Love

For some, it takes a life-time to learn to know,
to comprehend, to believe, to trust.

For others, it takes a life-time to learn to undo,
to leave behind, to disown, to disavow.

For some, it takes a life-time to learn to live,
to apprehend, to bring into being, to bring to birth.

For others, it takes a life-time to learn to negate,
to disobey, to revolt against, to be revolted by.

For some, it takes a life-time to learn its complexity,
its insistence, its potential for good, its life.

For others, it takes a life-time to unlearn its harm,
its ruination, its failings, its damage.

For some, it is only good.
For others, it is only bad.

For some, for others, for all –
let love, true love, bring hope.

 

 

26th March 2015

 

Up into the mountains

I wonder if you’ve heard of Simoen Stylites? He was a Monk of the Syria who, as part of his spiritual discipline, lived at the top of a ‘tower’. Having been sought out over many years for his spiritual wisdom, but desirous of time and space to continue to deepen his relationship with God, living atop a tower was the place for him to gain the distance he needed. It may well seem an odd existence (an indeed a quite mad one one!) to many people in our own age. Spiritual discipline that invites/requires forms of asceticism that mirror our forebears in faith is not something explored much today. If it is explored, it is seen as ‘foreign’, ‘strange’, anachronistic and ‘of another age ‘.

Even though asceticism may not be something explored by many in the way in which they practise their faith (and no, giving up chocolate doesn’t really count as asceticism!), I think it would be fair to say that for many there is an interest, a fascination even, with people whose faith does have some form of external expression of note. Priests in clerical collars may be stared at – as are Monks and Nuns in habits (I know this from personal experience as, in both my habit when I was a Nun and when wearing my clerical collar travelling in Israel and Turkey, I have had people stop me to take my photograph!) In similar fashion in which Uniforms are noted – Police, Nurse, Air Steward – people notice religious ‘dress’, and even more so the places in which people of faith reside/practise their faith.

Cathedrals, Mosques, Synagogues, Temples are all places many Tourists will visit when travelling abroad. St Paul Cathedral in London, the Blue Mosque in Istanbul, the Temple in Neasden – as well as countless places across the globe, are visited by those who want to see, to experience, to understand something of what these places have been in the past, and are now. The wise will stand/sit/kneel/wander and simply gaze in wonder at what each place holds – of beauty and of prayer. Some may ask questions such as, Why this place? Why here? Why then? Why still now? And, of course, the question, “What can I learn?” should always be in the mix somewhere. (I say so, anyway!)

A visit to the ‘City of Meteora’ is one such place to which thousands flock – fascinated by the Monasteries that sit atop slender rocky formations. A UNESCO World Heritage Site, the six Greek Orthodox Monasteries are reached by perilously winding roads that weave their way round the surrounding mountains – rising increasingly higher with each bend. The mountains used to be under the sea many, many thousands of years ago. It was a quite amazing feeling to realise that what we were looking at used to be part of an under-water world and there are structures like these under water now – ones that, perhaps, have never and will never be seen in my life time.

The views from the coach windows were breath-taking (and nausea-inducing for those of us who don’t ‘do’ heights! The sheer drops from the sides of the roads were more marked than the drive up to the Monastery of John the Forerunner as these were sheer drops with little that would have saved us. Oh my!) Across the yawning gaps between the mountains were glimpses, first far in the distance and then coming closer, of buildings seeming to stand amidst one another, only to be revealed as individual buildings each atop its own needle-like rock pointing up to the sky.

 

Each one is quite stunning to look at, not only for the way in which each building seems to grip to top of its needle, but also for the way in which is causes one truly to wonder at the ingenuity of the countless generations of faithful people who have, quite literally, made their home here. Beginning by making makeshift shelters, perhaps in natural caves our rocky outcrops, now each Monastery has running water and electricity. The line that has been going through my mind over these past days is, Necessity is the mother of invention. The desire and the call to be alone with God brought men and women to these amazing places of natural solitude and isolation, and here they created these place of wonder. Quite wonderful. Quite amazing. Quite stunning.

We visited two of the Monasteries: St Stephanos and Holy Trinity. After the coach ride, St Stephanos is reached via many, many steps on staircases open to the elements – apart from one small ‘corridor’ cut right through the rock. It’s was a good work out for the legs – and heart – with any need to pause and catch ones breath being met by virtue of a small ‘balcony’ in which housed a lovely ‘grotto’ on which were placed the ubiquitous coins and curios of various pilgrims (and tourists) to this place.

 

 

Continuing on up, the entrance to the Monastery was reached via a small door which opened into a ‘corridor’ in which there was a kiosk for someone to take our money to enter (3 euro). There was also the other end of the cable car system which is used by the community for transporting heavy items, as well as members of the community who are unwell. I should also mention the basket of wraps for women wearing trousers – so that they would seem to be wearing a skirt instead. (I am saying nothing…)

Moving onwards and upwards takes the visitor past the old Carpentry Shop, the Catacomb (more anon) and up to the Church, surrounded by other buildings such as the Museum and Gallery – as well as, presumably, the Community areas.

