Our Last Full Day In Jerusalem

The New Print Room is Blessed—and a Blessing
April 10, 2008. At 11 AM, we all met up at the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer (LCR) for the dedication of the newly refurbished print room—the primary reason we came over here in the first place. Before we left for this trip, we had no idea how long it would take to complete the renovation, nor did we know for certain that we would be able to get everything working. So the happy news is, everything did get accomplished, and everything works. The only piece of equipment that didn't arrive yet is the collator—but we're assured that will be here soon.

Pastor Mark Holman led us in a liturgical dedication of the new print room. That's one of the things I love about being Lutheran. Lutherans have a formal liturgy for pretty much any situation. Whether it's the sacrament of infant baptism or the proper way to conduct a prayer service at the end of the day (i.e., Compline), the Lutheran Book of Order has got a way to do it up right. This may seem overly stilted or dry to some, but to me it provides a means by which we can honor the sacredness in all of life's special moments.

The print room in LCR can hold about five or six people on a good day. It's tiny. But miracle of miracles, we must have squeezed 25 to 30 people in the room for the dedication. What a joyous event. Antoinette Karam (the sole operator of the print room for the past 14 years) was beaming. Representatives from LCR's German and Arabic-speaking congregations were in attendance as well. Even Bishop Younan was there.


Antoinette had apparently queried in advance as to whether or not it would be appropriate among us pious folk to bring a bottle of champagne to the celebration. As we are all good Lutherans, the answer was an unequivocal “yes.” So she brought TWO bottles. I think Antoinette must have learned to open champagne by watching a World Series' locker room victory party. She shook and shook and shook the bottle, then for good measure she shook it some more. Then she aimed the bottle out the door and let the cork fly. There was a Vesuvius-like eruption of golden froth—then she reached for the second bottle and did the same. So our 25-30 celebrants were each treated to a communion-sized serving of the bubbly stuff.

Antoinette later demonstrated how the new Perfect Binder works. It takes only about five seconds to bind a single book and secure a cover to the spine. She explained how it used to take her an entire day to bind 60 books by hand. The first day she had the new machine, she was able to bind 300 books in one afternoon—a task that would have taken a whole week previously! Now she says she believes she could bind 500 to 1,000 books in a single day.

She also showed us the new saddle-stitch stapler. She pointed to the manual stapler that the new machine was replacing and remarked that when she used the old stapler for a large run, her hand would go numb for two to three days afterward.

“Not only will this new equipment save me time, and produce better quality, but it will save also my health.”

So we from Minnesota are blessed to have contributed to the work of this hugely important ministry being conducted from the modest little room in the basement of the church in the Old City.


A Celebration of Resurrection and Life
On Thursday evening at 5 PM, our group met up in The Garden Tomb, the site that Protestants have traditionally marked as the site of Jesus' resurrection. I found it a lot more serene than the bustling, ornate art-encrusted Church of the Holy Sepulchre, so maybe when it's all said and done, I really am wired just like a Protestant.

Our group found a quiet, deserted little enclave within the garden where we had our own special worship service, Pastors Nelson and Warpmaeker officiating. Jim Thomson and I each were given scripture passages to read. We sang. We prayed. And Gordy Olson offered an incredibly moving homily about how he and his wife Betty launched Lutheran Partners in Global Ministry after their son, Tim—who was on a church-planting mission in Africa—was murdered by bandits. They took a horrible situation and—in the forgiving, servant-hearted spirit of the Gospel—turned it into a life-giving mission to many all over the world (including Africa, India, Argentina, and now Israel/Palestine).

I read from John's Gospel, the 20th chapter, verses 19-23. It's the passage where the Resurrection has already occurred, but the disciples are meeting clandestinely in a locked upper room, afraid that their affiliation with the crucified trouble-maker called Jesus could get them killed as well. Suddenly Jesus appears to them. Now, having abandoned their rabbi at His moment of trial and having run like scared rabbits to save their own skin, they could very well expect Jesus to slam them with an angry rebuke. But the first thing Jesus says to them is, “Peace be with you.” In that moment, He demonstrates no anger, no ill-will, no grudge. He even repeats His greeting, “Peace be with you”--possibly because he reasons that the disciples might hardly have believed their ears the first time He said it.

And then He admonishes them, in verse 23, to forgive—as He clearly had done.

Gordy told us that this was his son Tim's favorite scriptural passage. Alas, Gordy and Betty Olson have declared to the violent, selfish, hate-filled world that murdered their son, “Peace be with you.”

I told Gordy later that there, in that beautiful garden where Jesus is said to have arisen from the dead, I experienced a genuine “resurrection moment” through his story. A father whose son was killed senselessly by a world who knew him not forgave that world and, through the gloom of death, brought forth new life.


After Gordy spoke, Pastor Beth consecrated the bread and the wine and we shared the most moving holy meal I've ever experienced in my life. I get tears in my eyes now remembering how it felt to be joined with these dear brothers and sisters in sacred table fellowship in this beautiful, tranquil setting. Whether or not biblical archaeologists will ever be able to pinpoint the actual site of Jesus' tomb, as far as I'm concerned, I was there in the place where God raised life from death.

And so here our journey ends. But that said, I intend to keep this blog going for a while, because our “Conspiracy for Peace” is just getting started...

On the Sea of Galilee

We had to get up pretty early today to be aboard a bus by 7:00 AM to take us to Nazareth and the Sea of Galilee. One of our first stops was the Basilica of the Annunciation, where tradition says Mary was visited by the Archangel Gabriel, who explained her divine destiny to her. This place has some of the most amazing stained glass windows I've ever seen. Also remarkable are some beautiful mosaics contributed by many nations all over the world. (See my pictures.)

