Crosses etched in the walls of a church by pilgrims during the Crusades. |
Please keep us and our fellow pilgrims in your prayers, and please pray for the peace of Jerusalem and all the world. Blessings to all.
-- Jim
"Let There Be Light" - A place for conversation with the Rector of St. Paul's Memorial Church, 1700 University Avenue, Charlottesville, Virginia, 22903 http://www.stpaulsmemorialchurch.org/
Crosses etched in the walls of a church by pilgrims during the Crusades. |
The old Roman road to the place Jews in the time of Jesus called "Ammaous." |
They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” He asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, 20and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him.”As they walk along, the stranger explains the Scriptures to them; how the messiah would not be a mighty warrior but would be a servant who would be put to death. He explains the entire Bible to them as they walk. When they reach a town called “Emmaus,” the pair of disciples invite the stranger to join them for dinner.
When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?”I adore this story. If I had only one story in the Bible I could keep, this would be it. Everything about the Gospel is here – surprise, divinity, servanthood, resurrection and a great meal. It is a tale of how all of us miss seeing the Holy – the Christ – in the people we meet because we are too busy to see what is right in front of us. It is a tale of how we especially miss seeing the Christ in strangers, in people who are different than us. It is a tale of opportunities still before us if we walk down the road and open our eyes to see.
On a gravel footpath before reaching the old Roman road. |
Australian Anglican Bishop Godfrey Fryar celebrates our Holy Eucharist with Jerusalem's skyline as our backdrop. |
Inside the dome of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre |
Entering the Church of the Holy Sepulchre after our Walk on the Way of the Cross |
Looking down on the domes of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. We took this photo a few days ago from the tower at the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer |
The traditional spot where it is said that Jesus' body was anointed with oil. A marble slab covered in oil marks the place. |
Huge Paschal candles guard the tome of Jesus. Lightbulbs are atop each candle. |
Entrance to ancient crypt in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre |
Two crypts deep inside the hillside underneath the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. |
Tour buses and tourists mobbing the Church of All Nations |
House demolished by Israelis |
A friendly greeting |
Lori walking down from the Mount of Olives |
One of the huts built in 1956 for the refugees; it measures about 10 foot by 10 foot. |
Widely copied protest art; this version is on the side of a house in Dheisheh |
Our friend, Stephen Carpenter, dining in the Armenian Quarter |
Muslim Quarter in the Old City |
St. George's Anglican Cathedral Jerusalem |
Dungeon where Jesus may have been held. Archbishop Colin Johnson reads from a book on a lecturn. |
Entrance to Syrian Orthodox Church in the Old City |
Sister Justinia of the Syrian Orthodox Church |
Jerusalem gate pockmarked with bullet holes from the 1967 Arab-Israeli war |
Peter Lepejian, left, and his father, Vic Lepejian in their shop in the Armenian Quarter. A version of"Broken Jerusalem," a collage of broken pottery hangs on the wall behind them. |
St. James Armenian Cathedral |
Armenian flag above the Armenian Quarter Note the Frosty the Snowman above door |
Wide plaza inside the Armenian Quarter |
Lunch of traditional Armenian food |
Lori and Anne on steps Jesus would have walked to go up to the Temple |
Crawling through a portal at the Church of the Nativity |
Lori at the church where it is said that John the Baptist was born |
Abraham, who sells carved religious art |
Our ValleyPainting, Flatland River, 1997, Wayne Thiebaud
By Phillip Levine
We don’t see the ocean, not ever, but in July and August
when the worst heat seems to rise from the hard clay
of this valley, you could be walking through a fig orchard
when suddenly the wind cools and for a moment
you get a whiff of salt, and in that moment you can almost
believe something is waiting beyond the Pacheco Pass,
something massive, irrational, and so powerful even
the mountains that rise east of here have no word for it.
You probably think I’m nuts saying the mountains
have no word for ocean, but if you live here
you begin to believe they know everything.
They maintain that huge silence we think of as divine,
a silence that grows in autumn when snow falls
slowly between the pines and the wind dies
to less than a whisper and you can barely catch
your breath because you’re thrilled and terrified.
You have to remember this isn’t your land.
It belongs to no one, like the sea you once lived beside
and thought was yours. Remember the small boats
that bobbed out as the waves rode in, and the men
who carved a living from it only to find themselves
carved down to nothing. Now you say this is home,
so go ahead, worship the mountains as they dissolve in dust,
wait on the wind, catch a scent of salt, call it our life.