Occasional thoughts of an Anglican Episcopal priest

Category: Spirituality (Page 49 of 116)

Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem – From the Daily Office – June 30, 2014

From the Psalter:

I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the Lord.” Now our feet are standing within your gates, O Jerusalem.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Psalm 122:1-2 (BCP Version) – June 30, 2014)

Our feet left Jerusalem today and went to Bethlehem, and what a day of varied impressions. We began in Manger Square (which is more like a parking lot than a town square) with Iyad’s presentation on the history of the Church of the Nativity, then we entered the building. It is currently under restoration, so there is scaffolding everywhere! The pillars in the nave are wrapped in cloth and banded with wood to protect them (apparently they are painted). Electric construction lighting hangs from the ceiling. The place looks like (and is) a construction zone.

Yet in the midst of this the various denominations (the Greeks, Latins, and Armenians share the space) go about their daily round of services and devotions. As we were entering, the Greeks were completing their worship in the upper church (ground floor, above the crypt of the Nativity). We were led passed them and into the adjoining more modern Church of St. Catherine, the local Franciscan (Roman Catholic) parish. Mass was just being completed there, as well.

On the right side of the Nave is a stairway leading down to some crypts adjacent to the crypt of the Nativity. Here it is said that St. Jerome translated the Vulgate (Latin) version of the scriptures. Here, also, is a crypt where the bones of several infants were found and tradition teaches the infants killed in the slaughter of the Holy Innocents were buried. There is a shrine to St. Jerome, another to the Holy Innocents, and a chapel of the Nativity whose backwall is the common wall to the crypt of the Nativity.

We gathered in this chapel, read the story of the Lord’s birth, sang What Child Is This? and O Little Town of Bethlehem. As we were finishing, the Greeks were completing their time in the crypt (down the tunnel from our chapel) and the sound of the bells (jingle bells) on the Greek thurible added to the “Christmas feel” of what we had just done.

Afterward, we went back up to St. Catherine’s where we waited for the Franciscans to begin their time in the crypt. We had been invited to participate in their Eucharist, which we believed would be in either English or Italian. As it turned out, it was in Spanish. Two young Mexican deacons were ordained yesterday and were serving their first Mass today. A group of pilgrims from Mexico (probably family members or members of their home parishes) were on hand. It was a lovely service and it was a privilege to receive communion in the Crypt, as it was to venerate the star over the place of Christ’s birth. But our few minutes of singing together in the side chapel next door was more meaningful for me.

As we left the Church, the Armenians were getting ready for their turn in the Crypt and I made note the beautiful, exceptionally celtic carving on the doors of their sacristy. Fr. Keith Owen said, “Those Celts! They got everywhere!” Indeed.

After the Mass, we traveled to another part of Bethlehem to do some souvenir shopping at a store known to our guide. (Evie and I bought only a few olive wood items. The sales staff were exceptionally pushy and while I might have bought something, my obstinate contrariness kicks in when I’m being pressured so they lost a sale. But, hey, as we keep saying, “It’s the middle east.”) The shop is in a part of the city very much affected by the Israeli security barrier; it is very much “in your face” in this section. One house (which was reported on by 60 Minutes in 2013 is almost completely surrounded by the wall!

We walked along the wall for about half a mile and really got a feel for its impact on the lives of the people of Bethlehem. I took several pictures of posters and grafitti that have been put on barricade.

After that, we drove to Beit Sahour (“House of the Angel”) a city about two miles from Bethlehem where the Shepherd’s Field (one of them, anyway) is located. There we had a great lunch of beef and chicken kabobs, and then walked to the Shepherd’s Field.

Another small Barluzzi church is located there – with a great statue of an angel over the door. We sat around the altar in the church and sang Angels We Have Heard on High and O Little Town of Bethlehem. Then we went down the hill to an archaeological excavation (on the Shepherd’s Field property) of some caves which were probably inhabited in the First Century. The cave opened to the public really gives a great sense of what the cave where Jesus was born would have been like. (He wasn’t born in an “inn” despite centuries of mistranslation of the Greek word kataluma.)

After Beit Sahour, we went to Ein Karem (“Vineyard Spring”) where it is believed that John the Baptist’s parents, Zechariah and Elizabeth, lived. Another Barluzzi church is found here commemorating the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Here, we hiked up the hill to the church, saw its lovely murals, statuary, and other objects. On the way back down, we stopped at a gelateria and got a dish or cone of gelato (Italian ice cream). I had Belgian chocolate and berries – it was wonderful!

It was an exceptionally full day! Psalm 122 (one of the several morning psalms for today) concludes:

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem:
“May they prosper who love you.

Peace be within your walls
and quietness within your towers.

For my brethren and companions’ sake,
I pray for your prosperity.

Because of the house of the LORD our God, *
I will seek to do you good.”

(vv. 6-9; BCP Version)

The biggest impression of the day was, as it has been on other days, not the religious sites, but the political sights: the wall, the grafitti on it, the posters put there by the Wall Museum, the disruption of people’s lives, the separation of famers from their fields and orchards, the utter contempt of Israel for the Palestinian Arabs that it represents. How can there ever be peace when people are treated like this? I have spent the day with 17 other good Christian people trying to follow the Prince of Peace in a land torn by conflict. I have no answers. I have only prayers. I will pray for the peace of Jerusalem!

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A request to my readers: I’m trying to build the readership of this blog and I’d very much appreciate your help in doing so. If you find something here that is of value, please share it with others. If you are on Facebook, “like” the posts on your page so others can see them. If you are following me on Twitter, please “retweet” the notices of these meditations. If you have a blog of your own, please include mine in your links (a favor I will gladly reciprocate). Many thanks!

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

All God’s Children: Day Four in Jerusalem – From the Daily Office – June 29, 2014

From the Acts of the Apostles:

Paul stood in front of the Areopagus and said, “Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in every way. For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, ‘To an unknown god.’ What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you. The God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in shrines made by human hands, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things. From one ancestor he made all nations to inhabit the whole earth, and he allotted the times of their existence and the boundaries of the places where they would live, so that they would search for God and perhaps grope for him and find him — though indeed he is not far from each one of us. For ‘In him we live and move and have our being;’ as even some of your own poets have said, ‘For we too are his offspring.’ “

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Acts 17:22-28 (NRSV) – June 29, 2014)

Always one of my favorite stories of the Apostle Paul, this incident is depicted in the stained glass altar window of my church (St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Medina, Ohio). I chose to use it as my focus scripture to introduce a summary of our Holy Land Pilgrimage activities today because Paul’s message of unity – that in God we all live and move and have our being, and that we are all God’s offspring – is one that needs badly to be heard in Israel and Palestine and, if the statistics we are hearing about Christian population in these countries are correct, it is one that won’t be heard very loudly or at all. Down from as high at 35% at the time of the British Mandate and the establishment of the state of Israel in 1948, the Christian population of Israel and Palestine today is less than 2%.