Later we went to the Church of the Multiplication, commemorating the gospel incident where Jesus fed the multitudes with two fish and five loaves of bread.

Where a few fish and a few loaves were transformed into many shekels
At the suggestion of our local driver, we ate lunch at what amounts to a tourist trap on the Sea of Galilee. Our waiter insisted that we should all get the specialty of the house--the "St. Peter Fish." It came intact, head, gills, tail, scales--every single part of the blessed fish. And then we got the bill: nearly 800 shekels, which I think comes out to about $35/person for not a whole lot. At least we got some good pictures of us with fish skeletons & carcasses.

Jesus' Neighborhood
Of this entire trip, one of the best true "pilgrimage" sites for me was Capernaum (which our guide insisted Americans cannot seem to pronounce properly: It's copper-NOWM) and the Sea of Galilee. This is where Jesus really did carry out His Ministry. Unlike all the other "fetishized" sites (most of which were established in the 4th or 5th century AD or later), we know this territory is the real deal. And even where most "authentic" pilgrimage sites are actually 15 to 20 feet below today's ground level, the sea remains the sea.

"Peter's House" and the archaeological work being done all around it is fabulous to behold. You really get to travel back in time about 2,000 years. And what I liked about Galilee is just how peaceful it is. The environment still resonates with something serene and divine. I took some very pastoral shots there. I hope you like them and I hope they convey some of the sweet, gentle feeling of the location.

Blessed are the...Muskrats?
We also saw the Mountain of the Beatitudes where (allegedly) Jesus gave the Sermon on the Mount. Actually, biblical scholarship would likely support that He gave that sermon on this site...as well as probably many other sites as well. (Itinerant rabbis would teach the same key lessons in different locations.) Luke's "Sermon on the Plain" supports this notion; however in that gospel, Jesus doesn't just list the "Blessed are the so-and-so's" -- He also spells out the "Cursed are the so-and-so's."

Next and final stop was the purported "Jesus' Baptism Site" on the Jordan--which doesn't entirely jibe with the "Bethany Beyond Jordan" site mentioned in John. Or as Pastor Nelson put it, "This place is totally bogus. It's a tourist trap."--made all the more obvious by the very large and ineluctable Gift Shop you had to walk through before you could leave.

One thing that cracked us up, though. Pastor Mark has relayed to us a story about when he was here years ago and saw a rather determined looking muskrat hassling some hapless baptizees. Well, the muskrat (or his offspring) came back today! We have video to prove it, which I hope I can post to this blog entry.

All for tonight (our last full night in Jerusalem)!

The Best and Worst This Town Has to Offer

The Best
This AM we went back up to the Mount of Olives, so that Mark Brown of LWF could show us around. One thing we saw right away: LWF planted olive trees (appropriately enough!) up there in the 1970s, because if nothing is being done with a parcel of land (e.g., construction or agriculture), the Israeli government will seize it. So you will see pictures I took of someone tending the trees, keeping a small part East Jerusalem safe from being stolen.

Then we went over to Augusta Victoria Hospital, another LWF project. In the US, we talk about people not having access to health care, and we mean financial access. Here, people are denied access to health care because they apply for permission to travel to a hospital where they need care and are denied the right, physically, to leave their neighborhood.

Augusta Victoria Hospital is providing heath care to people who would otherwise just have to sit home and suffer and/or die from their illness.

We applaud the great humanitarian work this facility is doing. Makes me proud to be a Lutheran.

While there, we also toured the Lutheran Mount of Olives Church of the Ascension. Beautiful site. I'll let the pictures I took of this place speak for themselves.

The Worst
In the afternoon, a young Jewish Israeli man who works for ICAHD (Israeli Committee Against Housing Destructions) took us for a tour in and around Jerusalem. We saw properties that were destroyed with only a 30-minute notice to the families inside. The pretext? "Security."

We also saw "The Wall" built by the Israeli government. Those in favor of the wall call it "the Security Fence." Those opposed call it "The Separation Wall." Look at the pictures and decide for yourself: wall or fence?

Our Israeli guide says that his family is not happy about his overt criticism of their government. But he says that, as a good Jew, he simply cannot bear to see what his government is doing because, "It is illegal. It is wrong. It is mean."

I picked up a small shard of broken tile from the site of a smashed home to take back to the US with me. I'm not entirely sure why, but I felt I needed something tactile like that to hang onto.

More from Bethlehem

Harry Wendt Got It Right!!! (Of course.)
After visiting several schools where the Lutheran Church is doing some great work for the young people here, we did some of the standard touristy things, like buying up olive-wood carvings, and going to the Church of the Nativity.

But one of my big highlights was when we went UP THE HILL in Bethlehem (I never knew this place was hillier and steeper that San Francisco!) to the Lutheran Christmas Church. Interesting tidbit about this place: hundreds of developed countries around the world broadcast the Christmas Eve service from this church, with two exceptions...Israel and the USA. (????)

But that's not what I'm excited about. For those of you who know what I do for a living and who I work with, you'll know that my boss and mentor Dr. Harry Wendt wrote a book about the Christmas story that explains, via a look at Middle Eastern culture, that Jesus would NOT have been born in a barn or a stable, but in a HOUSE, which would have had an elevated living area where the family lived, with a lower area where the animals would have been kept at night, so as to benefit from their added body heat and to keep them from being stolen. And the animals nibbled food from out of eating troughs--or mangers--located at mouth level on the upper platform where the family stayed.

Nor would Mary & Joseph ever have been met with indifference or disdain in a community where hospitality is a primary virtue of the culture. What we translate as "because there was no room in the Inn" would better translate as "because there was no room in the guest room" (or "upper room")--so Jesus was born downstairs in the main room of a house, and laid in a manger.