Photographs of the interior of the Church are not allowed, alas. This is no bad thing though as not being able to take photographs means a) the crowd move a bit faster and, more importantly, b) you have to take more care in looking in order to really ‘see’. Although it was relatively dark inside the main body of the Church, the images of the life of Jesus and the depictions of the Saints on the walls could be seen quite clearly, and the gold which adorned each of them created delightful adornment to what was already a spiritual and artistic feast to the eye. The Church was crowded, but there was a hush amidst us all. Our Guide explained the various painting we could see, and the importance of the way in which they were configured – with Christ Pantocrator above all, moving on to the Angels in all their Orders, the Saints, Creation, perhaps… and the inclusion of a form of Doom Painting was there too – with the ‘beast’ of temptation drawing souls away from Christ and into the fiery furnace. There was much graphic detail in the torture and deaths of many Saints in the Narthex, and the vividness of representation continued on into the main body of the Church. The faithful, the curious, the artist, the tourist – all are gathered together with necks craned upwards, surrounded by serried ranks of angels, Saints, sinners. Some of these were just like us, we mirror one another – with the hope and promise of redemption held out to us all.

Following the visit to the Church there was time to explore the Monastery a little further: there were rooms filed with illuminated manuscripts and papers from many, many centuries ago. There were vestments with beautiful embroidery – and also, quite bizarrely, a Gallery of Propaganda Art relating to the Second World War. And then there was the Catacomb.

 

To those who follow his Rule, St Benedict offers the injunction, Keep death daily before your eyes. Well, here in the Monastery, they don’t follow the Rule of St Benedict, but they could easly have lifted this injunction from it. Stored in a room for all to see as they pass by, are the skulls (and other bones, I think) of all the members of the Community from across the centuries. It feels more than just a bit weird to see them lined up on shelves, I have to say but, as the Monasteries are high up on the rock formations, no burials are ever going to possible. The bodies of the deceased are placed into a safe place until the flesh has gone, and then the bones are placed into the Ossuary/Catacomb. They are there, waiting for Jesus to come again and for their body’s to be restored.

We moved on to the second Monastery – dedicated to the Holy Trinity. This is a Monastery for women, and the Sisters were in greater evidence than the monks at St Stephens. (I think I saw the back of one Monk in the distance at St Stephanos.) Again, the Church is a place of beauty. Again, there was the hush of the Pilgrim and Tourist alike as we gazed in wonder at the beauty that surrounded us, and wondered too at how it was possible to even begin to imagine living in such a place. How did the first Monks exist out here? How were the materials for the first dwellings found here, or transported here? When did the first women come here and were they welcomed and accepted? How is electricity brought here? How do those who live here now cope with the sheer volume of visitors and maintain a life of prayer and spiritual discipline? How do these independent Monasteries develop their life of prayer alongside one another, work alongside one another, learn alongside one another, offer the ministry of hospitality alongside one another? So many questions but, alas, no opportunity to ask them as we had no opportunity to speak with anyone from any of the Communities. I can understand this – given the number of people who visit each and every day (even in the snow flurries which we enjoyed!) Speaking to the visitors who come would be more than a full time task and would impinge terribly on the life of solitude that is sought. Some of the questions we might have wished to ask (such as those above) are not the important ones though. Necessity is the mother of invention, as they say, so finding ways to overcome electricity, the transport of building materials etc. etc. is not the important stuff of this existence – it is more to do with: What do you doing here? What difference do you make by being here? Why do you want to be here, stay here, pray here? What is God revealing to you in this place, in this time, in this now? These are the questions I was asking as I journeyed round these places, and they seem good ones to ask of myself as I end this entry, and begin the next part of the journey.

What are you doing here?
What difference do you make by being here?
Why do you want to be here, stay here, pray here?
What is God revealing to you in this place, in this time, in this now?

A visit not for the faint-hearted!

One of our visits here in Greece has been to the Community of St John the Forerunner (whom many of us call John the Baptist). The Monastery (which many might mistakenly call a Convent as it is a place where only Nuns live) is situated high on a mountain just over two miles from the village of Anatoli. When I say high on a mountain, I mean high… 3,543 feet high! (Apparently, this is twice the height of Ben Nevis. No wonder one of the group had a slight touch of attitude sickness.) We reached the Monastery by taking a forty-five minute drive up the side of the mountain on a road with many twists and turns, coated with tarmac the edge of which finished barely far enough away from the edge of the road to stop the coach heading down into the valley below. At one point there was a distinct grinding of pebbles and stones under wheels as we rounded a corner and caught the roadside. As there was no barrier at this particular point, it would have made for an interesting story for those who might have survived the fall had it happened! After the forty-five minute return drive, our Driver, Janis, told us that he hadn’t driven up or down this mountain before. I am so pleased I didn’t know that beforehand!

 

We were welcomed at the Monastery by a Sister whose name means ‘One created by God’. As she herself said, it is the most difficult name of all the sisters – hence I can’t even begin to write it for you here! She was delightful and invited us first to visit the Church. It is a small Church, separated into three sections inside – as is usual for Churches/Chapels in many Orthodox Monasteries. The area at the back (often called the Narthex) is where visitors will sit/stand during Services. The next section in is where the members of the Community sit and stand, and then the final section – at the front of the Church – is usually ‘hidden’ behind the Iconostasis – a screen on which many icons are either hung or painted. It has three openings, across which curtains hang, and behind this will be the altar at which Holy Communion is celebrated, also on which the Gospels reside, as well as the Tabernacle for the Reserved Sacrament. (Reserved Sacrament is bread and wine that has been consecrated by the priest during a Service of Holy Communion, but that has been kept rather than being consumed in order that it may be taken to those who are sick and who are unable to come to Church. As, through the Prayer of Consecration, it is believed by many that the Real Presence of Christ is now in the bread and wine it is also kept in some Churches to be used in acts of devotion where the bread will be placed into a monstrance and the people will pray before it, believing that they are in the presence of Christ. If the container in which the bread and wine are kept is on the altar, it is called a Tabernacle, and if it is a smaller ‘cupboard’ in the wall, it is called an Aumbry. Lesson over!)

