it was "nature" (as opposed to environmental factors) which made people of African heritage lesser (which, of course, they were not-- they were being measured by Western standards that did not apply to them).

In today's world, we still hear unfair stereotypes that portray minority populations as lazy, dishonest, and deceptive.  African Americans are often portrayed as criminals (consider coverage of Black Lives Matter movements) and Latinos are often portrayed as "living under the law" as tax-evaders and thieves of "American" jobs, despite a reality in which U.S. government policy has been heavily responsible for conditions which lead Latin Americans to seek livelihoods in the U.S. and policy which often prohibits them from doing so through legal channels.  This blindness to responsibility and mistreatment parallels both treatment of American Indians and African Americans under the institution of slavery.  Additionally, white beauty standards continue to dominate our media and culture in ways that continue to suggest that bodies of color are not as beautiful as white bodies.

Thanksgiving and the Feels of a Radical, Progressive, Vegetarian Minister

I'm just gonna post this because I think holidays are complicated. Yesterday was Thanksgiving.  I wrote this yesterday, but chose to post it today, so as not to rain on everyone's parade.

I don't eat meat, so having an animal carcass in my refrigerator is honestly hard for me. It feels yucky and I feel like I need to be praying for that bird, who lived a tortured, short life, and is now shrink-wrapped and beheaded, waiting to be unceremoniously (or ceremoniously, but without much respect for the life of the bird) devoured by my family as we commemorate a lie that perpetuates a white supremacist imagining of American history and continues to ignore white complacency in racist genocide and the ongoing suffering of America's indigenous peoples.

Recognizing and celebrating gratitude is important, especially in a nation as privileged as the U.S.  However, the premises of the holiday fly at odds with an honest telling of history and the spirit of the holiday itself.  To celebrate gratitude for the abundance in our lives without acknowledging the lives slaughtered so we could call that abundance ours (speaking as a white American) is indicative of some of our greatest flaws as a nation.

In many ways, this holidays speaks to who we are, but I would argue that the lessons of gratitude are outweighed by a kind of scotosis that seems to dominate our national narratives.  That may be the truest part of this celebration. 

The Thanksgiving holiday is representative of our national scotosis more than it is representative of a nation that is truly grateful for its blessings or honest about how we come to those "blessings."

Am I grateful that I am well-fed and surrounded by family?  Every effing day.  Do I think holidays that bring us together and ask us to be grateful in a culture that values consumerism and expansion are good ideas?  Of course.  Do I think consumerism and expansion are problematically wound into the narrative of the holiday?  Yes.  Do I think it's harmful to re-tell an historical lie?  Yes.

I think we need to find a better way to root ourselves in gratitude and family than to tell ourselves lies at the expense of the integrity and value of a massacred and continuously oppressed population.

And eating animals is gross and barbaric, IMHO.  A holiday centered around eating an animal in a culture that eats far too many animals, to the detriment of our own health and the health of the planet, not to mention the integrity of animal life, is pretty nasty. 

I don't want to go into my arguments for vegetarianism (you can search my tags to find them).

While this holiday is well-intentioned, I think it highlights some of our biggest problems as a nation.  That we glorify these things and continue to celebrate a holiday that most of us know is built upon a damaging lie, says a lot about where we are in the unfolding of our nation and our moment in history.

I continue to believe in change.  We can do better.

Day 7: Bethlehem and Diyar (Part 1)

Much of our trip was heavy with meetings.  We had the privilege of meeting with many activist organizations, the U.N., a university professor, a leader of the BDS movement, Christian religious leaders from Lutheran, Orthodox, the Y.W.C.A., and Quaker organizations, the leader of a Christian Zionist organization, and a tour of the city that brought us to Palestinian neighborhoods unseen by most tourists and Israelis and Israeli settlements of varying size, Ramallah in Area A, another refugee camp, a member of Palestinian parliament, and other meetings.  It was heavy with head-stuff, heart-stuff, and spirit-stuff.  I'll divide these days up more, since they are heavy with information.

