Why Sweden ?

Why not ?

Today, June 6, is Sweden’s National Day.   A day of quiet, typically understated celebration for most Swedes. Yet, a good time to reflect upon the enormous contribution, that relative to their small population (9 million), the people of Sweden have made to the world. They, along with their other Nordic neighbors, have proved that it is possible to create a prosperous society in which all of its citizens enjoy access to quality housing, health care, education, and transportation. The involvement of Swedes in humanitarian efforts internationally is estimable. They are by no means perfect, but they have shown the world that, with collective willingness, cooperation, and a sense of fairmindedness, significant improvements can be made in the quality of life for the people of this planet.  God bless ‘em.

From this side of the Atlantic, it is a good time for me personally to reflect upon my forthcoming move to the island of Gotland, where I will  serve as pastor of Kristi-Lekamens /Corpus Christi parish in the city of Visby. In July, I will return to the island to complete preparations for the work which will begin officially on October 1.  

Why Sweden? friends and friars ask.  Are you of Swedish descent?  No.  But I did the DNA test and discovered that 3% of me is, in fact, Swedish.  

Why would you go there as a missionary?  Isn’t Sweden already a Christian country?  True, the majority of Swedes—more than two-thirds of the population—are at least nominal members of the  (Evangelical Lutheran) Church of Sweden.  But weekly church attendance, at about 2%, is low even by European standards. Sweden is one of the most highly secularized societies in the world, and becoming even more so.

Are there many Catholics in Sweden?  

Yes, around 200,000 in a population of 9 million.  The Catholic population has doubled in the past three decades, due to both to the immigration of people from traditionally Catholic majority countries, as well as the conversion of native-born Swedes from other faiths, or even no faith at all. There is an emerging profile of the Catholic community in Sweden which is distinct.  The Catholic Church in Sweden is young. It is a “new” church. It doesn’t have a lot of the baggage that a faith community more deeply embedded in the culture would have. 

What is the attraction of Sweden for you?  On a deeply personal level, Sweden is the place where I reclaimed my Catholic identity.  I first visited Sweden on a study/research grant  in 1980, long before I joined religious life.  Absent the traditional props of identity-- family, culture, food, climate, profession—I discovered that what kept me going was my faith in God— hidden within, but quite real.  When, with the help of a trusted Jesuit spiritual director, I began to peel away the layers of many of my objections to Church and to faith in general, I discovered the core of my Catholic identity in a new way.  I also became aware of my call to community and ministry.  Sweden was not just the background for my conversion. It was the ground of my conversion in so many ways.

Why not just say “thank you” and let it go at that?  I believe that returning to Sweden offers an important way for me to express my gratitude for the tremendous friendship, warmth, encouragement, and hospitality I have received in my own journey of faith. On a personal level, I believe that I have been given the gifts of language and a degree of cultural “fluency” which I want to put to good use in very practical ways through ministry.  And let me be very clear, I believe that the Franciscan identity, culture, and spirituality have a lot to offer people.

I have come to have a deep respect for the Swedish people:  they are by and large intelligent, hardworking, and modest people.  They have committed themselves to the creation of a society which offers people a safe and healthy environment in which to realize their gifts and aspirations. They have a deep and abiding respect for creation which shows in their concern for the environment. 

So, Sweden is a paradise, then?  Not by any means. In some ways, it is every bit as turbulent as any other Western society at this moment in time.  But its core values, I believe, are making it possible for Swedes to navigate fairly well through the demands of  rapidly changing technology and forms of communication.  If anything is lacking, it is a direct and conscious sense and acceptance of the Christian faith--not just as history-- but essentially as mystery. The mystery of the ineffable presence and power of God, of Jesus, and in the Spirit.  This is the awareness and insight, joined to an ethical base,  that a secular, increasingly relativist environment cannot provide by itself.

What do you hope to gain from your experience in Sweden?  Selfishly speaking, I hope it will provide me with a rich opportunity for ongoing conversion.  Not for spiritual self-improvement. It’s not about achievement, but rather about an increasing surrender and abandonment to God’s will. My goal and aspiration is to be “present” to people as best I can.  To accompany them.  To celebrate the sacraments with them.  And to help them to see that God is alive and present in their lives.  I don’t have any big projects.  Just a firm desire to offer myself as I am, to love the people, and to accept their friendship and care in return.

