Read Online Chasing the Divine in the Holy Land by Ruth Everhart - Free Book Online

straight at the sound of English. He has begun again, preaching in English this time. I pull out my journal, thinking how hospitable it is for him to do this for us.
    The preacher talks of rooting and grounding in terms of four dimensions — height, depth, breadth, and width. These are the dimensions of eternity and also the dimensions of the cross. This makes the sign of the cross the sign of perfection and eternity. I roll that around in my head, trying to hear it as God’s word to me today, instead of potential sermon material.
    The priest tells a story about a desert monk who was persecuted for making the sign of the cross. When asked to speak at the table before a meal, he cleverly made the sign of the cross by gesturing to various dishes as he praised them. So in his own way, without directly speaking the words of prayer, he blessed the food. The priest ties this story to the incarnation of Jesus Christ. Perhaps there is something of a translation barrier, but I feel like I’m groping around the edges of a new understanding about God’s love, which could be enfleshed, literally, in the dishes on the table. Can Christ’s presence be covert?
    The hymns we sing are familiar: “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name”; “Psalm 23” (the Scottish version); “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty”; and “Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus.” The military language of the last one, exhorting “ye soldiers of the cross,” gives me the kind of schoolgirl giggles that come from extreme discomfort. Why would we sing this song in this land — with its Crusader history?
    After church comes rest time, and a few of us take a walk to the newest section of West Jerusalem. It’s a largely commercial area built after 1948, when the nation of Israel was established. Office buildings, pedestrian malls, banks. We walk for about an hour and see many ultra-orthodox Jews, wearing black hats and prayer shawls, who never glance at us. We pass The Holy Bagel Bakery many times, until it becomes a reference point. Every time I see it, I’m happy to see it again. I want to stop and buy a holy bagel, but my companions keep walking. They are intent on scouting places for possible nightlife.
    We return to the college courtyard just in time to set off again. This time the entire group of forty is going to see the model of the Second Temple, which is housed at the Holy Land Hotel. I realize too late that we’ll be in an outdoor courtyard under the blazing sun, and I didn’t bring my hat.
    We pilgrims strike familiar stand-and-listen poses. Stephen begins his lecture by saying that 70 to 80 percent of Israeli Jews today are secular, meaning that they do not practice their religion. He goes on to talk about the model of the city, leaving my mindwhere it has run aground. What if he were to say that 70 to 80 percent of Christians are secular? I would not comprehend. No, that’s not true. I would comprehend. America is full of people who reduce the power of Christian faith to an obligatory church visit twice a year. Would they be considered secular Christians? But does that describe 70 to 80 percent? That statistic would tear the guts right out of Christianity. That statistic would make me weep with despair — and with a sense of my own inadequacy to respond.
    So how is it different for Jews? Is it more acceptable to be secular if you’re Jewish rather than Christian? That doesn’t track. Are there secular Muslims, too? What does that mean? I thought certain words implied “sacred” — that is, if you combined them with “secular,” you would create an oxymoron. Yet Stephen just said that 70 to 80 percent of Israeli Jews are secular. Why aren’t we all standing around with our mouths agape?
    I’ve been having a conversation in my head, missing the stream of information. Stephen is gesturing to the model of Jerusalem, which spreads out like a prairie