The Mount of Blessing

We’ve see places where the biblical story might have happened, but probably not this time.  For at least 1600 years, this is the hill where Jesus preached the sermon we love to call The Beatitudes.  This palm-studded bulge in the land is also called  the Mount of Blessing where Jesus invited people to share the blessings of the Kingdom by living the life of unexpected contrast.

Today it is a garden spot.  Green lawn.  Flowering bushes.  Regal palms.  Pathways marked by signs review the blessings one by one.  Of course there is a church here with pristine arches and a dome.  
Jesus invited the crowd to live the blessed life, but at the price of sacrifice and surrender.  It was an invitation and a calling.  It was a hearing and a seeing.

The day we walked the paths of the Mount of Blessing it was hot.  I couldn’t help but believe it was hot the day the crowd gathered to hear Jesus deliver these blessings for the first time.  And if they didn’t bring water or food, I am amazed that they listened in spite of discomfort, hunger,  and heat.

I cannot escape comparisons here.  Have we heard too much so that we listen more to our distraction that to message?  Are our standards so high, so specific that the message must be shaped and marketed to fit our needs.

But what if God has already shaped the message for us and we miss it?

The View from Mount of the Beatitudes

 
O God, take me to the Mount of Blessing every Sunday.  Clear my head of expectations preferences, and any other distraction that makes me blind and deaf as any Pharisee.  May I hear your Kingdom call, surrender to the uncomfortable contrasts, and live the life you call blessed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sea of Galilee

We took a boat ride on the Sea of Galilee. The Sea is a bowl of  fresh water set among the hills of the Jordan valley.  It is thirty-three miles around and is the largest lake in Israel.   686 feet below sea level, it is also the lowest body of freshwater on earth. The Jordan River is its source.  Underwater springs also keep it flowing.  

I shouldn't be surprised about the hotel-lined shore and sailboats on the water.  What else do people  do with a beautiful lake?  But still, this is sacred space for everyone whoever heard the life-changing words, "Follow me."  So I must push mind beyond matter to consider the meaning of this place.

 

Water shimmered like draping for a display.
Mottled land slid into the Sea.
This is where Jesus lived after cousin John was imprisoned;
Where he fed thousands on the hillside with loaves and fish--twice.
It’s where he gave a deaf man his hearing and a voice,
      where Jesus slept during a storm,
      where he walked on water,
      where he had fish on a fire waiting for unsuccessful fishermen,
      where Peter was restored,
This body of water set the scene for so much,
And sitting in a wooden boat
While a Karaoke-style ensemble
Belts out crowd-pleasing worship songs--
It is another disconnect
Where present reaches for the past
Unsuccessfully.
Still,
I sit on my white plastic chair in a boat in the middle of the Sea
And try not to see the hotels lining the shore.
Instead, I want to remember that
Here by the Sea of Galilee
Jesus called some ordinary men,
    Called them from monotony,
    Called them from what they expected to do
         for the rest of their lives.
He pulled their world apart;
Then, put it back together in a way they could not imagine.
They, who knew about nets and bait and pitch of boat
        and rhythm of waves
Would learn that the One who called them
Knew more about fishing than they did.
But Jesus called them to do their fishing on land--
    To cast a different net,
         To pull a different catch,
              And ride a different wave.

Nothing has changed.
The call of Jesus still turns our world upside down,
Still sends us fishing.
And what I want to know as I feel the gentle chop of Sea
                                                 Have I learned how to fish? 

The Synagogue at Nazareth

The Synagogue had several purposes.  It was the place where the village stored their scrolls in jars. It was a gathering place for celebrations, a community center of sorts.  During the week it provided a school for boys.  It was also a court house to settle village disputes.  Central to its purpose was its use to gather to read from the scrolls, the Torah.  We walked into the simple and starkly empty space.

I know it wasn’t right here in this very space.  I understand this is a reproduction.  But in a place like this, Jesus announced his mission for the first time. I can hear it . . .