What do you see as the possibilities for the local Catholic church?  They are endless.  The people are engaged, capable, and committed, with tremendous potential. With an increasing sense of shared identity—and pride in their Catholic roots—they could do almost anything.  The parish is small, but it is wonderfully diverse. What the people long for most now is continuity in leadership; they have been without a resident pastor for several years.  Many have expressed a craving for regular liturgical celebrations and sacramental life. The needs of faith formation at every level are enormous. There is also a marvelous initiative, still in its initial stages, called the Agnus Dei Project, which aims to create a center of spirituality and worship on Gotland—internationally focused, but rooted in the Baltic region.  Adoration, liturgies, lectures, retreats, pilgrimages are all possibilities to be explored.

Anything particularly special about Gotland?  The island is rich in culture.  Visby, its capital, was an important trading city in the Hanseatic League during the medieval era. The wealth generated from this activity enabled the construction of some 92 magnificent parish churches, all constructed between 1100-1500 AD! Count them:  92!  All of these churches have been restored, and many are still active worship sites. Along with the (Lutheran) Cathedral of St. Mary’s in Visby, they form a unique and irreplaceable spiritual, aesthetic, and cultural patrimony—one which fairly shouts of Gotland’s deep Catholic roots. It is also an impressive testimony to the immense pride and love the people have always had for their church buildings.

Anything else?  Together with some absolutely wonderful people from our parish, from the Red Cross, and from  the Salvation Army, I have become involved in a project called Vinternatt/ Winter Night, which assists the Roma people living on Gotland.  People who, as European citizens, have the right to live and work in the European Union, but who, for reasons of lack of education, opportunity, cultural disparity, and sometimes even discrimination do not have access to appropriate opportunities for employment and social services.  The group is not large—30 people at the most—but their needs are great and their generally unwelcome presence as beggars on the streets draws attention daily to the complications of their situation.

I think that’s enough for right now, don’t you.  Yep.

Memorial of Saint Boniface, Bishop and Martyr

Patron Saint of Germany

Acts 20: 28-38

John 17: 11B-19

 The blood of martyrs is the seed of the Church.– Tertullian, 3c. 

Today, we celebrate St. Boniface, the  8^thcentury Englishman who travelled to Germany and the Netherlands to convert  pagan peoples and to restore a corrupted Church.  He went about to teach and preach. He famously chopped down a tree, a pagan shrine, in public, at the Winter Solstice!  He helped to heal the Church by reforming the clergy and establishing houses of prayer in the form of Benedictine monasteries.  For this and more, he was martyred. (Incidentally, he is buried at Fulda, not far from Frauenberg monastery, the site of our Franciscan “grandmother” province, which sent so many friars to the United States in the 19^thand 20^thcenturies).

The blood of martyrs is the seed of the Church.

When I was a child, I really wanted to be a martyr.  Why not? It made for great drama.  You were menaced by evil people, but stood fast for the faith.  They killed you.  In a flash, you went to heaven, became famous ever afterwards.  Then, you got your own holy card and feast day.  Everyone in the Church would think about you at least once a year.  What could be better than that?

Then one day it occurred to me that martyrdom was a bit more complicated than I had imagined.

That martyrdom had to do with actual murder. And mayhem.  And chaos.  And the apparent power of Evil. Martyrs were hounded, persecuted, tortured.  Martyrs were often misunderstood by their own people:  rejected, abandoned, scorned. Martyrs frequently died alone, unheralded, forgotten. 

Martyrs, I learned, didn’t just include the holy card and feast day saints.  But literally countless numbers of women, men, children whose lives were needlessly, mindlessly extinguished.  Martyrs did not just include, in our own time, people like Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Maximilian Kolbe, or Oscar Romero.  But more like the 6 million Jews and others who perished in the Holocaust.  Martyrdom includes Tiananmen Square,  Ground Zero on 9/11. Cambodia under Pol Pot; Syria under Assad.  Martyrdom meets us at the borders of our country.  In our prisons, in our streets and schools.  In a myriad of what have become shockingly routine mindless acts of death-charged violence.

I no longer want to be a martyr.

It’s a career that stopped before it even got started.

Literally a dead end.

But.

In today's reading, St. Paul (Acts 20: 28-38) reveals that he knew in advance of his impending martyrdom.  He had already had a taste of persecution, imprisonment, and the rest throughout his ministry. Here, he indicates that he knows that he is going to Jerusalem to be arrested, deported to Rome, and killed.  Yet. Paul also appears to be at peace with it all. How is that possible?