Well...our guide took us down into a cave that archaeologists have verified to be an authentic 1st century Palestinian home.

And when you see the pictures I took, you'll understand why I got so excited. Three other people in our group are from my home church, and they listened to me when I did a three-week Christmas lecture series this past Advent wherein I (and I quote Dave Dynneson here) "RUINED CHRISTMAS" by discussing such things. (See picture above; my left foot is where the mangers would have been, my right foot where the animals would have eaten and slept.)

This group let me know that seeing this 1st century Palestinian cave completely vindicated me (not to mention Harry Wendt, from whom I got all this great stuff).

When I told our guide--a native Bethlehemite--that most Europeans and Americans (and Westerners in general) have believed for centuries that Jesus was born in a barn, her facial expression was priceless. (Arabic, Coptic, and Syriac bibles have ALWAYS said that Jesus was born downstairs in the house because there was no room upstairs in the guest room.) She looked utterly flummoxed. Then I mentioned that we also have believed that Joseph and Mary had nowhere to go, no relatives to stay with, etc. Another priceless look. She said, "Don't you know that no one would ever not be welcomed into our town?"

So we at Crossways International stand vindicated.

Our Day in Bethlehem

Tuesday, April 7, we spent the day in Bethlehem. Going through the checkpoint there was an odious process, but because we have "blue passports" (i.e., American issue), we were subjected to a lot less deliberate hassling than are those who live here. (That said, Gordy and Beth from our group went into Bethlehem last week for a meeting with a local figure here and were detained for over an hour each direction, even though there were no more than a dozen people waiting to get through, both coming and going.)

The pictures will tell you a lot. I also got some good photos of graffiti and street art (see photo above) that carry powerful, poignant messages as well.

Beit Sahour
Our first stop was to visit a Lutheran school in Beit Sahour, just east of Bethlehem--where tradition says the shepherds were keeping watch. ("Sahour" means "watchmen" or "those who keep watch." "Beit" is the Arabic cognate of the Hebrew, "Beth," which means "home.") The kids were all out in the playground, eating their lunch or playing games. For the most part, the kids were very shy around us funny-looking Westerners.


But this tiny little girl walked right up to me and, in perfect English, said, "Hello. How are you?"

I said, "I am well. How are you?"

"I am fine. I am very happy to see you."

"I am very happy to see you, too." And she just beamed.

So I asked, "Is it okay if I take your picture with me?"

"Yes. That would be fine."

So I had to have the above photo taken, and it is probably one of my favorites from the trip.

Sunday evening, April 6

Dinner on the Mount of Olives
Mark and Susanne Brown live in the Stone House (located on top of the Mount of Olives), which is the property of Lutheran World Federation. It's the same property where we had the outdoor barbecue and volleyball matches last Wednesday evening, if you recall my dispatch from then.

Well, Sunday night we were invited back with a smaller group of attendees this time for a really terrific dinner--and we spent a lot more time inside the house this time. You'll see from the pictures that the interior is quite spectacular. The highlight is a round living room with a dome ceiling, with a German biblical quote etched into the rotunda. I believe it says "Heaven and Earth shall pass away, but my Word will never pass." (German language mavens please look at the pix and tell me how I did.)


Another highlight for me: I sat in a chair there that Winston Churchill once sat in. (Okay, I admit it, it doesn't take much to thrill me.)

The Browns are doing incredible work with the Lutheran World Federation, and are having a real impact on the situation here via their tireless, organized efforts to make a difference. In addition to lobbying hard on the political powers-that-be, the LWF runs Augusta Victoria Hospital across the road from the Stone House. We will tour that facility on Tuesday, so I'll give you more details about it then. For some, Augusta Victoria is their sole source of medical care; without it, large numbers of people would get no health care at all.

Monday we go to Bethlehem. So all for now.

Sunday Catch-up

Our group has been on the go, non-stop, for the past 48 hours with no down-time, so I'll begin by picking up where I left off, which was last Friday. As you'll recall, during the day on Friday, we had our pilgrimage moments in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the Garden of Gethsemane. Friday night was a special treat. Pastor Mark & Marcia Holman graciously invited us for dinner in their lovely parsonage.


Delicious Food, Great Views, Food for Thought
The roof of the Holman's home affords some of the most spectacular views of Jerusalem imaginable. Our group posed up there holding a copy of the Metro-Lutheran, with the intent of getting the photo published in the paper's feature section where they show mission workers in locations all over the world holding a copy of...yes...the Metro-Lutheran .


In addition to our MN group, there were several other people there, all of whom in one way or another are involved in peace efforts here in the Middle East. The Holmans hired a talented local fellow who does catering to prepare some of the most exquisite food you can imagine. (I love any variety of Mediterranean food, btw. My hunch is that you can tell how old/mature a civilization is based on how good its food and/or wine is.) We were treated to homemade mince-meat kebabs and a regional favorite made with chicken and rice known as Machlubay (I'm sure that's not a proper transliteration), also known amongst Westerners as “Upside-Down” (because when it is served, the entire pot is inverted and deposited intact on the serving dish). See photo above for a sense of how appetizing this meal was.


After dinner, we were further treated to a briefing and discussion session with Pastor Mark Nelson's sister-in-law Margaret “Meg” Coker, a journalist with the highly respected Cox News Agency based in Atlanta. For a number of years, Meg has been the Middle East correspondent for Cox, and her perspectives on the region and its problems were rock solid and highly illuminating. Among her many insights, she commented that with all the efforts in the past decade to keep Palestinians and Israelis completely separated, the two peoples now no longer have any opportunity to know one another as humans—only as demonized stereotypes. Sad. Walls clearly do not better neighbors make.



