The following is a reflection I wrote for the completion of my course at Saint George’s College in Jerusalem in January, 2016:
Problems with Place: Reflecting on issues of geography and theology
In preparing to participate in the Saint George’s College “Palestine of Jesus” course, I wrote a reflection paper on my own preconceptions going into the program and reflected on how they might be challenged or changed over the course of the trip. I began the paper with a vignette from the life of Martin Buber. In his book Eclipse of God, Buber relates a discussion he once had with an older scholar. Listening to the opening of a work Buber was editing, the scholar complained about the constant use of the term God. He chided, “How can you bring yourself to say ‘God’ time after time? … What word of human speech is misused, so defiled, so desecrated as this! All the innocent blood that has been shed for it has robbed it of its radiance.” Buber, after reflecting on this comment for some minutes in silence, finally responded:
…it is the most heavy-laden of all human words. None has become so soiled, so mutilated. Just for this reason I may not abandon it… Certainly, they draw caricatures and write ‘God’ underneath; they murder one another and say ‘in God’s name.’ But when all madness and delusion fall to dust, when they… no longer say ‘He, He’ but rather sigh ‘Thou,’ shout ‘Thou,’ all of them the one word, and when they then add ‘God,’ is it not the real God whom they all implore.[1]
At the time, I reflected on how Buber’s recognition of the complexities of God language in many ways matched my own wrestling with the concept of Christian mission and the fraught nature of nineteenth century Anglican mission in the Middle East. I observed that I was experiencing mixed emotions about participating in a context in which at one time many native Palestine Christians were told their own Orthodox or Eastern Catholic faith identities were not quite enough and were enticed into embracing a protestant Anglican identity. Like Buber, however, I realized that jettisoning the whole program of mission – and thereby ignoring the positive work the Anglican Church has done and continues to do – is not helpful either, and to some degree many of the paternalistic and imperialistic tendencies of the past are more consciously dealt with now in the present.
I bring all of this up, because I think it also parallels another line of reflection that I have embraced over the course of the program. From the very beginning of the trip, I was encouraged to think about the way in which physical place plays a role in Christian identity and theology. One of the very first observations made on the matter was that Christianity has never had the same kind of theology of place that one finds in other religious traditions like Islam and Judaism. The heart of Christian theology is much more grounded in an experience of God through the incarnate life of Christ as encountered through Scripture, Sacrament, reason, tradition, and experience. While place can certainly play a part in the experience of God in Christ, there has never been the same level of direct, immanent correlation to place that is present in Judaism (in relationship to the Temple Mount for example) or in Islam (in relationship to Mecca). I would even go so far as to say that an argument might be made for ignoring place altogether. It might be argued, especially out of some Protestant traditions, that place can become idolatrous and inhibit one’s ability to grow closer to God. I have seen this argument made before in the context of communities in which an unhealthy relationship to physical place has developed around a given property or building. Like Buber again, however, I think it is important to recognize this fraughtness and precisely because of it work to rescue a theology of place in the Christian tradition. One clear example, for me, of how this might be done is through the concept of pilgrimage and specifically through the concept of pilgrimage in the Holy Land. In the context of this reflection, I draw upon two different aspects of pilgrimage as I have experienced it and reflect on the ways in which they connect to a theology of place. First, I reflect on pilgrimage as an engagement with the land and the reality of its history. I experienced this aspect of pilgrimage most profoundly at Masada and at the Jesus House in Nazareth. Second, I reflect on pilgrimage as an engagement with the history of pilgrim visitation and veneration. I experienced this aspect of pilgrimage most profoundly at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, at the Basilica of the Annunciation in Nazareth, and the Church at Jacob’s Well. For me, both of these aspects of pilgrimage affected me deeply over the course of the trip. Each in their individual ways relate to different facets of my own theology of place.
When I was growing up, I heard endless stories about the Holy Land trips my grandparents and mother had taken years before I was born. My mother’s father was a career Southern Baptist pastor and missionary, and in the 1970s, he led numerous trips to Israel many of which my grandmother and mother went on as well. My mother told me before I left on this present trip, “Walking where Jesus walked will change your life!” Admittedly, I was initially reluctant to buy into this sort of sentiment. While I appreciated my mother’s enthusiasm for my trip, I thought to myself, “There’s absolutely no way this can really be the case. If there are in fact first century roads somewhere, I doubt I will actually be able to walk on them.” I have to admit, however, that I did have two experiences that deeply affected me in this way.
