Called By Name

“But we, the creatures are named, and our names are part of our wholeness… And I remember the times when I have been given a name—and to be given a name is an act of intimacy as powerful as any act of love. To name is to love. To be Named is to be loved.” -Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water

Perhaps some of you have at some point made the mistake of addressing me as Mary, only to swiftly (yet tactfully) be corrected by me and told that my name is Mary Margaret, thank you very much, and I prefer to be called that. Call me Mary Margaret, or one of my nicknames, but not just Mary or just Margaret. Thanks.

That was one of the first things that had to go once I got here. My fervent insistence that I be called by both names, the instinctual cringe when someone “slipped up” and called me Mary, my explanation that I did not “feel” like a Mary—these well rehearsed lines did not have a place here. For the first time in my life, I introduce myself as Mary to new people, and allow people I consider to be my friends to call me Mary. The people in the international community still call me Mary Margaret, but to the teachers at school, I am Mary, and to my students, I am Miss Mary.

I’ve always liked my name, and as many people do, I connect my name to my identity. I connect it to the two women, my great grandmothers, who each gave me half of my name, contributing to my wholeness, their history becoming part of my history. I connect it to my mother, Mary Joe, who wanted one of her daughters to have a double name like she does. I connect my name to my southern heritage, and to a rather silly feeling of originality at having a rare name. We know the shape of our names written on paper, we can hear our names spoken quietly across a noisy and crowded room.

Part of learning and growing here seems to have a great deal to do with letting go, even of those things that we cling to as tightly as possible- our ideas about ourselves, our ideas about God, our ideas about the way the world should work and about the way it actually does work. Somehow this year is slipping away, and in less than three months time I will return to the States to begin some new, unknown thing. The question I’ve been asking myself recently is, what change is this year working within me? This place has given me a new name— so in what ways is it making me into a new thing? When I left my old comfortable, familiar environment, what elements of my identity did I let go of, and what new ones arose to fill the empty places. Do I feel I am more patient with myself and others? Yes. And yet, at the same time, do I feel angrier? Yes, absolutely. Witnessing such forthright injustice, discrimination, and hatred has brought a new kind of frustration and weariness to my world-view. Do I believe that I have gained knowledge? In some ways yes, and in others ways, I feel that I know even less what to say. Perhaps most significantly, do I feel that the act of loving and being loved by, and even trying to love people here is changing me? Yes.

Change happens within us in a way that is usually beyond clear articulation, and many things will probably only become apparent to me once I have left Jerusalem and returned home. Letting go, changing names, changing identities. Certainly this year will not leave me unrecognizable to those I left one year ago, but I know with certainty that the Mary Margaret who will return in July is not the one who set out in August. The truth is that we are all constantly going through a process of transformation, whether we are at home, or far from it. My prayer is that God is using my experiences to transform me more and more into who he wants me to be. Beyond Mary, Miss Mary, Mary Margaret, He has named us all in love—He has called us Child. And I think, or perhaps hope, that in many ways this working out of who am I?, how have I changed?, is a searching for this ultimate identity, our most important name.

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. Isaiah 43: 1

Holy Week Finale: Easter!

Sunday, April 4, 2010, 6 AM

But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in, they did not find the body. While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them. The women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, ‘Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.’ Then they remembered his words, and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest.

Luke 24: 1-9

6 AM

In the darkness of early morning, we carefully made our way across the grounds of the Augusta Victoria Hospital campus to a stone altar that was already glowing with the light of small tea candles. Our Redeemer Lutheran English Congregation choir did a quick warm up as we prepared to sing at the special Mount of Olives sunrise service. And what a beautiful service it was—the prayers and songs of Easter morning rising up along with the sun, as we gazed out over the Jordanian desert. Like the women who discovered with awe the empty tomb, we rediscovered and remembered the resurrection along with them in the glowing Jerusalem dawn. Easter is a time of great hope—a hope that we must cling to. We must believe that after the “Fridays” of this world-poverty, occupation, racism, abuse, exploitation, war, hunger, disease, injustice, and death something awaits on Sunday morning. Life and love- the promises of Easter.

9 AM

After a delicious Easter brunch on the Mount of Olives, we headed down into the Old City for another church service, this time a joint service between the English and Arabic congregations. I was glad to have the opportunity to celebrate Easter with the local community here that I have frequently worshipped with over the past eight months. Even though we sing and pray in different languages, our belief and proclamation is shared. Christ is Risen! Al Masih Qam!