We were able to explore all of the Church – and to look behind the central curtain (Royal Entrance) of the Iconostasis to see the Gospel Book on the Altar, as well as the Tabernacle. Interestingly, the Tabernacle is empty as the Church is not yet complete and therefore not yet dedicated. Although the structure, seating, candelabra and flooring are complete, the decoration of the walls is not. As is usual in Orthodox Churches, there will be many images of many saints that will adorn the walls. At present, only the apse is decorated. The Community have been on this site since the year 2,000 – and they do all of the work themselves, using traditional methods for the wall paintings and icons, so it is a lengthy and painstaking process. In fact, everything is done by the Sisters, from milking the cows to wielding a power drill to bring down walls in the process of refurbishment and building.

 

 

Following the visit to the Church, we passed through (snow flakes!) the dining room in to the and were shown into the Guestroom of the Monastery. After the unheated Church the Guestroom was toasty and warm which was a blessing as  snow had begin to fall as we made our way from the Church to the main house! The central heating was bolstered by an open fire and we were treated to home-made biscuits along with mountain tea. Whoever made the biscuits deserves a medal as the Community marks Lent with particular attention to self-denial – so these biscuits will have no chance of being eaten by any of the Sisters! We heard of the work that is undertaken by the Sisters – all sorts of things – beginning with praying the Office – going on to building further rooms in the Monastery, painting these rooms, welcoming guests, study, personal prayer, taking cows to the abattoir, preparing cheese, helping out people in the village (for all sorts of needs – assistance with medicines as one of the sisters is a trained nurse, help a family after there was a fire at their home etc. etc.), spinning wool, weaving mats and carpets, cooking, looking after bees to collect honey as well as use the wax for candles. All the things of daily life – with a few more thrown in besides…

Following the time of conversation in the Guestroom, we descended on the shop – to much hilarity as we tried to decipher what the labels on things said. On sale were a whole host of items: teas made from herbs grown by the Sisters, as well as other food/drink items: pasta, cheese, meats, yoghurt, herbal Tonic drinks (that used to be made with blood – but as the community is vegetarian theirs most definitely isn’t!), balsamic vinegar, jams and the like. There are also Prayer Ropes – with either the traditional thirty-three knots (for the number of years that Jesus lived) or one or two hundred. For each knot, one recites the Jesus Prayer: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner. Of course, a rope is not obligatory, but it helps to keep the mind focussed as the knots of the rope pass through the fingers. All of the ropes for sale, as well as other devotional items are made by the members of the Community which, at present, number twenty Sisters, four of whom are Novices. With a general rule that those who join must be over twenty-four and under fifty years of age, and a number of young vocations, the average age of the Sisters is in the lower forties.

There was real interest in the life of the Sisters, and the way in which they understand God to have called them to live. The Sister we met spoke with clarity, wisdom and understanding of the life of a Religious – a life unknown to so many people as they have never visited a Monastery (Convent) or met a Monk or Nun. The humour, devotion, sense and insight with which this Sister spoke endeared her to many within in the Group who had never been to a place like this. Having mentioned to a few members of the group that many moons ago I tested my vocation as a Religious with the Benedictine Community that was at that time based at Burford Priory, but is now to be found at Mucknell Abbey, I have spent the ensuing time answering questions about what ‘they’ do all day and why they do it. I spent three years in Community learning about faith, prayer, life, love, obedience (!), forgiveness, charity (usually others for me)… and so much more. Having met the Sisters at the Community of Saint John the Forerunner yesterday, and been able to answer some of the questions of the members of the this Group, I hope many of them will be encouraged to explore and discover whether there are any communities near them who they could visit.

 

The nerve-racking, nail-biting, fear-of-heights-manic-panic-moment-inducing journey up the mountain side was so worth it for so many of us, I can’t begin to tell you!

 

And the greatest of these is love

Over the past few days I’ve been exploring various sites in Greece with a group of thirty-four other people – all of whom are Christians. This is in stark contrast to a month or so ago when I was travelling solo for three and a half weeks through parts of Israel and Palestine.

I’ve been reflecting on what it is like to travel with people who (apparently) believe in the same things that I do: that Jesus Christ was the Son of God who died and rose again for both my salvation and the salvation of the world.

Yesterday at the site of the Baptism of Lydia, we were invited to renew our Baptismal Vows. For many of us, these vows were made by our parents and Godparents at our Baptism (Christening) when we were infants. Some of us will have renewed these Vows at our Confirmation, and others will renew them each year at an Easter Vigil Service.

In baptism, God calls us out of darkness into his marvellous light.
To follow Christ means dying to sin and rising to new life with him. Therefore I ask:

Do you reject the devil and all rebellion against God?
I reject them.
Do you renounce the deceit and corruption of evil?
I renounce them.
Do you repent of the sins that separate us from God and neighbour?
I repent of them.
Do you turn to Christ as Saviour?
I turn to Christ.
Do you submit to Christ as Lord?
I submit to Christ.
Do you come to Christ, the way, the truth and the life?
I come to Christ.

When Christians are baptised, it is into the Universal Church. Baptism is not into a specific denomination - Protestant, Catholic, Baptist, Orthodox or any other – those who are Baptised are Baptised into the Church of God. How and where anyone chooses to worship later may be in any one of these denominations, but where we all begin is exactly the same. It is a pity that so many Christians forget this truth and that the denominational markers of practice and orthodoxy become barriers to the simple truths that we are children of God and we believe in Jesus Christ as our Lord and Saviour.

