Repairers of the Breach

Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt;

    you shall raise up the foundations of many generations;

you shall be called the repairer of the breach,

    the restorer of streets to live in. (Isaiah 58:12)

I write this post from the land of the Holy One, reminded once more how complex the thoughts and feelings are for those who make this journey. Tomorrow our band of pilgrims from the Diocese of Western Massachusetts return home. 

On the one hand, it is extraordinary to walk in the places we read about in the Bible, and in particular to walk in the footsteps of Jesus. Some are skeptical of "exact places" (and it is said that holy places move) but here is the thing: working backwards, through the 11th century Crusader churches to the 4th century Byzantine Churches to 1st century Roman markers, you begin to realize that pilgrims from around the world have been coming to these same places for centuries to pray and to remember what happened there, whether or not it happened there or a mile or so from there. The birthplace of Jesus and the Shepherd's Fields, the Sermon on the Mount, the feeding of the five thousand, the healing of the man in the Pools of Bethsaida, the Palm Sunday Walk, the agony in Gethsemane, and even Golgatha and the empty tomb. Are these the exact places? Who can say. But just as our pilgrims have come to these places to sing, and to read the relevant Scripture passages, and pray, we can say that at the very least these places have been made holy over many centuries by countless numbers of pilgrims from many tribes and languages and peoples and nations. 

Is that enough? It is enough for me. Some places feel thinner than others for me, to be sure. But taken as a whole, this journey is worth making. And for me it has been worth making more than once.. Each time I come I feel connected to these holy places in new ways. 

That is all, "on the one hand..."

On the other hand, each and every time I have come this way I have realized there is no pure spiritual journey into the past here. Rather, one encounters life and politics and injustice and confusion and hope literally on top of these "holy" places. Walls are erected and settlements are built and the UN tries to moderate. Israeli citizens vote and debate in the Knesset over issues that seek to balance peace and security. Palestinians, both Muslim and Christian, seek to make a life for themselves and a better life for their children. The United States, far too often, has it's thumb on the scale. And so too, small but mighty Anglican congregations gather across this diocese not only to pray for the peace of Jerusalem but to work for it by funding schools and hospitals. That work is not easy because ministry is never easy. 

It is this "other hand" that breaks my heart again and again. Here we encounter the human condition which always means encountering human sin. Even as we pray that grace might abound all the more, we walk the way of the cross and we know that the world is complicated and the human soul is a mess - and even our righteous deeds are far too often like filthy rags. In the past I have left here wondering if I were King for a day, what would I do to "fix" this contested place? In truth, I have less and less a clue as to what that would look like. I love my Jewish cousins here and I love my Muslim cousins here and I love the increasingly small percentage of Christian cousins here. We are all children of Abraham. 

At times there is an absence of war and a cessation of hostilities but imagining peace on earth, and good will to all, is exceedingly difficult. But this much I know: talking about these political challenges is an integral part of this spiritual journey. We who pray at the Church of the Nativity and believe in the Incarnation cannot just be spiritual without also being religious and that means also being political. We cannot pray in Bethlehem without going through that Security Checkpoint and past that Wall that has literally surrounded that little town into an open-air prison. 

Telling the truth is not the same as being partisan. And besides, if I were to be partisan I don't even know where I'd begin. But as I leave this place I want to remain informed and engaged and aware of the ways my own government has the potential to be a force for good or a force for evil in this land,  and many others. I want to do my part in helping us to be a force for good in the world. And at the same time, knowing that governments work for their own self-interest, to work with Christians, Jews, and Muslims to do this work together. 

We are called to be repairers of the breach, I think, both in this holy land and closer to home. To stand in that breach and to work at building and then strengthening relationships. Being here means being able to pray for people by name. It seems to me that in the economy of God that will not be lost. To yearn for peace and justice by listening to the stories of those who live here and to seek their welfare first, rather than our own strategic advantage, is at least a beginning. 

I leave here hopeful. Not naive, nor even optimistic, but hopeful that the arc of the moral universe really does bend toward justice. And so I will continue to pray for the peace of Jerusalem. And for justice and peace on the West Bank. And then for wisdom to be an instrument of peace, in whatever way I can be. 

The prayer shown on the left comes from Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals. I want to be more of an "ordinary radical" in my day-to-day life. I want to be a peacemaker, in this way. And I want to join with other peacemakers to interrupt injustice, without mirroring injustice and to disarm evil without destroying the evildoer. I want to listen and learn, not ignore and put my head in the sand. I want to hope, not despair. I want to work with others to find that third way which is neither fight nor flight but "the careful arduous pursuit of reconciliation and justice." I want to follow the way of love which is still revolutionary. I want to be a repairer of the breach. Always, with God's help.