Freeland, Whidbey Island, Washington
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The final act of any pilgrimage to the Holy Land should always be the Way of the Cross.
It isn’t what it used to be!
I mean this quite literally – there are many more stations now than when the first recorded pilgrim – Egeria – spoke of five stations during her participation in Holy Week activities back in the late fourth Century.
The current 14 stations reached their final formulation in the fourteenth century – a thousand years after Egeria – and were written down by a Franciscan monk.
They represent the Church’s developed spiritual understanding of that last, great walk to glory, but they do not – in fact probably aren’t intended to – reflect and recreate Jesus’ actual final journey.
This is because in the Holy Land – as Canon John Peterson frequently reminded those of us on our National Cathedral pilgrimage – “holy places move.”
Our modern western minds have a problem getting around this idea. The Early Church had no such doubts – if an adjacent location was more helpful for the building up of faith then the site was moved there.
The “Garden” of Gethsemane is a perfect example of this – the actual site of Jesus’ last night of freedom (perhaps the most authentic site in all Jerusalem) is about fifty yards to the north of the current location – in the cave or grotto of Gethsemane. Ironically it is also the most overlooked sacred site in all of the Holy Land.
Mark feeds our need for an extended procession to execution. A careful examination shows that almost every detail of his description of the events of Good Friday are – like the Palm Sunday procession – a mirror of what Rome was doing. In this case, all the details exactly mirror a Roman “Triumph” – right down to the refusal of wine by the Triumphator, and the final arrival at the “place of the head” (mistranslated as “skull”).
And like Palm Sunday, this is the opposite of the meaning of a Roman celebration - a “Counter-Triumph” where the Triumphator is also the victim.
Today the “Via Dolorosa” begins north of the Temple Mount at the Antonia Fortress – the least likely origin – and winds through the Muslim Quarter to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Each station is marked by Roman numerals, and also by small chapels for private prayer. The way is narrow, now, not the wide-open roads of the first century. Small shop and stall-holders line the way, and their clients crowd each alleyway if the walk is done during the day.
But that’s not the time to walk the Via.
Such a walk is best done early in the morning, when nothing is open. This would have been the time of Jesus’ walk to Golgotha. On that fateful day, as Jesus carried the cross-piece toward the permanent upright at Golgotha, most Jerusalemites – and pretty much all the pilgrims present for Passover, including many of his supporters – would only then have been rousing themselves for their final preparations for the great celebration.
The Romans wanted it that way, of course.
It’s exactly the way all dictatorships, all oligarchies, all those who exercise power work.
Now it is too late to prevent the execution by popular uprising. The “crowd” did not condemn Jesus, they would have wished to save him.
This is perhaps the greatest irony of the dramatic readings of the Passion we do each year. We – all of us – should not be calling for his crucifixion, but the overthrow of the powers that brought it about. And continue to do so.
Back in the Jerusalem of the twenty-first Century the journey along the Via Dolorosa finally ends at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.
The Holy Sepulcher is a fascinating place – worthy of the many books about it. Begun by Constantine’s mother, Helena, in the mid-fourth century it is a maze of different architectural styles and overlapping authorities.
It’s built over an abandoned quarry, which, because it was played out by the early first century, had been turned over to private use. The area around the quarry’s edges was sold and tombs cut. The evidence of the quarry makes this another authentic site – like Gethsemane, Bethlehem, and Nazareth focused on a cave.
Helena had the quarry excavated, and hence the tomb is now above ground.
And in spite of its impressive pedigree, its complex and colorful history, and its current place in the heart of Jerusalem and of Christian faith, therein – in the cave – lies the importance of this ancient site.
It is the only Church in Christendom that boasts of having a tomb with no one in it.
And, in the end, that’s good news – Good News – for all of us.
More pictures of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre are here.
It is not, now, possible to walk from Bethany to Jerusalem – you have to start at Bethphage. The Wall is in the way - a stark reminder of ageless indignities imposed by Imperial force.
