The Wilderness

Our teachers called today “Freedom and Devotion – The Judean Wilderness”.

Wild – er – ness
Wilderness – a noun meaning “an unsettled and uncultivated tract of land left in its natural state”. Related words are wasteland, barren, desert, backcountry…and when you get to the desert, you know you are there – you feel the heat raising off the sand penetrating your pores. I understand something new about this place, the topography; what a life in ancient times might have felt like on the skin, in the nose and eyes – the heat, the dryness, the pressing in on one’s innate ability for survival. Thirst. That’s what I thought about – a constant thirst.

The journey began just at the edge of The Judean Wilderness at Qasr Al Yahud, in English – John the Baptist’s Jordan River baptismal site. A long and winding path out of the city of Jerusalem by bus, about 30 minutes. Turning off the main highway, we followed the signs, seeing on both sides the ruins of Byzantine (Easter Orthodox Church) churches, likely destroyed during the Persian invasion (614 AD Persian, a.k.a. Sassanian Empire, captures Jerusalem and destroys most churches in its path). The other important note here is both sides of the road in this area of The Jordan River are uninhabitable due to remaining land mines from more recent war times. This is a boarder crossing area, so at one time, this area was highly contentious. There are now strong peace agreements here between Jordan and Israel. The immensity of what I was feeling was not going to be outdone by this unsettling feature in the landscape…I was about to touch the waters of The Jordan. I could hardly believe it. Since I was a small child, I have imagined the The Jordan River…now I was going to experience it. I know many Christian pilgrims focus on finding the true location of Jesus’ crucifixion (so far, we have visited two sites claiming to be the location). Undoubtedly, these waters held the feet, minds, and hearts of John the Baptist and Jesus. That feels compelling to me.

Standing at the edge of the banks of the river, now a platform for the ease of any-ability pilgrim, I looked over to the country of Jordan. A huge Christian church erected just on the other side of the river with similar features jutting out from its doors, a boardwalk for its members and pilgrims to do the same as I was doing today from my side – the Israeli side of The Jordan.

From where we sat, Thomas and I listened to a small church group that had gathered next to the banks. The pastor had no identifying marks except a modest stole with his blue jeans and white, button-down shirt. The service was delivered in Spanish. Regardless, I could understand the rhythm of the liturgy so we stopped and listened taking in everything around us. Thomas sat beside me holding my hand in his, our wide-brimmed hats holding the sun off our faces, the heat washing over us, listening to the praise and worship and prayers of our brothers and sisters. A small child from the group looked anxiously toward the river as if barely holding himself from bounding toward the waters for his chance of refreshment.

Meeting our group on the other end of the platform, I removed my shoes, rolled my up linen pants, and stepped down into the gentle current. The waters were not clear, only brown, and the reeds and lush grasses came up high on both sides but not immediately where we were. Where we were, the sides of the bank were a hard, muddy wall. One of my Luther Seminary colleagues, Sawyer, began reading from a liturgy. I soon was captivated by his words of reaffirmation of Baptism as the waters were curling around us, holding us… everything felt ancient in those moments, our eyes smiling back and forth at one another, and I could feel my heart pulse out the words of the father whose son had just been healed, ”Lord, I believe, help my unbelief”…

“God we give thanks that You have made us by Your own, by the water through the Word of Baptism. You called us to Yourself, enlightened us with the gifts of Your Spirit, and nourished us in the community of faith, uphold us and all Your servants in the gifts and promises of Baptism, unite the hearts of all You have brought to new birth, we ask this in the name of Christ, Amen.”

Reluctantly, we gathered our things, put our shoes back on and headed for the bus that would be taking us to Masada, driving through the Dead Sea region, and then on to Qumran, where the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered.

Masada is a story I was completely unaware of – where a great battle took place between the Roman Tenth Legion and Jewish Zealots, referred to as ”The Great Revolt”. A very detailed account was written by Josephus Flavius (or Flavius Josephus), a Jewish Pharisee and commander of the Galilean front during the Great Revolt against Rome.

Captured after the siege of Gamla, Flavius switched sides an allied himself with the Flavian dynasty of Vespasian, Titus, and Domitian (hence his name as that was expected in ancient times to take the name of the house you swore allegiance to). While living in Rome, Josephus wrote in Greek the most comprehensive extant histories of ancient Israel and the causes for its downfall in ”The Antiquities and The Jewish War”. These writings remain a primary source of our knowledge for the first century. His polemic, ”Against Apion” provides an impassioned defense of Judaism against Hellenistic critics.

Timeframe for Masada’s unfortunate fate is 73 AD. I say unfortunate because, as Flavius’ account tells, all the Jewish Zealots lept to their death, off the mountaintop, rather then become enslaved by the Romans. There was a miniseries that aired on ABC in 1981, starring Peter O’Toole, Peter Strauss, Barbara Carrera, Anthony Quayle and others but I was too young to understand it. I am sure my mom and I watched it together with my sister and Grandma Ellen – we did a lot of that when I was a kid – these were times when you had to plan your movie watching based on what the TV Guide dictated…remember those days?

There is always more to tell about these places. I know these ancient histories will keep on giving me space and purpose for further reading, more reflection, and loads of writing and conversation for many years after I return.

My experience at the Dead Sea was intense. Experiencing the ancient world is far different from reading about it. As my body floated effortlessly at the surface of the salty waters, I looked out onto the blue-green waters and jutting out of the earth a mountain speckled with dark spots lay out beyond the edges of the other side of the Dead Sea. I knew what that was – it was Mount Nebo, the place where Moses was granted a view of the Promised Land before his death. And then to the East side of the Dead Sea, according to Flavius, John the Baptist was beheaded. I am not sure our bodies can comprehend 2000 years. Two hundred maybe, but 2000 is like an overload on the senses. So much here is complicated, not only by the obvious, but just by the sheer number in years that we are attempting to reconstruct from the rocks and waters and ancient scrolls. I found my head and my heart dislocated and overwhelmed…and at times like this, I find comfort in reaching back to the familiar… the words of Thomas Merton recently read to us by one of my colleagues, ”It is, therefore, a very great thing to be little.”

And so let me leave you with this from Kate Bowler,

”A Blessing for Being Human”

Blessed are we, living in this small space, in these bodies we now inhabit, within the walls of circumstance, in these short years and finite strength, and with these eyes that see only so far. We are fragile, contingent beings. Yet blessed are we, recognizing that it is our limits as well as our gifts that can shape the natural contours of what is possible, that guide us to what is ours to do. Blessed are we when it is not our greatness that speaks, but our littleness. For it is our vulnerability that is the truest thing about us, the place where mutual connection is possible, where competition ends and community begins. And oh how blessed are we in our fragility and dependence and brokenness, knowing that You, O God, hold all things together. There is no cure for being human…but for each other, we are all good medicine.

Citations/Resources

If I haven’t mentioned this in earlier posts, I apologize. It has been hard to keep up while traveling:

I am so grateful for the packet created for our travels by Rev. Dr. Brian Maguire. You can assume that any historical notation in my posts is out of this packet, aptly titled, ”Chronology of the Holy Land”, or has been gifted to us orally by our team of teachers: including Rev. Dr. Brian Maguire, Rabbi Brad Hirschfield, Rabbi Josh Stanton, Gary Kamen (we have had a few guides/teachers that have only been with us for a few hours so getting familiar with names proved a challenge. For these, I will clarify with our main team and be sure to notate in a future post).

Thomas Merton quote and Kate Bowler blessing were shared with us by Pr. Carla Spaccarotelli while en route to The Wilderness.