Saturday, April 5 – The Maps Don't Lie
In the morning, our group met up at the Martin Luther School next to LCR to take part in a teach-in session given by Julie Rowe, who is assistant to Bishop Younan of the ELCJHL. (It turns out that Julie is a big Harry Wendt/Crossways International fan.) Her presentation was titled “Overview of the Situation on the Ground,” which featured documented facts and graphics provided by the United Nations' Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA). It was stark and disturbing. I will not try to couch what I have to say about what I learned in soft language or feigned objectivity. The facts—and the maps that so dispassionately depict the facts—show that the government of Israel is illegally and systematically snatching up acres and acres of land they have no right by International law to seize, and, in the process, they are fracturing the Palestinian territories into small, isolated ghetto-states, from which the indigenous peoples are not permitted to come or go. How can a people hemmed in and cut off like that ever be expected to function, let alone thrive? We have a humanitarian crisis on our hands that needs attention.


Moving to New Digs
Our itinerary had us checking out of the Hotel Golden Walls before noon on Saturday, and relocating to the St. Georges Guest House, not too far away. I've been told that we moved to the St. George because it's less expensive than the noisy, urban Golden Walls—besides, it offers a change of scenery. When you see all the pix of the St. George, you won't believe that it could possibly be cheaper than where we were. It's beautiful, quiet, spacious—idyllic. It's like a monastic retreat, yet with wireless internet capabilities.


A Bad Dream I Had Called Hebron
Saturday afternoon, we went to Hebron. Hebron is in the West Bank which, according to the UN, etc. is Palestinian territory, except that there are illegal Jewish settlements there that necessitate a strong Israeli military presence to protect and defend the settlements.

It was an awful experience to be there—and yet utterly exhilarating in a way, too. Much of my life I feel like I am on autopilot, lulled into a dogmatic slumber born out of lassitude and comfort. In Hebron, I was out of my comfort zone. I was awake. I was alive. By necessity.


As soon as we went through the main checkpoint in Hebron, we were stalled by soldiers (i.e., machine gun-toting adolescents). Then we were allowed to proceed. Then, a block later, we were stopped again by a policeman (age approximately 18), and a heavily armed soldier (age approximately 16), who decided to detain us. They told us we could not proceed upon the road ahead. The reason, when asked? “For your own safety.” Which was utter B.S. Our guides, Valentina and Sultana (see photo above)—two petite but immeasurably brave women—questioned them as to why Internationals (like us) who were allowed to take this route all the time otherwise should be forbidden now. A lot of questions were radioed in to superior commanding officers...and ultimately we were permitted to proceed.

What we saw was bleak. The part of Hebron we walked though looked like a war zone. Barbed wire everywhere. All the commerce was dead and gone. Soldiers were on every corner. I'd be busy training my camera on some photo-worthy scene, and suddenly I'd notice there was a soldier in camouflage, high up in a machine-gun nest, with his gun pointed at me.

The streets we walked were like a ghost town. Where commerce and trade once flourished, now only fear and threat and paranoia thrived. The pictures I took can say it better than I can. Dave Dynneson from our group summed it up quite eloquently: “This is insane.”

It was like a bad dream. When I get back home to the States you will see video clips I shot of a confrontation between a Muslim man who wanted to pray in the mosque, and an Israeli soldiers who wanted to detain him. This man yelled at the armed soldiers with more boldness (or stupidity?) than I could ever muster. The loudest, most aggressive Israeli soldier confronting him was a very young, petite, black-skinned woman, armed to the teeth. The entire scene made one rethink all of our preconceptions about race, gender, power, politics, and religion. And possibly psychology.


My Long-Lost Cousin, Lars
We were told that the mosque was open to tourists, even as the synagogue and the Macpelah Cave (burial site of Abraham and the other patriarchs and matriarchs) was closed to non-Jews since it was the Shabbat.

So we walked around the Muslim region through their Suq (marketplace). Along the way we saw two very dark black men with tags on their shirts that said “OBSERVERS.” I had to stop them and ask them what, precisely, they were a observing and where they were from. “We're here on a peace-keeping mission,” the one told me. “And we are from Norway.”

“Norway!?!? Me too!” I replied.

“What part?”

“The Telmark region.”

“That's not far from where I live,” he replied.

So we had to have our picture taken together: Evan Hansen, grandson of Arthur J. Hansen of Norway, posing with his long-lost Norwegian cousin, Lars.




2000 Years Ago, Roman Centurions; Today, Israeli Soldiers.
At one point, a small regiment of troops walked through the Suq with machine guns up, clips in place, pointed as if about to open fire. They had an attack dog out in front of them. Dave D., a Vietnam vet, told us how this was something simply not done unless you were on patrol in a hostile region and needed to be ready to fire at a moment's notice. These loaded guns, with fingers on the triggers, were pointed at elderly old unarmed merchants simply trying to eke out a meager income. These poor old fellows would be out of their minds to attempt any threat on the Occupiers. The politics of intimidation?


Dinner with the Bishop
Saturday night we were slated to have dinner with Bishop Munib Younan, who is highly revered throughout the region. As I've said before, the Bishop is an intense man—a man of great passion and conviction. If you've ever seen the movie “Romero,” about the South American bishop, you'll know what I'm getting at. So the Bishop invited us to be his guests at the az-Zahra restaurant in East Jerusalem.

This was a potentially nerve-wracking situation. Dinner with a great spiritual and moral leader makes one worry just a little more than usual about one's table manners, not to mention one's ability to make conversation without betraying what an idiot one is.