Jesus was confronted with that sort of force all his life, and, ultimately, became its willing victim.
But it is possible to see Bethany from the Mount of Olives - over The Wall.
Beyond Bethany the desert begins. Or ends – depending on which direction you’re going. For Jesus and the disciples Bethany must have seemed like an oasis of rest and peace after their weeks-long journey from The Galilee and their exhausting climb out of Jericho up the wadi.
Now the journey heads toward its climax.
Standing outside the Franciscan Chapel of Bethphage in the cool Jerusalem morning it’s easy to imagine how the Day of Palms began. Excitement was in the air. Something was going to happen and everyone associated with Jesus knew it.
Pilate would be coming to Jerusalem for the Passover – would arrive that day in a show of Imperial force. He would enter through one of the western gates, which were the most logical to use considering his starting point: his luxurious headquarters in Caesarea Maritima. And, of course, they were also closest to Herod’s Palace – Pilate’s most likely lodgings for the week – forget ‘roughing it’ with the men in the Antonia Fortress!
And so Jesus planned a counter-procession – how like him!
But this one would be sending a different message. He would ride an ass, and enter from the East.
The Roman’s wouldn’t understand, of course.
At least, not at first.
Not till one of their Jewish collaborators told them.
The eastern gate Jesus chose to enter the city was only used by kings of Israel. And – since Solomon first did it – a king entering a city on an ass was a sign that the king came in peace to bring peace.
Who would have thought that riding an ass was a political statement?! When my good friend Jim Lindus, pastor of Trinity Lutheran Church on Whidbey Island put “Get your ass to Church” on his street-side notice board just prior to Palm Sunday even he didn’t realize exactly what he was exhorting his parishioners to do!
The Romans (like Jim) would figure it out eventually – but not before Jesus had vanished among the huge crowds.
So the Palm Sunday procession carried multiple messages for Jesus’ Jewish followers. Here was a time to challenge the Romans will also celebrating the return of the King!
Because we combine Palm and Passion Sunday we miss this essential point that the procession was joyful. The Peaceful King Comes! Hosanna! Halleluiah! Yippee!
And we get confused – here, on the first day of Holy Week, the Church requires schizophrenia of its members.
This is my dawning awareness, anyway, as we begin our walk from the Mount of Olives in a more somber mood. I suppose it’s because we’re looking to the afternoon and the Stations of the Cross – why do we pass up the chance to celebrate for the opportunity to be somber?
Yet on the bright Jerusalem morning it doesn’t feel right to do this – to be silent, to be reflective. That should be, I feel, for the Way of the Cross. Now we should be laughing and joking, exploring our developing common pilgrim identity – talking about how we can speak and act peace to Power.
Down the Mount we go, past the Jewish cemeteries, to the Church of Dominus Flevit – of “The Lord weeping” over Jerusalem.
The hen protecting her chicks is defiant on the altar frontal – signaling, perhaps the reality now so close to Jesus and his disciples: this procession’s celebration and its celebrant know what will follow, and have steeled themselves for confrontation.
Once in the Holy City – with a population swollen by as many as 75,000 pilgrims – it is easy for this procession to melt into the background as soon as the few Roman soldiers then in Jerusalem catch wind of what is going on.
Walking into the Souk – the Muslim Quarter – and seeing that even in the early morning the traders are out blocking the alley-ways which are already choked by a mass of humanity it is easy to see how this could be so.
It is easy to see how Jesus could spend the rest of the week preaching, teaching, confronting – all very publicly – and yet avoid having a hand laid on him by either the Roman or Jewish authorities.
That is, until one of his own betrays him.
The journey that follows that betrayal is now close at hand.
In Summer in the Holy Land you learn to start early if you’re going to anything outside Even in September – with Fall just around the corner – the temperature can regularly get into the high 90’s Fahrenheit.
But overnight the temperature moderates. The mornings are in the mid-60’s and it feels cool.