The first experience occurred on our visit to Masada. Over the course of the week prior to our trip, I had already taken several opportunities to visit holy sites around Jerusalem. While I was deeply moved by several of them (an experience I will discuss more significantly in the next section), I found that I was most moved by the fact that I was following generations of pilgrims on the same roads to the same sites. At Masada, I had a moment where I moved off away from the main crowd of classmates and found a quiet little corner from which I could gaze out across the landscape. From the position where I was standing, I was facing eastwards away from the Dead Sea. I had the clear sense that I was observing almost the exact same landscape that Herod the Great or the Sicarii would have observed. The moment was really quite profound for me. I realized that in as much as I connected to the other pilgrimage sites through the act of pilgrimage myself, here I connected to the site through an almost transcendent sense of the historical made present. Another aspect of the connection for me was the fact that I knew with certainty that this was Masada. Herod the Great had literally walked these exact same grounds and enjoyed these exact same views. The Sicarii had defended their honor on that exact spot. They had chosen to die rather than face capture right there within the confines of that fortress.
In almost these exact same ways, I had a parallel experience at the cave and house structure in Nazareth. This particular outing was one of the major highlights of the trip for me. Like at Masada, the experience of the cave and house structure is one of raw history laid bare. Unlike the Basilica of the Annunciation across the street, where generations of veneration were layered on top of one another, the cave and house structures were largely still untouched. The experience of seeing the house excavated down to the first century floor, and the experience of encountering the tomb under the house, brought me to tears. I was overcome by the deep sense that the real life of Jesus was made really present in that dusty floor and hollowed out tomb. Now, of course I recognize that we cannot definitively call that place the true Jesus House in the same way that we can talk about Masada, but I was deeply affected by Dr. Jenks’ point that Nazareth would have been a small community in the first century, and thus Jesus would have very likely known the people in that house or in fact been inside of it at some point himself. Out of all of the Jesus-related sites that we visited, this house was the one site that I felt most deeply connected to in terms of encountering the real historical nature of Jesus and the life that life he lived.
In both the Jesus House and Masada, I had a deep sense of connection to the historical reality of the land and the religious significance that its historic reality carries. I recognize that there were other sites that we visited that also included this… shall we say emphasis on history over veneration. I think about the Judean Wilderness, Qumran, Caesarea Philippi, and Bethsaida – but, in the end, the two places that really stick out in my memory are the house and Masada. As I said at the beginning of this section, I carried a skepticism coming into this course. I understood the concept of archaeological excavations as sites of historical significance, but I would not have thought of these sites as being theologically significant or as sites of pilgrim veneration. It was a really pleasant surprise to be moved as much as I was by the power these sites hold in their bare rawness. I was also struck theologically by the reality at Masada and others, that these were the actual, real, knowable places where events that I have grown up learning by heart occurred. Thinking about how these experiences can help to create a theology of place, I see a strong potential relationship between Scripture and these historical sites. As I have commented to several people upon returning, I have already had the experience of reading the Scripture and being able to visualize the physical geography and location of the places mentioned. I think this for me is the most significant aspect of a theology of place from these historical sites.
The second aspect of pilgrimage that I reflected upon is pilgrimage as an engagement with visitation and veneration. As I said, I experienced this aspect most profoundly in our visits to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the Basilica of the Annunciation in Nazareth, and the Church of Jacob’s Well.
To begin with, I most strongly had this sense of spatial in visiting the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Now admittedly, this level of connection may be influenced by the fact that the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is the one site that I visited most often over the course of my trip. I believe in the end, I visited the church at least five or six times over the two week course. What I found most profound about the space was the level of passion and intense devotion bestowed upon it. Even in the reality of occasional violence and the seemingly always tenuous status quo, I have to admit that at a very primal level I was drawn to the passion all of these competing voices hold toward the space. As I have “grown up” in the faith, and as I have become more and more westernized in my own faith perspectives, I have found it harder to really deeply connect with this sort of passion. It is my sense, and my own personal experience, that largely American Episcopalianism is more dispassionate than not. What I mean by this is that the fervor, singlemindedness, and whole devotion expressed by many of the groups with claims on the Holy Sepulchre is seen in the west as dangerous and uncritical. I fear that the Holy Sepulchre is viewed at best as just one potential site where Christ may have been crucified and at worse as a site of dangerous “extreme” religiosity which is a powder keg of tension that may erupt at any time. What gets lost in this sort of critique is the earnestness and deep commitment which is held by those involved and the millennia and a half of sacred worship that has layered the place in prayer.