Paul's matryrdom, of course, is a mere shadow of that of the Lord's.  In today’s gospel from John (17: 11b-19-- in his beautiful prayer to the Father-- Jesus is clearly aware of His own approaching martyrdom.Yet he speaks in terms of his being raised up in glory to the Father. He sees his death not as a terminus, but as a passageway to light and life.  He never loses confidence in the Father's presence and love.

Our faith tells us that we are all called to be martyrs in one way or another. Literally speaking, to be "witnesses" to the Gospel. To be “white martyrs”, most of us, not suffering actual physical death, but nevertheless giving testimony to our faith in God in every manner of circumstance. Called to accept and embrace suffering and "death" on a daily basis. Internally, through the dying and death of our false selves, our overriding egos. Externally in our experiences of loss, including the loss of loved ones and the deprivation of status, honor, glory, health, and material security.

Jesus teaches and shows us that what gives our martyrdom meaning and purpsoe is its grounding in committed love.  That lives poured out in love, like the life and love of Jesus, are anything but wasted. We trust that this brings us deeper into the mystery of God’s love for us and in us.  And that through this martyrdom, we participate in the healing of our blessed, broken and bleeding world.

Tertullian was right. The blood of martyrs is the seed of the Church.

 PS:  Today, we give God thanks in a particular for the people and parish of St. Boniface in San Francisco, California, staffed by the Franciscan friars.   Originally founded to serve German Catholic immigrants, it has continued in that caring tradition for more than a century.  Most especially, in the works of the St. Anthony Foundation next door to the church. Since 1950, the Foundation has been caring for the homeless, helpless, and hopeless of the city.  Today, its dining room serves up to 3,000 meals per day! The church building itself provides daytime respite space for homeless people through its Gubbio Project.

Finally, in terms of Sweden-- in regard to our beautiful faith community of Kristi-Lekamen (Corpus Christi) parish in the city of Visby (island of Gotland), where I will start to serve officially as pastor starting October 1.  

We give the Lord thanks for the tremendous support, both material and spiritual of the women and men of Bonifatiuswerk in Germany.  These wonderful people have enabled our parish to  complete long-needed repairs and restoration work to the parish buildings and grounds. As their website states "The Bonifatiuswerk of German Catholics helps wherever Catholic Christians live their faith in a minority situation in the diaspora."  For more information: https://www.bonifatiuswerk.de/english/

Photos: Saint Boniface. Engraving | H. Kipp after K. Clasen (Franciscan Media).  St. Boniface Church, SF/CA; Gubbio Project:  c. Peter Jordan.  K-L Church, Visby:  C. Talley ofm. Frauenberg monastery, Fulda. c. Leopold Röhrer. 

  

The Ascension of the Lord

June 2, 2019

Acts 1: 1-11

Ps 47:2-3, 6-7, 8-9

Eph 1: 17-23

Luke 24: 46-53

Today’s celebration of the Feast of the Ascension of the Lord calls us to imitate Jesus in His complete and utter trust in the Father.  What comes to my mind immediately is the expression:  “Let go and let God.”  Ever see that on a bumper sticker or hear about it through a 12-step recovery program, maybe?  It’s message is pretty clear and direct:  we need to let go of our tendency to want to control everything.  And to let God take charge of our lives.  Again.  Needless to say, it calls for a great deal of trust.

Today’s feast celebrates a moment in the life and ministry of Jesus.  But what a moment!  It is, at heart, a liminal experience.  “Liminal” is  from the Latin limin, which literally means “threshold.”  It is a threshold event.  Just like the graduations, First Communions, and weddings we celebrate at this time of the year.   We stand in the doorway, fully mindful of what we are leaving behind and poised, sometimes fearfully so, at the entrance of something new, something challenging, something not completely in our control.  A moment of thrust and of trust.

Did you ever learn how to ride a bicycle?  Do you still remember?  As far as I can tell, there are at least three ways to learn how to ride a bike. One, you can teach yourself: ride, fall, ride, fall.  Then:  ride, ride, fall; ride, ride, fall. Until you get it right.

The second way to learn how to ride a bike is to have someone teach you.  Preferably someone who, standing beside you, is holding onto the handlebars with one hand while holding onto you with the other.  Then, little by little, they let go until voilà!—you are launched and your own!

