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Pilgrimage is Shared Grief

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Each month, we post a series of blogs around a common topic. This month, Rev. Greg Klimovitz is curating a series featuring those who made their pilgrimage to the Holy Land with NEXT Churchfrom May 19-27, 2019. So much of the biblical story, especially the narratives that surround the work and witness of Jesus, occurred en route somewhere and in a context of political occupation, social, ethnic, and economic divisions, and conflict with religious and political powers that be. This month, contributors will contemplate “pilgrimage is…” as they ponder: where did you sense “God with us?” Where was “God with Us” more difficult to claim? How did you imagine leaning into “God with Us” as you returned home? We invite you to join the conversation on Facebookand Twitter, even as you make your own pilgrimages this summer and beyond. After all, life is pilgrimage. 

by Whitney Fauntleroy

It is amazing how often we forget to remember. A perfect example is how I forgot to remember to write this blog post until I got a text message from one of my fellow pilgrims. Our scriptures are constantly reminding us to remember, from commandments to the Sabbath to the women who come to anoint Jesus’ body and are told to remember how Jesus told them of his resurrection. That impulse to forget when we should remember is what brought me to the Holy Land Pilgrimage.

In a land so rich in the history of faith, I was struck by the amount of forgetting. For those of us who come to this land rich with the stories that shape us and mold us, sometimes there are so many sites to see that you can forget which one was which. In an era of instant photos and posts, what would it be like to remember this story and the suffering and oppression that is in the rocky soil we traverse? Pilgrimage is in remembering the shared grief and in the solidarity that binds us and them, wherever us and them may be.

A local Palestinian carrying his pack on a donkey as their use of motor vehicles is limited on Israeli roads. (Greg Klimovitz)

We heard from two advocates who spoke of the treatment of young Palestinians who are held in detention centers. The descriptions were cringe-worthy. I saw my fellow pilgrims’ shoulders sink and faces contort at the systemic ways fear and violence plagues communities and the trauma was felt from mother to child over generations. During the portion of their talk reserved for questions and answers, there was a time to hold space for how similar the narrative of the treatment of Palestinians was to the plight of brown and blaock bodies on these shores and in these, as Frederick Douglas wrote, “yet to be United States.”

In Galatians, we are called to carry each other’s burdens and, in doing so, we fulfill the law of Christ. We are called to remember that the grief brought upon our Palestinian kinfolk, our Jewish kinfolk, our Latinx and African American kinfolk, through historic and present systems of division, oppression, and othering is all our grief. Shared grief, empathy, honoring, and holding spaces for those who suffer is not specific to which side of the borders and checkpoints one resides in the Holy Land, but extends to places all over the world.

The beauty of the Gospel and pilgrimage being an experience of shared grief is we are not called to stay in the lament but to work towards a flourishing of humanity, in which mourning turns to dancing, and sack clothes and ashes are traded in for garments of gladness. The flourishing of humanity, the reversal of grief and suffering comes not only through fervently praying for dividing walls to be crushed, but also through stubbornly proclaiming to the oppressed, “I see you” and “I see myself in you.” This sort of flourishing demands that we tell the stories we heard in the Holy Land and do not shy away from telling stories even in spaces and places where it seems like ears have been closed and hearts have been hardened.

Rev. Whitney Fauntleroy serves as Associate Pastor of Youth and Young Adult Ministry at Westminster Presbyterian Church in Alexandria, VA. She has been involved in NEXT Church off and on since she was a seminary student.

Pilgrimage is Telling Our Story

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Each month, we post a series of blogs around a common topic. This month, Rev. Greg Klimovitz is curating a series featuring those who made their pilgrimage to the Holy Land with NEXT Church from May 19-27, 2019. So much of the biblical story, especially the narratives that surround the work and witness of Jesus, occurred en route somewhere and in a context of political occupation, social, ethnic, and economic divisions, and conflict with religious and political powers that be. This month, contributors will contemplate “pilgrimage is…” as they ponder: where did you sense “God with us?” Where was “God with Us” more difficult to claim? How did you imagine leaning into “God with Us” as you returned home? We invite you to join the conversation on Facebook and Twitter, even as you make your own pilgrimages this summer and beyond. After all, life is pilgrimage.

by Ben Kane

Every group has one. They are best described by their actions: the last person on the bus, the one who lingers at each site, the person the leaders must monitor and make sure they get back on the bus. “That Person” best describes this person. I was “That Person” on the NEXT Church Holy Land pilgrimage.

