Pantocrator

In human terms death is the last thing of all, and in human terms hope exists only so long as their life;
But to Christian eyes death is by no means the last thing of all,
Just another minor event in that which is all, an eternal life.
Soren Kierkegaard

There are precious few moments when head and heart collide- when one is fully immersed in the present so infinitely that the cosmic dance takes place on dirt. And to put words to such a moment is even more remote. Yet we try with our heads bowed and our hearts open to find ourselves fully immersed in God’s future as we take the celebratory march to get drunk on blood.
The grapes are ripe this time of year. If not picked this morning, they were yesterday. It’s my first afternoon in Jerusalem, and I’m walking through the Old City, getting lost only to find where I am. Shops on either side of the road, I brush shoulders with Jews, Christians, and Muslims. The sun already burning on my neck, I look around to catch landmarks for the return trip to my hostel. Via Dolorosa. MFA1 Assault Rifle.
The sign marking the Way of Suffering juxtaposed revoltingly with the two Israeli soldiers standing directly underneath. They couldn’t be any more than nineteen, just boys with the responsibility of life and death. A child no more than six passed with a plastic gun, pointing it at random people and pretending to shoot. But for these soldiers, playtime had ended. The guns were real and the bullets pierced flesh. I’m not used to guns. I see them back home on police officers, but even in the patron state of shootin’ stuff, you don’t see assault rifles casually slung over shoulders. It would become a sight I would abhorrently become used to over the next few weeks. A few times pointed in my direction.
I continued through the stone alleyways, noting the difference in architecture as the city was built and rebuilt through the centuries. Up ahead, what looks like a short walk is the Mount of Olives rising over East and West Jerusalem, the cemetery quietly passing judgment as its inhabitants await the Messiah. My group passes Mary’s tomb, and walk into the Garden of Gethsemane. The olive trees, centuries old twist and contort toward the sky, providing shade and food for any who whish to lay underneath. How beautiful a picture to think about each having their own tree. This is supposedly the place where Jesus prayed such a prayer on the night he was betrayed, arrested, nailed to a tree.

Betrayal. Deception. Violence- these are the reasons some have more trees than others.

The walk up the hill is steep. Passing Christian landmarks on either side, we pass Dominus Flevit- a small Franciscan chapel shaped as a tear drop. Overlooking the city, one sees the Wailing Wall to the left and to the right the Dome of the Rock penetrating the skyline.

Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing! Look your house is left to you desolate.

Grief and lament give way to tears and sacrifice. The death meant to expose the ridiculousness of violence- killing the innocent One- has given way to even more desolation. Here, where the land seems to drink an endless amount of blood and tears, the Via Dolorosa remains the status quo. Jesus continues the slow march through the city, walks the hills surrounding the City of David, through the streets of Hebron, and the along the borders of Gaza. We find him in the homes of Jewish parents who have received their sons and daughters in bloody pieces, and we find him in the bedroom of the traumatized Palestinian boy whose father ‘disappeared.’

His back scourged by the onslaught of US made missiles, he begs for us to follow. Such foolishness. Such stupidity. Only death awaits those who follow the insane man from Nazareth. Who, in this world, refuses self-defense? Who, in this world, chooses the irrationality of love over the concreteness of a bullet? Who can have faith in the absurd thought of peace?

This is my body broken for you. This is my blood poured out for you. My body and blood show a new way of living in this world. Just as you have received forgiveness, so forgive one another. Love your enemies, and pray for those that persecute you. It will not be easy, as they persecute me so shall they persecute you. But do not lose hope for I will return to you. And there will be a new heaven and a new earth- behold, even now I make all things new!

Maranatha.