I was at the wailing wall in the old city of Jerusalem. Many of the women had brought their children while they came to pray, weep and socialize. I captured this photo of an orthodox jewish child who had the traditional long hair on the sides of his head. There he sat, while his mother was a prayer, eating potato chips from a bag and watching the world as he knew it, at prayer. It reminded me of some images I have seen in my own church with children eating snacks during the sermon to keep them interested and quiet. It was all quite normal and probably a little boring to him as he sat amongst the adults who wept for the destruction of the temple and the restoration of Israel. Young and old women came to pray. Some read from prayer books others just leaned on the wall and stuffed pieces of paper with their prayers in them through the cracks of the wall. This wall is all that is left of the second temple that was destroyed in 70 a.d. and it is below the site of the muslim dome of the rock that denotes the place where Muhammed took his mystic journey to heaven.

More than the places (which were powerful in and of themselves) I was taken with the people. In some way no different that me and in other ways formed very different from the ways in which I have been formed. In the Arab quarter of Jerusalem we saw children everywhere, on the street, running through the markets and playing with very simple toys. Near the schools we would see groups of children accompanied by an armed guard and acting as if the armed guard wasn't even there.

Arabs, Muslims and Christians all trying to live on the same small piece of land. More than anything I wanted to sit down and have a cup of coffee with some of the people I saw and ask them about their world, their dreams and their hopes. As I entered the holy sites of the Jesus world it seemed a little unreal. A large metal star in the floor underneath an altar marked the spot where Jesus was born. Really? I said to myself, Really? Well probably (most likely) not really but it reminded us of the tremendous need we have to see things for ourselves. Throughout these holy sites most of us touched the site and said prayers. Many of us wanted some sort of miracle in our life, I suppose. A healing of a terminally ill family member, friend or ourselves; resolutions to personal crises; world peace; safety; children; etc. I kept wondering if it were superstition or faith-or maybe a little of both. I listened to the sounds of the land. The thunderstorm that blew through one night, the calls to prayer for the Muslim, the bargaining in the markets, the bells of the camels in the dessert. Here, amidst the daily conflict of religion I felt an odd sort of peace. Knowing that car bombs and rockets have been exploding in this region I didn't feel as though I was in danger. In fact I felt safer on the streets of Jerusalem than I feel on the streets of Memphis. Maybe a false sense of security, but, then I didn't feel as though I had any 'dog in that fight.' I was just there to see the sights and Muslim, Jew and Christian made their living showing me as much of the sights as possible.

Well, back to Memphis and the pilgrimage continues. The computer mother board fried while I was away so all my e-mail addresses have disappeared, calendar information and other information not saved on the hard disk. So, I write this blog more for me than for others. It seems that so much of my life is disappearing and who knows what will take its place? This pilgrimage to Israel was a transformative experience (as every pilgrimage is) and it seems that it will take some time to unpack it and learn the meaning of it all.