We began our day early with breakfast at 5:30 a.m. — to the usual assortment of olives, pickled eggplant, humus, labneh, yogurt, cheeses, and so forth was added a flaky, cheese-stuffed pastry, a sort of savory popover. Washed down with several cups of instant coffee (instant is all they serve here), this got us fortified for a morning of cultural fascination and disappointment.

First, we rode our bus to the Dung Gate of the old city, a pretty awful but ancient name for the southern gate in the city wall which derives from the refuse dumped here in ancient times; presumably, the prevailing winds would carry odors away. (“I went out by night by the Valley Gate past the Dragon’s Spring and to the Dung Gate, and I inspected the walls of Jerusalem that had been broken down and its gates that had been destroyed by fire.” Neh 2:13) This gate leads directly to the Western Wall and an archaeological park located at the south end of the Temple Mount.

We stood on line for nearly an hour waiting for Israeli security to open the gate that leads to the only access non-Muslims have to the top of the Temple Mount (which Muslims call “the Noble Sanctuary), the Al-Aqsah Mosque, and the Dome of the Rock. Above this gate is a sign reading, “According to Torah Law, entering the Temple Mount area is strictly forbidden due to the holiness of the site. [signed] The Chief Rabbinate of Israel” Both the Ashkenazi and Sephardi Chief Rabbis have signed this statement which was first issued by the Ashkenazi rabbi in 1935; both reiterated this prohibition in 2013.

Ignoring the Chief Rabbinate, a group of Israeli “settlers” stood in the line in front of us waiting to gain access to the Temple Mount.

Finally, security opened the gate and we were ushered through. The settlers were given a thorough search, however. From the covered wooden walkway from the security point to the actual gate of the Mount, we were able to take some good photographs of the crowd of Jews at the Wailing Wall. Directly under us, a large group of Jewish women were singing a hymn at the Wall. Directly in front of us, at the end of the covered walkway, Israeli security stored their heavy plexiglass riot shields, a visible sign to anyone entering that the police were prepared.

We entered the Noble Sanctuary and found a spot in the shade where Iyad could tell us about its history, ancient and modern. While he was talking some young adult tourists (American or Canadian college kids?) came onto the Mount and an old Muslim man began to berate them for being immodestly dressed. (We’d been told ahead of time that should wear long pants and long- or short-sleeve shirts, no tank tops; women should be in dresses or pants to the ankle, long-sleeved blouses, and scarves or veils. Why their guide hadn’t done the same, I have no idea.) An argument erupted between the old man and the Israeli police guards about who had authority to tell tourists whether they could enter and what the should wear. Eventually the college kids got themselves properly attired (using towels and large scarves) and walked on, but I know they took away an image of Muslim intractability.

Shortly after that, the settlers we’d seen at the security gate entered, to boos, hoots, catcalls, and other shouts of protest (or of “Allah hu akbar” – God is great) from the Muslims. They either offered a prayer or held a short conversation just inside the gate, then made a bee-line for an exit (passing us and wishing us “Shalom” as they did so). They had no reason to be there, other than to be provocative.

We spent some time walking through the area and seeing its sights. Unfortunately, since September 2000 when Israeli prime minister Ariel Sharon “visited” the Temple Mount, an act scene by many as provoking the second Intifada, no non-Muslim has been permitted to enter the Al Aq-sah Mosque or the Dome of the Rock, so we could not see in the insides of the buildings.

After that we left the Noble Sanctuary by another gate (one can leave by any of the twelve gates, but non-Muslims can enter by only the one). We made our way to St. Anne’s Church at the Pools of Bethesda. A short visit to the pools and archeological site was followed by our entering the church and, as a group, singing Seek Ye First before the altar. The church, which is a crusader construction of limestone, has marvelous accoustics and we really sounded good. (The church is well preserved because it was turned into a Muslim school at one point. This is why it has no windows; those were replaced by the Muslims with plaster filigree. It also has a verse from the Qur’an carved in the stone over the front door.) After that, we made our way back to the bus which took us back to St. George’s Cathedral.

We gathered in a rather full church for the Eucharist, celebrated in both English and Arabic — and interesting experience reciting the creed and other parts of the canon in English while others were doing so in Arabic. Bishop Suheil Dawani presided; Canon Naim Atik preached. The canon focused on Jesus’ reference to rewards in the reading from Matthew’s Gospel and tied it to the recent vote by the Presbyterian Church USA to divest itself of stock in companies doing business in occupied Palestine, which he praised. I really didn’t follow the connection, however.

A short coffee hour (the coffee was “Turkish” or Arabic coffee – strong and sweet in tiny cups) and then a conversation with the bishop. He told us about his diocese’s ministries (education and health care) carried on by 30 diocesan institutions in five countries; the diocese covers Israel, Palestine, Lebanon, Syria, and Jordan! He also told us about the shrinking of the Christian community in the Holy Land: the cathedral had been full, but that fullness was made up of two pilgrimage groups – ours and a larger group from Canada – and one group of scholars at St. George’s College. The indigenous members of the congregation this morning numbered only about twelve! He pleaded with us to support the work of the church in Jerusalem and beyond.

Lunch followed, after which we went to the Israel Museum to see a scale model of what Second Temple (First Century) Jerusalem is believed to have been, and an exhibit of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Both were very impressive. More impressive was the unfortunate and unnecessary way in which Iyad was hastled by the guards at the museum’s entrance. He was clearly made to feel unwelcome.

On our return to the Guest House we had some free time and then had a conversation with a Jewish scholar who described himself as a “Jewish Zionist Leftist who sympathizes with the Palestinians and believes they have a right to self-determination.” He laid out for us in very a honest and nuanced way the differing Jewish perceptions of the difficulties in Israel and Palestine. He personalized the struggle in this land by telling us stories of the ways in which he, his wife, and his children had been accosted by Muslims, among whom they live! He teared up telling us of an incident involving his 9-year-old son, and yet he still urged us to not take sides and he still takes the view that the Palestinian Arabs have an equal right to a homeland.