7 PM

Later that evening we had a special meal with our English-speaking congregational community at the Brown’s home up on the Mount of Olives. Believe it or not, in a predominantly Muslim and Jewish place, we even managed to have ham for Easter dinner! The Redeemer Lutheran community has truly been a unique and special support for me throughout this year. Especially around the holidays, when I feel especially separated from the normal rhythms of celebrations at home, it forms its own eclectic family of sorts to do what families do— share food and conversation, and support one another. It has been a blessing, and one that I know I will miss when I leave in a few short months.

East Side Story

Two items about some sad realities of the Holy City. Jerusalem is anything but an undivided, united city, as I have learned over the course of this past year.

http://www.haaretz.com/print-edition/opinion/discrimination-is-flourishing-in-east-jerusalem-1.287733

An Al Jazeera video clip about what we commonly refer to as the "racist traffic light," which causes many a delay going from our neighborhood into the city center. No it certainly isn't a checkpoint, but it makes its mark on people's lives nonetheless.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rQYKeYhDWa4

Holy Fire Saturday

Saturday, April 3, 2010, 2 PM

Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.’ John 8:12

My friend Jennifer and I went to the Old City the next day to celebrate a festival I had never even heard of before coming to Jerusalem: Sept An-Nur, or Holy Fire Saturday. Every year on the Saturday before Orthodox Easter, the Orthodox Patriarch of Jerusalem enters the “Tomb of Christ” in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. He carries 33 small candles, representing the age of Christ at his death, and he is inspected before entering to ensure that he carries no implements to light a fire with. According to tradition, when he is alone inside, he waits until the candles he holds are miraculously lit, after which he emerges from the tomb and distributes the flame. The flame passes from person to person throughout the city, and then travels all over the world to Orthodox communities. Jennifer and I bought our little bunches of candles, and then squirmed our way through people and around police barriers, trying to find a place to wait for the fire. We ended up standing inside Jaffa Gate at the top of Christian Quarter Road, and finally I could hear bells in the distance. A short time later I spotted one little boy with a flame, and then in seconds it was everywhere. People carried multiple bunches, creating small blazes and then extinguishing them; I think the belief is that the candles are blessed by having been touched by the fire. Jennifer and I received the flame and found it more difficult to put out than expected, which resulted in brief alarm, followed by a good bit of laughter. I wanted to participate not because I necessarily believe that the Holy Fire is a genuine yearly miracle, but because I see it as a beautiful illustration of the Christian faith. From a single flame, Jesus, who lived and died in this place two thousand years ago, all the Christian faithful in the world trace their hope and faith back to this single source. Jesus said, “I am the light of the world” and because the flame has been shared with us, we too are called to be bearers of light, hope and peace in the world.

8 PM

The Light of Christ! Thanks be to God!

–Traditional Proclamation and Response of the Easter Vigil Liturgy

The Easter Vigil at St. George’s Cathedral was another reminder of the gift of light given in Easter. Beginning in the shadows in the courtyard of the church, we lit candles together and processed in. In this joint English and Arabic language service we began to retell once again the story of the resurrection, sing the Alleluias that were put aside during Lent, and prepare ourselves for the dawning of Easter morning.

Good Friday

Friday, April 2, 2010, 6 AM

[Pilate] said to the Jews, ‘Here is your King!’ They cried out, ‘Away with him! Away with him! Crucify him!’ Pilate asked them, ‘Shall I crucify your King?’ The chief priests answered, ‘We have no king but the emperor.’ Then he handed him over to them to be crucified. John 19: 14-16

In the early morning hours on Good Friday, the Lutheran and Anglican churches of Jerusalem held a procession along the Via Dolorosa, meaning the Way of Suffering, a route through the Old City which is traditionally held to be the path Jesus took from his encounter with Pilate to his crucifixion. We picked up where we had left off form the evening before, when we had a special Maundy Thursday service with a procession from the Old City out to the site of the Garden of Gethsemane. With scripture reading and prayer at the different Stations of the Cross, we sought to remember the last moments of Jesus life. Walking the narrow stone streets, it is hard to imagine the Jerusalem of Jesus’ time—Biblical historians remind us that the events of the Passion took place outside the city walls of Jerusalem, on spots that are now enveloped by the current 16^th century walls. Time and the march of history have changed this place drastically, and yet we continue to be drawn here by a memory that layers of stone and earth cannot cover.