Our hotel was in East Jerusalem, so we began our day, as we did most days, by getting in our van for a small drive.  Here is what it looks like to drive into Bethlehem:



Our day began in Bethlehem.  It was Armenian Christmas and the Patriarch was coming to town, so there was lots of security for a parade.  We first went into the church, which was heavily under construction, to visit the spot that is supposed to be the birthplace of Christ:

Above:  (at Church of the Nativity)  Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem at the spot some believe Jesus was born. 

Seeing the church under construction was an interesting experience:

After wandering the church, we went to see the parade and procession of the Patriarch.  I loved how different the Armenian Christmas was from my Christmas experience.  The festive parade full of youth was amazing.

Above:  (at Church of the Nativity)  Armenian Christmas. We saw the patriarch process into the Church of the Nativity, preceded by their equivalent of boy scouts and girl scouts. This doesn’t quite capture the festive energy. The sense of joy was palpable.

After visiting the church and viewing the parade, we went to Diyar, an organization based in Bethlehem.

From their pamphlet:

“Diyar is the plural of Dar, which means “home” or homeland” in Arabic.  Diyar is a Lutheran-based, ecumenically-oriented organization serving the whole Palestinian community, with emphasis on children, youth, women and the elderly through unique programs that are contextual and holistic in nature.  Founded in 1995 as the International Center of Bethlehem, Diyar Consortium serves several thousands of members and reaches to more than 60,000 people annually.”

 We met with Rev. Mitri Raheb, the author of Faith in the Face of Empire: Reading the Bible with Palestinian Eyes, one of our textbooks for the class.  I'm bummed that I didn't bring my book for him to sign.  He is a leader at Diyar.  You can find their website here:  Diyar Consortium

Also from their pamphlet:

Our Vision

That We Might Have Life & Have it Abundantly

Our Mission

To build a country; stone by stone

To empower a community; person by person

To create institutions that give life in abundance

From their brochure:

Civic Engagement

The Civic Engagement Program seeks to empower Palestinian youth, women, teachers and future leaders, and transform them from spectators to actors by identifying, motivating, and developing their potential through a unique and holistic approach.  The Program offers training in civic education and multiple civil society engagement initiatives.

Culture

Culture is often seen as a luxury, while in fact it is the art to breathe in a context of continuous conflict.

Diyar offers room for creativity, space for self-expression and venue for cultural exchanges on the local, regional, and international levels, thus making Bethlehem the cultural destination in Palestine.

From the Diyar brochure:

Diyar Art Center

“DAC seeks to empower Palestinian women by employing the arts as a vehicle for nurturing their creativity, enhancing their economic sustainability and giving a voice through advancing their productions as their personal unique expressions.”

From the Diyar brochure:

Diyar Publisher

Diyar publisher is committed to document the oral history of the Palestinian people, and to publish the works of Palestinian and international scholars on issues related to Palestinian art, social history, religion, Palestinian Christians, women, archaeology and civil society.

Ajyal

With no social security or health insurance for those who are above 65 years old, Ajyal Program is a comprehensive elderly care program that offers basic services, spiritual fellowship, social support system and opportunities for continuous education and growth.

Diyar is a wonderful organization and Rev. Raheb is an inspirational figure.  His ministry is the kind that is truly the work of God.

Our next visit in Bethlehem was with Karios Palestine, another Christian organization.  I'll share some about that next time.

Day 3 of Immersion: Last Day in Jordan and Crossing to Palestine

Our next day began with a drive to Madaba to see a church built on the remains of a mosaic floor:


6th Century mosaic on the floor of St. George Mosaic Map Church in Madaba.

Above: St. Georges Mosaic Map Church Madaba, an Orthodox Church in Jordan.

After visiting the church in Madaba, we headed to Mount Nebo.  Along the way, we passed many Bedouin homes.

Above: Bedouin dwellings in Jordan. 

Mt. Nebo also has a 6th century mosaic and is said to be the spot from which Moses viewed the Holy Land.  The views are, of course, spectacular.  The idea of approaching the mountain top and seeing below it a piece of fertile land that a wandering tribe could possibly call their own... the hope was real.  The hope in my own heart felt real as I glimpsed it from a distance and longed for the coming moment when I would walk on that ground with my own feet.

Above: Mt. Nebo, where Moses is said to have viewed the Promised Land.