He advised us to “not take the conflict home with you” and to support Christians in this country. Noting that they are (as stated above) down to less than 2% of the population, he opined that their absence would be tragic for the country. They are a force for peace, he said, and without them the possibility of armed conflict increases. Asked what we could do, his answer was the same as the bishops – support the Christians.

A tasty dinner of spiced beef and then Compline finished the day.

Take away from this day – Paul is correct; we are all the children of one God and those of us of the Abrahamic faiths ought to be able to demonstrate that to the rest of the world. But, for whatever reasons, we seem unable to do that. Everywhere we go in this country we find Israeli Jews provoking Palestinian Muslims; clearly it is a minority doing so blatantly, but the government seems to do so as well in more subtle ways. We find Palestinians, both Muslims and Christians, angry at the Israelis. We find Christians unable to work together (even though their bishops, Bishop Dawani told us, meet together frequently for mutual support and consultation). We hear Arabs talk of “peace and justice” and Jews talk of “peace with security,” but there is very little talk of reconciliation. There are some beginnings of grass-roots efforts at reconciliation, but it is not happening in the secular political world nor in the religious hierarchies. “Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: ‘May they prosper who love you. Peace be within your walls and quietness within your towers.’ ” (Ps 122:6-7)

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A request to my readers: I’m trying to build the readership of this blog and I’d very much appreciate your help in doing so. If you find something here that is of value, please share it with others. If you are on Facebook, “like” the posts on your page so others can see them. If you are following me on Twitter, please “retweet” the notices of these meditations. If you have a blog of your own, please include mine in your links (a favor I will gladly reciprocate). Many thanks!

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

The Holiest Place – From the Daily Office – June 28, 2014

From Matthew’s Gospel:

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, “Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Matthew 21:1-11 (NRSV) – June 28, 2014)

Is it merely fortuitous that this turns out to be the Gospel lesson for the Daily Office today? Today we went to the Mount of Olives, to Gethsemane, to the place were Jesus was questioned by Caiaphas the High Priest.

We started, as we started yesterday, with that Middle Eastern breakfast of cucumbers and olives, pita and cheeses, yogurt and pickled eggplant. It was an early start, too. A short bus ride to the Garden of Gethsemane where we were the only people present! Walking around (not in) the Garden, seeing the ancient (though not 2,000 year old) olive trees, smelling the garden flowers in the early morning . . . it was (as my wife said) exactly as one would have envisioned it. And, of course, it’s designed that way. This Garden is a relatively modern iteration of the old reality, a modern version whose creation was guided by those spiritual and artistic sensitivities of centuries of Christian devotion. It’s emotional impact is not less real for all of that. Modern garden or not, this is the place where Jesus spent his last free moments of life.

The Garden is dominated by the Church of All Nations, a 1924 structure built by an Italian architect, Antonio Barluzzi. Heavy, dark, and foreboding as befits the story of Maundy Thursday, it is an impressive structure. It houses what is called the stone of agony: “Going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him.” (Mark 14:35) By tradition, this stone is the “ground” on which Jesus prayed for an alternative outcome. Kneeling before the altar, placing one’s hands and forehead on the stone, and giving up one’s will to God’s will is deeply profound experience.

After Gethsemane, we went up the Mount of Olives and back a few days in the Holy Week story, to Palm Sunday. We went to the Church of Bethphage at the place where Jesus is said to have stopped on his way into the city:

When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples and said to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.’ ” (Mark 11:1-3)

Another Barluzzi church (actually his restoration of a pre-existing church), Church of Bethphage is quite small, but was wonderful accoustics. Mark Stanger and Keith Owen blessed small olive branches for us to carry, and we sang All Glory, Laud, and Honor (“Valet will ich der geben”). That was glorious! Great to be with people who clearly love to sing and in a place where that singing is enhanced.

Then we cheated a bit . . . we took a bus part of the way down the Mount, disembarked, and walked to the church called Dominus Flevit, “The Lord Wept.” Again, a Barluzzi building built in the 1950s. At the corners of the building, at roof level, are representations of urns supposed to be vials for collecting tears, inspired by the psalm verse, “You have noted my lamentation;put my tears into your bottle; are they not recorded in your book?” (Ps. 56:8, BCP version) The reference to Jesus weeping is not to the death of Lazarus, but to Jesus weeping over the city of Jerusalem which is said to have occurred at this spot.

This was the most moving part of the day for me, and I will return to it in a minute.

From there we walked on to Gethsemane, where we had already been, then board the bus for a drive through the Kidron Valley and up the slopes to an old part of Jerusalem outside the current walls, but not before a small detour to learn more about the state of things in modern Israel and Palestine.

At the top of the highway is Mount Scopus, or Mount of the Lookout. Hebrew University has a campus here and we stopped at a scenic viewpoint and terrace owned by the university on the Jerusalem side of the mountain. Visible from there was the Hecht Synagogue on the campus, which was built in honor of US Senator (from Nevada) Chic Hecht; Chic had been a good friend of my father when I was child in Las Vegas! From there, we went to a similar viewpoint on the other side of the mountain. Visible from there was the desert landscape of occupied West Bank . . . and the “settlements” Israel is building there.

“Settlement” has always suggested to me a small group of temporary houses or perhaps mobile homes occupied by a few crazy Zionist families. That’s not what they are at all. They are massive planned communities housing hundreds of thousands of people. Israel is surrounding Arab East Jerusalem (which is in the West Bank – geography here is confusing) with a ring of settlements so that, eventually, 200,000 Palestinian Arabs will be surrounded by nearly half a million Jewish “settlers.” This is not a bunch of fanatics breaking the law — this is a nation breaking international law and stealthily, steadily taking over and conquering occupied territory!

After that eye-opener about the modern state of Israel, we returned to the First Century, making our way to what is believed to have been the location of the High Priest Caiaphus’s house where Jesus was taken after his arrest and where Peter denied knowing him. A Byzantine church was built on the site many centuries ago. That was replaced in the 1990s by a modern French Benedictine church called St. Peter in Gallicantu which means “St. Peter at Cock Crow.”

Below the church is a dungeon where it is believed Christ was questioned and spent the night before his crucifixion. Here, in the pit, we gathered and recited Psalm 87. Outside the church is an ancient stone stairway leading up from the Kidron Valley into the old city. Our guides tell us that we can be certain that Christ walked these steps when he went to and from Jerusalem from and to the home of his friend’s Mary, Martha, and Lazarus in Bethany.