So the Bishop arrived later than all of us and, as soon as he sat down, he asked us if we had ever had Arak before (I hope/think I'm transliterating that properly). Those in our group who have been to the Mideast before knew exactly what this was; the rest of us were clueless.

It turns out Arak is basically Mideast Ouzo, only served differently. The Bishop said that even as Our Lord turned water into wine, in the Middle East they can turn water into milk. What did he mean? Basically this: Arak is colorless, like water. But to properly enjoy it, you add water, then ice. And it turns all milky and translucent. And (in moderation of course) it perfectly complements the wonderful, healthy array of salad and mixed grill that followed.

Isolated fact: The Bishop has not only a spectacularly joyful, ironic sense of humor, but one of the most infectious laughs you can imagine. You know how the languages of this part of the world have a very phlegmatic sound that comes from the back of the throat (think CHHHHUTZPAH)? Well, the Bishop's laugh is that very sound repeated in staccato bursts, sort of like this “Chz-chz-chz-chz-chz-chz-chz.” You can't hear that and not want to laugh yourself.


Sunday April 6—Worship and Reflection
Morning worship was wonderful. I kept thinking, “I'm a Christian worshiping for the first time in my life in Jerusalem!” What made it all the more wonderful was that I was with people who personify what genuine discipleship is all about—and people I know and have a relationship with. Officiating were Mark Holman (the pastor of Lutheran Church of the Redeemer), our dear Mark Nelson (tour leader and driving force behind this trip), and, finally, Bishop Younan himself. We did the standard Lutheran liturgy, which I love 1000% more than casual 20th century-ish “contemporary” formats (but that's just me).

It was nice to see all the hymnals we brought from Minnesota piled up in the chancel, waiting to be dedicated and put into use.

After church, we all schmoozed a bit in the incredibly beautiful second-floor vestibules surrounding LCR's courtyard (again, the pictures I'll upload will speak decibels louder than words), and then had lunch at a place in West Jerusalem called Arcaffe.

Yad Vashem
After lunch we went to the Holocaust Museum called Yad Vashem. As you would expect, the exhibits were very moving, and left you pondering how man could be so inhumane to man. Of course, seeing Yad Vashem only one day after walking the ghettos of Hebron forced me to reckon with an uncomfortable irony.

The government of Israel is doing today what the Nazis did to the Jews a little over a half century ago. The irony was painful as I went from exhibit to exhibit to exhibit. The methodology is identical: First you begin taking away peoples' rights to move freely unless they have permits or papers, then you begin rounding people up into isolated ghettos. Then you begin denying them essential human rights, and it only gets worse from there.

I know what a ghetto in Poland looked like because I was in one yesterday in Hebron. I was in a police state, under marshal law. I saw soldiers march through areas of commerce brandishing weapons with the sole intention to intimidate. I myself had to go through checkpoints where I had to show my papers, empty my pockets, and submit in humiliation to armed oppressors.

In 60 short years, the bullied have become the bullies. The oppressed have become the oppressors.

They say that children raised in dysfunctional homes who are beaten and abused grow up and find themselves—against their will and not even knowing why—beating up and abusing their own children.

Most ironic of all: This extremely expensive museum in Israel put here in good faith and with the best of humanitarian interests now serves as perhaps one of the most stinging indictments against Israel.

The take-home message: No one people is genetically predisposed to be cruel tyrants. The Germans did it in the 1940s. The Israelis are doing it now. The Huns did it at another time. Inside each one of us is a potential tyrant waiting to be born. This only helps me to see better what Jesus meant when He came to say that the enemy is not other people or nations. The enemy is that ugly yet seductive voice inside of you that urges you to serve yourself (please yourself, indulge yourself) even if it's on the backs of others.

This is the enemy that needs to be defeated before any true peace can prevail.

Tomorrow we go to Bethlehem.

'Til then, Grace & peace, Evan

Thursday and Friday, April 3 & 4

Friday, April 4, 2008
Hi folks. I spent so much time figuring out my picture situation yesterday, I never got around to writing. So here's a quick recap of highlights from the past 24 hours.

Evan the Terror Suspect (Thursday, April 3)
Yesterday our group went to the Temple Mount to see the Dome of the Rock, the al-Aqsa Mosque, etc. The security there is very tight, as you can imagine. The Western Wall is the holiest site in Judaism, and the Haram al-Sharif is one of the three holiest sites in Islam. They say that the Temple Mount is even more precious than the Prime Minister's life—you can always get a new Prime Minister.

So...of our group, guess which one of us was refused entry for being suspected of potential terroristic activity? Yep. You guessed it. The reason was this: my new little computer is so small and light that I've been able to take it anywhere, which has been great for storing my photos, writing updates on the fly, logging in anytime we have access to a hotspot, etc. So when I was going through security and they began digging through my bag, they found the laptop—but they didn't believe it was a real computer! They thought it was some kind of devious device, perhaps a plastic explosive, disguised as a laptop. So I was denied entry.



No matter. While the rest of the group toured the Temple Mount, I got close up to the Western Wall and took some colorful pictures, including a few of a guy from Nigeria on a pilgrimage who was wearing bright green “pajamas” with pictures of Jesus and the Bible all over them. (You'll see these when I upload pix.) Beth W. says she wants to go back to the Dome anyway, since the group got pushed out early so the Muslims could say prayers. So there's still a good chance I'll see it. I'll leave my computer home next time.


The Martin Luther Schule (School)
Thursday afternoon we toured the Martin Luther School right next door to the Church of the Redeemer. Dr. Charlie Haddad, school superintendant was our host. The school has several sites throughout the region and takes students of both Christian and Muslim backgrounds, empowering them with education. The MLS hopes to have Jewish students some day too, but this cultural climate isn't quite ready yet, it seems, for that degree of ecumenism. But someday...

