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 As I write this, I am beginning a new job. Among the very first
things I am taking to my office is the picture of "our" ICJS group
in Israel. It stands on my desk, right next to the picture of
my familydaily proof that I was there, and a daily reminder of
the significance of that trip for me. I still find it difficult
to be reflective about the trip to Israel without being obnoxious,
but I'll try. I offer some observations:
--It's the land. From our first look at Tel Aviv (and Rabbi Danny
Lehmann's announcement that no Jew would choose to go to Caesarea
Phillipi first) to the last, rainy farewell, I could not take
my eyes off the land: the light, the colors, the scent, and the
taste of the place. I kept wanting to strip away both obtrusive
churches and theological veneers. I simply wanted to "be" there.
The color of pomegranates drooping on the trees, the violet sky
over Jerusalem at dusk, the dazzling reflection of the sun on
bleached white stone, the jumble of rock and rosemary, the rose-tinted
scrim that draped the Sea of Galilee at dawn...all make me believe
that there are places that are holy to begin with.
--Israel is a messy place, and any attempt to neaten it or make
it cute will fail. It is a mélange of other-worldly scenery and
this-minute politics, politics that dot the land like the unfortunate
litter. Israel is an intricate composite of cultures whose scents
compete for the air of Jerusalem. It is a place so old you cannot
believe it and so new you do not recognize it. It is a place of
simultaneous tension and tranquility. It is a place of open wounds
and balsamic remedies. Israel is a place that has completely changed
my idea of incarnation...of God with us in just such a contradictory
and complicated place.
--My impressions of Israel are indelibly shaped by those who travelled
with me, our little community of pilgrims who were lifted up out
of Baltimore and carried across the seas and deposited in the
Holy Land. We were a very diverse group of people, collected and
delivered in more ways than one. We were Christians and Jews,
clergy and lay people, teachers, architects, administrators, lawyers,
and business people. Consequently, we saw Safed through a mystic's
eyes, Roman stages through the eyes of a contemporary Hamlet,
the Garden of Gethsemane through the eyes of a gardener, one extremely
important piece of art through the eyes of a curator, Masada through
the eyes of an artist, Mt. Carmel through the eyes of a biblical
scholar. We prayed out of our experiences, from our different
cultural ancestries and from our different faith traditions. We
struggled with difficult biblical texts. We all felt indignant
when one of us felt excluded. We rejoiced when we received glimpses
of a place from another's point of view. We worshipped and wept
together. We sang new songs. We learned. And, so, the trip to
Israel, for me, is indistinguishable from this group of people,
each one of them fully engaged in what we were doing, each one
fully present for the other, each one offering the gifts of their
spirits.
And there we all are, in the photo on my desk, standing in the
well of a ruined church. Our faces are full of light against the
rock wall. I am more grateful than I can say.
--The Reverend Christa Burns, Co-Pastor, Second Presbyterian Church |