After that . . . lunch in a local restaurant (a variety of salty Middle Eastern “salads,” followed by baked chicken with rice, carrots, and peas) and then a return to St. George’s Guest House where, after freshening up and napping, we heard a presentation on Islam, enjoyed a lovely dinner of fish, and then read Compline together.

As I mentioned above, the most moving part of the day for me was at the Church Dominus Flevit. I entered the church and found a congregation gathered for Holy Communion. The Franciscans were setting the altar and preparing to say the Mass, and I noted that the altar window frames the Dome of the Rock. Christians celebrating our most holy sacrament would look out at two of the most holy sites of the other two Abrahamic faiths: Judaism’s temple mount and Islam’s Dome of the Rock. It occurred to me that our holiest site is not a geographically fixed place. As holy and moving as all the places we have visited (and those we will visit) are, none of them is our faith’s holiest place. Our holiest place is a table. It may be the altar or communion table of our local church; it may be a table in our own homes; it may be a folding table set up at summer camp. Wherever the elements of bread and wine are offered, blessed, broken and shared as the Body and Blood of Christ, that is our holiest place.

I had to come half-way around the world to this land of the Holy One to discover that the holiest place is back home, wherever home may be.

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A request to my readers: I’m trying to build the readership of this blog and I’d very much appreciate your help in doing so. If you find something here that is of value, please share it with others. If you are on Facebook, “like” the posts on your page so others can see them. If you are following me on Twitter, please “retweet” the notices of these meditations. If you have a blog of your own, please include mine in your links (a favor I will gladly reciprocate). Many thanks!

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Thirsty: A Walking Tour of Jerusalem – From the Daily Office – June 26, 2014

From the Book of Numbers:

Now there was no water for the congregation; so they gathered together against Moses and against Aaron. The people quarreled with Moses and said, “Would that we had died when our kindred died before the Lord! Why have you brought the assembly of the Lord into this wilderness for us and our livestock to die here? Why have you brought us up out of Egypt, to bring us to this wretched place? It is no place for grain, or figs, or vines, or pomegranates; and there is no water to drink.”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Numbers 20:2-5 (NRSV) – June 27, 2014)

We have nearly come to the end of our second day in Israel, which has actually been our first full day. We began with what was described to us as a typical Palestinian breakfast — cheeses, pita, hummus, olives, pickled baby eggplant, fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, yogurt, hardboiled eggs, and a sautéed mixture of green olives, grape tomatoes, and mushrooms. There was also labneh, a salted yogurt cheese with herbs (in this case, I think it was a combination of basil and mint). It was all very different from our standard breakfast fare, and all very good.

Next on the agenda was a video of a 60-Minutes report from last year about Christians in the Holy Land. There a fewer of them than there used to be. Why that is so is an issue for debate. The Israeli government asserts that it is because of Muslim violence; the Christians we have met say that’s not true. That it is because of Israeli government policies. Perhaps the best analysis was the man who said that Christianity and the Christian community in this land are being lost through “collateral damage” in the conflict between Israeli Jews and Palestinian Arabs (who are mostly Muslim).

After that we began a walking tour of Jerusalem. St. George’s Cathedral Close is outside the Old City about a mile at the intersection of two roads which both lead to gates of the Old City: Nablus Road and Salah Eddin Street. Nablus Road leads north from the Damascus Gate; Salad Eddin Street leads north-northwest from Herod’s Gate; they cross at St. George’s Cathedral.

We walked our the “back gate” of the close (which is the front gate of St. George’s College) south through a business district (mostly the businesses were closed because it is Friday – the Muslim weekly holy day – and because today is the start of Ramadan – the Muslim holy month). Before getting to Herod’s Gate, we turned on Sultan Sulayman Road and walked west, across the street from the Old City walls. We entered the Old City through Damascus Gate and down “the Cardo,” the main north-south artery through the city.

Nearly every “street” (they are all foot traffic paths) through the city is a suq (marketplace) with stores hawking a variety of products; they are noisy, crowded, exciting, vibrant, and very alive places. Everyone seems to be quite friendly, but one suspects everyone is trying to lure you in for a sale.

It was a very hot day – temperatures are in the 90s (Fahr.) – and this is arid, high desert. We were cautioned many times to drink water. And so this episode of the Hebrews complaining to Moses and Aaron about their lack of water, today’s Old Testament lesson for the Daily Office, seemed a fitting introductory scripture for my summary of our activities. Every place where we could find a bit of shade and every entry into a building was welcome; every time we made a stop, I pulled my water bottle from my backpack and took a drink. Returning to our rooms, Evie and I each bought a 1.5 liter bottle of water and we downed them pretty quickly. The metaphor of water as God’s grace makes so much sense in a desert environment like this, and our thirst for rehydration is a reminder of our thirst for God.

The most striking thing of the day for me was the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. As I mentioned to our pilgrimage group during our sharing at Compline this evening, there was one part of that visit that made a huge impression. The church which was once one large space built by the Emperor Constantine’s mother St. Helena has been torn apart and subdivided by centuries of sectarian difference. It is now divided up into spaces claimed by Armenian Christians, Ethiopian Orthodox, Greek Orthodox, Roman Catholic (here called “the Latins”), Syrian Christians, and others. The only space jointly used is the actual Holy Tomb itself.

At set times during the day, each group holds prayers, and throughout the day deacons from each of the traditions come by to cense the Tomb. While I waited for others in our group, I watched the Roman, Armenian, and Greek deacons each come and do their ministry, each make the offering of incense, each swinging their thuribles in distinct ways. I was impressed with the way each went about this job with dedication, devotion, and singularity of purpose, unfazed by the crowds and the chaos of tourists and pilgrims. But I was also saddened by the fact that, because of the same sectarian division that had carved up the once magnificent space into smaller chapels, they could not do their ministry together. What could be a model for peace and reconciliation in this land which sorely needs it was yet another example of human division.

A fun thing for me today happened at the Western Wall. After I had gone to the wall and offered my prayers, impressed by the thousands and thousands of prayers written on slips of paper that pilgrims (perhaps of many faiths) had tucked into the joints and cracks in the stone, I was standing waiting to rejoin my wife. Two women came up to me and started asking me something in Hebrew! I could only shrug and say, “I’m sorry.” Then the younger, in what I believe to be an Israeli accent, said to me, “O, you’re not from here! You’re not a Jewish boy!” I admitted that I was not, but thanked her for calling me a boy!