Our National Cathedral Pilgrimage group is up at 5:30 a.m. because we’re not only going to be out in the sun, we’re going hiking!
Our destination is Wadi Kelt.
Wadi Kelt is a deep, twisting canyon that runs from the flat lands around water-rich Jericho up to the dry Jerusalem plateau.
From Jericho today the journey begins in a nondescript area near a Bedouin camp, where semi-permanent tents now boast satellite T.V. and tractors to haul in water.
Across the now-shallow wadi lays the remains of Herod the Great’s winter palace. Even though it is, now, only ruins, this palace bears all the hall-marks of the Master-Builder’s work. Sumptuous accommodations, a bridge across the wadi, a large pool: all reminders of the many magnificent construction projects that Herod indulged in during his long reign.
The winter palace now rests quietly in front of a field of banana trees, a testimony to the abundant water available from Jericho’s powerful spring.
Much like a South-West wash Wadi Kelt begins unassumingly – a jumble of grey stones with low banks on either side.
But suddenly – as it meets the rising hills leading to the Jerusalem plateau – there’s a sharp up-hill climb. The path narrows from its broad beginnings to a matter of feet wide as it enters the narrow confines of the wadi, which by now seems to have been cut into the rocky hills with a knife..
The path levels off – somewhat! – and, all of a sudden, is perched on the steep northern side of the wadi, several hundred feet above its floor.
A young Bedouin boy has come along with us, in hopes of receiving a tip at the end for his services. He rides a donkey that seems barely big enough to keep his feet off the ground. And as with all donkeys, this one has a mind of its own.
The northern side of the wadi is the ‘sun’ side at this time of year, and soon everyone is sweating heavily. Water is essential. Forget your water and dehydration will soon follow – at best you get a splitting headache and become disoriented. Or you could pass out, and start vomiting. At worst you die.
Water is absent from the wadi at this late stage of the year. But the rains will come in October, turning it into a raging torrent, and, further north, refilling the Sea of Galilee, the Holy Land’s major fresh water source.
Even in the dryness there are signs of life: a small green flowering plant here, a cactus there, and the ever-present hyraxes – small, groundhog like critters who scurry across the rock face as if they’re glued to it.
The wadi twists and turns on its way up to Jerusalem, the trail undulating and narrow. Sometimes its only a foot wide, certainly no more than two or three. Occasional rock falls have wiped it out, to be repaired by the Orthodox monks at St. George’s monastery, built into the wadi’s walls some half-way up.
The stark beauty of this wadi is mirrored by its difficult – sometimes dangerous – route. Pay attention to where your next foot goes. Watch the way ahead. Don’t be distracted by idle conversation. Concentrate.
The walls of the wadi are dotted with caves. In the early years of the church hermits filled this wadi, the predecessors of today’s monks. One hermit still lives in the wadi, though no one has seen him for years – the only sign of his presence is the well-tended cave below the track, protected by barbed wire and an incongruous wooden door.
Every year Jesus must have used this path – for this is the famous road up from Jericho to Jerusalem he mentions in his story about the Good Samaritan.
Samaritans would have been on his mind from the beginning of this trek. Every year for many he must have journeyed down from the verdant pastures of The Galilee for the Passover celebrations in the Temple. And as a Jew he would have journeyed down the eastern side of the Jordan River so as to avoid that Samaritan lands on the west side.
And bemoaned the sad state of affairs between Samaritans and Jews.
As we slowly, silently hike along the path there is time to think.
It’s easy to see how dangerous this route must have been back in Jesus’ time. In addition to the possibility of falling into the wadi itself it would not be difficult for bandits to hide in the caves. Travel alone (why did that man travel alone, I wonder?) and you were an easy mark.
And what was the Samaritan doing, going to Jerusalem, or coming from it? The Samaritan Temple was on Mt. Gerizim, not in Jerusalem. He shouldn’t have been on the road at all.
