My last week in Jerusalem. There was still plenty of small to-dos with the renovations and a couple of stops I wanted to make, so I knew the schedule would be packed. Plus I had a cunning weekend scheme in mind… we’ll see.
I guess another relationship test is going furniture shopping together. Will Father Piotr and I survive to tell the tale? Would we actually end up getting anything, or just devolve into endless option-trails? The plan was to drive to Ikea in nearby Bet Shemesh to get three couches, a coffee table and a few more Billys (of course) for the newly renovated office reception. Well. The couches were huge, and the parish van was no match for their bulk. So more likely will be a return trip to purchase them and arrange delivery.
Armed with our consolation prize of coffee table and aforementioned Billys, we made a quick sandwich stop at a mall. “Ah!” I exclaimed upon entering the mall, “All my favourite materialism is here, too!” It really did look like any other shopping mall of the last 40 years, shiny and stuffed to the ceiling with import goods that no one really needs.
Not to be deterred, Tuesday we headed out again for another couch-shopping mission. Maybe something custom, or more designer than Ikea? Driving through something like a dilapidated industrial park, suddenly there came to us a furniture store full of very nice Italian designs. We immediately gravitated to a simple but stylish pair of matching sofas. The salesman told us these were made to order, and we could change the length of the couches to fit.
Then the wheels really started turning. What about an L-shaped couch to fit the space? Or what about a U-shape to totally wrap the coffee table? The price was not outrageous, the timelines not unreasonable. The imagined reception space was transforming before our very eyes from cobbled-together Ikea couches, into a very tidy and custom-fit room that screamed welcome and hospitality. What exactly returns to the parish house will arrive there after I’m back in Canada, but maybe I’ll get a photo sent to me of the final assembly.
Wednesday I spent mostly out of the house at various churches. Father Benny dropped me off in Ein Karem, located in the hills outside Jerusalem. I walked up to the Church of the Visitation, built at the site of Zechariah and Elizabeth’s house (Luke 1). The church had a neat B-room below, and I find that these are sometimes more interesting than the big fancy rooms on the main level. What I will remember about this place is the irresistible calm I felt while there, as if I no longer had the ability to feel worry or anxiety. That was a nice gift.
Father Benny picked me up on his way back into the city. I value my opportunities to chat with him. He’s a deep thinker and can tell you aspects of the same issue from many perspectives. I’m sure he is not so aware of some of the more meaningful or impactful things he says—they come out like a whim or afterthought at times. But I’m paying attention, and leaving richer than I arrived.
The afternoon and evening was spent doing a big stay at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, a place I’m liking more and more. There was an important worship event at the church that day, and I got to see many of the religious (brothers and sisters) gather for the celebration, which was done in Latin. There was some of us in the public as well, and it was terribly interesting to me to hear them chant and respond in Latin, too. I have been living far, far away from these kinds of things all my life. The group did a big walkthrough of all the important places in the church, stopping to read and pray at each one of them. This allowed me to tag along and see some parts of the church that I had yet to explore, a few of them deep down in the heart of the mountain.
After that was all done the place pretty much emptied out, and a few of us were left to enjoy the quiet and serenity. I spent several more hours just hanging out, being quiet, meditating, listening to some chanted prayers, and observing other pilgrims who knew the building way better than me. Quality thought needs time and space to incubate, and I got a lot out of staying put there for the evening. They booted us out at 9:00pm, and I slowly made my way back to the house in Jerusalem’s lovely night air—not hot, not cold, no mosquitoes.
Thursday was the end of the cleanup and furniture moving. In the afternoon I made my last trip into the old city to visit the Franciscan gift shop for an item requested by a friend back home. My final Jerusalem Mass, which I did without any helps save the songbook. It was more important for me to be present to the event than to have my educational scheme running in overdrive. After a quick meal Father Benny invited me to accompany him in his attempt to close the “movement circle” on his watch by walking through the Orthodox Jewish neighbourhood right beside the house. I got to ask him a lot of questions about them and Christian-Jewish relationships in general. With requisite calories marched off our butts, we returned home. And that’s Jerusalem.
Friday my weekend scheme began early. Fathers Benny and Piotr needed to travel to Tel Aviv for a morning meeting. I knew that Father Roman often came up from Beersheva to Deir Rafat on Mondays to lead worship for the Sisters there. So I hitched a ride with my Jerusalem roommates who dropped me off on their way out of town at the Bet Jamal monastery in the Bet Shemesh valley about a four-hour walk from Deir Rafat. This monastery is populated by some of my favourite folks, the Sisters of Bethlehem. I had arranged a stay there for two nights.
They received me in time for morning prayers and Mass. They are separated from the public by their living, working and worship, so I sat in a cute balcony at the back of their church to participate. Their singing was expectedly great (maybe the Sisters in Deir Rafat are better, but I’ll let them duke it out), with a mix of French and Hebrew used. Afterward I received my orientation from Or-Marie (Philippines), and the day’s food on my named tray in the common kitchen fridge—it was up to me to portion it how I liked. Breakfast was as much toast and jam as I could handle. And yes, the sisters made their own jams from the fruit trees they grew. The flavour of the orange jam sent you to another place… a beautiful place.
My spinning world in bustling Jerusalem came to a screeching halt here. Many naps taken. INTENSE quiet. I mean, when the birds stopped singing at night all you can hear at times is the ringing in your ears. They have an amazing gift shop with their hand-painted pottery, and lots of incense and scented oils made by the Brothers of Bethlehem who live just up the hill. My meals—what to say except that each artfully-painted dish and bowl was artfully filled with artfully-crafted food. Don’t tell my mom that these sisters make what could be the best cucumber salad on the planet. And hand-made chocolate-drizzled cream puffs in a monastery? Hey, austerity has its limits, too.
I wasn’t ready to return to city life just yet, and had made arrangements in beloved Deir Rafat on the other side of the valley. Sister Sarafina (Chile) picked up myself and Father Stein (Congo), who was to lead the Sunday worship there, and brought us over to my next retreat stop. I had met Sister Sarafina several times before, and she (like the others there) are the kind of people that you get along with instantly and famously. This Sunday’s worship was a very special celebration day, and I joined them all in a four-hour worship bender. Man, these Sisters never broke a sweat, and their (killer) singing was just as strong at the end as it was at the beginning.
They were very generous to me in my stay. There was no shortage of great food in my fridge (and yes, jam from their trees!). They gave me one of the larger rooms which had in it a smaller sub-room for praying and meditation. I learned this was called an oratory. It sparked my imagination and gave me not just a peaceful place to sit or kneel, but ideas about how I would continue to craft my own living spaces back home.
Thankful for: the many people I met and places I saw in Jerusalem. It’s an intense place, with a lot of interests competing for visibility. Like a holy-land YouTube.
Pray for: Abuud. He’s the old city merchant who sold me my sandals and leather bag. With current hostilities making for few pilgrims, tourists and tours, I have no idea how these folks pay rent, never mind provide for their families.
Highlight: When I arrived at the monastery in Deir Rafat, Sister Sarafina looked in my fridge freezer, saw that it was only half-full of fresh baguette and insisted, “You will certainly need more bread!”
Photos: 1) They probably didn’t specify “interior designer” in the job description of the regional priest, but here we are; 2) the well that highlights the B-room in the Church of the Visitation ; 3) In its efforts to build bridges between Jews and Christians, the Bet Jamal monastery contains a Jewish-friendly worship space that is open to the public every Saturday.