The Ballcap of the Holy Sepulchre (Friday, April 4 )
Friday was a great day for pilgrimage experiences. In the morning we went to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre; in the afternoon we went to the Garden of Gethsemane. Now, a lot of the religious sites in this city have a pretty shaky pedigree as far as authenticity goes. I mean, it's very hard to verify that “this spot is the precise location where Mary was met by the Angel Gabriel,” or “this brick is the exact one that Peter's tears fell upon when he wept bitterly after denying Jesus.” But the very best archaeologists and historians assert that, of all the religious sites, the site of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is very probably the actual location where Jesus was crucified.

The church itself is an amalgam of Greek Orthodox, Roman Catholic, Armenian, Russian Orthodox, Coptic, etc. A veritable mutt of Christian architecture and tradition. But it's an intriguing place, and quite conducive to moments of sincere spiritual reverence. We got there early enough that the line to go into the “tomb” (the main attraction as it were) was very short, so we went for it.

There are beefy guards and one huge, linebacker-sized Greek Orthodox monk who keep pilgrims from spending too much time in the inner chamber of the tomb (which, suffice it to say, puts a little pressure on you to “hurry up and have your once-in-a-lifetime spiritual experience already!”). As I was going in, the Rasputin-like monk admonished me to remove my white “Maisons sur Mer” baseball hat. “Boy,” I'm thinking, “you've got to COVER your head at the Wailing Wall, you've got to UNCOVER your head here—why can't the religions come to a consensus as to whether or not God wants to see the tops of our heads when we're in His house?”


So I removed my hat, went into the tomb, had my 20 second allotment of wonder, and then was promptly summoned out. Ten minutes later, Rasputin walks up to me holding my white ballcap. “Yours?” I was delighted that he remembered me and even sought me out. He could have just chucked it in Lost & Found (or in the garbage). So I was quite grateful. And then I realized: My hat was inside Jesus' tomb longer than any pilgrim is permitted to stay in there. Is my hat a holy relic now?


We Came to Do More than Eat and Sight-See
Did I mention that the print room in the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer is really coming along? Well it is! We've got some very talented and hard-working people along who are using all their many complementary talents to make it happen. The pictures I will upload will prove it.

Haggling!!
They say you can't buy anything in the Middle East without haggling. I just don't have the haggling gene, so I've simply avoided buying anything. But today, as we were walking away from where we ate lunch, a vendor came up to me and said, “Sir, I want to show you what *I* make. Please. Let me show you.” For whatever reason, I began to think I was meant to see what this craftsman had to show me. He was a jewelry maker. My wife likes—no, loves—jewelry. So I began to look at his wares. Well, he had incredibly beautiful mother-of-pearl/abalone pieces set in silver jewelry that I KNEW Rhonda would LOVE. So I picked out the best looking bracelet, then found a matching necklace and felt quite pleased that I had nailed the perfect gift to bring home. “How much?” I asked naively.

“For you? I give special deal. You want to pay in cash or charge?”

“Cash.” (Thinking that would get me the best deal.)

“Dollars or shekels?” I didn't care. I had both. I assumed he might prefer dollars.

“Okay.” So he picked up his calculator, played a nimble arpeggio on the keys, then smiled and said, “Your special price, my friend.” The display read: 625.

I said, “Is that 62 dollars, fifty cents? Or six dollars, twenty-five cents?”

“No sir. Six-hundred twenty-five dollars.” I gasped. I told him I'm not a rich man; that I had about 70 dollars in my wallet and maybe 110 shekels.

“Okay then. For you, since you are my friend, I give to you for 550 dollars.”

So Rhonda, if and when you are reading this, please know I was really thinking of you and hoping to score THEE gift that would make you happy. But I figured you wouldn't necessarily want me to squander our mortgage money on something I think I could find in the States for a LOT less. So, um, anyway...it's the thought that counts, right?

God's Fiber Optic Infrastructure
I've got pictures to upload of where we ate lunch today. The venue came on the recommendation of one of the local guys who works at LCR. It's a place tourists would never go, and wow, was it ever good. Kebab sandwiches that could blow your mind. But as we were served and some of the hungrier among us began to dig in, my Crossways International reflexes kicked in and I suggested a blessing. And so I began to pray. But only several words into my prayer, our host/waiter interrupted us to tell us that Friday is Muslim prayer day, and that he had to go away to pray, but would be back after 10 minutes, when prayers were over.

He left, and I continued my prayer. “Lord, we thank You for all of Your provision and grace. And we know that so many people are praying to you right now, that the lines are pretty busy. So we won't take up any more of your bandwidth. Thank you, Amen.”

Yes, it's been an incredibly reverential, spiritually meaningful day—but we're having fun, too. Or should I say AND we're having fun, too? God likes us to have fun, right?

April 3, 2008 – A Story: "The Christian Thing to Do"

Last night, after our gathering on the Mount of Olives, Pastor Holman's wife Marcia drove our group back to the hotel in the van that belongs to the church. Along the way, she had this story to share about the van we were in.

About a block from the Holmans home is a Hospital of the Red Crescent, the Arab version of the Red Cross. It serves as one of the primary maternity hospitals in the region.

One day Mark and Marcia Holman were driving past the hospital in the van and spotted a young Palestinian woman walking away from the hospital, carrying a tiny infant in one arm and pulling a suitcase on wheels with the other.

Marcia commented—not quite seriously but more for ironic effect—“It would be the CHRISTIAN thing to do to offer her a ride.”