In these past days of travelling with this group of fellow Christians – some of whom are Church of England, others members of the United Reformed Church, Methodist and Roman Catholic Churches – it has been interesting to note the conversations that have taken place as people have sought to understand where people are ‘coming from’. “It’s not my tradition,” says one. “My choice of clerical shirt is black or… black. I can’t ‘do’ colour,” says another. “So do you use incense?” asks someone else, and it is not certain whether the question is being asked from someone of one denomination to another, or someone who is High Church in the Church of England (‘up the candle’) to someone who is Low Church (“I call it a [holy] table, not an altar”).

At its best, this kind of questioning can lead to interesting conversations of mutual discovery which open the mind and heart of one Christian to another. At its worst, this kind of questioning is a means of pigeon-holing others and seizing yet another opportunity to take the spiritual high-ground that ‘my church’s way is better than yours (and everyone else’s) and so are our prayers, thoughts, teachings and practices'. Alas, the history of the Church of God is littered with the outcomes of this way of thinking – schisms, excommunications, martyrdoms, murders, lies and deceit – all of which are a far cry from the prayer of Jesus to God, “Father, may they all be one.”

Before you mistake my intent, I am not of the mind that says we should all sing/say/pray the same thing at the same time in the same way. Prayer that glorifies God and seeks God’s will and God’s way is worthy of acceptance and encouragement by all. Worship that gives honour to God and reveals the truth that Jesus is Lord is worthy of acceptance and encouragement by all. What I hope for is a time when the worship offered by others or by me will be seen as valid and acceptable (note, not ‘valid’ and ‘acceptable’) by others, whatever their denominational or churchmanship affiliation and preference. Attacking me because you do not agree with me is not the way to proceed. Accusing me of preaching a false gospel (of which I was accused in Jerusalem because I said that God will be the one who judges as to who will be close to God in heaven and who will not) is not the way to proceed. If anyone claims to be a follower of Christ, let them first pray together, worship together and seek salvation together. Let them learn together as to how the Holy Spirit moves and challenges them to grow, develop and be corrected in faith. And let each of these be done kindly and in love. 1 Corinthians 13 is a wonderful treatise on just what this journey Christians make together should look like. Much loved for Weddings, this passage finds its locus in a letter to the people of Corinth who were having a challenging time being people of faith together. Many Christians in our current age would do well to read it and attend to its expression of truth, me included. Faith, hope and love [charity in older translations] abide, and the greatest of these is love. It is a genuinely wise soul that lives this.

If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. ² And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. ³ If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

⁴ Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant ⁵ or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; ⁶ it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. ⁷ It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

⁸ Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. ⁹ For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; ¹⁰ but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. ¹¹ When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. ¹² For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. ¹³ And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.

It's been a 'Wow!' kind of day

Wow!

Today I stood in the river where the first baptism in Europe took place. (Yes, I know it was all Holy Roman Empire then… but it is still amazing!) The wonderful Lydia of Thyatira, for whom I have a real sense of admiration, came to know of Christ and was baptised just outside Philippi, and we visited the area where her baptism took place this morning – along with Philippi itself.

The river was very fast-flowing today – a sign of the water running off the surrounding snow-capped hills and mountains, I guess. I can vouch that it was also quite chilly (although not as chilly as I expected it to be). Yes, I did indeed put my feet into the water! I didn’t wear my sandals especially in order to be able to take them off and stand on the steps into the river, but wearing them meant it was a whole lot easier to do so. I was the only one, sad to say – but it has been a rather cool and grey day for the most part, and everyone else is obviously rather more sensible!

 

The church that stands close by the river is quite lovely. Built in an octagonal shape (which, apparently, means that it is built to mark something significant having happened on a particular site), it is a feels quite modern – and the mosaics on the walls are quite lovely. Central to the building is the baptistry which is full to bursting when a child is brought for baptism. The iconostasis is rather smaller than some I have seen on my travels in recent months, and it is certainly a lot smaller than the ones of both the Church of St Nicholas in the middle of Kavala and the Church of St Mary that stands in the middle of the Old Town.

We learned here that the colour ‘we’ think of as royal purple is apparently quite incorrect as the colour Lydia produced was rather more red in tone. Thus it is that icons of Lydia, as well as those of the Virgin Mary, portray them in what appears to us as red.

 

 

The remains of the City of Philippi stand close by and, just as it is when journeying through the Holy Land and Turkey, so it is here – the sense of wonder at following in the steps of the Disciples and Apostles. How wonderful to be journeying through the same countryside, viewing the same hills, rivers and seas, worshipping the same God, praying and praising in words that they used – passed on by those who had known Jesus or heard of him directly from those who knew him. And then there is Paul and his companions – Roman Citizens who travelled freely through this land, unless sent on their way by those who would not hear the Word of God that was being shared with them. At Philippi, Paul was imprisoned and we saw the place that Tradition reputes to be the jail.

The remains of the city are relatively extensive, to include a Theatre, two Basilica, the Agora, a Business area, as well as an area that served as a sort of ‘Bishop’s Palace’. Here there are lovely floor mosaics that remain, as well the toilets for the Bishops and their guests!

Back in Kavala (Biblical Neapolis) a scoot around the town revealed the wonderful mosaic monument that marks where Paul took his first steps on land here, which stands next to the Greek Orthodox Church of St Nicholas.

 

Heading up onto the peninsula, one passes the very fine remains of the aqueduct, as well as the Castle high on up the hill. A Mosque has been built on the remains of a Basilica, with the foundations of the Church sensitively laid open for visitors to see. Further on lies another Church – with the most wonderful candelabra and silver-enhanced icons. A service was taking place here, with the wonderful Orthodox chanting that is so deep and resonant. The congregation was hidden behind a curtain so we didn’t go in, but simply remained in the body of the church, listening and praying, whilst taking in the beauty around us.

