The Presence of God at the Western Wall in Jerusalem
Posted by Priest on November 30, 2008 under Sermons |
One of my favourite contemporary novelists is little-known Chicago author Robert Rodi. He is funny and over the top, but usually right to the point. His novel Drag Queen features a successful, well-established, and somewhat conservative Chicago lawyer. Right at the beginning of the novel, the lawyer’s mother tells him not only that he has an identical twin brother, who also happens to be a drag queen (hence the title of the book), but she also reveals in the very same conversation that he is not her biological son, but is adopted. Yet, and this shows Robert Rodi’s rather strange but brilliant sense of humour, the actual reason for the conversation is that the lawyer’s mother informs her son that she will join a Tibetan Buddhist convent in Wisconsin. Reacting to her son’s shock, she comments that at least she is not joining a Christian group, you know one of those, and I quote, “bitter, judgmental, and hate soaked” religious groups.
When I first read through the conversation, I had to laugh, then smile, and slowly my facial features changed and it made me actually sad. Why is it that we Christians are seen as “bitter, judgmental, and hate-soaked?” And it is not just Robert Rodi in his novel. You remember the old church lady in Saturday Night Live, right? And good old philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche once commented that he always wondered why Christians looked so gloomy. “I wish,” he said, “Christians would look more saved.”
Now, let me make one thing quite clear: I don’t find this to be a particular striking problem at St. Paul’s. We are a rather joyous and celebratory crowd, and our Friendly Feasts over the last week prove Robert Rodi, Friedrich Nietzsche and others quite wrong. I bet, though, you all know people who raise an eyebrow, or two, once you reveal to them that you attend church. It is a strange thing how we are seen outside church circles.
Furthermore, we all know Christians and Christian ministers whose sole occupation is to replace the love of God with the gloom of God. There are many people who label themselves Christian, but all they care about is preaching condemnation and judgment. There is no good news there; only scare-tactics and fear-mongering. Not just Fred Phelps and his weird cult of self-righteous demagogues seem to think that the Christian message is all about hellfire and brimstone. Even our Gospel text for today seems to be so full of doom and gloom. No wonder then, that we are labeled “bitter, judgmental, and hate-soaked.”
But is that really what we proclaim?
A few years back, I had the opportunity to spend six weeks in Israel and Palestine. It was a very exciting and wonderful opportunity to explore the land that is holy to so many people on our globe. I spent most of my time in Haifa at an Ulpan, a Hebrew language school, for this is what I was there for: to learn Hebrew. Two weeks into our experience, we embarked on a four day excursion to Jerusalem – and I was giddy to get there.
We arrived on a Friday afternoon, checked into our hotel and were met later at the reception of the hotel by a Lutheran deacon who gave us our first walking tour of the Old City. By then, the sun had set already and Shabbat had settled over the homes and houses of the people of Jerusalem. There was an eerie silence as we made our way through the small alleys and lanes. Everything had closed down and with the exception of a few monks and even fewer tourists like us, there were not many people finding their way through these narrow pathways that formed a real maze, whichcould swallow you up easily without any trace.
Our deacon tour guide, however, lead us through the twisted and crooked streets on sure footing – or at least I hoped she knew what she was doing. And she did. All of sudden, we turned a corner and stood on a balcony-like platform overlooking the square just in front of the Western Wall, which at one time had been known as the Wailing Wall.
For Jews this is haShekinah; this is where God touches the earth; this is where the divine presence resides. It was a powerful moment. Most people had already left to observe Shabbat in their homes, but a few had remained to pray and to be in the presence of God. It was a wonderful sight, a site filled with wonder. This is indeed a special place.
I know that God cannot be limited to just one spot on earth, but there are sacred spaces, places where God reveals God’s self in a particular, dense, and an especially experienceable way. These are what Celtic spirituality calls “thin places,” spaces where the separation between our existence and the realty of God is very thin. And the Western Wall is such a place. The divine presence is in this place for sure.
I approached the Western Wall with a certain sense of trepidation. I really could feel something. It wasn’t a strong feeling, but it was there. I guess I had dreamed of being there and hoped for this moment for such a long time and that’s why I felt nervous. At least, this is how my cerebral, German, male brain justified my feelings. It still came as a bit of a shock.
Slowly, I edged my way forward towards the Wall. At first, I did not have a strong desire to go within the enclosure that separates the public square from the place of prayer just in front of the Wall. But eventually I placed a kippa on my head and headed towards the wall. I stopped about an arm’s length away from the Wall, which is a massive pile of hewn stones, all different, but all of them also quite sizable, over towering, even overpowering. There was no way around this massive wall. It was right in front of me.
I stood there looking at and being mesmerized by this stone monstrosity for a while and joined those around me in prayer. I couldn’t help it, but eventually I looked around me and upward. And I saw a most curious thing:
About three to four metres above ground, a bush was growing out of the stone. It was a weird sight. Where did it come from? How did it stay there? On what did it live? But there it was. And it wasn’t just there. The most amazing thing was this: the bush was in full bloom. Tiny, light blue blossoms, surrounded by deep green leaves were dancing in night, illumined by the artificial light shining on the Western Wall. It was as if this plant defied the coldness of the stone, defied the dead material it grew on, defied the despair and anguish of those praying around it and of the whole city that is so entrenched in hate and injustice
And this is when it hit me. All of a sudden I was aware of the presence of something indescribably and unfathomably larger than me. The only word I can use to describe my emotions is “awe.” I was overwhelmed by awe. Yet, it was not frightening or scary. It just was. All. Encompassing. Presence. Life grew out of a dead stone. Flowers bloomed in a place no-one would choose to plant anything. Hope blossomed unexpectedly, mysteriously, and awe inspiringly. Yet, I almost missed it. But there it was: haShekinah, the presence of God.
Today’s story from Mark could be easily dismissed as a story that preaches gloom and doom. But this is not a scenario that sets us up to protract the stereotype we are so often faced with, as we live our life as Christians. This is no doom’s day scenario that speaks of end times in “bitter, judgmental, and hate-soaked” ways. In fact, it might not even speak of end-times at all.
Mark’s fellow Christians lived under threat. It was dangerous to be a follower of Christ. There were enemies everywhere. Stone-cold death was lingering everywhere, both literally and figuratively. Mark’s community was struggling to hold on to the message of hope revealed to them.
So, Mark today reminds the community around him – and he reminds us also in our times of trouble – not of things to come, not of hopes yet unfulfilled. Mark does not tell of the end of times, but of the end of an era that was finished with God’s appearing in the baby growing under Mary’s heart. The powers of the world, the powers that wield death and destruction to body, mind, and soul were toppled by a little baby that brought hope and life to the world. In Jesus Christ, a different reality is revealed, a reality filled with hope and life, blossoming in the most unlikely of places and surprising us in ways we have not even dreamed of. Just like a bush’s unlikely blooming in the midst of dead stones, so a baby reveals the power of a loving God in the midst of trouble and despair. The violence of this world, its death and destruction will not be overcome by might, but the violence of this world is already overthrown by the strongest power of all: Love, God’s love, God’s love made manifest in the little, fragile, yet, disarming baby born of our sister Mary. The bush is blooming. Now.
Stay alert and awake, therefore, not just in Advent, and discover the hope blossoming around us, the life blooming even in the midst of the desert, and God’s presence even in the most unlikely of places, even, like Mary, in and under our own hearts.
[Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on November 30, 2007.]