A few weeks ago this period Extended Study Leave (ESL) began
with a few days in Cardiff. It’s a city I’d previously visited for just a one night
stay many moons ago, ahead of the ordination of a friend at Llandaff Cathedral.
I knew I needed to get away at the start of this ESL or I’d just carry on carrying-on
with the many ‘little’ tasks which needed to be completed before I could down
tools and step away from the every-day task of ministry and ‘being a vicar’. I can’t
begin to tell you the sense of privilege I feel at being given this time away; time
to think, pray, rest, recover, reflect, read, explore… and so much more…
And so to Cardiff.
I had a really interesting few days – visiting places such as
St Fagans, the building that houses the National Assembly for Wales, and Pierhead. St Fagan’s was such an
interesting place, and really worth a visit if you are over that way – not least
because you could spend the whole day there and it’s free! (When I said this to
one of the staff he replied, “Ah yes, we’re frittering away your English taxes.”
I made no reply!)
One of the highlights of the week was attending the mid-week
Eucharist Service at Dewi Sant. It’s the only completely Welsh speaking church
in the city. Everything is in Welsh, and I mean everything! Hymns, readings,
prayers, notices (I got a mention in dispatches and the only reason I know this
is that I recognised my name being said as you can’t say Deborah in any other
way – even in Welsh!) I was quite happy to go with the flow of a Service in a
foreign language knowing that I‘d have some clue as to what was going on by the
shape of the Service (readings, hymns etc.) or the priest waving his hands
around – for example, during the Eucharistic Prayer or at the Blessing. Imagine
my relief then when the Service Book was opened for me at the relevant page and
it was ‘simultaneous translation’ on the facing pages! (I can tell you it takes
less space to write out (and to say) the Lord’s Prayer in English – just in case
you ever feel you need to know.) They were a lovely congregation and made me
feel very welcome at coffee afterwards. The Priest wasn’t too bad at being
welcoming either… I guess I have to say that as he’s a friend!
I was thinking about that experience as I attended the
Service this morning at St George’s Cathedral here in Jerusalem as well as the
Service to close the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity – held at the Greek MelkiteCatholic Patriarch Church. I chose to attend both Services today, just as I chose
to attend the Service in Cardiff and the experiences of each of them – apart and
together has given me a lot of food for thought as I have been drifting around
the streets of Jerusalem. This evening’s Service – at which well over a hundred
people were gathered – was conducted predominantly in Arabic. A fulsome Order
of Service has been provided – in various languages – and we were even given a translation
of the Homily. I have mine here – in English, of course! (How I wish I could
speak Arabic, it’s so beautiful to look at and intriguing to listen to.) As I came
away from the Service this evening I found myself thinking not only about the
language we use to speak in when worshipping, but also the ‘language’ we use to
worship God – not the words themselves, but the actions, the expressions of faith,
the way we do what we do and how so many say (either aloud or internally) what they
do is ‘right’ and what others do is ‘wrong’. I found myself asking if we will
ever speak the same ‘language’. Will Christians ever come together as a household
of faith and agree on what words to use – agree in heart as well as in words of
intent during a Week of Prayer for Christianity? Will the children of Abraham –
Muslim and Jew and Christian alike – ever agree in heart that we are children
of the same God, that we worship the same God, and that God wills for the good
of each person God has created? This ‘good’, which is God’s love,
reaches beyond faith alone, it reaches to gender, race, sexuality.
It’s not about what I think or believe is right – and therefore
what I (wittingly or unwittingly) imply is ‘wrong’, it’s about what God has
asked me to do, asked each person in creation, in fact, to do – and that is to
love. As Jesus said, “The first commandment is this, ‘Love the Lord your God with
all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’” He went on to
say, “Love your neighbour as yourself.
If we were to get the first of these two injunctions right –
in whatever language, creed or practice we choose – and then work on the second
with as much determination then maybe, just maybe, Christians will come
together as a household of faith and agree in heart as well as spoken intent,
and all the children of Abraham – Muslim and Jew and Christian alike – will agree
in heart that we are children of the same God, that we worship the same God, and
that God wills for the good of each person God has created. Wouldn’t it be just
grand if this came to pass.
Showing posts with label Christan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christan. Show all posts
Sunday, 1 February 2015
Friday, 30 January 2015
A day of a hundred (or so) voices
I have no idea of how many
voices I have actually heard today – but it will be somewhere near a good few
hundred or so. From breakfast, with a Good Morning called across the room in
welcome (with a delightful French accent from the Brothers and Sisters of the
two Communities based at St Peter in Gallicantu), to the young
boys of the souk competing to see who could yell the loudest in an attempt to
drum up custom (in fact, no-one was listening to the boys – except themselves
as they smiled and egged each other to yell all the more) and on to Vespers
with the Community - said in the Church here.
In between, of course, there were the voices raised in song in the Crypt of the Dormition Abbey, the American who was loudly holding court in the cafĂ© of Christ Church (proclaiming that Jesus was not a Jew as he was seen as ‘radical’ by the Jews of the time), the quiet murmur of the prayers of the pilgrims as they knelt at the site of the crucifixion (Golgotha), as well as the various people (all men) who wished to ‘assist’ me to find where I was going (at a cost, of course). One of them was Joseph, who loved England but who was born in Jerusalem. He was the most polite of all – even shaking my hand and blessing me as he went on his way. Others asked where I was from, having first caught my attention by calling out ‘Lady!’ I certainly don’t view myself as a lady but, because I automatically think it is someone wishing to tell me I have dropped something or possibly asking for help, usually I turn around. This, alas, gives it away! I shan't be doing this after today. I have also learned today to never sit or stand looking at a guidebook in an open space, always walk everywhere with a look of determination, ever look up at the architecture or down an alleyway with any show of inquisitiveness. It makes for speedy and dull viewing until you realise that this is just how it is here. Everyone is seeking to make a living here, with some barely managing to eke one out at all.