It is such a ‘Wow!’ feeling to be here in this land. Not only to be here journeying through the same countryside, viewing the same hills, rivers and seas, worshipping the same God, praying and praising in words that they used but also to have an increased sense of awe for the amazing determination of these men. The distances they travelled, the means by which the travelled – countless miles of land and sea – all to share the Gospel message of Jesus Christ. I come as a pilgrim, to see where they travelled and through this I am encouraged in my faith (and challenged too). Paul and the other Apostles came not to follow anyone else’s footsteps, nor to see where other heroines and heroes of faith had been before them. They came to blaze the trail, as well as send the Gospel message even farther afield. How amazing to be here and to visit places of which I have only read before. Wow!

In (some of) the footsteps of St Paul through Greece

It’s been a very long day. It began with the alarm clock going off at 4 o’clock this morning, ahead of a 4.45 departure from the hotel to get to Gatwick in time for a 7.25 take-off. A long wait at our Check-in Gate was eventually brought to a close by the announcement that our plane was to be upgraded and we would, therefore, be ‘bussed’ to our plane. A long and relatively scenic drive later, given that it was an airport (I think we were taken to a different terminal) brought us to a larger aeroplane than the original, and so we were able to spread out a bit – with some people having whole rows to themselves. Bliss! (Have you ever noticed how people become much more protective of their ‘personal space’ on aeroplanes?!) this made up for most people for what turned out to be a two-hour delay in take-off (and subsequent) arrival.

Over recent years I seem to have developed the skill of being able to sleep pretty much any where at any time – including the opera, cinema and theatre (not yet church though (give it time!) Thus it is that I slept throughout the flight – propped against the window – only waking occasionally to notice the landscape below (which I believe at one point was the Alps…)

Our eventual landing brought us into Thessaloniki Airport where the weather was far cry from the blue skies I am sure many of us were hoping for when we booked this FamTour (Familiarisation Tour for those planning to lead a Pilgrimage to Greece, In the Footsteps of St Paul). Grey skies and a distinct chill in the air meant it was on the fleeces and overcoats with plans being made to purchase hats at the first possible opportunity. As we were so late arriving, the lunch stop which would have been an hour after our scheduled arrival was taken a immediately – at a burger bar. The scenic (not) drive from airport to burger bar took us through the car park of IKEA – I kid you not!

 

 

After lunch, the drive to Kavala took us past two beautiful lakes (Koronia and Volvi) , of which we heard that the depth used to be much greater. The need to irrigate local farmland had given rise to the syphoning off of water over many years but recent eco-studies have sought to develop plans that will maintain the much needed water reserves, alongside providing for farmers in a country where only 30% of the land is available for farming due to the fact that the remaining 70% is mountainous.

The lakes and hills to our right soon gave way to views of the Aegean Sea – with sights of the island of Thassos available too. Mountain ranges shrouded in cloud and mist loomed large over the roadside to our left – Vertiskos, Volvi, Kerdilio and Pangeon. They are truly impressive and very beautiful with some of their peaks still covered in snow.

 

And why this lengthy journeying – which eventually brought us to Kavala? Well, Kavala is the modern name for Neapolis – the ancient port of Philippi – to where Paul journeyed on various of his missionary journeys.

And so, after a supper that was very nicely rounded off with some local baklava, this (very long) day is brought to a close. The view from my room is lovely – more anon!

The discipline of discovery

One Lenten Observance this year (2015) is to write a poem a day. Here is one...
_______________________________

The discipline of discovery

With eyes wide open
One can see
Yet also not see
For looking



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The last day in the Holy Land

The last day of my travels in Palestine and Israel took in the Mount of the Transfiguration – also known as Mount Tabor. It is a mountain that stands apart from those that fill this region, with the others forming chains that form beautiful peaks and troughs along the horizon in every direction. On this mountain, Jesus is believed to have been transfigured so that his face shone as the sun, and the three disciples who he had taken with saw a vision in which Moses and Elijah appeared. It is an awe-inspiring ‘story’, the events of which must have left the disciples wondering what on earth was going on. In addition to this event, Mount Tabor is the site of an amazing battle recorded in Judges 4 in which the Prophetess and Judge Deborah joined with Barak to defeat the Canaanite forces on the Valley of Jezreel. Today the valley is fertile and used for agriculture and the like but, as we drive from here along the road to Megiddo (Armageddon), it was not so hard to recall the fact that the valley must have been soaked in blood over many hundreds of years as the warring factions sought to take control of this region – being that it was part of the well-trodden along important trade routes.

We were blessed with sunshine as we drove away from the Sea of Galilee towards Mount Tabor and the perfect weather continued just until we reached the Basilica on the top of the Mountain. Unless one walks up the mountain from the car park, the route up is via the most tortuous of roads – absolutely not for the faint-hearted of drivers. The series of hairpin bends is shown quite clearly on the map but the map doesn’t reveal the taxi-vans that come hurtling round the corners at a rapid rate of knots, taking unsuspecting drivers unawares. Neither does the map forewarn you that the wall built to protect cars from heading over the precipice in case of slipping in wet weather (or seeking to avoid said taxis) is only about a foot high, so will be of absolutely no use whatsoever if the need to use them arose. Indeed, one of the walls had quite a seriously hole in it, and I imagine it had only barely managed to stop the vehicle that had hit it. Jesus and the disciples will have been far safer walking up the mountain, whilst Deborah (whose namesake town, Daburiyya is at the bottom of the mountain) will, of course, have been riding on her trusty, valiant and noble steed! (Not that I’m biased…)

The Basilica at the top of the mountain is quite lovely. The nave is open so that the remains of an earlier Century Basilica can be revealed through glass ‘windows’ in the ground. Designed by Bertolucci, the Basilica has what I have come to think of as his trade-mark windows. These can be seen in the Church of All Nations, the Church of the Beatitudes, the Church at the Shepherd’s Fields in Beit Sehour… amongst other places. We were lucky in that a large group was just leaving and so were able to be quiet and still in this lovely place on our last day as we made our way back towards the airport.