While not contested by multiple groups in the same way that the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is, I was moved by the same passion and devotion at the Basilica of the Annunciation in Nazareth. There too, I took two extra opportunities outside of the scheduled visit in order to take in the place at my own pace and in my own way. Like at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, there is a central geographic feature (in this case a cave) which is the focal point of veneration within the Church. The tradition is that the cave structure was the site of the house where Mary’s parents, Anna and Joaquim, lived and thus the site of the Annunciation when the Angel Gabriel appeared to Mary. On my several visits to the church, I was struck by how reverential visitors were being. Maybe it was the small number of visitors, but unlike other sites where people tended to be boisterous even if asked not to, my experiences at the Basilica in Nazareth were filled with quiet, unobstructed contemplation. On Tuesday night of our time in Nazareth, I hiked down the hill and participated in the praying a special Nazareth focused rosary unique to the Basilica. This was an incredibly powerful experience. The rosary mysteries that we prayed were specifically written to reflect the life of the Holy Family in Nazareth, and I was very powerfully moved by the experience of participating in a long stream of pilgrim veneration and worship of this place identified as a home of Mary. Marian devotion is a part of my own spiritual practice, and the opportunity to pray the rosary in that place with a community of fellow Christians was very moving. I was blessed to have the opportunity to experience the place as it has been for generations of faithful Christian pilgrims. I experienced it as a place rich with prayer and devotion from which I benefited and to which I contributed.
The last place of veneration that was especially powerful for me was the Greek Orthodox Church on top of Jacob’s Well. This was another one of the most powerful experiences for me on the trip, but interestingly it had very little to do with the well itself. While I appreciated again the layers of veneration that have adorned this space over the generations, I was most powerfully moved by the veneration and commitment to memory of the many martyrs and committed witnesses to the faith that have graced this place over the years. I was very moved by the iconography adorning the walls – iconography that communicated on the one hand the community’s valiant struggle against hatred and violence (to the point of martyrdom) and on the other hand the community’s firm belief in the overarching power of Christ to overcome their suffering and pain. I was absolutely floored when I moved back outside and learned of the recent violent attacks on the current priest and bullet ridden gates that bear the scars of such hatred.
All of three places spoke to me of a deep sense of pilgrim veneration and also a theology of place. The Holy Sepulchre moved me because of the way in which each group involved, even in disagreement, has found a way over the generations to have an expression of their own commitment to Christ there. The Basilica in Nazareth moved me because of the simple, heartfelt passion that is lived out in such simple things as praying the rosary. The Church at Jacob’s Well moved me because of the way in which old veneration is giving way to new veneration as the site lives into its reality as a place of Christian joy and pain.
In the end, I think my fundamental question at the beginning of this paper can be answered in the affirmative. Is there a way to save or create a theology of place in the Christian experience? In the context of Christian pilgrimage to the Holy Land, I would unreservedly say yes. Two different types of place were discussed in the context of this reflection, and I believe both relate to the development of a theology of place in the Christian experience. First a theology of place in the context of historical sites can help to more fully express the truth and meaning of Holy Scripture. A theology of place in this regard can help connect Christians to the land from which so much of our story develops. Second, a theology of place in the context of historically venerated sites can help to more fully connect present day Christians with the lived tradition of the faith. The layered reality of these sites can help connect Christians to their ancestors in faith through the generations. Yes there are many challenges and fraught issues when it comes to the region and the history of many of these sites, but in the end even in this fraughtness a theology of place can exist to more meaningfully connect Christians with their own faith tradition.
[1]Martin Buber, Eclipse of God, Reprint edition. (Amherst, N.Y: Humanity Books, 1988), 6-7.
Ad Orientem 