10 AM

Those who had arrested Jesus took him to Caiaphas the high priest, in whose house the scribes and the elders had gathered. But Peter was following him at a distance, as far as the courtyard of the high priest; and going inside, he sat with the guards in order to see how this would end. Matthew 26:57-58

I found a quiet moment later in the day with my friend Brit at the Church of St. Peter in Gallicantu, a church built over the spot where it is believed the house of the High Priest Caiaphus stood. In a stony underground prison probably quite similar to the one Jesus was imprisoned in, if not the prison itself, we shared a quiet time of scripture reading and prayer, with particular focus on Peter. Peter, the rock on which the church would be built, but who showed his utter humanity in the courtyard of the high priest by denying Christ three times.

12 Noon

When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.’ And they cast lots to divide his clothing. And the people stood by, watching; but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, ‘He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!’ The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine, and saying, ‘If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!’ There was also an inscription over him, ‘This is the King of the Jews.’ Luke 23: 33-37

On to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the place widely believed to have been the location of the Crucifixion and Resurrection. My Protestant upbringing cries for skepticism about holy sites and relics, but I felt compelled to join the pilgrims of all different sects— Greek, Armenian, Syrian, Ethiopian Orthodox, Coptic, Latin, and Protestant in visiting what many consider the holiest site in all of Christianity. Stiflingly warm, smoky with incense, and packed with people, I wandered through the church. I stumbled upon a Coptic service that was being held at the back of the sepulcher structure, and quickly stumbled out when I realized I was in the way. I have visited this church before and have come to love it, not really because of any feeling of holiness or transcendence I find within the church, but rather because wedged between tour groups, scolded by scowling priests, I see the beauty of this mass, this mess of humanity that Christ came to save and that I am a part of.

1 PM

Now there was a good and righteous man named Joseph, who, though a member of the council, had not agreed to their plan and action. He came from the Jewish town of Arimathea, and he was waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God. This man went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. Then he took it down, wrapped it in a linen cloth, and laid it in a rock-hewn tomb where no one had ever been laid. Luke 23:50-53

Later in the day I made my way to the Garden Tomb, a beautiful and quiet garden that is a proposed alternate site for the Crucifixion and Resurrection. The Tomb is believed to be from around the time of Christ’s life, so is interesting in imagining how the tomb might have looked, regardless of it being the actual tomb or not. Most wonderfully on this day, the garden provided a needed reprieve from the heat of the day and the thronging crowds of the Old City.

3 PM

From noon on, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. And about three o’clock Jesus cried with a loud voice, ‘Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?’ that is, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, ‘This man is calling for Elijah.’ At once one of them ran and got a sponge, filled it with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink. But the others said, ‘Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to save him.’ Then Jesus cried again with a loud voice and breathed his last. At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, and the rocks were split. Matthew 45-51

I was drawn back to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, not knowing what would happen, but wanting to be there nonetheless. I stood in the courtyard area outside the entrance, leaning against some police fencing, lazily watching a little girl who was eating a popsicle. The first thunderous sounding of the bell startled me back to attention, and I waited intently for more. The bells shook the stones, shook me, echoed hauntingly in the city, reminding me of the earthquake that shook the ground when Christ breathed his last. The starkness and sparseness of the ringing spoke of a certain finality, and I headed home at last with the words of Christ from the Gospel of John in my head: “It is finished.” It is something I’ve often pondered about the Crucifixion, perhaps more intensely here. How is salvation and reconciliation accomplished through his death- this real event that took place here, on this same hilly landscape of Jerusalem, under this same sky; how is it finished? I have no more answers then before I came here. There is a reason that we talk about the mystery of the cross; here in the place where reason and understanding fail us, the often whispering voice of faith catches us.