I thought about Moses.  Our stories suggest that Moses never made it to the Promised Land.  I imagined him looking at the Holy Land with longing, like many Palestinians do.  Maybe he saw that place and knew in his bones a sense of belonging, yet also knew he would never be able to touch it with his own hands.  I imagine Palestinian children today, looking at a wall that blocks their view of the land they have heard their parents talk about... I imagine that key to a house that an Israeli family lives in today being passed from hand to hand as the house is described from memory.  

That sense of longing is real, too.  Perhaps like the Jews of the Exodus, many of the Palestinian people are landless.  While they don't quite wander through the desert, since their movement is so restricted, I imagine their longing for the home they know from memory or from a parent's story.  It must be terrible to live in a refugee camp, knowing that only 50 miles away, your home is there-- so close and so far.

The sense of belonging and longing for the Holy Land is felt by many people... I often think, however, that folks have trouble imagining the longing of others.

Perhaps I am getting side-tracked, though.  

After Mt. Nebo, we went to the Jordan River.  We first visited the site of a 3rd century monastery built at the spot believed to be John the Baptist's cave:

Below is the cave (and the monastery built around it):

The site of John's cave was had water access (a spring is nearby) and is surrounded by reeds that make a beautiful sound.  There is also wild honey and locusts.  The spot felt very intense for me and I had a spiritual experience at the site that I prefer not to share (at least not yet).

Above: Remains of a 3rd Century monastery at the site that may have been the cave John the Baptist lived in. There were locusts, honey, and the Jordan near the cave.

(at Jesus Baptism Site, Jordan River)

• Spot thought to be where Jesus was baptized. Remains of the church around it are from the 3rd Century.

Oh, hello. (at Jesus Baptism Site, Jordan River)

 (at Jesus Baptism Site, Jordan River)

Above: Jesus Baptism Site, Jordan River

Metaphors.

My experience at the Jordan River was intense.  It left me questioning the universe and reality in a way that I cannot explain.  Sometimes you feel in your bones a truth that is more true than other truths.  

Maybe you know what I mean.

Above:  Feet in the Jordan River. I can’t even… (at Jesus Baptism Site, Jordan River)

The Evangelical Lutheran Church at the Jordan River in Jordan gave us our tour at the Jordan.  It was lovely.  The pastor was wonderful in his descriptions and the sense of spirituality he brought to our time.  He gave us lovely blessings in the water and had a great energy and commitment to justice.  After our tour, he invited us back to the church for coffee... of course he did!  Everyone in Jordan has a fantastic sense of hospitality.

Above: Lutheran Church at the Jordan River. (at Jesus Baptism Site, Jordan River)

I found the witness and spiritual work of the Lutheran churches in the Holy Land to be quite impressive.

Above: Altar art inside the Lutheran Church. Stunning.

Above:  Feels after crossing the border into the West Bank. It took 4 hours and was a terribly dehumanizing experience– one that Palestinians go through regularly in their own country. It’s now nearly 2:00 a.m., but we are in Nazareth and will rise early for more. 

We went through a Palestinian border crossing.  Israelis and other groups (like our own) can go through another one, but we went through this crossing, one Palestinians must use, so that we would see what few visiting do: how dehumanizing the experience is for Palestinians who are simply trying to enter their own country.  

There were about 7 different checkpoints our vehicle had to pass through, then about 7 different lines we had to get in to get through the border.  Baggage and Passport.  Passport.  Baggage.  Passport and questions.  More passport and questions.  Baggage.

People in our group were stopped and harassed at various points, but faced only a fraction of the discrimination that Palestinians face… GOING INTO PALESTINE.  It took 4 hours, but likely would have taken more on a different day at a different time, and surely would have been worse if we were Palestinian.  The process treated us like animals.  The atmosphere is strange.  People squish through, simply trying to get home amidst chaos and never-ending lines.  Despite the chaos, one must keep smiling if one doesn’t want to be harassed by Israeli security.  

Happy cows come from…

wait.

Peter observed a young man trying to speak to a member of the Israeli security.  He spoke in Arabic.  “This is Israel.  Learn to speak Hebrew,” said the man.

It was Palestine, not Israel, and even in Israel, one of the national languages is Arabic.

