Our Holy Land

I watched a programme during the course of week where the journalist Louis Theroux, under the title "Ultra-Zionists" examined life in The Holy Land. It was an uncomfortable yet compelling programme to watch.

Let me add some other things to this thought process as I try to work through it. I receive regular emails from a Jerusalemite Christian (I am on a circulation, they are not just for my own edification) who has much to say against Israeli Jews. I have other contacts through the social media who are Jews and speak eloquently in the opposite direction. I have a genuine belief in the proximity of Christians and Jews (and an association with the Council of Christians and Jews, and a burgeoning one with the ICCJ), and am still raw with the emotional wounds of visiting the Holocaust Memorial in Jerusalem. I hear news stories about actions on the part of the Israeli government that cannot be justified (speaking of the attack and murder of aid workers on ships). I am ever aware of the insidious reach of Islamic extremist groups who favour nothing more than a warm moist bed of brewing Palestinian hatred. 

What is absolutely clear to me is that this is absolutely unclear. It is reminiscent of my short stint as a jeweller when I used to set to and unpick knotted fine gold chains with five pins. Even the name is hard to claim without hurting someone. Calling The Holy land 'Palestine' offends Jews, and to call it 'Israel' offends Palestinians. Add to this the fact that not all Palestinians are Muslims (some are Christians and some are indeed Jewish by faith), and that not all Jews are Jews (in the 'observant' sense). Add to that scriptural motivation (expediently or through conviction), political dabbling, their finances and military might - and frankly, if this were a soup of many ingredients it would defy classification, beyond 'unholy mess'. 

Politicians have worked over this issue (and its issues) for decades. It is so much part of the narrative of the world in which I live that until recently, it was like so much white noise. Middle-East, blah blah blah. Guilty as charged. But I was wrong. Why? Because I am a Christian and although not as a resident, I believe that my faith story gives me a stake there. We are talking of nothing less than my Holy Land, my sacred place, the seat of my faith.  I feel increasingly strongly that Christians should have a voice in this almost Titan struggle - yet in a year of blogging not a single post have I seen on the subject. There are people dying over our most revered and treasured shrines. The fights are taking place over the very stones that our Lord walked across, but we seem oddly quiet as a world faith community. I venture to say that Manchester United fans would have more to say if Old Trafford were the scene of such conflict!

I will try to work out my thoughts and feelings on this very difficult situation. I have no doubt that representatives from each 'side' will make their representations (and almost with exception, angrily - born of such hurt). As I write, I have reached no conclusion, apportioned no blame - but am ever of the view that I must have a care. This isn't just a fight between two groups external to me, or us. If this were a a playground, I wonder if the Church wouldn't be the kid standing by watching the other two kids murder one another. 

On Being 'Loved to Death'

During my recent sojourn in Jersualem (had I mentioned that I had been to Jerusalem? No! Sorry - thought I had) we sat and listened to a very senior Rabbi, British born, who has the ear of the Pope and Tony Blair (to some of you, both these names would indicate a poor man who needs help, but I encourage you not to be churlish). In short, he is a Rabbi who knows his stuff and is a very influential player in the Jewish-Christian dialogue.

His words, not mine: "We [the Chief Rabbinate of Jersualem] don't really want to deal with Evangelicals; they just want to love us to death. It is hard to sit in a room with people who are only interested in converting us". 

In many quarters this is how all Christians are regarded, as a scythe-blade of supercessionists who are only happy when converting the world. I wanted to deny this assessment but then I thought back to just two experiences of my own:

1. When I was 19, and well beyond the point in my life when I felt a sense of calling, had put in 16 good committed years to church life, and had started to read Theology, I ambled into a church with a friend. It was a charismatic church, a superbeast of a place, but despite appearances I am a very open-minded chap, and my friend wanted to try the place out! Within an hour I had been identified, separated, and moved to a small room with three or four others - where I was invited to accept Jesus as Lord - they refused to accept my confession that I really was already spliced with Mother Church. Perhaps it is because I didn't put my hand up during the singing [I didn't need the toilet] that caused me to be identified. Needless to say I left - upset, vowing never to return to the place.

2. I was chatting to a homeless geezer who I used to help out with some electricity and provisions when he was selling Big Issue outside my emporium. He had told me of another Godshop that had invited him and a load of his mates in for a lovely hot dinner one hard winter. He gladly accepted, but while they ate, they were invited to accept Jesus as Lord, or [and I speak the truth] they would all end up in Hell. He had stood up himself to tell the swanky-suited sir that being homeless is as close to Hell as it gets, so it didn't matter if he accepted the invitation or not, really - but thanks for the chow!

It seems that most [yes, these days it seems to be 'most'] Christians are hell-bent on converting the world. Sixteen gazillion lovely people have been exposed to the Alpha Course (though I note that church numbers are still slipping, so where did they go? - a post for later), and mission after mission pop off like firecrackers 

- but what are we converting these people to?

Our church is becoming polarised. If you aren't an Evanglical, you are more than likely going to be an Anglo-Catholic (until half their clergy bugger off - thanks boys, nice one ... not) - but very few are in the middle. The middle used to be a large swathe of church life where it seemed to me the real growing was taking part. It was the middle where the heat of charismatic worship and the correctness of catholic liturgy were set aside and nurturing took place. The middle is where families took their kids, where they did the prayers once in a while. The middle is where the sense seems to be spoken - the liberal view.

So what are we feverishly converting people to?

Christians have, I think become embarrassed about church life. We are so keen to specialise it that we have stopped some of the things that people know and love. Jumble Sales and Tombolas, Harvest Festivals and Cake Stalls have given way to Introduction Offers for the Newly Recruited - a course, some Tongues for some, a homegroup where you can properly intitiated and loved to death. 

Then what .... ?

What then .... ?

Anwers on a postcard.

Mojo

I have good news and I have bad news - or bad news and bad news depending on your point of view:

The Curate is back, but I can't find my Mojo!

I have just returned from a fortnight in Jerusalem studying at the International School for Holocaust Studies, and since my return have shivered and frankly, lied a lot. I left Tel Aviv on a day when its temperature peaked at 41 degrees, and now languish in my corner of middle-England that is petrified under the oppressive temperatures scaling the dizzy heights of -1! 

Yeah, baby, yeah! I said I had lied a lot and I know you have scanned down to this point to find out how. Well, my lovely friends and family, upon my return, have asked: 'Did you have a good time?'. I say 'yes, thanks, it was a wonderful experience - a real opportunity'. I lied. The real answer is 'the experience was life-changing and valuable, but my heart was ripped out and sacrificed on the altar of ideological genocides; I have seen things that will give me nightmares for the years (and already have); but otherwise great, thanks'!

I am not complaining, for as a man I am unaccustomed to such a thing as that - but I returned to this blog from the other one I have been doing wondering how on earth I could be The Vernacular Curate again. Suddenly [for me, even if not for you] this stuff seems grotesquely trite and facile (and quite unlike the levitous Lesley's Journo-Blog) - hey ho!

With all this in mind, a dear friend (a reader - and good morning to you, for you will know who you are, Brother) stopped me yesterday and thanked me for this eyewash - a kindness for which I am deeply grateful. 

So, kids - I am back, but I seem to be devoid of me Mojo, Man. I deign to write this in the shadow of so much death and evil as this for me is living, and living is what I have to do. Life is the gift I am granted and if someone somewhere smiles or is glad to have visited this site, I have done some good in a world where we need every little bit of it we can.