The boy with the donkey passes below us, and we all gasp! The donkey seems to be walking across an almost vertical cliff-side. The boy is unconcerned – the donkey is surefooted. And this, surely, is how the Samaritan would have carried the wounded man who had been attacked by bandits.
Suddenly my image of that journey changes: in my mind’s eye that road “up from Jericho to Jerusalem” was always a super-highway by comparison with this simple track. Somehow I had convinced myself that it must surely have been 30 feet wide, so that the two ‘passers-by’ could indeed ‘pass by’ well away from this poor man – there were even stone walls and greenery in my mental picture.
How easily we put the biblical stories at arms length, remove them from their contexts, and distance ourselves from them.
But instead, for me, the whole story becomes much more vital, and bloody, and real – the two passers-by would have had either to step over the unconscious victim, or clamber above or below him – they would really have had to make an effort not to respond to his plight – a conscious decision not to help. No longer can I see their acts as sins of omission.
Watching the donkey it’s suddenly possible to imagine that trip to the inn – still fraught with danger: would the man die from the jarring ride? Were there other bandits lying in wait further up the path?
In the silence of Wadi Kelt all sorts of questions pose themselves. Who was this hapless victim? Perhaps it was Jesus himself, on some earlier pilgrimage to the Temple. That would certainly explain the vivid power of the story – he lived it.
Or maybe he was the Good “Samaritan” – someone who felt himself outside of traditional southern Judaism even as he struggled “up north” to try and redeem it from itself.
The possibilities are tantalizing.
For me the story of the Good Samaritan – the serendipitous gospel reading from the previous Sunday in Christ Church, Nazareth – will never be the same again.
The pathway from Wadi Kelt leads, finally, to Bethany. For Jesus, it always meant friends - Lazarus and Martha and Mary - and peace: a respite from the craziness of Passover Jerusalem
And it will be from Bethany that we will soon walk, over the brow of the Mount of Olives, and down to Gesthemane – literally the “Place of the Olive Presses”.
How different, now, that walk will feel.
More pictures of Wadi Kelt and the Monastery of St. George of Koziba are here.
Some pictures of Jericho and Herod's Winter Palace are here.Other pictures from the area:
Last night – Monday, September 11 2006 – was one of the most remarkable nights of my time in Israel!
We have been in Nazareth for a few days, visiting a number of sites, including the Ancient settlement of Sepphoris, only four miles away. Sepphoris was the largest city in The Galilee, and, in Jesus’ time, a center of Roman administration.
But the highlight was last night. The evening began with Canon John Peterson (former Dean of St. George’s College Jerusalem and Secretary-General of the communion) saying: “I’ve been promising to write an article about this site for 10 years”. He was referring to an archaeological site he helped examine.
The location? The Convent of the Sisters of Nazareth in Nazareth – on the south-west corner of ancient Nazareth itself.
The site? In the deep basement of the convent.
The “this” that John referred to as deserving of an article relates not to the basement but below it.
As with many Holy Land locations the convent is built on previous occupation layers. When the nuns purchased the land for their convent the owner – an aged woman – demanded a very high price.
By way of justifying the steep demand she said: “Beneath this plot of land is the grave of “the righteous one”.
Folk memory – often highly reliable, as anthropologists and archaeologists will tell you – identified the site as having a significance going back thousands of years.
The nuns brought the land and, in 1845, built their convent.
The story moves forward some 40 years.
In the late 1800’s a workman was doing some work on the convent’s water-supply which came from what they thought was an ordinary well.
He dislodged a stone and the sound it made going down, and especially the noise it made when it hit bottom, intrigued him.
It did not hit water.
He told the sisters, who began an amateur archaeological quest to discover what was at the bottom of this “well”.
Enlarging holes and digging down they discovered a very old cistern that had clearly been used as a church.
As later archaeologists have confirmed, a very old church.
A 1st Century Church.