Suddenly Mark stopped the van, turned around, and doubled back toward the woman. “What are you doing?” Marcia asked. “We're offering her a ride,” Mark replied.

The Holmans speak very little Arabic; the woman spoke no English. So, trying to make their good intentions clear through smiles and gestures and such, they did their best to communicate that they wanted her to get in the van and let them take her home. She was very cautious and reluctant, with all the protective instincts you'd expect of a new mother.

Finally the woman took stock of her situation and—if you saw the Holmans you'd understand how they are incapable of looking particularly menacing—she decided to get into the van.

They drove away and the woman pointed out every right and left turn. The van wound its way down the steep, uneven roads deep into the valley. and they just kept going—roughly about five miles according to Marcia's estimate.

When they finally arrived at the woman's humble home, they were greeted joyously by the entire extended family. The woman explained to her family what the Holmans had done for her and they were insistently cajoled with invitations to come into the house and join in the celebratory homecoming feast—which Marcia says would hardly qualify as a feast by our standards but was nonetheless the best and most these very poor people could put together. (Marcia's eyes fill with tears here as she continues.)

And since you never refuse hospitality in the Middle East, the Holmans came inside and celebrated among the family of this tiny newborn whose mother had heretofore been in the impossible predicament of having to carry baby and luggage five miles on foot over rugged terrain on steep, winding roads.

We take our conveniences and amenities for granted, don't we? We need to work harder to share and distribute the resources of which we are intended to be responsible stewards more equitably, don't we? As Marcia said, “It would be the Christian thing to do.”

April 2, Midnight

Mordechai Vanunu
I got to meet this guy tonight (right side of the photo; that's Pastor Mark Holman on the left) and talk to him all about his imprisonment and so forth. (See link below for more information about Mordechai Vanunu's life.) It was mind-boggling. If someone hasn't written a screenplay on his story already, I'd like to get dibs on the rights!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mordechai_Vanunu

Our conversation occurred on a breezy, cloudless summer-like evening on top of the Mount of Olives in a spot that some church traditions claim is the site of the Ascension since it is (arguably?) the point of highest elevation in Jerusalem. It's also the spot where Emperor Titus is known to have camped with the 10th Roman Legion the night before his troops sacked the city and demolished the Second Temple in 70 AD. The hill also still has trenches dug into the side of it where Jordanian troops hunkered down following the 1948 war. Suffice it to say, this place has history.

Currently, it is the site of the Lutheran World Federation, which does all kinds of benevolent and peace-building work in the region. And we had a group of about 50 or 60 people there from maybe a dozen countries tonight to eat, talk, and play volleyball together. Hard to believe so much violence happened in a place that seemed so idyllic and peace-filled tonight.

April 2, 2008, Church of the Redeemer

It's 3PM, and we just finished lunch at a rooftop restaurant near the Church of the Redeemer with spectacular views of the city all around us. Can't wait to upload pictures.

Presently I'm sitting in a small stone-walled chapel within the church for a moment of quiet reverie before we get to work in a short while with our efforts to renovate the print room in the basement of the church.

I am half a world away, yet feel entirely at home. There is nothing quite like a little down-time for prayer and reflection, in solitude, in a chapel or church sanctuary. It brings me back to relatively early childhood, sitting in the church sanctuary waiting for Daddy to finish up something in his study.


This morning we met with the Bishop for the ELCJHL (yes, it's a mouthful: it stands for Evangelical Lutheran Church of Jordan and the Holy Land). Bishop Munib Younan is a remarkable man—something of an Arab-Christian version of Gandhi, both in terms of his deceptively diminutive stature and his great moral gravitas. The bishop said so many illuminating things that my pen could not keep up.

I won't try to recreate all of my hand-written notes here and now. But let me share just a few reflections. “Peace is not merely the absence of conflict. It is the presence of justice.”

The Bishop remarked that the resolution of the conflict here in the Middle East could be achieved in one day. Furthermore, the vast majority of all parties involved more or less agree on the means and terms of such a peace. But, the Bishop added, until the people eager for peace stand up and speak out and become willing to get involved, there will be talk and more talk and more talk---so that the solution that could be achieved in one day stretches out until the end of time.


Over lunch, Pastor Siler shared more of his perspective from years of living here. I liked this comment: “A Westerner can come here for three weeks, go back home, and write a book. Or come for three months and go home and write a magazine article. Or stay for three years, and then be unable to write at all. It's just that complicated.” He added: “By far the most marginalized and vilified people in this region are peace-seeking Jews, Christians, and Muslims.”

Dave Dynneson of our group was rightfully irked by all the pessimism and said so. “Where's the hope?”

Yet hope does persist. You see it in the perseverance of the indigenous people here. You see it in the continuing efforts of groups like ours to come over here, see it for ourselves, make friends and establish partnerships with the people here. Why even bother if there's no cause for hope? And finally, as Bishop Younan said, “Hope is fundamental to all people who see truth in resurrection. Hope arises where the culture of life is chosen over the culture of death.”

See what I mean about the Bishop being a cool guy?

Okay, I better head down to the print room and get working. Love to you all, -Evan

First Night In Jerusalem, April 2, 2008

When I was in my twenties, I had a lot more energy and stamina than I do now. That's why I'm surprised that I've been up for over 32 hours straight now—not a wink of sleep—and don't feel tired. It may hit me any minute. The adrenaline rush is bound to ebb.

At the moment I'm sitting up in bed, typing. It's 11PM Jerusalem time, 3:00 PM back home in Minnesota. Jim Thomson from Peace Lutheran is sacked out in the (very tiny) twin bed next to me. (He's tall and says he feels “short-sheeted.”) We just got back literally minutes ago from our first walk around town. I may keel over at any second myself, so this dispatch may not be very long or substantive.