It started before I left Tarboro, when I decided to take a nice camera to capture the trip. Good pictures require time and effort so during the pilgrimage I developed a particular route to get the best pictures. Quickly move to an outside wall, take a wide, circuitous route to scan the entire church and determine where to visit. We only had so much time in each church, requiring us to make decisions. Being in the Holy Land, though, made deciding what to visit immensely more complicated, resulting in my lingering longer at each site. This tactic led me to achieve my title of “That Person” at the Church of All Nations.

Church of All Nations (Ben Kane)

Once inside the church, I found the outside wall when a Catholic Mass in the chancel drew my attention. Everything else went quiet; every other sight ceased to exist. The priest and worshippers lifted their thumbs, touched their foreheads, then their lips, and then their hearts — their movements synced, seemingly guided by a common string. Witnessing this collective movement whisked me back to second grade at St. Bernard’s Academy. There I sat on the side, in the Protestant section of the school’s cathedral while the Catholic students stood in the center aisle practicing the liturgy to receive their First Communion the following Sunday. They would feel God’s presence in the Eucharist and the priest invited them to touch their forehead, lips, and heart. God is always with us, he told us, and we are called to acknowledge God’s presence. I have never been Catholic, but I have borrowed this simple prayer ever since; rarely do you see others praying it, though.

While in my spiritual trance I heard Iyad, our guide’s voice in my ear, “Where’s Ben?” “I’m right here, Iyad,” I said turning around, reminded the earpieces we wore were only one-way communication devices. I stood alone in a sea of tourists. God’s presence surrounded me, but my group did not. After five minutes of fruitless searching, Bob, one of our leaders, entered the garden area outside the church, found me, and like a petulant child, he escorted me back to the group. The group shook their heads, my wife giving me “the eye” and later telling me if I did not stay with the group she would make me wear one of those backpacks with a leash children wear at amusement parks.

On a busy street in Jerusalem I was officially crowned, “That Person.” I tried to explain what happened inside, but the honking buses, sweaty tourists, and a playfully annoyed group left me no time to explain myself; instead, I accepted my title, grabbed a water bottle, bowed to the group, and walked to my seat.

This blog series asks us to finish the sentence, “Pilgrimage is______.” Pilgrimage is telling our story. What we experienced begs to be told. We walked in the footsteps of Christ learning the realities of life for Palestinian, Arab, and Israeli Christians, Muslims, and Jews today. We now know what a refugee camp smells like, how a settlement inflicts particular views and values upon its residents and those outside the walls; our experience forces us to watch the news and read the paper without scales on our eyes. Because of our experiences, we laughed, cried, lamented, celebrated, wondered, and worried. And now we are tasked with the call to reveal what made us laugh, cry, lament, celebrate, wonder, and worry. And our stories will do just that.

My story involves around what occurred in the Church of All Nations. I felt God’s presence and when I think about our experiences, when I look at the pictures we took, and when I answer the simple question, “How was your trip?” I cannot help but talk about all the times I felt God’s presence.

On our final night the group walked the shoreline of the Mediterranean Sea in Joppa. Bound by a common experience we knew would soon end, we wanted to linger and hold on to this trip. Pictures were taken, promises to keep in touch were made (imagine the last day of junior high, K.I.T.!), and expectations realized. I told a friend in response to her question, “How was this trip for you?” that after feeling God’s presence among everything I had seen and learned, I have a story to tell.

I did not get to tell the group why I was late leaving the Church of All Nations. Instead, I became “That Guy” on the trip. I wore (and still wear) that title with pride, because given the political, theological, social, and historical complexities of the Holy Land, I firmly believe we needed to laugh occasionally. We also need to make sure “That Guy” was on the bus where my fellow travelers had so many other stories to share.

