Labyrinth Jerusalem

For years I have been teaching about the labyrinth, drawing connections between walking the labyrinth and pilgrimage, especially pilgrimage to Jerusalem.

So here I am! In Jerusalem: amazing.

THE WALK IN

I was reminded of my words about the labyrinth last night as I walked around and around in the old city of Jerusalem. I got completely lost--no surprise to family or friends reading this, I am sure. Friendly people all along the way tried to re-orient me, and always offered encouragement: "It's so close, you can't miss it!"

"Everything that happens on the way is part of the pilgrimage" I tell harried people arriving at Little Portion on Long Island, NY, having gotten hopelessly lost on the different roads that all bear the same name "Old Post Road." In Jerusalem, after a while ducking through the souk, stumbling up the cobbled steps of the narrow streets, staring right and left at beautiful people, ancient buildings and tempting trays of sweets, I was very, very lost. That's when I began to think about the labyrinth.

A group of pilgrims, "originally from New Zealand, but our group is from Singapore" (go figure) pointed me towards a low arch covered with vines and festooned with handbags for sale: "The Holy Sepulchre Basilica is right through there!" they said.

WHAT I BRING TO MY PILGRIMAGE

I always ask people to try and identify what they carry with them as they begin their labyrinth walk/pilgrimage. For me: disorientation in the dark, a metaphor for life! Also what I call the Two Votes. The first vote was while I was in London last week, when the Church of England's Synod rejected women bishops. It brought back the incredibly disagreeable struggle of 25 years ago in the Episcopal Church. I remember a priest saying to me then "One can no more ordain a woman than one can ordain a potato!" Miserable man. Thank God the Episcopal church has embraced women bishops and elected a woman Primate.

The second vote was the UN vote on Palestine that happened in New York last night. "What would happen?" I wondered.

I'd been to Bethlehem on Wednesday and passed through the military check points and contemplated the massive wall. The world has watched bombs and rockets dropping in Israel and Gaza the past few weeks.

And I was also on a personal errand to read (as durected) all of Psalm 119. 176 verses. I'd dithered around for several weeks trying to do it, but couldn't settle down to it. Travel plans, then travelling contingencies: new people, places, foods and eating times, disrupted sleep patterns. I was determined to do it last night.

Arriving at the Holy Sepulchre I realized the church is too dark to read in, in most places. And the hundreds of people milling around--some singing "How Great Thou Art" nearby, others reciting the Rosary as fast as they could. Another group praying the Lord's prayer fervently (and loudly). I needed a quieter, brighter place.

I found a place downstairs that felt tucked away. At least I could see the page of my prayer book. A lull descended and I started to pray. Then a red glow and a click. I looked up and saw a boy, maybe 13 years old leaning forward like you do when photographing birds or wild animals and you don't want to disturb them.

Stalking the wild penitent.

What did he see? A "monk" praying in the Holy Sepulchre. I'll be part of his photographic record.

Me? I was feeling displaced, disoriented, and yet I also realized I was where I needed to be. There is no such thing as "perfect conditions" only conditions I accept and say "yes" to, where God is.

I smiled and he snapped two more photos and tiptoed off. "How shall a young man cleanse his way?" the psalmist asks. "By keeping to your words..."

Same goes for middle aged men.

Sitting with my thoughts, memories, feelings I could feel a shift. Anxiety and fear and frustration giving way to acceptance, resolve, hope and gratitude in the holiness of that ancient church.

After completing my devotional psalm reading (it took half an hour) I started to explore the church and watch the people with entirely different eyes. I'd completed my walk into the the labyrinth, the first part of the walk of "letting go."

ENTERING THE CENTER OF THE LABYRINTH

Uncharacteristically I entered a queue to go into the tomb place. Russians ahaead of me, Filipinos beind, Africans sitting on some steps nearby. Normally I hate standing on lines. But it is part of the experience on pilgrimage. Even at home on the labyrinth people sometimes end up waiting on the inner curves for room at the center, pensive faces lit by flickering tiki torches. In Jerusalem, light from innumerable hanging lamps shone on our faces. The lamps seemed like the chandeliers in Harry Potter that hang from nothing (it was that dark). I finally doubled over and scrambled over a high threshold--all worn at the places where people have knelt on it for well over a thousand years, I think--into an antechamber where two long bearded Orthodox priests were monitoring people going in and out. One finally roused a specially pious group, clearing the way for me and some Filipino ladies to crawl (literally) into the tomb.

Ground Zero, so too speak. My mind blanked. What could I say or do to approximate the big bubbling feeling inside of me? Hanging over the tomb was a sign "Christos Anestis" Christ is Risen. Indeed, yes: come all this way and find the tomb is empty. All the fears and anxieties empty too: Alleluia!

THE WALK OUT OF THE LABYRINTH

We stumbled out of the tomb. I left the church in love with all the people around me, enjoying their ways of being in a holy place. This time I walked home without getting lost. "Jingle Bells" was playing in the Christian Quarter shops. I could hear a muzzein singing out the call to prayer. Church bells clanged everywhere.

Restored, forgiven, sent out.

At the friary of St. Salvatore we celebrated All Franciscan Saints: incense at vespers, cake and ice cream after dinner.