Renuion

with Lina, my dear "sister" 

The heart is always warmed by the greeting of friends.  There is nothing like a hug, a smile, a kiss from someone you have not seen for some time.  There is so much tender exuberance in reunions. 

My return to the holy land is filled with many, many such reunions.  From Mohammed who met us at the airport, to Hussein who I randomly ran into on the street, to long-time friends and colleagues, I have received more kisses and hugs than I can remember.  Being known by so many wonderful people is a gift I don't' ever want to take for granted.

But there have been other sweet reunions on this trip. Nearly half of the pilgrims are from churches in California.  I haven't seen any of them in years.   When each one walks through the customs at the airport, the spark of recognition ignites memories and affection.  

The first wave of pilgrims who arrived in Tel Aviv today!

This has me thinking more about how it must have felt for Peter, Mary, and the other disciples as they encountered the resurrected Jesus for the first time.  The confusion they felt must have quickly morphed in pure joy.  "Is it really you?" they must have exclaimed.  No wonder Mary grabbed Jesus.  She wanted to have a physical connection to ground the emotional reality she was experiencing. If she could touch him, she then knew she wasn't dreaming. 

For those of us who often distance ourselves from God, I wonder if the Divine One has that same sense of joy when we return.  Does Christ feel that intoxicating spark of love when we metaphorically kiss and greet him?  "I've been waiting for you.  Welcome home!" I imagine him saying.  "Come, sit!  Let's catch up."  

I think I have a glimpse of how delightful that reunion must be. 

Arrival

We have arrived!  Well, at least three of us.  After smooth flights and connections through Paris,  it was thrilling to catch the first glimpse of the holy land.  The coastline with miles of beaches gives way to high rises and industrial complexes that dot this part of Israel.  A quick circle of the airport and we touched down.

As we taxied to the gates, I pondered what was ahead for my travel companions.   Jill and Claire were about to be dumped into the craziness of my connections in Israel.  Mohammed, out taxi driver, is a good friend.  Not surprising for an Arab Israeli Muslim man who lives in Jerusalem, the ride to Bethlehem was filled with talk of politics, family, and religion.

When we arrived at our hotel next to the Church of the Nativity,  we were greeted and treated to dinner by good friends, the Ghareeb family.  Over scrumptious fare, we caught up on news and life. I give the children gifts from Cincinnati - Reds baseball caps and Reds backpacks.   The adults got Maverick chocolate from Findlay Market.  I adore this family and it was lovely to bring a piece of my new world to them.

Before heading to bed, I insisted on a quick walk around Manger square.  Jet-lagged though we were, we somehow found the grace to accept tea from another friend we ran into.  Adnan ushered us into his shop and shared stories about Bedouin life as he reminisced about his father who passed away a few years ago.

As I went to bed, I began to ponder what this trip will mean for me.  I know well how delightful the discovery can be for those who are here for the first time.  The sights, smell, and spirituality of this place are what has led many to call it the fifth gospel.  But for me, it is like a glimpse of home.  What is familiar and feels like family brings a unique depth to my return.  But what is anticipated and known can often prevent an openness to new insights and possibilities.  I want to be attentive to my own sense of "why this place at this time."  How will God be present to me, to this place, to these people,  and to our soon-to-be-arriving pilgrims?

I know one thing for sure.  As I preached on Easter Sunday, my heart is seeking moments of resurrection, not resuscitation.  While connected to the past, I have no desire to be bound to it.  Things are never the same here, nor can they be.  Instead, I want to attend to the stories of resurrection - great and small. I can't help but wonder how many of those stories will be my own.