Ben Kane is the spouse of Lydia, dad of Margot and Phoebe, lover of reading, writing, and running (so he can eat what he wants). He pastors with the good people of Howard Memorial Presbyterian in Tarboro, NC, a town that’s been called the “Crossroads of Western Civilization.”

Pilgrimage is Discovering Hope

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Each month, we post a series of blogs around a common topic. This month, Rev. Greg Klimovitz is curating a series featuring those who made their pilgrimage to the Holy Land with NEXT Church from May 19-27, 2019. So much of the biblical story, especially the narratives that surround the work and witness of Jesus, occurred en route somewhere and in a context of political occupation, social, ethnic, and economic divisions, and conflict with religious and political powers that be. This month, contributors will contemplate “pilgrimage is…” as they ponder: where did you sense “God with us?” Where was “God with Us” more difficult to claim? How did you imagine leaning into “God with Us” as you returned home? We invite you to join the conversation on Facebook and Twitter, even as you make your own pilgrimages this summer and beyond. After all, life is pilgrimage.

by Jessica Tate

Saint Jerome called the land “the fifth gospel.”

The main exhibit of Yad Vashem, the World Holocasut Remembrance Center, concludes with guests overlooking the Promised Land.

A family of Palestinian farmers fight in Israeli courts to hold onto the land that has been registered to their family for generations.

The land where ancients wandered in wilderness is vast and dry and harsh and rugged.

A Jewish settler in Shiloh tells us of the power of prayer in the land believed to be the site of the ancient tabernacle and Hannah’s prayer for a son.

A 26-foot wall divides the land in pursuit of security, separating people from each other, their land, and access to education, jobs, and medical treatment.

The land encroaches on the Dead Sea, as the water recedes at a rate of four feet a year due to change in climate.

From the Mount of Olives, one looks across the land to see the Old City of Jerusalem, the Dome of the Rock, and the Garden of Gethsemane.

From the Mount of the Beatitudes, the land whispers the promise, “Blessed are those who are meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”

Photo by Ben Kane

We set out as 35 pilgrims to explore Israel/Palestine in a pilgrimage of learning, laughter, and tears. We encountered stories of promise, hope, and struggle in the Holy Land. We “walked where Jesus walked” to gain greater biblical insight for preaching and teaching. We learned from NGO leaders to gain insight into one of our world’s most vexing struggle for peace and justice. We met with Christian and Muslim leaders to explore future mission partnerships. We forged bonds of friendship that will offer support for years to come. We heard disparate perspectives so that we might make informed opinions regarding present realities in this land.

The NEXT Church blog this month will share practical and theological reflections from the participants on the pilgrimage. Through the posts you will catch glimpses of the itinerary of this trip, but this blog series is not a travelogue; rather, the posts are offerings, based on encounters or confrontations with God on the journey. We hope they will invite you also into the journey, the learning, and the pilgrimage. The posture we invited pilgrims on this trip to take was one of a guest, entering the spaces and places to listen and to learn. We invite you into that posture in reading these reflections.

Over the course of the trip we saw images of great beauty — from olive groves and vineyards, to prayers at the Western Wall, to the quiet of the Garden Tomb. We saw images that haunt — from public buses searched at checkpoints, to images of horror from the Holocaust, to settlements commanding space on lush hilltops. What stays with me the most — what is inspiring me and giving me hope — are the snapshots of tenacious hope we saw in the people we met.

We visited Tent of Nations at Daher’s Vineyard, a Palestinian farm, where the Nassar family is fighting (legally and non-violently) to keep their land, despite the Israeli settlement that is growing up around it. The family is engaged in an extensive and costly legal fight for their land, despite having documentation of ownership. They have endured increasing isolation — destruction of the road to their property, cut off of fresh water to the land, orders not to build on the property. The family’s response has been to learn sustainable farming practices, to convert to solar energy, to turn the caves on the property into proper living spaces. When the trees of the vineyard were destroyed in 2014 by the Israeli military, the Nassar family took grief and anger and channeled it into new life. They worked with Jews for Just Peace and friends from around the world to replant 5,000 trees on the land. And beyond that, the Nasser family opens the farm to teach non-violence to Palestinian children who live in the midst of trauma. They host a women’s empowerment project, teaching English and computer skills to support the local community.