A final impression of the day — Compline this evening with our group. As we began, a loudspeaker from a nearby mosque was broadcasting the sound of verses of the Holy Qur’an being chanted, and then more of the traditional Ramadan fireworks sounded. Our prayers were added to these manifestations of praise of God. Meanwhile, the sabbath of the Jews was underway. In this dry, arid land where water is life, three major world faiths come together in prayer, perhaps involuntarily, perhaps with tension, certainly with division, and clearly in this place with enmity . . . and yet at that moment, we were all united like different herds of thirsty animals coming together at a desert oasis or at a spring in time of drought. We ought to be able to learn from this!

And that is my prayer for the people of Israel and Palestine as Ramadan begins, that peace and reconciliation might come to this place and that, at long last, as the Psalmist once wrote, “Jerusalem . . . [will be] at unity with itself.” (Ps. 122:3, BCP Version)

Photos from our day can be found in this Facebook gallery:

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A request to my readers: I’m trying to build the readership of this blog and I’d very much appreciate your help in doing so. If you find something here that is of value, please share it with others. If you are on Facebook, “like” the posts on your page so others can see them. If you are following me on Twitter, please “retweet” the notices of these meditations. If you have a blog of your own, please include mine in your links (a favor I will gladly reciprocate). Many thanks!

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Israel – Day One, First Impressions – 26 June 2014

Yesterday evening we arrived at Ben Gurion International Airport. The flight from JFK was long and not all that comfortable. It was my first opportunity to fly on a Boeing 747 (Delta A/L) — I had toured a proto-type 747 when I was 11 years old and then never again set foot in one until this trip. Except for cramming more people into a somewhat larger space, the experience of flying one wasn’t much different from any other larger jet. It was quite a contrast to the Embraer 50-pax liner we took from CLE to JFK, however!

The flight was filled with children and many, many Orthodox Jewish men in their tallits and long black coats. More than enough of them to complete a minyun so, at least twice during the flight, the back of the plain was filled with men in black hats, or wearing phylactories, draped in prayer shawls, praying fervently. There was something fascinating and reassuring about it. One observation about them (and their families) — they don’t take instruction very well. I’ve never been on a flight in which the passengers paid so little attention to flight attendants’ requests. Even at the end of the flight when Israeli law requires all passengers to be seated during the last 30-min before landing, and the pilot has to circle in Israeli airspace until the cabin crew reports that that is the case. We heard numerous announcements saying, “You are delaying our landing! Please be seated!”

Ben Gurion Airport is very modern and very very large. In fact, it’s massive and monumental! It makes a huge statement: “We’re here. We’re in charge. We’re staying.” Passport control at Ben Gurion, on the other hand, adds a footnote: “We’re in charge, but we’re not very organized.” I’ve been through immigration checks in many countries (mostly Europe and the Americas) and never have I been in such a chaotic mess! Israeli customs folk could take lessons from the Disney folks in how to get people lined up and processed. And a second footnote: “We’re in charge, but we’re not pleasant.” We had prepared ourselves to answer questions like, “Where are you staying? What are you doing? What areas of the country will you be visiting?” The surly young man in the booth didn’t even say “Hello” or “Welcome to Israel” — he may have asked, “Is this your first trip here?” — at least that’s the question I thought I heard and which I answered. Otherwise he just peered at our passports, peered at us with an unfriendly look, handed us a visa slip, and shooed us away.

Baggage claim was like any large airport — no correct signage indicating which of several carousels would have our luggage, lots of people getting in each others’ ways, adults shouting at children, spouses arguing over whose bag is whose. You’ve been there in airports all over the world.

Customs. What customs? Not an official in sight checking bags. A few uniformed women sitting down and chatting, ignoring the passengers shuffling through into the outer world. First impression: Young women in army uniforms carrying Uzis. Not many of them, but enough to make an impression. A third footnote: “We’re in charge and we’re armed.”

We were met by Mark Stanger, a priest from the Diocese of California who is assisting with our pilgrimage group, and shown to our bus. A large, air conditioned conveyance. After giving those who needed it a last chance at the restrooms, we started off on the hour long drive to Jerusalem over modern highways. Looking out the windows at the traffic, the construction, the buildings in the airport environs, we could have been anywhere in the American southwest. I felt right “at home” as if I was back in southern California. And shortly, as if I were traveling through the southern Nevada desert.

Halfway to Jerusalem is a new city – Modi’in – a massive planned community of concrete and stone. Not the prettiest of cities. A realization here, confirmed when we get to Jerusalem: this is not a country of private, single-family homes. This is a country of multifamily structures: apartment blocks, high-rises, etc.

One drives from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem in along a new highway which is bounded, part of the way, by concrete walls, chain link fences, and barbed wire. This is the stretch through the West Bank, the occupied Palestinian territory. Access is limited to Israeli citizens whose cars have yellow license plates; Palestinians have green license plates and cannot enter this highway; access points are barricaded. On the hills: Palestinian villages — buildings in not as good condition as the Israeli buildings in Tel Aviv or Modi’in (nor even as good as the illegal, barricaded, barbed-wired, armed-gated Jewish “settlements” one also passes in this territory); on their roofs, black water tanks because (unlike Israel proper) the occupied territory does not get regular, 24-hour water service (the illegal Jewish settlements have white water tanks on their roofs).

We arrived in Jerusalem after sundown and were ushered quickly into the Cathedral Close and the dining room at St. George’s Pilgrim Guest House. A dinner of hummus, babaganoush, chicken and rice, pita, hummus, olives, figs, all the sorts of things you would expect: delicious! Then a short meeting with Iyad Qumri, our principal guide, and then to bed — our room is a virtual suite, although we may be moved from it to another room today (our second in country) — this room is at some remove from the Cathedral gardens and, another group leaving today, the rooms overlooking the gardens will be freed up and we may be relocated to them.

So — a very new experience in a very ancient land. A sense of history and prayerfulness, mixed with modern conveniences, armed soldiers, surly public servants, and attentive hosts. Wide open desert marred by concrete barricades and barbed wire. Jesus walked these lands. He still does in the person of peoples sharing a history and separated by generations of unnecessary enmity.