Nazareth

Nazareth Village is a recreation of the life and times of Jesus. It was made for pilgrims like us.  We will walk through with a guide, a young girl with a practiced script and the poise of an international host.  She looks very much like the Mary’s in our Bible story pictures only with contemporary clothes.
Of course the main idea here is that Jesus lived in a place like this.  As I take this walk, I can’t help but look for a young Jewish boy with a smile that embraces the world.

Nazareth is a farm village. The white chalky paths remind us that these are limestone hills.   A donkey poses under the shade of a tree.  Reliable donkeys shared their backs to transport people and any number of things.  Donkeys aren’t workaholics.  They plod.  They look for easy ways.  Depend on them to cut the best path. 

Did Joseph depend on the GPS of a donkey to get his young family to Egypt?  Perhaps.  What we do know is that Jesus rode a donkey into Jerusalem.  It was a  sign of peace not war. 

The houses in the village are white mudded limestone structures.  Windows were high to increase air flow and give privacy.  An interesting wooden double door construction of a door within a door allowed the home keeper to close the larger door and leave a smaller one open.  This kept wandering horses outside but added a welcome to the village. I wish I could have spent time examining the simple tools and imagined how they were used.

 

A cooking pot over a raised fire is an interesting “burner” construction.  I can only imagine how the best cooks learned to  control their heat.

Olive trees anchor Israel because they can live 400-500 years.  Their twisted branches reach toward the sun with handfuls of silver green leaves and share shade from their spreading circumference.   Shade is just about as important here as water

Our walk takes us past a burial cave.  It looks just like the pictures we’ve seen of Jesus’ open tomb.  We learn a little about burial.  Bodies must be buried within 24 hours.  Each family has a burial cave.  When there is a death, the body is quickly prepared, wrapped, and placed in the front part of the cave.   One year later, they go back to “collect” the bones and place them in a receptacle to store farther back in the cave.  Then, the cave is ready for the next death. 

So this is like the village where Jesus grew up.  Where he found friends, learned Hebrew,  worked in the carpentry shop, grew in favor with God and man.  Still, we don't know much about these years, except what we can imagine . . .

So Jesus grew up in a village like this.   Found friends here.  Learned Hebrew here.  Worked in the carpenter’s shop here.  Grew in favor with God and man.  And still, we don’t know what it must have been like . . .

              Little boy Jesus
                      Walking chalky paths
                      Listening for his mother’s call.
            Little boy Jesus
                       With impish grin
                       And a spirit for bugs and discovery.
            Little boy  Jesus
                       Lived here with the curtains drawn
                       So that he could grow up
                       Just like every other little boy.
                                                For a while.
                                                                    --dg  

Megiddo's Layers

No one can travel to Israel without being introduced to the land’s layers.  This is not simply a geological history, like the exposed layers the Grand Canyon reveals.  These are layers of civilization.  One of the first places we were exposed to the depth of Israel’s layers was in Megiddo.
Meggido is starkly exposed as a high plateau where several civilizations built a fortified city.  The question becomes which civilization should you excavate because there are 26 layers.  That’s the problem with layers.  The one we uncover provides some answers and amazing treasures, but to go deeper means to destroy the layer we stand on. 

Perhaps the most remarkable remains was the 70 meter tunnel  Ahab built leading to a 25 meter shaft that connected to an underground spring. 

This is a view into the shaft to the spring.  Think about the men with hand-held tools that chiseled their way down.  Consider the engineering it took to start the 70 meter tunnel at opposite ends and meet in the center only a little off!   What drove them to persevere?  Water!

The Megiddo layers tell the story of several civilizations that made use of their crucial placement on a trade route between Egypt and Syria.  I had forgotten that it is Megiddo that gives way to the story Michener tells in his book, The Source.  (By the way, two American books caught my eye among the picture and history books tourists could buy in the gift shops:  Michener’s The Source  and Mark Twain’s Innocents Abroad.)