There is a rock that marks the entrance to the Daher’s Vineyard. On it is a hand-painted inscription that reads, “We refuse to be enemies.”

And in the wind rustling through the trees I heard the promise, “Blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called children of God.”

Jessica Tate is the director of NEXT Church and lives in Washington, DC.

Building Bridges, Allowing for Hope

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Each month, we post a series of blogs around a common topic. This month, Don Meeks and Jeff Krehbiel are curating “Can We Talk?”, a modest attempt at an uncommonly gracious conversation among colleagues who differ on matters of conscience. Can we bridge the theological differences that divide us? Can we even talk about them? Can we affirm the best in each other’s theological tradition while honestly confessing the weaknesses of our own? We invite you to join the conversation on Facebook and Twitter!

by Roy Howard

There are bridges that need to be repaired. Some are too worn out to depend on; yet everyday we do. They must be replaced sooner rather than later. Of course, I’m not only speaking about the infrastructure of our country’s highways, which we know is in dire need of repair. I am talking about the moral infrastructure of our common life in civil society. The relational fabric of our lives is in deep need to repair, restoration and rebuilding.

The damage of the election cycle is serious and deep. Now that Donald Trump has been elected and Hilary Clinton defeated, there will be a great need to construct new bridges and repair existing ones. The Church that is sustained by the crucified God whose reconciling love for all people was manifest in Jesus Christ can be a witness in these turbulent days, and not by speech alone. Bridge-building is necessary not only in this country but around the world, and it is certainly not the work of Christians alone. The work belongs to all people of faith and good will. One such group is Interfaith Partners for Peace, an organization to which I belong, that brings together Jewish, Christian and Muslim leaders as partners for peace in local communities and on behalf of Israelis and Palestinians.

roy-middle-east-groupEarlier this month, I traveled to Israel and Palestine with 23 other pastors and rabbis from across the country who are partners in their local communities. Never have I experienced as much hope for the possibilities of repairing relationships as I did on this trip. I cried frequently in response to what we heard. My partner was Rabbi Greg Harris of Congregation Beth El, with whom I’ve shared mutual ministry for years. The goal of our visit was to listen and learn from Israelis and Palestinians – Jews, Christians and Muslims – as they share their multiple narratives that compete and collide. We especially were seeking examples of people who are building bridges that foster new narratives that allow for hope in the face of despair and paralysis.

It was an extraordinary experience that revealed stark despair, anger and fear countered in stunning ways by people of hope daring to take some risks. I must say, in all candor, no one we met in Israel or the West Bank is optimistic. Yet we met people who are hopeful in the face of the facts. This true hope that runs deeper than sentimental optimism is what gives them courage to do such bold things. It also challenges me to do the same across barriers that are much less daunting.

Here is one example.

Shaul Yudelman is a Jewish teacher and settler who experienced the fear and anger of his local communities as they bury their dead from suicide bombings. He has joined with his enemy, Ai Abu Awwad, a leading Palestinian activist and non-violent freedom fighter, to establish a center in the West Bank near a particularly violent checkpoint, where Palestinian and Israeli families share meals and their stories. They do programs attempting to build relationships with people who both belong to the land that is holy. Neither has abandoned their people’s narrative, but both are trying to build a new story; one of reconciliation between avowed enemies, of friendship and compassion.

I found it an astonishing example of God at work for good. As one Rabbi said, “Tonight I stood in front of a man who identified himself as a terrorist and I looked into his eyes and I acknowledged his humanity and he acknowledged mine and I wrapped my arms around him and I felt guilt. I will go back and preach that story and remind people that every human being is capable of redemption, becoming greater than what they are.”

They are under threat for doing such work. This is hope against all odds.

Jews call this work, tikkum olam, which means to repair the world. This kind of bridge building calls me to do the same.

roy_howard_04_webRoy Howard has served for 16 years as pastor of Saint Mark Presbyterian in North Bethesda Maryland. During that time his congregation has traveled to Israel-West Bank with their partner Jewish congregation and participates in regular interfaith activities. His recent book, Walking in Love, describes his 543 mile pilgrimage along the Camino de Santiago.