The flight seemed to go faster than I expected, and we have a great group to travel with. When we arrived at MSP airport yesterday, our tour leader Pastor Mark Nelson was standing next to a pile of cardboard boxes containing 100 brand new copies of the new ELCA hymnal (the “cranberry” book, now replacing the beloved old green book after decades of noble service). The hymnals had been lovingly donated by our friends at Mount Olivet Lutheran—and they thought we'd be good mules to transport these books to the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer in the Old City, where our group will be doing the bulk of our work here.

So I have to be honest and confess a flash of righteous indignation when I first heard we'd be expected to carry more than just our luggage. Those uncharitable, selfish thoughts about my personal comfort quickly melted away when I watched the group adapt to the challenge. Someone had had the idea that the boxes were 25 pounds each, and so two could be taped together creating one parcel that did not exceed the 50 pound limit. The airport scale proved us wrong—each box was precisely 26 pounds! We had ten boxes of books, with ten of us (of our full group of 12) leaving from Minneapolis.


However, one person already had two check-in items to declare, meaning the other nine of us had to carry a full box, plus however many extra books from the leftover box that we could manage. I got one hymnal in my already overstuffed suitcase, and two more in my carry-on. I think Mark put three in his suitcase.

In the end, getting the books into Jerusalem turned out to be kind of a rewarding “bonding” experience—especially considering how much these books are likely to be appreciated by our brothers and sisters struggling to keep our faith alive over here.

For whatever reason, I just couldn't sleep on the plane. Each seat had its own video screen with on-demand programming, so I ended up watching five movies—mostly ones I know Rhonda wouldn't want to watch with me back home. John C. Reilly in “Walk Hard” had the 12-year old boy that still dwells within me laughing like a fiend—even as I could almost hear Rhonda saying, “This is one I don't need to watch with you, sweetie.”

The plane landed at about 5:30 PM—almost exactly 24 hours after we left Minneapolis (not accounting for the time difference). We were met at the airport by Pastor Russ Siler (one of Mark's old friends; they worked in Jerusalem together in the past), and by Marcia Holman, wife of Pastor Mark Holman, who leads the English-speaking congregation at the Church of the Redeemer. We left Minneapolis during a snowstorm (on the last day of March, mind you!) and landed in Tel Aviv to 70 degree temps, lush spring growth, colossal palm trees, and possibly the sweetest-smelling, freshest air I've ever savored. If they could bottle it, I'd buy it.

A short van ride from Tel Aviv and suddenly, here we are, Jerusalem. Our hotel (the Golden Walls) is literally across the street from the ancient parapet-bedecked walls of the Old City. I had a goose-bump moment when I looked up and beheld their enduring magnificence.

We all checked into our rooms and then, minutes later, reconvened in the lobby to eat in the hotel's restaurant. We had a buffet that included fresh and aromatic dolmas (stuffed grape leaves), a fine (basmati? jasmine? jasmati?) rice, and two savory meat dishes—apparently lamb and pork. (Yes, pork.) Alas, this turns out not to be a Jewish owned hotel—hence the decidedly unkosher pork.


Over dinner, Pastor Holman briefed us on his years here and offered some rather profound insights. One that resonated and stuck with me all evening: “There is nothing you can do here that is not political. Where you buy your clothes, where you shop for food, where you buy a new computer, which roads you can or choose to drive on—there is a political implication in every case.” I know this is only the beginning of the thought-provoking moments this trip will provide. Another trenchant comment from Pr. Holman: “I have an identity here as a Christian, and I have an identity here as an American. The two do not always coexist comfortably.” I've had that same gut-feeling for years.


After we ate, about six of us went for a few miles' stroll around the Old City. The walls and their gates are breathtaking at night. We wound our way through narrow cobblestone streets that run though the city like a labyrinth. Fortunately Mark Nelson and Beth Warpmaeker were with us and know this place the way I know lower Manhattan.

Seeing very young-looking Israeli men—and women—wearing army uniforms and loaded to the nines with lethal weapons including submachine guns is something I hope I don't get used to seeing. We had to go through a security check with metal detectors just to get near the Western Wall. When we finally stepped out of the labyrinthine streets into the open air and beheld the Western (a.k.a. “Wailing”) Wall—I had another goose-bump moment.


I've seen the Orthodox Jews praying fervently at the Wall in the mass media, but seeing it in person was an altogether fresh experience. And I've read before that in ancient days, one never turned one's back on the holy site, and so walked away from the walls backwards. It turns out that this is still true today. It was fun to see groups of devout men and (in their own segregated area) women, casually conversing as they took their backward steps away from the Wall.

We stopped at a convenience store for some water and soda, and I got to break my first 100 shekel bill. I love foreign money—how it looks, trying to learn what the denominations are worth, etc. I asked the clerk if it was acceptable to expect him to break a hundred shekel note for a mere can of sodapop. He laughed and said, “Of course! One hundred not worth that much!” My more savvy friends then told me it would be roughly like asking an American vendor to break a 20. No big deal.

Then I got to do my first linguistic botch of the trip, too. Wanting to say thank-you to the Israeli vendor, I said (in Hebrew) “Toda!”

Beth W. (who lived here for a year about nine years ago) laughed and whispered to me, “He speaks Arabic...”

My first interaction and I blew it! But I quickly recovered with a second blurting: “Shukran!”

“Righhhhht,” Beth said, encouragingly.

So now my dilemma: How do people know WHO speaks Arabic and WHO speaks Hebrew?” I clearly have a LOT to learn in this place.

Well, all for tonight. This bumbling American needs some rest.