One of the methods of confirmation was that an adjacent room had some connected basins through which water could flow – indicating that this Christian site was used by believers who were still following the Jewish purity laws. This placed them in a time right around the first Council of Jerusalem between Peter and Paul when one of the central issues was whether Christians should follow the Jewish purity laws. Peter and the Jerusalem Christians said “yes”, Paul said “No.”
The textual dating was confirmed by archaeological study, especially by dating the stone work through examining potsherds found there.
That this was not just any religious site but a Christian site – and a very important one – was confirmed by a grave found outside this space – a grave of a 5th Century man wearing a bishop’s ring. It was and is impossible to know which 5th Century bishop, but his remains and parts of the stone work indicate clearly the importanceof this holy site and that it was in use through the Byzantine period (4th- 5th Century).
And then they found, tucked away to one side, two 1st Century graves with simple crosses carved above them. Both were empty.
Looking up, a curved ceiling had a central hole, later covered up, that admitted light – a classic ‘grotto’.
This alone is a remarkable discovery. Here is a 1st Century Church in its original state hardly changed by later Christians – unlike Peter’s House in Capernaum which was subsequently extensively adapted by the Byzantine Church.
But the significance of this discovery pales in comparison with what followed for the Sisters.
As workmen were adding supports to the convent two nuns decided to see if there might be more than this church.
They discovered what has been identified as a contemporary 1st Century house only about 30 feet away.
To one side was a manger – a stone animal-feeding trough. This house was dated, again, through the architecture and the potsherds as no later than 50 A. D., with additions through the Byzantine era, including a style of stone paving used only by the Byzantine-era monks from Cluny in France. This latter point makes it clear that this house, too, was a religious site important from as early as the first century to the end of the Byzantine era.
More excavations revealed stairs going down below the house, and the nuns discovered a low doorway sealed by a circular mill-stone of the type used in the First Century in the Jerusalem area to seal tombs similar to Jesus’ tomb.
Building a home above a cemetery is not kosher. However, the home was built on limestone and limestone is kosher, simply requiring washing to be made clean.
When the nuns had the stone rolled away a strong smell of incense wafted out. Incense does not degrade over time. Clearly worship using incense took place in this space below the house.
What was revealed was a classic khoh tomb – long, narrow cave-like holes in which bodies were sealed for two years, after which they were re-opened and the bones transferred to an ossuary.
Only two tombs had been cut, four others had been started but not finished.
All were empty.
If a body had been placed in one of the tombs it had – following customary practice – been removed.
With the end of the Byzantine era and the rise of Islam many Christian sites were destroyed. To protect them, monks often concealed the entrances, or simply walled them up. For several hundred years this site lay untouched until the arrival of the Crusaders.
Clearly the memory of this site remained, for there is, again, evidence of Crusader stone-work above the 1st century walls of the house. Such memory indicates how important this site was for early Christians.
And again, with the Crusaders’ defeat, and the centuries of Islamic rule, this site was lost until the two nuns re-discovered it some six hundred years later.
The evidence from the site – both of folk-lore and through archaeological study - is compelling:
This ancient Nazareth home and tomb – a site identified by folklore with the “tomb of the righteous one” – was a Christian holy site from the mid-1st Century on – and this in a village of no more than 40 dwellings.
Such evidence is tantalizing, but it strongly suggests only one conclusion: this is the original home of the Holy Family.
The need for a tomb would fit with Joseph’s age and likely death early in Jesus’ life. The great importance placed on the site from the 1st Century strongly suggests it had to be very, very significant for the first Christians.
As beautiful as are the R.C. Church of the Annunciation and the Orthodox Church of St. Gabriel, they seem almost an afterthought as you stand between the low walls and flag-stoned floor of this simple, 1st Century house, and descend the stairs to the tomb, and see the stone, rolled away, so evocative of another tomb, in another Holy Land city, just a few hours south..
And have a sense that here the Holy Family probably spent Jesus’ formative years. Here he learned his father’s trade. Here Joseph died and was buried. Here, perhaps, Mary lived out the remainder of her life.