The third way I can think of is to have training wheels on your bike.  Something unobtrusive, nearly invisible to you the rider, which keeps you steady until that moment when you have the confidence and balance to kick them off and then just take off by yourself!

Liminal states, threshold moments. Leaving the known for the unknown.  Were you scared?  Thrilled? Curious?  No matter what, there’s no turning back.  It’s only forward….

That’s what’s happening in today’s Gospels. Note, I use the plural:  Gospels. The first reading (Acts 1:1-11) is gospel, too.  Volume II of the Gospel of Luke, as a matter of fact. A gospel which deals with the presence and ministry of Jesus afterHis Death and Resurrection.  And the second gospel read today (Luke 24:46-63) is the conclusionof the gospel of Luke.  The two readings dovetail, forming a “hinge” as some theologians call it, segueing from one kind of experience of the Lord to another.

In both readings, Jesus is at the threshold.  Poised to leave behind his physical presence in the world in order to return to the Father. Notice, He doesn’t leave the disciples orphaned, abandoned, or disinherited. He gives them his blessing and his promise.  And in the gospel of Luke, they are anything but distraught.  On the contrary, believing in Jesus and in His promise of the Spirit, they are pleased as punch: “They did him homage and then returned to Jerusalem with great joy, and they were continually in the temple praising God.”

What’s going on?  The disciples, finally, are ready to receive the Spirit. Jesus has taken off the traiing wheels. He himself passes through the threshold in order to fulfill his mission and destiny.  He is no longer confined to the limitations of his physical body: seeing, touching, healing small groups of people or even just one person at a time.  He is poised to send the Spirit and now, together with the Father and in the Spirit, Jesus becomes available to everyone everywhere. Including and especially us.  Right here, right now.  In his Living Word, the Scriptures.  In the assembly of the faithful.  And most poignantly for us in the Catholic Christian tradition, in the outpouring of His Presence and Love in the Eucharist we share and are called to become.

So, here we are at the threshold. Called by Jesus to “let go and let God” again—or perhaps for the very first time.  To leave behind our worries, frustrations, doubts and fears.  To cross the threshold into His Presence and Love no matter how often or how badly we have been stung, hurt, rejected, or ignored up until now.  Trusting in his care and guidance. 

Go ahead.  Look ahead.  Not behind. Cross the threshold and Let go and let God!

Photos:  (Top) paramenics.com  (Bottom)  beachbikes.com

Starting fresh-- again!

June 1, 2019

Feast of the Ascension

Danville, California

Hello Friends,

Peace and all good! It’s been a while—quite a while!—since I have written anything in this blog.  But I decided that today is as good a day as any to start again.  Besides, the Feast of the Ascension—this precious, liminal moment when Jesus lets go of the earth so as to embrace both heaven and earth more fully—seems like a propitious one.  

Today is also important to me in a personal way.  On June 1, 1980 I travelled from California to Sweden for the very first time.  This was before—long before—I became a friar or was ordained a priest.  I was 30. I had received a generous scholarship from the Swedish Institute to study and travel in the country for four months. Most especially, I was to study it’s textile traditions, visit with artists and craftmakers, and even take a short course in tapestry weaving.

It was four months that changed my life and which continue to affect and influence the course of my life, even today.  What a difference one simple, yet important decision can make, huh?  Go figure.  I never, ever thought in a thousand years that I would that I would fall in love with Sweden.  That I would end up living in Sweden (three years altogether from 1980-86).  That I would return to Sweden several times over the years to renew friendships and contacts.

Or that now, nearing my 70^thyear, that I would return once more to Sweden—only this time to live and work as a Franciscan friar and priest. Again: go figure.

Starting October 1, I will be serving as pastor at a small, but vibrant parish (see photo above)  in the city of Visby on the island of Gotland, smack dab in the middle of the Baltic Sea.  Three hours by boat from the Swedish mainland to the east.  About 90 sea miles from the coast of Latvia to the west.  Finland and Russia are to the north; Poland, to the south.  In the middle of everything and (to many people unfamiliar with the area) seemingly in the middle of nowhere at the same time.

The parish is called Kristi-Lekamens katolska församling/ Corpus Christi Catholic Parish.  Close to 200 registered adult members, with several hundred others who are not officially registered.  It is a small, but remarkably diverse community, with native-born Swedes (most of whom are converts to Catholicism) as well as individuals and families with roots in places as diverse as Burundi, Sri Lanka, Poland, and Spain.   The community is welcoming and wonderful.  At the same time, it is part and parcel of the Church universal, with all of the challenges and opportunities people of faith are facing everywhere these days.  That said, Välkommen!