A shopkeeper from whom I purchased fruit and vegetables was only too happy to help me and did not ‘take me for a ride’ in the price he charged – unlike the man in the shop that sold herbs to unsuspecting passers-by who, like me, were called in by the evocative smells… more fool us! Like the owners of the souvenir shops that drip with ‘holy’ items that reflect every possible shade of Christian tradition, I imagine this man must see me as an arrogant westerner who can’t be bothered to learn the language in order to ask for what I required in his native language, Whilst I am vaguely irked for his disdain for me (and I know I deserve it), I also admire him, along with all the traders of the city (as well as the ‘beggars’) for the sheer tenacity which drives them on to learn how to speak Polish, English, German, Spanish – and more – all so that they can better sell their wares or seek a quick shekel.
And then there were the two unexpected Services to close the day. Two and a half weeks into this period of Extended Study Leave (Sabbatical) I realise how out of the loop I am with the pattern of the church year as I noted a poster advertising Services for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. Today's Service was held at St Mark's Convent (Upper Room) Syrian Orthodox Patriarchate – an impossibly difficult place to find! I went along wondering if there would be anyone else there at all - given what a maelstrom of faith this City of Jerusalem is. I couldn’t find it, and had to ask. A kind shopkeeper took pity on me as I poked my neck around a corner – Guidebook in hand open at the map page. I had to turn back the way I had come… but I was not the only one finding it so hard to find. I arrived just moments after the service had started but they was no room in the church itself. I, along with about twenty others, had to stand (or sit if you could find a chair) outside the body of the church in the entrance hall. The Service took place in Arabic, English, French, Armenian and Syriac. What an amazing experience. The singing was so passionate, even though ‘completely foreign’ to me!
Vespers here at St Peter’s came next – all in French. Sung gently by the seven people gathered, with me following the text and seeking to make out what was being sung and read dredging up my schoolbook French. Some I could remember, some I worked out from context and some was just beyond me, but it was fine. I was there. I was present. I was with others who were happy for me to be there with them.
So many voices raised in speech and song throughout the day in a city where so many seek to hear one particular voice speak or sing – the voice of God. Listening is sometimes hard here. Listening is always vital here. Listen.
In between, of course, there were the voices raised in song in the Crypt of the Dormition Abbey, the American who was loudly holding court in the cafĂ© of Christ Church (proclaiming that Jesus was not a Jew as he was seen as ‘radical’ by the Jews of the time), the quiet murmur of the prayers of the pilgrims as they knelt at the site of the crucifixion (Golgotha), as well as the various people (all men) who wished to ‘assist’ me to find where I was going (at a cost, of course). One of them was Joseph, who loved England but who was born in Jerusalem. He was the most polite of all – even shaking my hand and blessing me as he went on his way. Others asked where I was from, having first caught my attention by calling out ‘Lady!’ I certainly don’t view myself as a lady but, because I automatically think it is someone wishing to tell me I have dropped something or possibly asking for help, usually I turn around. This, alas, gives it away! I shan't be doing this after today. I have also learned today to never sit or stand looking at a guidebook in an open space, always walk everywhere with a look of determination, ever look up at the architecture or down an alleyway with any show of inquisitiveness. It makes for speedy and dull viewing until you realise that this is just how it is here. Everyone is seeking to make a living here, with some barely managing to eke one out at all.
A shopkeeper from whom I purchased fruit and vegetables was only too happy to help me and did not ‘take me for a ride’ in the price he charged – unlike the man in the shop that sold herbs to unsuspecting passers-by who, like me, were called in by the evocative smells… more fool us! Like the owners of the souvenir shops that drip with ‘holy’ items that reflect every possible shade of Christian tradition, I imagine this man must see me as an arrogant westerner who can’t be bothered to learn the language in order to ask for what I required in his native language, Whilst I am vaguely irked for his disdain for me (and I know I deserve it), I also admire him, along with all the traders of the city (as well as the ‘beggars’) for the sheer tenacity which drives them on to learn how to speak Polish, English, German, Spanish – and more – all so that they can better sell their wares or seek a quick shekel.
And then there were the two unexpected Services to close the day. Two and a half weeks into this period of Extended Study Leave (Sabbatical) I realise how out of the loop I am with the pattern of the church year as I noted a poster advertising Services for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. Today's Service was held at St Mark's Convent (Upper Room) Syrian Orthodox Patriarchate – an impossibly difficult place to find! I went along wondering if there would be anyone else there at all - given what a maelstrom of faith this City of Jerusalem is. I couldn’t find it, and had to ask. A kind shopkeeper took pity on me as I poked my neck around a corner – Guidebook in hand open at the map page. I had to turn back the way I had come… but I was not the only one finding it so hard to find. I arrived just moments after the service had started but they was no room in the church itself. I, along with about twenty others, had to stand (or sit if you could find a chair) outside the body of the church in the entrance hall. The Service took place in Arabic, English, French, Armenian and Syriac. What an amazing experience. The singing was so passionate, even though ‘completely foreign’ to me!
Vespers here at St Peter’s came next – all in French. Sung gently by the seven people gathered, with me following the text and seeking to make out what was being sung and read dredging up my schoolbook French. Some I could remember, some I worked out from context and some was just beyond me, but it was fine. I was there. I was present. I was with others who were happy for me to be there with them.
So many voices raised in speech and song throughout the day in a city where so many seek to hear one particular voice speak or sing – the voice of God. Listening is sometimes hard here. Listening is always vital here. Listen.
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