There were a few other people around and, as I made my way to sit quietly in the nave, there were a couple sitting closely side by side, singing a hymn together quietly. They then sat in complete stillness with their eye closed, praying. My friend and I read the account of the Transfiguration, and it was so powerful to hear it again in this place. (It is interesting the things one notices though – something new each time if one is lucky. On this occasion, it was that Jesus didn’t know what to say to the disciples because they were so afraid. I was moved by his humanity and also his helplessness…) The husband of the couple by this time was taking his wife’s photograph, and I offered to take one of them both together. They then did the same for me and my friend. Of course, then we feel into conversation as I showed them the photograph I had taken of them so calm and still as they prayed and they then told us that it was ten years since they had last visited and that on that occasion, the husband had led the prayers and, as he had done so, he received a vision. It was so lovely to hear them tell of this wonderful gift. (I should mention that they were French and their English so good. I tried my best in French, but was much relived when the husband of my bible reading companion came along and could continue the conversation in much better fashion than I!) the French couple suggested we should pray together, in our own languages, and so we did – praying the Angelus. How lovely it was to be joined in prayer with these complete strangers who were also friends in Christ.

This was such a fitting end to this time I spent in the Holy Land. From beginning to end, there was so much that was good, so much that was both thought-provoking and prayer-provoking, so much that challenged me, consoled me, comforted me, encouraged me. There is much to sift through in my mind and in my prayer. There is much to try to make sense of that has troubled me or made me wonder what faith and commitment to God are all about – and what faith and commitment can lead people to do – both for good and ill – in the name of religion/God/gods. I feel such a sense of privilege for having been able to spend this time in the land that I have come to love so much but I also feel a sense of responsibility to tell the story of my time well, and to tell well the stories of the people I met and the places and sights I saw.

What gifts I have received.

Up into the Golan

Upon arrival in Israel, my companions for my final week here expressed their reservation for travelling anywhere much beyond the Church of the Beatitudes/Capernaum – completely understandably, given how much of a 'hot' area this part of Israel has been in recent troubles. During my first stint in Jerusalem way in back in the last days of January, I met with the Guide who was with me on one of my previous Pilgrimages to the Holy Land – Sa’id. He mentioned that, as I was spending a little more time than usual up in the Galilee, it would be good to visit the Golan Heights as it is a beautiful area…. but to check with someone local as to what the situation was.

Having driven around the Sea of Galilee on our first day – and seen just how beautiful it was – one of the party (I shall not reveal which!) surprised us other two by suggesting it would be good to journey up into the Golan to explore the area. I checked with one of the staff at the hotel and he said it had been very peaceful for a while (he then said two weeks, which didn’t sound like ‘a while’ to us J ) and so, after our jolly sail on the Sea of Galilee) off we went.

The Golan Heights are beautiful – absolutely beautiful. The views across the mountains and valleys are breath-taking and, as with the whole of Palestine and Israel as I have journeyed this last month, the snow and rain means that the Spring flowers are out and the place is ‘alive’ in a way that the arid months of Summer belie as possible.

Gamla Nature Reserve is set high above the North-Eastern area of the Sea of Galilee and is reached via a long and winding road (to quote a well-known song) along which every part of the scenery one can see is a delight. I should add that the route takes you alongside some military zones with tanks strewn here and there to adorn the horizon. We were ‘amused’ to note the plan of the park advised that there were landmines alongside the paths, as well as military firing zones. These were, of course, not areas into which we strayed…

The day was sunny, the tanks were way behind and off we set along a path that was bordered by wild blue Lupins and small purple Iris. It was so quiet as we set off – with just the call of a very few

birds to accompany our first steps. (I have no idea what the birds were, alas, as I could only hear them, not see them.)

The Park is home to the Gamla Falls – an 80 metre waterfall that thunders down from a very small stream that has meandered its way across the hills. You can hear nothing of the falls until you are almost on top of them. Ahead of reaching, all is silent except form the occasional singing of the birds along the pathway. There is delightful moment though at the point at which one walks over the crest of the top of the ravine when the ‘air’ bursts into life with the sound of an array of creatures - frogs/toads, unrecognisable creature sounds that added to the cacophony. Cows in the distance mooed and I am sure there was a sheep calling too – although it probably was a toad! The sounds of the creatures gave way to the babbling of the stream at the head of the waterfall, and then there came the sound of the waterfall itself. The viewing platform for the waterfall was a further 100 metres or so, and already we had walked a good thirty minutes. By this time I was becoming impatient. Much to the bemusement (amusement?) of one of my companions, I have never seen a waterfall before and I was really wanting to see my first! I had seen rivers of water cascading down the hills of Skye and the mountains of the Highlands of Scotland some years ago whilst driving ahead of a tremendous storm during which the roads that I was driving along were being closed behind me. Stunning as these were, I didn’t think they counted as the real thing (I was going to write McCoy, but that seemed too obvious a descriptor!)