Photos of our arrival are on Facebook:

Sometimes I Don’t Understand Paul – From the Daily Office – June 25, 2014

From the Letter to the Romans:

For the promise that he would inherit the world did not come to Abraham or to his descendants through the law but through the righteousness of faith. If it is the adherents of the law who are to be the heirs, faith is null and the promise is void. For the law brings wrath; but where there is no law, neither is there violation.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Romans 4:13-15 (NRSV) – June 25, 2014)

Law of Gravity Strictly EnforcedSometimes I just don’t understand Paul.

I have read this Letter to the Romans on many occasions and when I get to this part of Paul’s theological argument, I get lost. I don’t know what he means by “where there is no law.” He seems to be suggesting that, because the Law of Moses had not yet been given when Abraham responded faithfully to God, Abraham’s righteousness is somehow superior to that of someone who is bound by the Law. But I don’t buy the premise that there is a time when there is “no law.”

I’m a lawyer and I believe in the “natural law” concept of law. I believe that there is a pre-existing law knowable to human beings exercising natural reason. It pre-exists human conventions and divine-human covenants, and is not dependent on them for its authority. It depends instead on the logical relationship in which it stands to an objective morality, and provides natural, objective standards of behavior. So, as far as I can tell, there is no time or place “where there is no law.”

St. Thomas Aquinas distinguished four kinds of law: (a) eternal law; (b) natural law; (c) human law; and (d) divine law. He called eternal law those things necessary for the natural order of the universe; what today we might call “the laws of nature,” the laws of physics, chemistry, etc. Natural laws, which can be thought of as the moral subset of the eternal laws, are objective laws discernible by human reason. Human laws are subjective, dependent upon social convention. Divine laws are those revealed by God and which human beings cannot discover on their own. Is following and living in accord with this pre-existent natural law (type “b”), which human beings have a natural faculty to discern, what Paul is calling “the righteousness of faith”?

If, as Aquinas argued, the natural laws are those moral “rules” of the eternal law governing the behavior of beings possessing reason and free will, then Abraham’s “righteousness of faith” must be living in accord with them, which means that “righteousness” is an active principal of human existence. So Abraham was righteous in that he discerned and followed the natural laws discernible by human reason. He was not righteous, as Paul suggests, separate and apart from any law. In fact, such righteousness would be impossible; to speak of righteousness in the absence of law is oxymoronic. So I don’t know what Paul means by “where there is no law.”

One could also argue that Abraham was also righteous in that he obeyed God’s instruction to depart his homeland and set out for the Promised Land . . . and I wonder how this (obeying God’s directions) is not “following the law.” How is a direct command from the Almighty not equivalent to the Law given at Sinai? So, again, I don’t know what Paul means by “where there is no law.”

Sometimes I just don’t understand Paul. Today is one of them.

[Today I am traveling — headed for Israel and Palestine on pilgrimage. This blog will become travel commentary for the next several days. Hopefully, I’ll have necessary connections and time to post photographs and remarks.]

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A request to my readers: I’m trying to build the readership of this blog and I’d very much appreciate your help in doing so. If you find something here that is of value, please share it with others. If you are on Facebook, “like” the posts on your page so others can see them. If you are following me on Twitter, please “retweet” the notices of these meditations. If you have a blog of your own, please include mine in your links (a favor I will gladly reciprocate). Many thanks!

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

One Is Never Too Old – From the Daily Office – June 24, 2014

From the Book of Numbers:

The earth opened its mouth and swallowed them up, along with their households — everyone who belonged to Korah and all their goods. So they with all that belonged to them went down alive into Sheol; the earth closed over them, and they perished from the midst of the assembly. All Israel around them fled at their outcry, for they said, “The earth will swallow us too!” And fire came out from the Lord and consumed the two hundred and fifty men offering the incense.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Numbers 16:32-35 (NRSV) – June 24, 2014)

Chinese Hair QueueBelieve it or not, I’ve actually had the last of these selected verses quoted to me as part of an argument against the use of incense in the church. I was in a conversation with someone about our use of incense in “high church” liturgies, being told (among other things) that incense was fine when we were younger and acting like hippies but now that we are older and mature we should put aside such childish ways, when this chestnut was pulled out. Since I’ve studied the Old Testament (as most clergy have) I knew my critic was misusing the text.

Such a reading is hard to square with other parts of Scripture in which the use of incense as an honorable offering to God is approved. For example, speaking through the Prophet Malachi God says, “For from the rising of the sun to its setting my name is great among the nations, and in every place incense is offered to my name, and a pure offering; for my name is great among the nations, says the Lord of hosts.” (Mal 1:11)

It’s even harder to harmonize with those places were the burning of incense in religious ceremonies is not only approved, it is commanded. For instance, in the Book of Exodus Moses is commanded to make an altar for incense upon which Aaron is to burn incense two times every day: “Aaron shall offer fragrant incense on it; every morning when he dresses the lamps he shall offer it, and when Aaron sets up the lamps in the evening, he shall offer it, a regular incense offering before the Lord throughout your generations.” (Ex 30:7-8)

And more than that, that reading doesn’t accord with the verse’s own context, and that’s what I’m thinking about today. The story of Korah’s and his followers’ destruction at the hand of an angry God has nothing to do with incense. The burning of incense although it figures prominently in the story is really incidental to the story; Korah and his tribe were destroyed because of their pride, because they sought to usurp the priesthood of Aaron which was not and never would be theirs. In the story, Aaron also burns incense to the Lord and his offering is accepted; further, shortly after this incident Aaron stops a plague among the people through the burning of incense. Clearly, incense is perfectly acceptable to God.

So to say that “fire coming out from the Lord and consuming the two hundred and fifty men offering incense” is an indictment of the use of incense in worship is proof-texting of the worst type, inconsistent with other scriptural references and inconsistent with its own context.

I recall a joke (or maybe it’s a true story) about a preacher who abhorred the traditional Chinese men’s hairstyle holding forth in California in the late 1800s urging Chinese immigrants to abandon the queue or “topknot.” All Chinese men, but particularly those who had converted to Christianity, he argued, should cut off their queues because Christ himself had uttered the words, “Topknot go down!” And he was correct, sort of. What Jesus had said was, “Let him who is on the housetop not go down to take what is in his house . . . .” (Mt. 24:17) Picking and choosing the Bible’s words out of context is not a new phenomenon.

The only way to combat proof-texting is knowing the Scriptures oneself. Jesus is our model in this regard. Tempted by the devil after his baptism, he was able to answer each of Satan’s references to Scripture with counter-references of his own. (Matt. 4) If we are to respond to misuses of Scripture, we must know it ourselves.