Many battles occurred at Megiddo and more than one civilization ended here.  Joshua conquered the king of Megiddo in his move to Promised Land. (Joshua 12:7, 21)  Solomon fortified the strategically located Megiddo to protect his kingdom against attack. (1 Kings 9:15)   It was at Megiddo that the Northern kingdom was deported and Josiah, the last righteous king, was killed. (2 Chronicles 25:22-24).  Closer to our time, in World War I, the British won a decisive battle using the same strategic control that Megiddo offered anyone who staked a claim to her.

The Bible draws our attention to Megiddo in Revelation 16:16 about the last battle that will draw all the kings to Armageddon.  Trying to make sense of this once mentioned name, many believe it is a corruption of the Hebrew word for mountain – har- and Megiddo or Ar-meggeddon.  Revelation talks about the seven bowls of God’s wrath,  gathered kings,  flashes of light, thunder, a massive earthquake, and enormous hailstones.  It speaks of an environmental catastrophe. Lots of speculation surrounds the where, when, and how of this place, whether metaphorical or literal. 

Megiddo forces me to take a look at my layered life, the layers that I build upon and the layers that are still buried.  I am my childhood, my adolescence, my young adulthood and beyond.  What I don’t remember is still there, sometimes waiting to be discovered.  God knows my layers.  He was present in every one of them.  He has no buried memory.  Then, self-discovery must involve more than digging up layers by myself.  Self-discovery makes God my archeologist, the only truly compassionate One who can unearth whatever He knows is valuable for me to know. I will remember Megiddo for her layers as I allow God to be in charge of my dig site.

Deborah's Mountain

I found my mountain in Israel.  Actually, I found two mountains with messages for me, but you’ll have to wait until the end of the trip for the second one.  This first day of touring, we went to the top of Mt. Carmel.  I’ve already told you about the summary our guide made that transformed the our panoramic view into a different way to read the Bible.  When he pointed across the valley to a mountain, he identified it as Mt. Tabor.  It was where Deborah led the army because Barak would not proceed unless Deborah went with him.

If I could go back to Mt. Carmel with this picture in my mind, I would have been able to see the rounded mound bulging on the other side of the Jezreel Valley.

I look at the mountain he points to in the distance.  This was Deborah’s mountain.  This is my mountain.

“If you will go with me, I will go,” Barak says. Then Deborah brought the troops down the valley to Jael.  Here Deborah found her voice and sang her song.

I wish I could fly to that mountain, compose a song and sing it with all my heart.  It would be a song about the unexpected journey of being called for special combat.  It would be about an undying and undefeatable belief that God will give ultimate victory.  It would be a soul-deep song of gratitude for wisdom at just the right time, for  strength I never could have gathered for myself, for  help that often seemed to come from nowhere.  I would sing at the top of my voice and it would not matter the key or harmony or musical strength because it would be my mountain song, my Deborah song, the song of my life.

Portland has a Mt. Tabor in the SE part of the city.  Our Mt. Tabor is an extinct volcano, one of 4 in a city in the United States.   And yes, it was originally named after Mt. Tabor in Israel.  A gathering of pioneer Methodists in 1857 wanted to name their church and surrounding area after a mountain in Israel.  They settled on Mt. Tabor because of its historical and biblical importance.

So maybe I’ll have to visit Mt. Tabor in Portland sometime soon.  But I promise not to sing very loud.

Caesarea-Herod's Genius

CAESAREA

Our first major place to visit was Caesarea; a Roman city built by Herod the Great in 37 BC. Herod was Jewish by heritage but Roman by political ambition.  He was appointed governor in Galilee and had a 33 year rule. What I learned about Herod the Great made me realize how I had underestimated his contribution to this land.  Herod was a builder, an inventor, an engineer.  Named for his patron Caesar Augustus, Caesarea showcased Herod’s skill set magnificently. 

It took Herod 12 years to build this city of planned roads and structures.  It was one amazing feat after another.  First we learned that he created a harbor where there was none.  The engineering involved is mind-boggling.  