So after the silence there came the cacophony of wildlife that made me laugh and smile with delight at the suddenness of appearance and range of sounds, and the initial sound of the babbling and thundering water, but then there was silence again as we headed over the rise of the other side of the gorge-head until we reached the viewing platform where the sound was tremendous. It was a stunning sight on a beautiful day, and the view down the valley, as the narrow gorge spread out ahead of us was lovely too.

Only in Palestine and Israel have I had so many conversations about football though.

When we arrived at the viewing platform a family was there, the father of whom was taking a few minutes to meditate to the powerful sound of the crashing water. I didn’t notice him at first as he was laying on the edge of the platform wall. When he sat up, we got into conversation that ranged over my travels, what it was that drew me back to this land… and his favourite football team – Arsenal. I know nothing about football – but he did. His sons love it and play regularly, he is a football coach and he watches football every Saturday afternoon (I didn’t think Jews were allowed to watch football, or do anything, on Saturday afternoons – but maybe it depends on Orthodox/Liberal they are?) This was another of those delightfully surprising moments and conversations that have filled the time that I have been in Palestine and Israel.

-          I am from Britain so I must follow football (I don’t!)

-          I have visited a number of times so there must be something that draws me back (there is).

-          London is a place that many people have either visited (and loved) or wish to visit because they know people who are there or they have seen it and it looks like a good place to visit (it is).

After Gamla we headed up to explore more if this part of Israel – heading towards Golan Winery (we weren’t overly taken with it) the Archaeological Museum where we saw a film that explained the fate of the inhabitants of Gamla many hundreds of years ago when faced with the might of the attacking Romans. It was a community with immense foresight that built its settlement clinging to the side of the ridge as it provided a marvellous defence, alas, the inhabitants ultimately fell to the might of the incoming conquerors of the land. Mass suicide was the route taken to avoid death at the hands of the invading forces – a tragic end to a community that lived in such a beautiful place.

Apparently, the FCO website advised that those exploring the Golan Heights should stay to the west of Route 98 (to the east is Syria) and remain at least 5km away from the border with Lebanon. This we dutifully did but, as we enjoyed the peace and beauty of this part of Israel, we could not help but comment – a good number of times – that not so many miles away, just over the peaks of a few mountains, the lives of so many people are being ravaged by both the political machinations of various regimes and the ongoing march of IS into various regions and lands.

Whilst we gave thanks for the beauty and the flowers and the lush greenery, prayer was offered for those who simply cannot enjoy any of these for they are facing the struggle to stay alive and remain safe in changing and challenging times.

Travelling in the Golan Heights, as with all the travelling over the past month, has made me realise more fully that this is a region of religious devotion that, for some, merges into a fervour that leads to fanaticism. I am a committed person of faith (although sometimes I doubt and question too – but I think (really I know) this is a good thing). I understand that there is a place where devotion to God is so passionate and so heartfelt that it overcomes all else – I have felt it in moments of prayer and worship. The desire for the annihilation of others who do not share my religion is not entirely within my grasp though but, as my father used to say, There but for the grace of God go I. My prayer for this land we call holy and the lands around it has increased in depth of understanding and, whilst I pray that God has it in her/his sights, I pray too that the people who seek for might and rule in this region of our lovely world may seek first the grace of the God we children of Abraham of worship, and that this grace will give way to a love for all humanity rather than a sense of despising those who do not share their views or way of worship.

The prayer for peace is deep and heartfelt today.

(Not quite the sail we expected) On the Sea of Galillee

Following the usual 8am meet for breakfast (as we were not on the unusual style of Pilgrimage where we set off by 8am. Shhh. Don’t tell anyone who is planning to come with me on Pilgrimage to the Holy Land this autumn!) we set off for Nof Ginosar. A chance discovery the previous evening meant we had finally discovered a company through whom we could book a sailing on the Sea of Galilee. $50 for three of us was an absolute bargain – and on a small boat designed just for twelve rather than the larger boats designed for thirty-plus. Bliss.

Upon arrival at the meeting place, we were told that it wasn’t going to be possible to board the boat as a storm the previous night had damaged the boarding platform and it wasn’t possible to get onto the boat. We were so disappointed. The lady Joanne (from Masachussets who, forty-four years before while sleeping on a boat sailing on the Sea of Galilee had been kissed and who had thus stayed in Israel with the man who had kissed her and was then joined by her sister, Linda, who could not bear to be apart from her and who had been so helpful the night before in putting us in contact with Joanne) apologised and said she would try to get us on a boat with a larger group. This, it seemed, was not possible. With determination she announced we were really important people and it was really important that we made this sailing (as my companions had never been to the Galilee before) and thus we were marched (kindly) towards another boat (that usually took thirty-plus) people and were invited to get on board. We were the only people on board and were even outnumbered by the crew! We were charged the same price as quoted and sailed in blissful sunshine and calm waters from Nof Ginosaur out into the Lake and up towards Tabgha and Mensa Christi. How lucky are we!

Usually Pilgrimage Groups have the flag of their home country hoisted as well as their National Anthem played. I’m afraid I loathe this jingoistic approach in this special place and so always refuse it. Thankfully it wasn’t offered on this occasion, although music was. I always refuse this too (my one and only experience of this on a sailing is a recording of Elvis singing Amazing Grace and the like. The sound of the water lapping is so much more lovely – apologies to Elvis for thinking this). We enjoyed the quiet and calm of the sailing on an idyllic morning, and took up the offer of one of the crew giving us a demonstration of how fishermen in the time of Christ would have cast their nets. Alas he caught nothing… and so, in good Gospel fashion, he cast the net on the other side. I had already indicated to my companions that they should pray hard and that, if nothing was caught, it would be their fault! We ‘caught’ one three inch blade of some sort of grass… not even enough to make a salad the crew member observed!

