Personal and cultural reasons make three topside items essential for Bible Land Explorers: a shirt, a hat, and a jacket.
Thinking about luggage
One of the ways to offset the challenges of foreign travel is to pack strategically. If you have the things you need, not more or less, you will be far more comfortable, more mobile, and better able to direct your focus to the world around you. The problem for most of us when traveling to a new place is knowing what is and isn’t needed. The consequence of this “Boy Scout” mentality (“be prepared!”) is that we tend to overpack and bring too much stuff.
Fire in the Hole!
Where Armenia Met Helena
The Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem’s Old City is theomphalos (navel) of Christian imagination. Its roof encloses key moments of sacred memory, including places associated with Christ’s crucifixion, burial, and resurrection. Countless pilgrims have risked life and treasure to enter these wooden doors. A visit can change a person. Or start a war.
Rat-a-tat-tat
It didn’t take long. I reclined, alone, in the ever popular Coptic Guest House in Jerusalem’s Christian Quarter. David Abulafia’s heavy tome on the Mediterranean Sea began bobbing above my head. It sank to my chest, then to the floor. Overwhelmed by the obscurities of Luwian hieroglyphs and two weeks of pilgrim responsibilities, I slipped beneath the waves, a human Akrotiri. I was exhausted. Darkness fell.
Debouchery
The Wadi Hamam begins gently in eastern Galilee near the village of Eilabun.
I follow a winding stream through the canyon known as Wadi Hamam. The water offers focus; it splashes across gravel, slowing only occasionally to waller in mudholes. Dense vegetation crowds the water’s edge. It is a narrow passage of brush and boulder, soft willow and thorny jujube, one that Dorsey calls “virtually impassable today” (1991:96). I can see why.
The Valley of the Shadow
An Edgy Guy
We sat uncomfortably in the classroom, rocking from side to side, trying to absorb the Hebrew text of Pirke Avoth. This portion of theMishnah claims that Moses carried not only a hard copy of Torah down from the mountain, but an interpretive oral tradition as well. The latter was chewed, memorized, and repeated from mouth to ear for more than a thousand years. When it was finally committed to writing in the early centuries of our own era, the achievement for Rabbinic Judaism was enormous. The sayings of the fathers was frozen for all time. Future students would have much to ponder.
A Wee Wise Folk
So Close, So Far
In the savage heat of July 3-4, AD 1187, the Crusader army thumped east from Sepphoris. They stopped to draw water from a spring, presently located behind the McDonalds with the McDrive Thru (Birket Maskana). The goal of the march was ostensibly to relieve the citadel at Tiberias. In a short time, however, that Crusader plan would be reduced to something more primal.
Salah-ed-Din’s eyes narrowed when he received the news. His siege of Tiberias had achieved the desired result. Guy was lured into open country.
Shemuah
Dead Reckoning to the Horns
Roads
I bend forward into the sink. Icy water runs across my hair, face, and neck. The cold shocks the leftover night from my head. It is 4:00 am. The call to prayer sounds in the distance.
I back away from the flow, close the faucet, and shake like a dog. Satisfied, I pull a shirt over dripping hair and skin, and don the elastic band holding a headlamp. I flip the switch.
Down on the Eco-Farm
I tumbled into consciousness in the decade of the 1960s. For some it was a return trip. For me, it was a notable first. That it happened in the state of Oregon where both firs and fungus grow tall, means that flower-power, hippies, and leather fringe jackets will forever trigger childhood flashbacks.
The Green Goat
Desperate for a good night’s sleep, I exchange the Jesus Trail for asphalt. I backtrack up the highway to an Israeli hostel. It carries a most curious name: Yarok-Az, or the “Green Goat.” It is advertised as an “eco-friendly organic goat farm.” Such a description will charm a sticky tick out of a tight place. I tug the cinch strap on my pack, set my jaw, and make for a bunk.
McRevived
Monkey Butt
I stand by the road in the wood and wave goodbye to a dear friend. He smiles weakly and waves back. I detect concern in his eyes, as if he thinks I shouldn’t be left alone. Hani is a trained pastor who knows how to read the signs. I am far from home, a babe in the woods. The car begins to roll away then stops suddenly. Hani cranks his head out the window. “Call me, ok?” he pleads.
How Christmas Trumped Realpolitik--Part II
Eb wanders in the room looking a little disheveled. His hands are in his pockets.
“Where have you been, Mr Milk Groootto?” I smirk.
He rolls his eyes. “Nowhere.”
After the whole Divine Indiscretion fiasco, I wasn’t sure when I would see Eb again. But I’m glad he’s here and I know just what he needs. I produce a plate of sugar cookies. He perks up when he sees all the colored frosting. We sit at at the table, munch, and talk texts. It is Epiphany after all, the 12th day of Christmas. Wise-men day.
A Cold War at Christmas
I hold Josephus by the hand and squint into the wind.
Our view is good, but Herod’s was better. I sit with students on the stump of a tower (or “keep”) estimated to have been 120 feet tall. Herod could climb the stairs of this structure (now tumbled downslope) and scan the horizon from a lofty perch. Looking north along the Judean backbone, he could pick out the Mount of Olives. It cast a shadow over Jerusalem every morning. Looking south, he could see, or almost feel, really, the opening up of a vast desert.
A Divine Indiscretion
Our Lady of the Milk. Metal image on the front door of the Milk Grotto entrance.
There is nothing more natural, beautiful, or healthy than a mother with a baby at her breast. Agreed?
So why do I feel weird?
It is because I have never been inside a building devoted to the celebration of lactation.
Until this moment.