If These Stone Could Talk

The Rev. Dr. Terry Hidichuk

Text: Psalm 122

If these stones could talk what would they say?

Would they speak of the feet that walked on them:

The bare feet

The sandals

The running shoes

The $200 Ecco casuals?

 

Would they speak of the blisters

The bunions,

The callouses?

 

Would they speak of ankles fat and puffy or well-turned and slim?

It was Thursday

It was wet and cold and I shivered with each step

and as I walked over the slippery stones of the souk (Arab for market)

Through its narrow, twisting streets,

The aroma of Falafel

And barbequed chicken

And roasted lamb

Caught the nostrils.

The sounds of bartering and wheeling and dealing crackled in the air…

It was my first day in Jerusalem

And as I wandered:

I wondered…

About the stones under my feet…

The stones that had born the weight of history.

I wondered about the stories they could tell.

Memories they had to share

of kings and queens,

of pilgrims and peasants,

of David and Solomon,

of Jesus and Mohammad,

of ordinary Jews and Christians and Muslims

who laughed and fought.

screamed at each other

and cried with each other.

 

Tied together by frayed strings of geography and yet cleaved by their faith in One God, that divides one from another.

The irony dripped, along with the drizzle that fell.

 

The first thing I discovered about being in Jerusalem is that it is not a green hill far, far away.

 

It is not some pastoral scene in a Wordsworth poem.

It is ugly

and crowded and noisy.

and set not on rolling green hills, but on grey rock and stone polished by the feet of

soldiers coming to conquer

pilgrims coming to pray.

I could not be in Jerusalem and not be moved by the irony and touched by the complexity.

Mount Moriah, where Abraham brought Issac to be sacrificed.

Sion, where King David is buried.

The Garden Tomb where Jesus was raised.

The Dome of the Rock where Mohammed was swept up on his night journey…

The city where soldiers have marched in, generation after generation.

No stone unturned.

 

Jerusalem is a city that is layered.

Story set upon story.

It is a city of 3000 years of continuous habitation.

 

Here ancient Israelites clashed with Jebusites and Assyrians and Babylonians.

Here Jews have clashed with the Romans,

Byzantines with Persians,

Crusaders with Mamluks,

The British with the Jews,

Israelis with Palestinians.

 

Layer upon layer.

Conflict begat conflict.

Yet this place, is where God gathers the children of God.

 

I quickly discovered that if I wanted to find the Jerusalem of Jesus day, preserved in some kind of time warp I would have been disappointed.

It can’t happen because in some places the street levels of Jesus’ day are now buried under 6 meters of rubbish and dirt.

Accumulated over 2000 years of ordinary and sometimes not so ordinary city life.

It can’t because the children of God gathered in Jerusalem are not of one tradition but rooted in one faith: that of Abraham.

Each have their story to tell.

Stone over stone

Layer upon layer….

That gives Jerusalem a complexity that is difficult to excavate.

 

It is Monday.

The sun is high and the breeze if any is warm.

After such a harsh Winnipeg winter,

This was most welcome.

 

Along with the others from my group of erstwhile wanderers,

I entered the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

 

The contrast to the high sun and blue sky is startling, as we walk through the doors.

The Church of the Holy Sepulchre surrounds us in damp darkness.

A dark church set deep within the city hardly seems to be a likely site for Golgotha and the tomb.

The evidence suggests that this area was in Jesus’ day outside the walls, of the city.  

That’s where tombs were.

That is where the Romans crucified the criminals .

 

There may be hardly any traces of this wall today; but there are some first-century kokkim (tombs) nearby indicating that the area must have been outside the walls at some point.

In other words the walls of Jerusalem, have moved over the ages.

 

The early Christian tradition in favour of this site is also strong.

Local Christian memory seems to have been successfully passed on through to the time of Constantine, when his builders cleared the area and found the tombs.

It was where I was standing that stone was laid upon stone and the original church was built.

 

Perhaps our postmodern sensibilities would have wanted something different than a magnificent structure.

Maybe something more subdued, looking like the first century quarry that has been identified as Golgotha?

Perhaps some shrubbery and flowers, a little stone bench to sit on around the kokkim?

Something pastoral and peaceful.

Some understated memorial to remember the death and resurrection of the Christ.

 

But this is Jerusalem.

I discovered nothing is understated.

 

Constantine wasn’t subtle and subdued.

He built a magnificent cathedral.

 

A church for private devotions to be sure but also space for grand liturgical celebration.

