Walking the Way of the Cross with Aberdeen

When I told our Bible study I was going to the holy land, I was asked to bring back dirt from the Holy Land, dirt that we could spread on the streets of Aberdeen.

For two days in Jerusalem, we walked the way of the cross. We began on the Mount of Olives and walked down to the Kidron Valley. The next morning, we walked the Via Dolorosa, the way of the cross, ending at the ancient Church of the Holy Sepulcher and the site of the Resurrection.

I walked these two days specifically keeping Aberdeen, keeping the harbor in my heart-- and collecting the dirt that they asked for. Walking this way of the cross and holding the suffering and despair of my people.

We began at the top of the Mount of Olives and at a church that happened to be just across from a Palestinian home that had been bulldozed by the state. This, unfortunately, is frequent.

A demolished Palestinian home

The day was sunny and beautiful and I imagined Jesus and his disciples walking up the Jerusalem on a similar day—singing as was the custom, but also aware of coming execution. The Mount of Olives was truly covered in ancient olive trees and as we walked, I prayed for the Harbor. I imagined how often we feel that we are dying, that we are losing hope. I thought about how, as a pastor, I am called to hold the despair of our people.

One of the ancient olive trees in the Garden of Gethsemane

 

When we stopped in the church and garden of Gethsemane, I sat for a long time in prayer.  I was feeling the weight of all that was on my heart, the weight of too much sorrow, just as Jesus did. And, suddenly, I thought: “Jesus refused to simply endure. Refused, even in the garden, even in his agonizing decision to stay and die, to give up hope. He still walked toward liberation, toward the freedom of his people, toward resurrection. Even as he faced death.”

 

Looking at Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives

 

And, so, as we remembered Jesus who set his face toward Jerusalem, I began to feel and to hold hope as well, hope for the future of the harbor, hope for the future of our young people, hope for our liberation, our freedom, our resurrection.

First century stone steps leading up the hill into the old city

 

On the hill leading up to Jerusalem, archaeologists have uncovered ancient steps leading up to where they believe the high priest’s house would have been located. A church has been built there, called Peter Galicante, and under the church is the ancient foundation of the house and where Jesus was likely held and imprisoned overnight before his trial. I spent an hour at least in that place in prayer. I was overwhelmed by the thought of Jesus’ suffering, as a person who had stood up to empire and to religious authorities and I could not forget the prisons I had visited. The many I knew who have been scarred by their experiences in prisons. The suffering of people under empire. The suffering of people I know in Aberdeen, on the harbor, living under empire as well, living without access to basic needs, living always with the threat of jail. I wept for my people there in that ancient prison and I prayed for courage there too, courage to stand with those I love.

Sitting outside where some believe Jesus was held overnight before his trial



I lit a candle for all those I know in jail

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After a quiet night in the old city, we woke up to another beautiful day. Beginning in the Church of St Anne, we began walking the 14 Stations of the Cross. Weaving in and out of markets and up the steps of the old city, on the same stones Jesus would have walked, we followed Jesus’ journey from the prisons of empire to the site of his execution.

Jesus meets his mother. I thought of all the mothers I know who have lost their children. I thought again of Mike Brown’s mother and her cry; “They aint never gonna care.” Jesus falls. I thought of all the people I know with severe injuries on the street without access to healthcare. Simon carries the cross. I thought of all the men and women who take care of each other in Aberdeen, who step in when there is no hope and show love and kindness—people who have nothing who check in on their neighbors, people who watch out for each other. Jesus is crucified. I thought of all the people who die, who are crucified on an altar of greed, who are forgotten and alone.

Finally, we reached the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, believed to be built over the site of Golgotha and the tomb. Hundreds of pilgrims from all over the world swarmed the place and long lines formed to kneel at the foot of the cross. Every language was spoken and five different church traditions cared for the church. I knelt and then I lit a candle, there at the foot of the cross, for Aberdeen, for the harbor and its people. There, in an ancient land, in the company of millions of pilgrims from hundreds of years, I brought our prayers, our hopes, our longing to the foot of the cross.

A candle lit for the harbor at the foot of the cross

Sometime in these coming months, we will spread that dirt on Aberdeen, as we hold our despair and as we hold our hope and our longing for liberation.

Holy Land, Holy People

Sea of Galilee at Sunrise

Sometimes when you return from a pilgrimage or a journey of discovery, it can be hard to find the words to explain your experiences. There is a deep need to express what you have seen and heard and an equally deep sense that no words can do it justice. Especially if you have borne witness to great suffering, words can seem overwhelming inadequate, even impossible. There is a sense that all witness must be silent, because when words are spoken they cannot say all of what must be said; there is also a sense that all witnesses must speak, in order for the world to hear what they have witnessed.

In my visit to Palestine, I went with two goals: first, a religious goal, to see the land that Jesus walked and to see the place where the Jesus movement started, where good news was preached to the poor. The second goal was to see the reality, on the ground, of the Palestinian people and, as a Christian cleric, the reality of Palestinian Christians.

I saw a land of great beauty. A land that is as ordinary as any other place—and as holy as any other land. I touched the rocks and sea and stones that Jesus may have and I wept where he likely was imprisoned before he died. I saw the words he first preached in Nazareth inscribed in a church there, in the lovely Arabic script; “The spirit of the Lord is upon me, to proclaim good news to the poor.”

The altar at Christ's Church, Nazareth

I worshipped on a holy land.

And, yet, it was the words of Bassam Aramin that struck me as the most powerful spoken on the trip; “We are more holy than any holy land.” 

It is easy to simply follow the prescribed order of things—to remain a tourist on a tour with other Christian clergy—to goggle at the plethora of churches built over every possible site and peruse the hundreds of gift shops with souvenirs and tokens. To turn away from the suffering of the people on a land called holy in the name of worshiping the holy.

That is the easiest thing to do.

It is harder to listen to Bassam Aramin, a Palestinian living under occupation who told a story of his imprisonment and torture in Israeli jails as a young man and the death of his 11 year old daughter, shot at a checkpoint coming home from school. Harder to listen to the shopkeepers of Bethlehem, behind the great Wall dividing the land, who all said the same thing; “We live in a prison. What are we supposed to do?” Harder the listen to Rev Nael Abu Rahmoun, pastor of a church in Nazareth, who said; “We are all forgotten here.”

 

The wall that divides Bethlehem

 

Holy lands are easy to see. But we often turn away from the suffering of holy people.

As I continue to reflect over the coming weeks, I am going to tell my story of encountering a holy land, but I am also going to tell of encountering the suffering of holy people.