The Harbor

He ordered the building of a complete breakwater into the Mediterranean Sea by lowering volcanic ash-filled crates.  The ash would harden to cement when mixed with water.  They built up the breakwater using these cement-filled crates, providing  200,000 square meters of protected space—one of the largest harbors in the Roman world at that time.

 

 

Located on the Mediterranean
Sea where the blue of sky
meets an intense blue of Sea,
Herod created magnificence
where there had been ordinary.
He built a palace on the finger of land jutting into the sea complete with a fresh water pool where an inner courtyard would have been.  It meant that he brought in fresh water from the springs at Mt. Carmel some 10 miles away using the extensive aqueduct he also had built. 

 

 

Herod’s Palace on the
promontory point is gone
but we can still see

the remains of the
inner pool.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The city had an amphitheater for 10,000 spectators and a theater for 4,000.  (Do you know the difference between the two?  Amphitheater circles the staging area.  A theater circles half-way.)  He introduced water games to the theater with another ingenious engineering feat that allowed the ground space between the first row of seating and the stage to be sealed and receive water from the aqueducts.

 

The theater with its

numbered seats.

 

 

 

 

 

 
Herod’s aqueduct, a true
marvel that anything
 still remains.

 

 

 

 

An elegant bathhouse, an elevated temple dedicated to Roma and Augusta, a hippodrome for 40,000 to watch chariot races, markets, and residential areas— all made Caesarea a magnificent full-service metropolis.

We find the biblical connection to Caesarea in the New Testament.   It was where Peter shared the Good News with the Roman soldier Cornelius that resulted in his conversion and  opened the way for Gentiles to hear the Gospel.  Also, Paul crisscrossed Caesarea in his missionary journeys.  He was imprisoned here for two years, gave his defense before King Agrippa here before going to Rome.

Herod, who never called himself The Great, left his mark on the land.  He became an important thread that we kept hearing about.  And what’s left of his work?  Ruins.  We may marvel at his ingenuity and innovation, but we cannot ignore that he put far more emphasis on what he did instead of who he was. 

Lesson—lasting legacy always involves passing on to people what can’t be destroyed. 

 

Language Lesson

The first day of our tour begins with a language lesson.  Shimone, our sun-tanned, straw-hatted commentator, writes the following on paper and shows us:
                Yeshua
                Yehoshua
                Ishaya
                Yoshiya
                Hoshea
                Elisha
They are, of course, the Hebrew names for Jesus, Joshua, Isaiah, Josiah, Hosea, and Elisha.

“What do these names have in common? he asks. 

 We see the  similar suffixes:  forms of ua and ya.

He explains that Yeho  is from the Jeho in Jehovah used to identify Lord God and Ya is the word for savior.

 Then he talked about names ending in “el,” the word for God.

                Daniel—Dan means “judge,” “el” is God.  Daniel means to be judged by God.
                Gabriel --Gab means “taken over.“  Gabriel means “ to be taken over by God.”
                Nathaniel—Nathan means “given.” Nathaniel means given by God.
He tells us that his Hebrew language has something English does not have.  God is alive in the Hebrew words and names.  Most names end in some form of God, yah or el.

The lesson exploded with meaning inside me.  God left his name in Israel through the names of people and places.  His people  are an extension of his name. 

My given name is Deborah, a good Bible name.  In Hebrew, Debor means bee.  I’ve know that for a long time.  But I never knew that my name had God in it.  I am God’s bee.  I am God’s spreader of pollen.  I am God’s maker of honey.  I’ve never thought of myself that way. 

Unfortunately, many of our names are layered with other languages we do not know.  If our names have meanings, we have to look them up.  What if our language made us hear God s name when we are called by name?  What if to say our names we also had to say God’s name?  Would we begin to understand in a new way how much God wants to live in us?   Revelation 24:4 says that when we see God face to face, His name will be on our foreheads.   I’m not convinced that it will be a stick-on label.  I think it is something more indelibly connected to the identity he has formed in us. 

But I have to also ask myself if people could see God’s name on my forehead or hear his name contained in mine, would there be a disconnect? 