 

The tragedy though: is by building something so imposing and grand, the place became an object prone to attack.

 

In 1009 Claiph-el-Hakim sent in an army….

The stones that shouted out a glorious proclamation of the resurrection, were reduced to a layer of rubble.

 

Stone upon stone

Layer upon layer

 

The building never recovered from the shock.

 

The gateway we stood in front of on this particular Monday, was now an entrance to a predominately ramshackle Crusader attempt to restore order out of chaos.

 

That never happened.

The Church of the Holy Sepulcher is chaos on steroids.

 

It seems every Christian tradition has a place in the Church.

The Coptics

And the Orthodox.

The Latin Catholics

And even the Anglicans.

 

And they don’t get together for afternoon tea.

They fight for turf.

They can’t even agree on a name.

For some it is the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.

For others the Church of the Resurrection.

 

All competing with one another over their respective territories.

 

It’s a stomach turner, to be sure and a microcosm of Jerusalem itself.

 

One wonders, I suppose if this is the site of the resurrection, is it really a good witness to the Gospel?

 

“Well, we know they are Christians by… their contempt for one another.”

 

The church of the Holy Sepulcher certainly bears all the marks of human frailty but maybe that’s point.  

 

A building that because of its location, has meant so much to so many through so many centuries has been at the centre of conflicting desires and intentions.

 

Think about it.

After all, don’t we fight most keenly over what we most value.

It’s messy but then again is that simply a reminder that God is not far removed from weakness.

 

The church of the Holy Sepulcher wasn’t a one time offer.

It is symbolic of the city itself.

 

Jerusalem is messy.

 

And God seems to be in the middle of the mess.

 

It is Thursday.

I found myself sitting at the edge of the Judean wilderness.

It is early morning, just after dawn.

The hills spread out before me,

Miles of stark, naked desolation.

The desert seems to be ugly and brown at first.

Then as I looked harder and longer…

A panorama of colour appeared.

Browns, yellows, red, more yellow, black, blue…

And underneath the surface, another layer.

It just popped.

Green

Green in the desert.

Just under the surface of brush and dead grass and stone.

Green

Even in this desolate place, there is life.

I think that’s what the green signals; life where all around you there seems to be death.

 

Maybe that’s a sign.

In the Judean wilderness, the browns and blues and the grays and greens are telling us that God will not abandon this Holy Land.

God will not abandon the children of faith and three traditions.

 

The Anglican Church has set today as Jerusalem Sunday.

It is a time to remember and to pray for the Mission of God in Jerusalem.

to remember the important health care work in the diocese at the Penman Clinic in the West Bank.

To hold Rev. Suheil Dawani and the diocese in our prayers.

But also remember that the Mission of God, the Missio Dei reaches beyond one denomination, even one faith tradition as we pray for the brokenness to be healed, the tears in the fabric of creation to be mended and all the children of God; Muslim, Jew and Christian to live in peace and harmony.

 

If we look at the cold stones of the city we see conflict and complexity and confusion.

Layer upon layer.

 

But if we look through cracks in the fractures, little tiny shoot of green appear.

Signs of life.

 

It is Saturday in Jerusalem.

I have been back home two months now.

Pope Francis is visiting the middle east.

Those two facts are not related.

Pope Francis is being driven through the Streets of the Middle East over stones that cover more stones, and conflict and confusion and complexity.

 

Layer upon layer.

 

There is no roof on the Popemobile.

Much to the chagrin of the bodyguards and security, Pope Francis sits and waves to the adoring crowds.

Unprotected.

Open to threats of anyone angry enough,

deranged enough …

you know how this story can end.

 

But still he sits and waves and smiles.

With him at his side,

Waving too.

A Rabbi from Jerusalem.

An Iman from Palestine.

 

A crack in the stones?

Some green in the desert?

 

Could it be…?

 

And with the Psalmst we offer our prayer…

I rejoiced with those who said to me, ‘Let us go to the house of the Lord.’

Our feet are standing in your gates, O Jerusalem.

Jerusalem is built like a city, that is closely compacted together…

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: ‘May those who love you be secure.

May there be peace within your walls

and security within your citadels…

And with all of God’s children: Muslim, Jew and Chrisitian, we say…

Amen.

 

Notes:

This sermon was based on the reflections in the journal I kept while I was In Israel.

For the history and background, I am indebted to Glenn Whitner, M.Th. of Menno Jerusalem Tours and Peter Walker “In the Steps of Jesus: An Illustrated Guide to the Places of the Holy Land.”