Dec 10 07 - Moments of Meditation

It is 2:00 in the morning here in Tiberias, and the city does not sleep. I awoke from my sleep and brought a pillow out here to the little balcony to sit and watch the people mill about in the concourse a half a block over from our hotel; and as I ponder their lives, I also ponder my own.

It is no wonder God loves these people, these Jewish people in their very particular and peculiar dress - the men in black, and often in long robes and a variety of head coverings, white beards on the old ones and curls around the ears of many of the young ones - women in long skirts, wigs, scarves, or caps to cover their heads, and their children close by. They know how to enjoy life and family, I think. They are serious about the observance of their religion and the way they believe God wants them to appear to the world, and they are equally serious about their light-hearted joy in being together, enjoying the night.

Is life best in the night? Wherever we have been on this trip, orthodox Jews, in their prescribed garb, come out and congregate at night, chattering away until the wee hours. The children play with abandon, men gather and talk together and women often gather separately, and there are the couples who are contemplating marriage who have come to the point where they meet alone in a public place to get to know one another better. They seem joyful in their living.

And while pondering the lives of these orthodox and not-so orthodox Jews along with their co-habitants of this land, their Muslim brothers and sisters, I ponder my own life and find that I am overwhelmed with thanksgiving that I have been so blessed. Being here, by the Sea of Galilee, is only a reminder of how blessed I have been. My life has been rich beyond my dreams, beyond any reason or entitlement.

Here in this place, at this moment, I am filled with love for those near and dear to me. In my mind, I see the richness of my childhood - parents and grandparents who loved and cared for me, a sister and brother who are still mine after all these years. I am thankful for much. I have lived in holy places.

I reflect on those who I have lost - parents and grandparents, our son, and those rare persons who became my very special friends for life. I have been blessed. At the loss of those beloved people, I was whisked away to holy places while my pain healed; and now I wear the memory of my loved ones like the most precious of jewels.

I reflect on those who are with me in this time of my life whom I love much - a good husband, a wonderful daughter who does much honor to her parents, grandchildren, and good friends. There's no rhyme or reason to who you will love or who will love you; and I realize this love is a holy gift, given to me to hold in my hands. For my family, for my friends, and for a very special friend-for-life, I am thankful. I am blessed. They, too, these living ones, are my jewels.

At this moment, I am content. I am at peace. I can ask for nothing because I have everything. I have lived in holy places and I have been touched with holy gifts. At this moment, I have no cares. I carry no ill will against others. All is forgiveness in this holy place. I have no anger, no disappointments. I am healed once more.

I want to always be here. I want to live in this holy place forever. It is pure here. I don't even feel the hard cement beneath my thin pillow. I see stars in the sky. I see happiness on the street. I hear the calming rhythm of the Sea as the waves come in and out. I am full of love and I can feel the holiness all around me.

But it is not for me to stay here now. We ordinary people cannot sustain holiness for long. It sears us and numbs us after a while.

Because I have been in holy places, I will remember and long for these moments when I'm once again in the valley of my life.

In the valley, where I will be even moments from now as morning comes soon, I pray that I will remember, that the light will shine brightly for a little longer, that I will be quick to forgive and slow to offend, that I will see the hurt and sorrow in others and respond with love and comfort, that I will be generous of spirit, patient, kind, and giving. I've thought about my dad a lot during our stay here. He was all these things in his declining years. I would emulate his example, if I could. He walked closely with God.

So here, by the Sea of Galilee, I pray:

Thank you Lord, for the times I have lived in holy places, when you held me close and whispered strength and purity into my ears, when your spirit held me aloft and protected me from pain that was unbearable, when your light was all around me and I could see above the darkness. Thank you for those you have given for me to love and be loved by. Thank you for wisdom when the task was too much for me. Thank you for insight along the path, for the light at my feet, for those I have been able to lead along the right path, and for those who have lead me. Thank you for this blessing this night, for these moments of meditation, for these people joyously congregating on the streets below me, that we have shared this moment in time together. Thank you for these small glimpses of your holy place.