Sunday Musings: Thoughts from Church

I'm going to try to post every Sunday until July in hopes to jot down a few ideas, not enough for full posts, to let you all in on what I'm thinking each week. This first installment comes from the Scripture and hymns from the church service today at Christmas Lutheran in Bethlehem where I plan to now be a regular attendee (I've been church hopping to different Lutheran churches for the most part, but now I think I'm going to stay at the one in Bethlehem, down the street from Manger Square).

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I think it's interesting how certain passages in Scripture speak to us differently based on context. This can be seen in how different communities may find relevance in particular readings of the Bible, but I have also found it to be true in how I experience the Bible based on my own context, location, and life happenings. I was recently reading a book where the author pointed out that the amazingness of the Bible is not that it happened, but it still happens. The Spirit continues to breathe life into our world and our reading of Scripture and while the Bible comes from a historic, literary, and cultural context distinct from ours, God unites it all and continues to work through God's Word.

Today we read from Psalm 119: 81-96:

My soul has longed for your salvation; I have put my hope in your word.

My eyes have failed from watching for your promise, and I say, "When will you comfort me?"

I have become like a leather flask in the smoke, but I have not forgotten your statutes.

How much longer must I wait? When will you give judgment against those who persecute me?

The proud have dug pits for me; the do not keep your law.

All your commandments are true; help me, for they persecute me with lies.

They had almost made an end of me on earth, but I have not forsaken your commandments.

In your loving kindness, revive me, that I may keep the degrees of your mouth.

O Lord, your word is everlasting; it stands firm in the heavens.

Your faithfulness remains from one generation to another; you established the earth and it abides.

By your decree these continue to this day, for all things are your servants.

If my delight had not been in your law, I should have perished in my affliction.

I will never forget your commandments, because by them you give me life.

I am yours; oh, that you would save me! For I study your commandments.

If I had read this passage last year, perhaps I would have applied it to a particularly busy week, which there is no shame in doing. Maybe I would have sought God's comfort for a strain in a relationship, or asked God to be revived from the stress of classes and work. Yet, the pleading in this Psalm struck me as I realized my place among my Palestinian friends and coworkers at the church. Imagine reading this Psalm as a Palestinian, suffering all of the effects of the Occupation of the West Bank (or Gaza). There are many faithful God-lovers throughout Palestine who have put their hope in God. When, God, will there be comfort for the Palestinian situation under Occupation? When will hope be more tangible? "I am yours; oh, that you would save me!"

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At the end of the church service today we sang the hymn, "I'm But a Stranger Here" (that is hymn #238 in our Arabic book here, but I have no idea if it corresponds to the LBW back home. Can anyone find out what hymn this is or if it's any of our ELCA hymnals? Answer in the comments section, please!). I know there is much deeper meaning that can be taken from hymns but sometimes I take them at face value when I first sing them. The second verse of this hymn was not different...

"What though the tempest rage, Heaven is my home

Short is my pilgrimage, Heaven is my home

Time's cold and wild wintry blast soon shall be over past

I shall reach home at last, Heaven is my home."

As some of you know, it is SO COLD this time of year in Palestine and Israel! I have managed to figure out a schedule of when to put the space heaters on, and in what rooms so as to get it a little less cold in my apartment, but it is still a wee bit chilly. So, yes, the cold wintry blast soon shall be over! 

Also, "short is my pilgrimage". As this past week marked the halfway point for me, I have been keenly aware that one year is both a very long time, and really short. There are so many amazing things I've done and been able to participate in, but soon I will leave. I will return home to you all back in the States and be able to share my stories in person, but how will I do that? This is a question that has started to creep into my mind.

Ah, and then, "heaven is my home". That's kind of the point of the whole hymn. Yesterday I was able to Skype back home to the Seminary community and talk about YAGM for a few minutes. Before I went "on air" I caught up with my friend Julie, who now works for the Admission Office at LTSG, and we talked about hope and idealism. I have so much hope for this region and the relationships between Palestinians and Israelis and between Jews, Christians, and Muslims. Perhaps it is very idealistic to think that peace could come to this area in the next 50 years, but I can't give up that vision. Sure it's not easy, but if we think it's not possible, then what is the point? If we give up the work for peace because it doesn't look like it can ever happen, why do anything at all? Again today, I met some EAPPI (Ecumenical Accompaniment Programme in Palestine and Israel) volunteers working in Bethlehem and we talked about this necessity for hope. Sometimes this is really challenging. The volunteer I talked with most mentioned that before church they had put some time in at the Bethlehem checkpoint and it didn't seem like they accomplished much...but they had helped a little boy get through to Israel for kidney dialysis. That's a pretty big deal, especially for that young child. But even the hope that brings can get get clouded by the daily struggles- the rest of the things that happened that worry, stress, sadden us.