Passover

Monday, March 29, 2010, 7 PM

Then the Lord said, ‘I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry…Indeed, I know their sufferings, and I have come down to deliver them from the Egyptians…’ Exodus 3: 7-8

I found myself the day after Palm Sunday with three friends (Jeni, Colin, and Greta) in the Israeli coastal town of Nahariya, so far north the mountains of Lebanon were easily in view. An Israeli woman we met at a Women in Black peace demonstration had graciously invited us to her home to celebrate a Seder meal for the Jewish festival of Pesach, or Passover. Around our Seder table sat a group of strangers that Gila, our host, had drawn together in the spiritual act of hospitality to share prayer, food, and stories. We were from the USA, France, Sweden, Israel, and Canada; we were Jews, Christians, and inconclusive, but there was somehow easy truthfulness in our encounter. Filled with this year and this place, the message of Passover resonated in a new way within me. The function of Passover is to pass on the Exodus story, telling generation after generation that God rescued the ancient Israelites from the hands of their oppressors. Passover is a reminder that God delivers the oppressed, that he is faithful to his promises, that as a God of justice, he does not turn a deaf ear to the cries of his creation. We remembered in our Passover celebration that even as we offer thanksgiving for our own freedom, our joy remains incomplete as we consider that many in this world still languish under the oppression of crippling poverty, unjust regimes, and behind walls, real and figurative. Part of the Seder meal ritual involves diminishing of a cup of wine; a drop is spilled out for each of the plagues that befell the Egyptians. In our modernized, social justice-minded Seder, we also spilled drops of wine for ten contemporary plagues that temper our joy and happiness in today's world: Hunger, War, Crime, Disease, Racism, Abuse, Poverty, Homophobia, Pollution, and Indifference to human suffering.

I have been reflecting on the price of freedom and independence over the past two days while Israel has been celebrating its Memorial Day and Independence Day. Israeli flags have suddenly appeared everywhere one might think to hang a flag-- on cars, on houses, on lampposts, on people. Of course, the Palestinian neighborhoods of East Jerusalem are noticeably devoid of flags. Rather, the word Al-Nakba, "the catastrophe," is on the tongues of the Palestinians in this land. As the Israeli people celebrate the triumph of having declared themselves an independent nation in 1948, the Palestinians remember this same event as a time of suffering, displacement, disenfranchisement, and destruction. Attaining freedom is certainly a victory to be celebrated; the tragedy is the price paid for this freedom by the Palestinian people, a people that continues to live without freedom under an occupation that stretches on and on. My prayer is that as the Israelis commemorate their nationhood, that they might remember the people killed, displaced, and subjected so that their state could be founded. And keeping in mind their own liberties, I pray that they and indeed, all of us, might work to help ensure that all people live in freedom, out from the tight grip of oppression.

Palm Sunday

Al Masih Qam! Hakkan Qam!

Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed!

Grace and Peace to you in this Easter season! I hope that your holiday was full of joyful remembrances of all that God has done for us through Christ—overcoming death and the grave, dispelling the darkness of this world, and giving us cause to hope! I had a truly unforgettable Holy Week, spent in the city of Jesus’ triumphal entry, his final prophetic words, his last meal with his disciples, his agonizing hours of prayer, his betrayal, arrest, imprisonment, crucifixion, and finally in the quiet dawn of the third day, his mysterious and glorious resurrection. Instead of a huge single blog post, I will post little ones throughout the next week with different reflections on Holy Week.

Sunday, March 28, 2010, 2 PM

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives…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!’ Matthew 21: 1, 8-9

The Palm Sunday procession down the Mount of Olives and into the Old City of Jerusalem was an experience unlike any other. I found myself holding my palm branch in a sea of Christians from all over the world, singing hymns in their own languages, bearing flags of different nations, carrying uniquely decorated palms, olive branches, and flowers. It was a stunningly beautiful reminder that the good news of Jesus Christ is for no particular people, for no particular language group, ethnic group, or gender group— it is for the world. I cannot help but think of the promise of God to Abraham from Genesis 22, that “in your offspring shall all the nations of the earth be blessed.” All the nations of the earth. These are powerful words of hope, and for a brief time during this procession, I did not feel the differences between us- Orthodox, Catholic, Protestant; Eastern, Western; local or foreign—we shared something in this march that transcended all of these outer trappings of identity. We were united by our faith, and by the call of the people that still echoes two thousand years later: “Hosanna!”

After telling you of how wonderful this day was, I regret that I must tell you a negative aspect of this day. Many Palestinian Christians from the West Bank and Gaza were barred from entry into Jerusalem for the procession, and 11 people were arrested at the Bethlehem checkpoint during a non-violent protest against these restrictions of access to holy places. A reminder that we are a long way from having the freedom to pray when and where we want in this and many places.