A 15-year-old boy stood next to one of my peers in line.  “Do you see what they’re doing to us?” he asked.

“I do,” he said.

We see it.  We will not be silent.

...

After crossing the border, we had a late dinner in Jericho before heading to our hotel in Nazareth.

Here are a couple of videos that may help you better see and hear what is going on in these lands:

Life in a refugee camp.

Razing of the Temple and My Spirit

My trip to the Holy Land is, in many ways, not just about me.  It's certainly about the people of the land, whose rights to the land matter and whose are upheld, who has access to what... but it's also about my ancestors.  I didn't know that until I got here, but it turns out it's the truth.

I had a particular experience at the Jordan River that I have not yet told anyone about or said aloud... and I'm not ready to announce it here, but I want to say that it brought to the forefront my ancestors, and in particular: my grandparents who have passed.  All 3 were very devout Christians and I see myself now as doing this for them, too-- making the pilgrimage that they were never able to.

We visited the Western Wall today.  For folks who don't know, the Western Wall is the remaining wall of the Jerusalem temple, which was destroyed in 72 AD.  It is all that is left of it.  

Before coming to the Middle East, I had expected some hostility.  I am, after all, a light-skinned American dripping with privilege and coming from a country which is not always viewed fondly by folks in other places.  Knowing my country's relationship with the political parties in the region as well as how our media treats the conflicts in the region, I expected hostility from Muslims and Palestinians (whether Muslim or not).  I expected Israelis to be more friendly.  After all, our government gives them money and we support Israel in a variety of ways.

What I have experienced is exactly the opposite of this expectation.  

During our time in Jordan and Nazareth, I felt warmly welcomed by everyone, whether they expected me or not and whether they were Christian or not.  Arabic hospitality is incredible.  This is likely because traveling through these lands in earlier times would have been quite a rough journey.  The people survived on each other's hospitality and it is foremost in their culture.  Driving around, people wave at you.  People greet you on the street and welcome you (we are pretty clearly not from the area).   They welcome you into their homes and try to feed you at every turn.  "Let me take this," "Let me get this."  I think what might exemplify this truth well is the beginning of our work with the Orthodox Initiative.  Wafa, the leader of the organization, greeted us upon our arrival and gave us some information before we were to leave to work with refugees.  Our scheduling has been tight and we were in a hurry.  "We have no more time for questions right now," she told us as folks scurried around to get things done, "but first we will have some coffee."  More important than anything else was that we felt welcomed. She also invited us to her home for drinks and snacks after our long day.

Peter, one of our leaders, suggested that this hospitality in spite of American politics is because Palestinians (who are well represented in Jordan and their perspective is well represented by non-Palestinians in Jordan) know what it is like to have a government that does not represent the truths of its people.  They understand that just because our government is not on their side does not necessarily mean that Americans are Zionists or anti-Muslim or anti-Arab.  

SO.  All this is to preface my experience in the Holy City.

We arrived in East Jerusalem last night and began our journey within its borders today.  After the Mount of Olives and its holy sites, we entered the Old City.  

As we entered the Jewish quarter, we found the military presence increase.  There were Israeli soldiers, all seemingly younger than me, carrying automatic weapons at every turn and in swarms.  To be an outsider in a militarized place felt vulnerable from the get-go, but I had high hopes and expectations for an experience touching the Western Wall-- the wall of Jesus' temple,
older than old,
felt by thousands upon thousands of pious religious folk from a variety of traditions.  

We entered.  

Men through one door,                                  women through another.  

We got to a place where we could see the wall.  It was divided--

a section for men;          

a section for women.

The men's section was larger, of course, even though there were far more women at the wall praying.  The women were crowded in, many waiting to get close enough to it.  The men could have spread their arms out a couple times over.

No one said welcome in this place.  The soldiers with guns looked at us like nothing (at best), but more often I felt that they looked at us like unwelcome invaders.  I distinctly felt that many of the Israelis had no interest in sharing this Holy City, to which many of our religious traditions hold claim, with anyone but their own kind.  It mattered not our reverence or irreverance, our silence or noisiness.