In the conversation that followed, our ‘fisherman’ commented that he sometimes had groups dancing on the boat so I, in typical ‘in the moment’ fashion said, “Come on then!” And so he did, and so did we. Conjure up the image then of three British pilgrims dancing on the deck at the prow end of a boat designed for thirty-plus passengers with a Jewish sailor to Hevenu Shalom Alechem. It was absolutely priceless and absolutely fun. I could never have predicted that our Sunday morning sail on the Sea of Galilee would close in such a fashion. Brilliant!

And the message of today is...

Always be ready to be surprised!

Recent days have taken in visits to Nazareth, Cana (a drive through, twice) and Tzipori. Today our visits were to Megiddo (Armageddon) and Bet She’an.

As you might imagine, visiting a site known as Armageddon (from the Hebrew Ha-Magaddon) conjures up in the mind a vast plain upon which battles will have been fought and lives lost. In the Book of Revelation, we read that the final battle between good and evil will take place here.

The site itself is one that comes under the auspices of Israel Nature and Parks Authority. In addition it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site – along with the tells of Hazor and Beer Sheva. Megiddo rises 60 metres above the surrounding area, with archaeological findings to be seen that date back to the Neolithic period (seventh-sixth millennia BCE). The impressive archaeological work that has taken place here has revealed layer upon layer of building, with each succeeding community (often incomers following the defeat of the residents of the place) building on/over the existing structures. The most amazing feat of engineering at Armageddon has to be the water system. With fresh water springs that lay outside the city perimeter, the residents had to find a way of ensuring a constant water supply even if the city was under siege. To do this, a 36 metre deep shaft was dug, in addition to a 70 metre horizontal tunnel – down and along which residents would journey to collect fresh water. If under attack, the residents of the city would be completely unseen by opposing forces as the entrance to the tunnel had been covered up with stone, earth and planting so that it was ‘invisible’. Walking down the shaft and along the tunnel by virtue of both modern metal steps and a wooden walkway made one realise just how inventive and ingenious the people who lived here were. The planning and physical taken to design this essential supply was simply amazing. The first of the surprises of the day!

Following the visit to Megiddo came the visit to another Nature and Parks Authority site – Bet She’an. What an amazing place – the second surprise of the day.

None of the guidebooks make very much of Bet She’an but, I have to tell you, it seriously rivals Ephesus in terms of scale, fullness of excavation and uncovered remains – not to mention the immediate ‘wow factor’ upon passing through the entrance gate. Our plan was to take it in en route as we made our way back to Tiberius with perhaps an hour’s visit… We spent at least two and a half hours there – in glorious sunshine – taking in the vast array buildings and areas of the city that had been uncovered. A two hundred step climb took us up to the highest point of the site – overlooking the city itself, as well as the stunning mountains that could be seen in the near distance. Whilst the earliest settlements on Megiddo can be dated back to the seventh millennia BCE, Bet She’an comes in at only the fifth millennia BCE. What a stunning place to visit though – completely beyond anything we had expected. An absolute surprise!

And then on to Church this evening: St Peter’s Roman Catholic Church – right in the heart of Tiberius. The Priest who celebrated Communion welcomed us in Hebrew and English, telling us that this Church was the place where all the teachings and miracles of Jesus were remembered in this area before Capernaum and then Tabgha were discovered. The Service continued in Hebrew – which was such a strange experience for me as I have only ever read the Hebrew Bible (what many Christians call the Old Testament) in Hebrew. To hear the readings, prayers, Creed – everything – in Hebrew was really thought-provoking. (I have to confess that when I say above, “I have only read… “ this is in relation to my studying Hebrew at Theological College. I was pretty okay at reading it but my grasp of vocab and grammar was hopeless!) The warmth of welcome from the priest, the simplicity and calm of the service and the sermon, first in Hebrew and then, more briefly, in English gave a chance for a reflective close to the day with a really important message to take away to think about: Jesus is always with us, but we are not always with him. I mentioned in a previous entry the desire to be ‘tethered’ by attending Church on a Sunday. This Saturday Evening Mass was such a gift at the close of a full and busy week – and it was such a gift to be able to sit and pray and worship – even though for the most part I had no idea of what was being said… due to it all being in Hebrew! (I did recognise Baruch Adonai and Kadosh, kadosh, kadosh and Hoshanna – and a few other words – so it wasn’t all Greek to me!) And the surprise here? Following the administration of Communion a song was sung – known to very, very few of us present (I am not certain how many of the congregation were actually locals… I suspect a good number of us were visitors). The chorus of this song was repeated a number of times and then the words stopped and the gentle sound of singing in tongues began, for just a few moments and then there was stillness. It wasn’t silence, it was stillness and calm as we held the space of prayer together. It was simply lovely, and the surprise was that I didn’t know that there were Roman Catholics who sing in tongues. With all my ecumenical past from my teenage years upwards, you would think I would have encountered it before now, but no. What a delight it was to be present for this moment of a gentle outpouring of the Holy Spirit.

Following the Service we went for supper at a restaurant called Big Ben. We had gone there the evening before and on this, our second evening, were welcomed like old friends. We were served far more food for the first course than we ordered and enjoyed the most delicious meal. The waiter was attentive and gracious and I got to practice my newly learned Arabic for Good Evening (except I said, Good Morning!), Thank you and You’re welcome. To find a restaurant called Big Ben in any part of the world except except London is one surprise, but to find one that was so welcoming and friendly – to the point of being remembered the following evening, given how many customers must be seen over any 24 hour period is a lovely surprise indeed.

It really was a delightful day, full of wonderful surprises.