I am not the first Franciscan to land on the island of Gotland.  And I sincerely hope I will not be the last.  The friars first arrived in the year 1233.  Considering that St. Francis of Assisi died in 1226, it is clear that they didn’t waste any time getting here! S:ta Katarina (officially St. Catherine of Alexandria Church, but lovingly referred to as “Sankta Karins” church), starting from the 13^thcentury but in ruins since the Reformation, still presides over the town square; the Franciscans’ convent next door has been restored.  I confess that every time I pass the church, I whisper:  “We’re back!!” And I pray that the spirit of Sts. Francis and Clare will continue to hover over and bless these wonderful people and this beautiful land.

For the present, I am engaged in all the necessary footwork of leave-taking, packing, and organizing. We all know how much fun that is.

Of course, it is difficult to leave friars, family, friends, and the work I have been doing in recent years.   I think anyone who has been through similar life changes can understand that readily.  But I believeGod continually challenges us to leave our comfort zones, to surrender,  and to trust.  Here goes!

Godbless,

Charles

Map of Sweden:  c. 2019 Newebcreations.   Photo of C. Talley:  c. Peter Jordan

Day 10: Winding Down & Packing Up

We spent our last day in Jerusalem by leaving Jerusalem!  Tight security around our hotel (the Pope was to meet with representatives of the Israeli government close by) and throughout the city made a getaway imperative.  So, we piled into the bus for a final excursion to Emmaus (Luke 24).  The Scriptures describe the village as being about eight miles from the Holy City, but our particular excursion took more than two hours, the traffic was so thick.

When we arrived at the French Benedictine monastery of Abu Gosh, we were greeted by Frere Dominique, one of the monks, who told us that, unfortunately, we lost our opportunity to have a group Mass because of our late arrival.  But he did mention that the monks were having their daily Mass, scheduled for 11:30 am, to which we were most welcome.

The experience turned out to be perfect. Talk about serendipity!  Frs. Larry, Cesar and I concelebrated  with the abbot and were seated in the choir stalls alongside the nine monks of the community.  Several Benedictine sisters from the adjacent convent were present as well for the Mass chanted in both French and Latin.  The language might have been a bit of a barrier, but the music was transcendent, as was the calm and graceful liturgy.  We were welcome to and into a beautiful experience of prayer.

It was enough, more than enough for our final day in the Holy Land.  The evening before, we celebrated a gala dinner on the patio of a family-owned French restaurant not far from our hotel.  There, we could relax, unwind, and begin to say our 'farewells' over a glass of Chilean merlot and before our entrees.  A perfect way to celebrate the conclusion to our journey.

After a relaxing afternoon of packing, napping, or relaxing by the pool, we all set our alarms for a very early wake-up call at 1:30 am Tuesday, May 27.  Amazingly, we were all ready to board our bus for the final time, arriving at Ben Gurion Airport before 3am.  The rest was just the "stuff" of international travel:  passport, customs, and security controls. Boarding and settling in for our journey (Tel Avi to Istanbul--2 hours; Istanbul to Los Angeles-- 13 hours; Los Angeles to Santa Barbara-- 2 hours).  At 8:10 pm local time, we arrived back at the Old Mission, our mission accomplished.  For now.

Day 9: "But did you get to see the Pope?"

The most simple answer to that question is "No."  No, we did not get to see Pope Francis while we were in the Holy Land.  We didn't even get close, actually.  The security was that tight.  What we did see were signs of the Pope's anticipated arrival and presence.  And those signs were absolutely everywhere:  banners and streamers in the narrow, cobbled streets of the Old City.  Twinned Israeli and Vatican flags along major thoroughfares.  Catholic churches, schools, and shrines festooned with the characteristic yellow-and- white of the papacy.  There were also numerous posters (above) announcing the appearances of the Holy Father with the leaders of Israel and Palestine, as well as his scheduled meetings with Orthodox Patriarch Bartholomew.

It's not that we didn't want to see the Holy Father.  We would have loved to have done so.  And it's not that we didn't try, either.  The free tickets which were available were generally restricted to members of parishes and to groups of religious women and men living in the Holy Land.  It makes sense.  Pope Francis was coming to the Holy Land to visit the peoples of the Holy Land.