O God, write your name on my forehead in a way that I know it is there.  Help me live within the love and compassion, grace and respect that your name stands for.  May I never be guilty of misrepresentation.  May I never forget that Who you are will always take me farther than who I could be without you.

 

Tel Aviv-Netanya
Wednesday, May 22

We made it.  We survived 10 hours in a cramped airplane, sleeping in small increments. Airplane coffee and a hot breakfast prepares us for landing in Tel Aviv at the Ben Gurion Airport.

A sun-tanned man with a straw hat and sign that reads "Pilgrim Tours" welcomes us.  We find our luggage, move through customs, get stamped “okay,” get on the bus. 

Our hotel is The Seasons at Netanya, 30 miles north of Tel Aviv. It claims to be the only 5-star hotel in Natanya.  We walk into a suite!  To the right is a sitting room, to the left a separate bedroom, and in between a spacious bathroom.  A front hall connects them. 

Shower-refreshed, we forget that we had breakfast before landing and prepare for our first dinner experience in Israel.  The buffet is daunting.  A salad extravaganza, some I cannot identify.  A separate entrée station also overwhelms.  A quick survey of desserts reminds me to save room.  If this is a precursor of what is to come, it is not going to be a low- calorie tour! 

 We are in Bible land Israel.  My sleep-deprived mind is having trouble assimilating this upscale hotel and its manicured beach promenade with visions of Abraham, Moses and Jesus’ three years.  I don’t know if I like enjoying this plush experience or if I would prefer something a bit more Spartan that connects me to my Sunday school stories.  I decide that comfort is worth a lot after my 10 hour-little-sleep plane ride. I'll take the hotel.

After dinner and our quick meeting to organize for the next day, Mark and I join others who walk the promenade.  We are trying to stay awake until a decent time to sleep.  However, the mild temperature, the gentle sweep of Mediterranean waves, the atmospheric lighting, the beautiful garden beds were just enough to make us more than ready to claim the biggest award of this long day--sleep!

On Being a Pilgrim

Perhaps it is no accident that the company who organized our tour to the Holy Lands was called "Pilgrim Tours."  One dictionary generically calls us people who “travel on a long journey.”  Ten hours overnight on a packed plane was a very long journey.  Circling Israel by bus was another long journey.  Walking who knows how many miles required a comfortable set of shoes which I wore out!  

 

I found another definition of a pilgrim that called pilgrims people “who journey to a sacred place for religious reasons.”  Sacred place is a good way to summarize the land we saw.  God called people here.  He warned people here.  He blessed people here.  He named people here. He gave us Jesus here.   I will never forget the words of our tour guide as we stood at the top of Mt. Carmel and overlooked the Jezreel Valley.  He swept his hand across the panoramic view and said, “Here, I serve you the Bible on a platter.”  The land became the pages we have read over and over.  He pointed to Mt. Tabor where Deborah and Barak strategized a military offensive and where Jesus met with transfigured Elijah and Moses.  Then, he moved his point to Mt. Gilboa where King Saul was killed, then down the mountain to the spring where Gideon chose his warriors.  The land does not allow an easy chronological retelling for this is layered land.  The stories are built one upon another, here, on this land.

 

Another part of our pilgrim journey was company.  A pioneer may travel solo but pilgrims love company.  We were 21 strong.  We came from Oregon, Idaho, Washington, Arizona, and Alaska. The source of our bond was Northwest University.  Mark and I were seamlessly grafted into this alumni group.  Support of the sponsoring university was more important than graduation year. So was love for the journey.  From our introductions and reunions at SeaTac to our bleary eyed touch down in Seattle at the end, we traveled as community. 

 

By now I have unpacked clothes and souvenirs, finished the laundry, and put the suitcases away.  But I'm not finished unpacking my heart.  That's what I will do here.  I invite you to join me on my journey.  My footsteps left no mark on Israel but Israel left its mark on me.  Follow my footsteps through a storied, layered, complicated, unfolding land.  Perhaps we will become pilgrims together.