Now, I don’t agree with my incense critic about old age and maturity being a reason to give up incense, but I suppose there might be something to that. Perhaps given the respiratory problems some older folks have, one can be too old for incense. However, one is never too old for Christian education and Bible study!

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A request to my readers: I’m trying to build the readership of this blog and I’d very much appreciate your help in doing so. If you find something here that is of value, please share it with others. If you are on Facebook, “like” the posts on your page so others can see them. If you are following me on Twitter, please “retweet” the notices of these meditations. If you have a blog of your own, please include mine in your links (a favor I will gladly reciprocate). Many thanks!

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Awkward Anglicanism – From the Daily Office – June 23, 2014

From the Letter to the Romans:

But now, irrespective of law, the righteousness of God has been disclosed, and is attested by the law and the prophets, the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Romans 3:21-22 (NRSV) – June 23, 2014)

AwkwardGreat! Here it is, the single phrase in Paul’s writing, the single preposition the translation of which can radically change one’s understanding of the doctrine of justification by faith. But . . . I’m not going to address that doctrine this morning; I’m more interested right now in ambiguity.

And in that vein, what I just wrote about translating the original Greek is not entirely accurate: it’s not how a preposition is translated because, in the Greek, there is no preposition. The Greek of the last phrase (everything after the last comma) is dikaiosene de Theou dia pisteo Iesou Xristou ei panta tou pisteuonta. The construction pisteo Iesou Xristou is what is called the genitive case. The standard translation of this case into English requires insertion of the preposition “of”. However, it can also be understood as a variant called the objective genitive in which the preposition “in” is inserted for interpretation. In other words, Paul’s Greek is ambiguous.

Which means — right? — that we have to figure out which it is. Is the righteousness of God disclosed by our faith or by Jesus’ faith? Are we saved by our trust in Jesus or by Jesus’ trust in his Father?

This is a debate that has gone on for centuries and the church’s traditional answer has been to go with the objective genitive translation and insert an “in” in this sentence (and similar statements throughout Paul’s writing). But doesn’t that put the ball in our court? Doesn’t that say it is something we do, not something Jesus does? Somehow, it seems to me, that that one little preposition — “in” — puts us in charge of the process of redemption; it requires of me that which Jesus once painfully demonstrated even his most ardent followers did not have — faith at least the size of a mustard seed. (Mt 17:20; Lk 17:6)

So, we have to figure this out! Or do we? What if there is no definitive answer to this question? The ambiguous Greek of this otherwise simple phrase cannot be made any clearer. Like much of Holy Scripture it is a matter of interpretation and either reading can find support in other verses of the Bible; whole theologies have been constructed on one reading or the other.

Early in the morning, not yet showered, with only one cup of coffee in me . . . I’m not going to reach any definitive answer nor build a theory of salvation. In fact, wide awake and dressed for battle I wouldn’t be able to do so. And that’s just fine, because in its ambiguity, Paul’s prose probably should be understood in both ways. I believe that Paul (or perhaps the Holy Spirit working through Paul) is being deliberately inexact, forcing his readers to think in alternative and creative ways!

This is both the beauty and the frustration of bible study, the beauty and the frustration of Christian belief. Accepting such ambiguity, and learning to live with it, is why I am an Episcopalian, an Anglican. For me, this is the beauty and delight of Anglicanism. Our theological tradition is sometimes called a “both/and” tradition. Anglicanism is also sometimes caricatured as attempting to be everything to everyone and thereby being nothing to anyone. We Anglicans describe ourselves as a via media (“middle way”) among the various iterations of western Christianity, between the papal authoritarianism of Rome and the paper authoritarianism of the Protestants. This middle position has been called both a strength and a weakness; I tend to view it positively, but I have to admit that it’s often an awkward place to be. Anglicanism is often awkward!

I think that awkward position is precisely where consideration of which preposition to insert when interpreting Paul’s Letter to the Romans puts us, and I think that it’s a good place to be. Between “of” and “in”, between either/or and both/and, between nothing and everything is a place of dynamic tension. It’s not a place to find definitive answers, but it’s a good place to start the day.

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A request to my readers: I’m trying to build the readership of this blog and I’d very much appreciate your help in doing so. If you find something here that is of value, please share it with others. If you are on Facebook, “like” the posts on your page so others can see them. If you are following me on Twitter, please “retweet” the notices of these meditations. If you have a blog of your own, please include mine in your links (a favor I will gladly reciprocate). Many thanks!

====================

Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Broken Clocks – From the Daily Office – June 21, 2014

From the Psalter:

The span of our life is seventy years,
perhaps in strength even eighty;
yet the sum of them is but labor and sorrow,
for they pass away quickly and we are gone.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Psalm 90:10 (BCP Version) – June 21, 2014)

400 Day Anniversary ClockA friend and colleague preparing to sell her home and take up residence with her husband in a retirement community told me recently that she and he had begun disposing of their many possessions. Among the things to which they have said “Good-Bye” is her husband’s collection of clocks.

That got me thinking about two clocks that my wife and I own but which I’ve not seen in several years. I know where one is; the other’s location is a complete mystery.

The first is a handmade seven-foot tall grandfather clock; the actual clock workings are in the top 30″ or so. It is made almost entirely of wood. The gears, teeth, all the inner workings are hand-carved from a variety of hardwoods. Everything is open to view. There is no case, but rather a frame of hand-rubbed mahogany. The face is smoky gray plexiglass with applied hand-carved wooden numerals; one can see the escapement and other parts working away behind. Or … at least … one was able to do that.

The clock, which was made by my stepfather many years ago, was damaged, badly, by the moving company which transported our possessions from Las Vegas, Nevada, to Overland Park, Kansas, in 1993. Because that move was so bizarrely accomplished, with separation of family, temporary quarters, two storage facilities, and a variety of other missteps, we didn’t know about the damage until way too late to file a claim with the movers. But we have kept the clock and moved it to Ohio and now it sits in a storage loft that we visit maybe four times in a calendar year.

I dread opening its crate and looking at it. I will hate myself for what I have allowed to happen to that clock. I should dispose of it, but I can’t bring myself to do so. I’m sure it is unrepairable, yet I can’t let go of something that my stepdad spent so much time creating.

