On the Road to Jericho

It's too soon for another field trip. After a week in Turkey and not enough sleep, my body feels like it is trapped inside a constant yawn. But I would choose a field trip over class any day, and today we are off to the wilderness and Jericho. We are quiet as we leave, keeping an eye out for goats and shepherds on the side of the road. The city fades to the background and the desert mountains swallow us up. We are descending 740 feet below sea level. 

The Bedouin people greet us when we step off the bus. Their arms are outstretched and laden with beaded necklaces or scarves, and they try to hand us fruit juice and Coke for a price. We were instructed not to buy anything, though, so we climb to the peak of a hill and look down onto a road that winds between two cliff faces. Above it is a monastery from the sixth century clinging to the rocks like a beetle that is afraid of the coming sun. We read from the book of Matthew and a couple of us move from our current positions and into the shade, because even though it's just past nine in the morning, the heat is already baking our backs.

Our professor rattles off a few of the important events that have happened here. This is where Elijah stopped when fleeing Jezebel, or this is where Mary's parents were married. But these details are small and in some ways meaningless to me. It is when we turn to the New Testament and read Luke 10 that I become more alert. This is the parable of the Good Samaritan, when the lawyer asks Christ the famous question:

"What shall I do to inherit eternal life?"

I had been reading this parable frequently before I came to Jerusalem, trying to understand the significance of the Samaritan who stopped to help the man on the road when the priest and Levite just passed by. While I am yet come to a satisfactory conclusion, I have always judged the priest and Levite rather harshly. But today it is mentioned to our class that perhaps the priest is going home to his family. Maybe he's just had a long day and he needs to make it home as soon as he can. I feel a kind of connection with that. How many times have I had the opportunity to serve in the moment but gave up that opportunity for another goal that was already on my mind? Our professor tells us that most often when we have an opportunity to reach out, it's inconvenient. At the same time, it is our responsibility to find a reason to stop. 

A disciple of Christ will find that reason.

We crest the top of a hill and overlook the valley around us. Some people are reminded of Utah up here, but I feel that this wilderness is dustier, drier, more barren. The sky is clear by Israeli standards what with the morning mist evaporated and we can see the Dead Sea from here. We talk about Christ's temptations. Our guide, Professor Chadwick, holds up a rock. It is flat and tan and he says it reminds him of a pita. He is one of my favorite professors here, a weather-beaten archaeologist obsessed with the land and all things ancient. He tells us that he brought home a rock from this wilderness so he could show others what it is like and also what kind of food Satan may have tempted Christ with. He encourages us to take something from the land every now and then, so I find my own pita-rock that is dusty and sun soaked and put it in my backpack. I want to remember what it was like to stand on that mountaintop and feel the spirit of the land. I want to remember what it is like to feel a little of what Christ has been through.

Luke 19 is the next scripture that comes up on our list, so we stop by a tree and talk about Zacchaeus who climbed into the branches of a sycamore so that he might better see Christ as he passed by. I'm not familiar with the story and think it's quirky that we have stopped just for this tree. But at the same time, it's almost two weeks later and I can picture that tree protected by the iron-wrought fence and know what it looked like. And I can imagine myself in it, waiting for Christ to walk by me.

We finally arrive at Jericho. It is an oasis in this nutmeg brown land, dotted with a few palm trees whose leaves are the only green to be seen. Professor Chadwick despairs of this place but I think it's the most fascinating of the old ruins we have seen. I like that archaeologists have made mistakes here in their attempt to prove whether or not the bible is true. To me, it doesn't matter so much if the wall we are looking at is the one that came crumbling down during Joshua's time. Instead, I like the unknown, and I love that it is my faith that proves the truthfulness of the bible to me more than this place.

Right across the street is Elisha's Well. Arabic pop music is playing at the local cafes we walk past and floaty toys are being sold at the shops. This part of the land is controlled entirely by the Palestinians, and to see how the two worlds (the ancient and the contemporary) merge together makes me smile. Israel is a place full of personality, and I find that it is always surprising me.

I think of my dad the moment we pass through the gates and look at the water. It starts in a kind of watershed, and if I remember right, is actually a spring. Some of the students ask if it would be okay to drink the water, and I can't help but mutter to myself that if it comes straight from a rock, then it is. We actually drink from a pump here and talk about how important water is in a place like this, how it is the source of life. I understand more than ever that it must have been enticing for the woman at the well to never thirst again. We focus on Elijah, though, and I still struggle finding a connection with my life to the Old Testament. The bible is distant and strange to me in ways that other scripture is not, and I find that to be frustrating. 

Our last destination is a winter palace of Herod the Great. I wish the building was still intact, that I wasn't just looking at stubs of columns and the remains of a swimming pool where he killed a brother-in-law for being a threat to his throne. But it is interesting to see the sphere of Herod's influence, to know the kind of power he had and yet all that is left of him here on earth are crusty bits of plaster and diamond shaped stones. I feel a kind of pity for him. He did not live in a way that would bring him the greatest reward of eternal life. His inheritance will not be a grand one. 

Herod missed the road to Jericho, the opportunity to do something in the moment that was greater than what he may have immediately wanted. And that, I think, is a shame. For what greater reward is there than eternal life?