One of our group members, however, did manage to get a single ticket from one of the Franciscan friars of the Custody of the Holy Land who was unable to attend the Mass in Bethlehem's Manger Square.  She braved every obstacle, arriving in Bethlehem the night before in order to be at the morning service on time.  When she got to her seat, she realized that she had a ticket for the clergy section!  Undaunted, she thoroughly appreciated the privilege and enthusiastically shared with us her impressions of the Pope's talk to the Palestinian Christian community.

So,  we spent our Sunday (not a holiday, but rather a work day in Israel) "pilgrimaging" around Jerusalem.  Our stops included the Pater Noster church, the White Fathers'  shrine at Bethsaida (whose beautiful Crusader chapel has wonderful acoustics), St. Anne's, the Via Dolorosa (our attempt to pray the Stations of the Cross was frustrated by the presence of security barriers in the proximity of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre), Dominus Flevit, the Garden of Gethsemane (closed at noon), Mount Zion, and St. Peter in Gallincantu. Frankly, a lot of it was a blur.  There was just too much to see at one time.

What does stick out in my mind as memorable, however, was our experience of Franciscan hospitality at the small shrine of Dominus Flevit ("Jesus wept").  Friars Leo Gonzalez (of our own Province of St. Barbara in California) and Fr. Sebastiano Eclimes had us all sit down for refreshments on the terrace of the "convento." They chatted amiably with us, sang for us, and offered us their blessings.  We were home!

We celebrated Mass in a conference room in the basement of our hotel.   It seemed totally appropriate for us as pilgrims.  All of the other places in the city were off-limits because of the papal visit (!).  No matter; we gathered around the Lord's  table in prayer and in His Presence just the same.

Day 8 Masada & Jericho

After the intensity of our experience at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, it was just as well that we should take a quiet day away from the city and its distractions.  So, after breakfast, we headed to the deserts of Judea.  First stop:  Masada.

Revered in a very special way by the Israelis, Masada served as a safe haven in troubled times by the notorious Herod the Great, who, under Roman direction, ruled the province of Palestine with an iron hand.  Discovering this hilltop promontory, Herod immediately understood its strategic importance and constructed not one, but two palaces on the site in the first century AD.  Following the defeat of the Jewish rebellion against Rome and subsequent destruction of Jerusalem under the Roman leadership of Titus (70AD), remnant groups of resisters headed for Masada for what was to prove their last stand before the imperial forces.  According to tradition, after a two-month siege, the Romans penetrated the site, only to discover that its inhabitants had chosen to commit suicide rather than surrender.

After Masada, we stopped at a section of the Jordan River in order to renew our baptismal vows.  Next to us, a group of Eastern Orthodox pilgrims were doing likewise.  Many of them were dressed in special white garments for that purpose.  According to custom, these garments will be kept and used later as burial shrouds for their owners.

Next, we headed for the Palestinian city of Jericho, known to be the oldest continuous settlement of human beings in the world, having been settled more than 6000 years ago.  The town is a true oasis, its splashing fountains and springs fed by arterial streams.  We lunched and shopped at a highly commercialized spot.  I was fascinated to watch the steady stream of hung, thirsty pilgrims arriving from every corner of the world:  Kenya, Indonesia, Korea, Italy, and so on.  We even ran into some fellow Franciscan friars-- Italian-born members of the Custody of the Holy Land.

Before returning to Jerusalem, we stopped over at the Franciscan Sisters' School of Jericho, a co-ed institution staffed by three native-born Palestinian sisters.  The student population is just shy of 600; Christian students number 16 of that total.  As one of the sisters reminded me:  "We are here as missionaries.  Not to try to convert people, but to show the loving presence of Jesus for all people.  And to help the children-- all of the children-- to have the kind of education which will allow them to participate fully in society."  Fr. Cesar, a member of our group, presided at Eucharist in the simple chapel of the sisters.  In this simple and humble place, it was not difficult to understand the importance of a Christian presence in this part of the world.

Returning toward Jerusalem, we made a pit stop at the Dead Sea.  Most of us braved the salty elements to get into our swimsuits for a dip.  The waters were thick, warm, and chalky.  It was impossible to do anything other than float-- and so we floated!  Some of us, by which I mean Father Larry, went a step further to cover themselves with mud-- great protection against the relentless sun.  And great fun to boot. . . . Arrived in Jerusalem at last.  Bone-tired, we welcomed the refuge of our rooms.