The hymn today reminded me that there is hope, both for now and also for the future. At the beginning of my newsletter I have a quote from a the poem "Passover Remembered" by Alla Bozarth-Campbell: I am with you now and I am waiting for you. Heaven is my home, but heaven is also here, although seemingly hidden at times.

"Passover Remembered" by Alla Bozarth-Campbell

Pack nothing.
Bring only your determination to serve
and your willingness to be free.

Don't wait for the bread to rise.
Take nourishment for the journey, but eat standing.
Be ready to move at a moment's notice.

Do not hesitate to leave your old ways behind-
fear, silence, submission.
Only surrender to the need of the time-
love justice and walk humbly with your God.

Do not take time to explain to the neighbours.
Tell only a few trusted friends and family members.
Then begin quickly, before you have had time
to sink back into old slavery.

Set out in the dark.
I will send fire to warm and encourage you.
I will be with you in the fire, and I will be with you in the cloud.

You will learn to eat new food
and find refuge in new places.
I will give you dreams in the desert
to guide you safely to that place you have not yet seen.
The stories you tell one another around the fires in the dark
will make you strong and wise.

Outsiders will attack you, and some follow you
and at times you will get weary and turn on each other
from fear, fatigue and blind forgetfulness.

You have been preparing for this
for hundreds of years.

I am sending you into the wilderness to make a new way
and to learn my ways more deeply.

Some of you will be so changed by weathers and wanderings
that even your closest friends will have to learn your features
as though for the first time.

Some of you will not change at all.

Some will be abandoned by your dearest loves
and misunderstood by those who have known you since birth
who feel abandoned by you.

Some will find new friendships in unlikely faces,
and old true friends as faithful and true
as the pillar of God's flame.

Sing songs as you go,
and hold close together.
You may at times grow confused
and lose your way.

Continue to call each other by the names I've given you
to help remember who you are.
Touch each other,
and keep telling the stories.

Make maps as you go,
remembering the way back from before you were born.
So you will be only the first of many waves
of deliverance on the desert of seas.
It is the first of many beginnings-
your Paschaltide.

Remain true to the mystery.
Pass on the whole story.
Do not go back.
I am with you now and I am waiting for you.

A Pre-Advent Epiphany...

     I hope the following doesn't sound to saintly. I wrote it while I was in Starbucks today on a whim. Before today I would see people milling about the street with their opinions and cynicism and all I saw was disconnect. And disconnect begets despair, and even worse, complacency. Everyone with their selfishness and judgements and no hope. Sinful. Forever. 

     But then I realized, we are all connected- by God and by our humanity. Not one of us is unloved. We all have hope and somewhere, deep inside, we have faith.

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     There isn't too much better in the world than the approach of the winter holidays. Something about Christmas carols coming on the radio at Starbucks while I sip on my mocha and work on reading Northanger Abbey produces the most relaxing and comforting of feelings.

     There isn't snow and there won't be a Thanksgiving like it should be, but Oxford is in preparation for Christmas is outstandingly special. I've seen better decorations and more festive storefronts, but I was never part of a city's holiday festivity, only an observer. I have no vested interest in the lights in Washington Park, or the Schenectady Christmas parade, or Proctor's annual production of the Nutcracker; Rotterdam does little to prepare, mostly because the cows and barn cats don't care much for the blinking lights.

     Yet this year, for a few weeks, I'm part of the festival. My inner excitement regarding the celebrations of family, friends, the birth of Christ and the chance for new opportunities seem like it's playing itself out on the streets of Oxford- a brass choir playing carols on Cornmarket Street, seeming miles of Christmas displays at Marks & Spencers, advent calendars bracing the walls at Blackwells, and holiday themed beverages at the cafes. 

     All this to say that for the first time in longer than I can remember I truly feel that there is hope for our world. I've always believed it, but I never remember really feeling it. People are good at heart and it is our duty, not just as Christians, but as humanity to love one another and help to bring out the love, compassion, and hope in all that we meet.

We are not a lost people. We have hope.

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Upcoming: Posts on my birthday and my weekend in Rome and the Vatican City!