Jerusalem at Last!

Upon my arrival in Israel earlier today, I feel like I have officially disembarked from the working aspects of my life. The immersion into Palestinian rhythms and culture brings a sense of concreteness to my necessary separation from all things West Coast. But to be honest, the transition didn't begin when I boarded Delta flight 268 to Tel Aviv. It really began last Friday when I boarded a plane to NYC to preach at the installation of my dear friend Dale Southorn. It was a great weekend that included extended time with my daughter, Allyee, who is at Hunter College in Manhattan, and Dale and his wife, Elisabeth, my best friend for nearly 40 years. Laughter, tears, and the wonder of being loved and known by good friends and family -- it was a sweet way to start the sabbatical.

Having landed mid-day, I spent the afternoon getting reacquainted with Jerusalem, this ancient citadel of the sacred. The city was overrun with pilgrims celebrating Sukkot, the Jewish holiday for remembering the 40 years of wandering in the desert. Both a deliverance and provision festival of sorts, this one comes right after Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. Cleansed from sin, the pilgrims pray for God's provision and deliverance from their perceived oppressors.

As promised, my first order of business was to walk to the Western Wailing Wall where I joined thousands of pilgrims in offering prayers. When I left California last week, my heart was and continues to burdened with the challenges facing so many people I care about. There are marriages that are falling apart, people who are grieving, and folks facing threatening illnesses. There are laments of loneliness from many of our single congregants and epidemic uncertainty among our college students. There are lost souls questioning faith and those who have given it up. There are communities that are suffering unimaginable pain and betrayal. I couldn't read the New York Times over the weekend without thinking about about Albany, Goma, and the West Bank.

And so I stood beside the Wailing Wall slipping paper prayers between the cracks. I longed for God to answer these simple written petitions. The lilting cadence of Hebrew buoyed my spirit. The Wall echoed back the whispered requests of the hundreds of women who surrounded me. You could feel the energy and earnest hope. It was palpable. I was deeply moved and sensed the presence of the Divine holding far more than my small but significant list of prayers. I was in awe.

So when I finally turned to leave, why did I feel sobered, daunted, and even a bit discouraged by the whole experience? As I passed through the labyrinth of Jewish, Christian, and Muslim neighborhoods that make up the old city, I found myself wondering how God sorts out the many prayers offered for healing and peace when prayers for God's shalom and justice take on very different manifestations depending upon your religious and cultural point of view? As the sun went down, I clearly heard the conflicting call of the shofar, the muezzin and church bells. How does God hear and respond to this concentrated cacophony of concern?

Disquieted, I headed over to Shewar's, my favorite hole-in-the wall coffee shop in the Christian Quarter. It has been over 18 months since I have had coffee there and over 3 years since my first introduction to the owner and his delectable pastries. When I entered, Shewar tilted his head and said, "I remember you. It's been a while since you've been here." I was floored. With the crowds of family, friends, and tourists that pass through his shop everyday, how did he remember me? He made me a cup of his good, strong coffee, plied me with his jam-filled cookies, and eventually sent me on my way without letting me pay. His reason? He said it was good to see an old friend and to come back again soon.

Shewar's generous hospitality reminded me that as I start my sabbatical what I am seeking is not answers to unanswerable questions. Instead, what I deeply long to hear is God's gracious welcome, "I remember you. It's been a while. . . . Come back again." Having worked far too many hours these past few months, I have been operating in a spiritual deficit. I'm tired and soul-weary. Maybe what I need to remember is that I'm remembered and welcome.

Tomorrow, at first light, I will revisit the Wailing Wall before heading off to Bethlehem. In addition to all the prayers I am offering up for others, I will slip one of my own into the wall.  God, please bring me back home.