The other is a mantel clock we found in a garage sale many years ago. It is the sort known as an “anniversary” or “400-day” clock. It didn’t work when we bought it, but we had it repaired and it sat on the mantel in our Las Vegas home for several years. Like my stepfather’s clock, its inner workings are all visible through a glass dome. Like my stepfather’s clock, it went into a packing crate with many other things when we moved to Kansas. And like that handmade clock, I’ve not seen it since. To the best of my knowledge we’ve never opened that box; I’ve no idea what else is in it nor even where it is, in fact. (We have unopened moving boxes in a spare bedroom, in our basement, and in that storage facility. Why, I often wonder, do we have all this stuff?)

All these clocks — my colleague’s husband’s collection, my stepfather’s handmade grandfather clock, our long-unseen anniversary clock — came to mind reading today’s Psalm, supposed to be “a prayer of Moses” in which the ancient Hebrew contemplates the nature of time. “So teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts to wisdom,” he prays (v. 12). And we have learned to “number days” with ever increasing exactitude. We measure not only days, but hours, minutes, seconds, fractions of time so tiny that millions pass in the blink of an eye. Scientists have calculated the infinitesimally small life span of sub-atomic particles and the inconceivably long existence of the entire universe (now believed to be something just short of 14 billion years). But do we really understand time?

We can reduce time to days, hours, minutes, seconds, and even smaller units. We can envision months, years, eons, and longer periods. We can measure and divide time into constituent parts just like we could separate the components of my stepfather’s broken clock or the anniversary clock. But we cannot explain time; we don’t really understand its mystery. The most we can say of time is that it exists, it passes, and we can measure it. Albert Einstein is supposed to have said, “The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.”

Although we experience time as “moving” in only one “direction,” from past through present and into the future, there is no reason that it must do so. The equations of quantum mechanics and superstring theory insist that time can just as well “move” in the opposite direction, although we’ve never seen it and cannot seem to make that happen in the laboratory. Nonetheless, the mathematics are there and the equations make logical sense.

So here we are 1,500 (or whatever) years after Moses still no better able to understand the workings of time than he and the wandering, wondering Hebrews were. The mysteries of time are as hidden from us as my two boxed-up clocks. In another psalm, one attributed to David, we read, “My times are in your hand.” (Ps. 31:15a) So it was for Moses, so it was David, so it was for my stepfather and the maker of the anniversary clock, and so it is for us. Teach us to use our time wisely, Lord.

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A request to my readers: I’m trying to build the readership of this blog and I’d very much appreciate your help in doing so. If you find something here that is of value, please share it with others. If you are on Facebook, “like” the posts on your page so others can see them. If you are following me on Twitter, please “retweet” the notices of these meditations. If you have a blog of your own, please include mine in your links (a favor I will gladly reciprocate). Many thanks!

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Taste & See – From the Daily Office – June 20, 2014

From the Book of Numbers:

And they came to the Wadi Eshcol, and cut down from there a branch with a single cluster of grapes, and they carried it on a pole between two of them. They also brought some pomegranates and figs. That place was called the Wadi Eshcol, because of the cluster that the Israelites cut down from there.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Numbers 13:23-24 (NRSV) – June 20, 2014)

Cluster of GrapesHave you ever noticed how one of the most common sorts of souvenirs to be brought back from a trip is food? Every time we travel, my wife and I, we bring back food. Sometimes the authorities thwart us, but we try.

For example, when we made our first trip to Ireland a few years ago, we fell in love with some Irish sausages and with Irish bacon. In the duty-free shop at Dublin’s airport, however, we found a big sign on the meat products refrigerator advising that they could not be brought into the United States. We contented ourselves with some chocolates and some Irish whiskey.

When I was a kid, as I may have mentioned before, I spent summers in Kansas with my paternal grandparents. At the end of the summer my grandparents would often drive me back to Las Vegas and then on to southern California to visit their relatives and my maternal grandparents in the Los Angeles metroplex. Leaving Kansas, my grandfather would pack up some vegetables (especially tomatoes) from his garden into an ice-filled galvanized Gott can (the original Gott cans were made in my grandparents’ town).

Along the road, the ice would be replenished and the produce would stay fresh all the way to Nevada and California. When we got to the California border, there was an agricultural check-point on the highway at (I think) Yermo (or maybe it was Barstow). An officer of the state ag service would ask, “Do you have any fresh fruits or vegetables?” and my strict, up-standing Methodist grandfather, with a straight face and his oh-so-honest-sounding voice would answer, “No, officer.” Off we would drive with our illegal booty of garden produce. A little thing like preventing crop blight was not going to prevent our food souvenirs getting to their final destination.

And at the end of their trip those tomatoes and other veggies produced such delight! It was almost religious the way my maternal grandmother would receive her friends’ gift of a vine-ripened tomato, tenderly caress it, wash it gently, slice and serve it with the lunch she had prepared to welcome us. The look of sheer joy on her face as she tasted her first bite of it, the taste of her home town.

The taste of food reminds us of the places we have been; like the sound of music or certain smells, a taste can incite a flood of memories. Food also anticipates. We, my wife and I, are headed to the Holy Land in a short while. A few weeks ago, our tour organizer hosted a dinner at a near-by Middle Eastern restaurant so that we could meet other group members, hear a bit about our itinerary, and in the meal we shared get a foretaste of what we can expect to enjoy when we are there.

Moses sent spies over into Canaan and they came back with grapes, pomegranates, and figs to prove the land the Hebrews were entering was a bountiful one; like them, we are looking forward to entering the Promised Land. They named the place Eshcol (“cluster”) because of those grapes. One presumes that Moses and the other leaders tasted those fruits and knew the goodness of the land and of God who was giving it to them; they anticipated the future.

We do the same sort of thing each time we gather in worship and share the Eucharist. In it is the taste both of memory and of expectation. Every celebration of Holy Communion is both a memorial of what God has accomplished and a preview of what God has promised. In the Eucharist the past and the future irrupt into the present; our fellowship in the Eucharist with God and with all Christians across time and space is both a remembrance of Christ and a foretaste of the heavenly banquet.

“Taste and see that the Lord is good;” says the Psalmist, “happy are they who trust in him!” (Ps 34:8) Taste and see.

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A request to my readers: I’m trying to build the readership of this blog and I’d very much appreciate your help in doing so. If you find something here that is of value, please share it with others. If you are on Facebook, “like” the posts on your page so others can see them. If you are following me on Twitter, please “retweet” the notices of these meditations. If you have a blog of your own, please include mine in your links (a favor I will gladly reciprocate). Many thanks!

====================

Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

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