A woman stomped over to our group to tell one of my peers that she was not dressed appropriately.  The look on her face as she asked my friend to modify her appearance was one of disgust-- she publicly shamed her.  That-- publicly shaming-- was okay in the holy site.  Machine guns were okay in the holy site.  Relegating the women to a small portion of the wall was okay.  Disallowing women from the study room was okay.  Banning Muslims and Christians who lived in the area for generations from returning to it was okay.  My friend's church dress and blazer were not.

I wanted to touch the wall.  I wanted to touch the wall with the hand I wore my Grammie's ring on.  I wanted to feel the holiness seep through the stone into my hand.  I wanted to feel the spiritual weight of centuries of prayer.

I walked toward the women's entrance to the wall.  Two women sat at a table with head scarves for those who didn't have their own.  One of the women was the one who had shamed my peer.  I walked toward the table behind a different one of my peers.

"Are you Jewish?"  she asked. 

"No," she answered.  

"You don't need it," she said, motioning her hand as if she were shooing a fly.  I try to give people the benefit of the doubt.  Could she be suggesting she is not obligated?  Would she have asked her about her religious identity if she had lighter skin?  

The look on that woman's face.  Disgust.  She did not want her there.  That wall was not for us to share.  That temple which holds prominence in our scriptures, too, was not for us.  

The other woman who sat next to her offered a kind face.  "No, it's okay, take it."  She looked apologetic.

We took the scarves.  We only wanted to be respectful.

I put it on and walked toward the wall.  

Cold gazes.  

The wall was crowded, as I mentioned.  The women were squished in.  I sat in a chair and waited for a space.  Should I move toward the wall?  Was it okay?  I doubted it now.  They let us in, but they didn't let us in.  We were tolerated.  

A space opened up between two Israeli soldiers in uniform.  No, somewhere else.  The wall was so crowded.  Nothing else was opening.

Should I?  Could I?

I went over and stood between them.  My hand was shaking as I lifted it to touch the wall.  

Between the soldiers.  

I could.  Because I had American privilege.  

It was dirty.  A terrible feeling washed over me, so unlike the feeling of the Jordan River, the Garden of Gethsemane, and every other holy site we had seen.

I lowered myself to the ground.  I touched the wall again.  I wanted it to speak to me.  I wanted to feel something.  Something wonderful, but all I felt was a wave of...
of... 

It was dirty.  It was desecrated.

I held my hand on the wall, wanting something to feel sacred-- not fearful, not yucky, not terrible. 

A bird shit on my hand.

What is going on?  Was it Wendell Berry that said there are no unsacred places, only sacred places and desecrated places?  

Prayer.  Prayer.  Prayer.

I backed away from the wall.  

Slowly.  

Faster.  

Quickly.  

More quickly.  

The tears were rolling down my checks.  Get me out of here.  This is not right.

I came back to the table and removed my scarf.  The woman who had been kind and told us to take the scarves sat there.  As I put it back in the box, I looked her in the eyes and with my kindest smile, I said: "Thank you."  Thank you for your kindness.  Thank you for treating me like a person.   She smiled back at me and nodded.

I walked back toward the group.

More tears.  All the tears.  

What is going on in this place?

Christian Worship

"…The purpose of employing cultural, ethnic, or ritual forms in worship is to ‘serve the gospel… The use of diverse cultural gifts in worship is an imperative, as the gospel cannot be communicated outside of human culture. But the use of these gifts is always for the sake of the gospel, and not for the sake of culture.’"

— from Worship for the Whole People of God: Vital Worship for the 21st Century by Ruth C. Duck.  Quoting Karen Ward’s “What is Culturally Specific Worship?”

Worship and Culture

The Nairobi Statement on Worship and Culture suggests that worship should be transcultural and counter-cultural.  Worship should be transcultural in its embrace and usage of elements of worship that are universal and present in most of Christian worship, emphasizing grace, such as Eucharist, water symbolism, the cross, resurrection, among other themes and symbols.  Worship should also be counter-cultural in its capacity to resist elements of culture that are damaging and run counter to the messages of the gospel that are threatened by a culture in its time and place.  Worship must be justice-oriented in this manner and be able to address issues (such as immigration, feminism, the drug war, etc.) that may not be easy to talk about, but are important to living the gospel and embracing radical equality in Christ.