And here, certainly, Christians have worshiped since the dawn of our faith.
It is impossible to describe the enormous power of this place - to stand in the cool, dim light, and to know that this is space that Jesus would certainly have visited often, in such a small community, and most likely grew up in, is breathtaking.
More than any Holy Land site this brought my faith to life.
More pictures of the church house and tomb are here.
A visit to Bethlehem is a stark reminder of how leadership matters. 75% of Israelis think that Israel should withdraw completely – including abandoning all the settlements – from the West Bank. But official policy is exactly the opposite – and in spades.
Bethlehem is six miles south of Jerusalem in the West Bank – the area inside the “Green Line” that the entire International Community – including the United States – recognizes as Palestine. Even Israel recognizes the “Green Line” – at least, they recognize it theoretically.
The practical reality is starkly different – as The Wall makes crystal clear. It is important to understand that The Wall is not exclusively or even primarily about security – though some semblance of security is a by-product.
The Wall has another agenda.
The Wall is, first, both a symbol and a physical manifestation of the present political reality. It reflects not a ‘people-to-people’ conflict but a complex geo-political struggle that encompasses not only the Middle East but Europe and the United States as well.
Nine meters high The Wall will run – when completed – for twice the length of the Green Line. The only way it could do this would be to make incursions either into or away from that line – into Israel, or into the West Bank.
It’s not difficult to guess which direction The Wall takes.
There are several places where the Wall makes deep incursions into the West Bank – cutting off whole communities from their land and having the effect of severing the West Bank into enclaves.
The ultimate goal – as revealed in an explosive article in the February 5th 2005 Washington Post – is to partition the West bank into 3 areas – “Cantons” – divided East-West by Israeli settlements in two broad corridors several miles wide. This route takes much of the arable land and controls precious water resources. As such, it will deny any economic viability to a nascent Palestinian state.
The plan is clear: take as much land as possible with as few Palestinians on it as possible. The converse effect is to push large numbers of Palestinians onto small amounts of poor quality land creating large ‘concentration camps’ or holding areas for unwanted people – Israel doesn’t want the Palestinians and wishes they would go away. This is one way to make them invisible, stunt their growth as an economic community, deny them personhood as a nation.
The Israeli leadership – extremists who do not really represent the people of Israel – simply wishes that the Palestinians would go away.
Their policy is therefore a bizarre form of Ethnic Cleansing – removing the inhabitants and replacing them with foreign settlers.
The road network is another example of Israeli control and manipulation. There are currently 576 Israeli Military check-points within the West Bank. Journeys that used to take 30 minutes now take up to six hours – even if they are possible, and many are not.
This year the United Nations, suspicious of Israel’s sudden decision to build bridges and tunnels for Palestinians that would remove all the check-points, sent inspectors to examine the situation on the ground.
What they discovered startled them.
Israel is building a second network of roads in the West Bank – a network that connects Israel with all its settlements in the West Bank all the way across to the valuable arable land of the Jordan River valley.
All these settlements violate international law, not only as determined by the International Court of Justice last year, but by post World War II international agreements which said that no nation can take the land of another by force. The then-secret road network further violated international law in allowing produce from an occupied territory to be moved through and from that territory to be exported as Israeli produce.
Back to Bethlehem.
Bethlehem is the most Christianized part of Ancient Palestine – in 1922 90% of the population was Christian. It still has a large Christian population – our brothers and sisters in Christ.
Bethlehem is now almost completely surrounded by The Wall, and there is now a generation of people who have never been to Jerusalem – never been able to celebrate the resurrection on Easter in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, never even been able to see the Sea – some 35 minutes west.
The wall is strangling Bethlehem – a city which Mayor Victor Batarsech (a Christian, as is the deputy mayor) said “belongs to every Christian as the mother city of Christendom”, and begged for help as it faces social and economic disaster.
Now Bethlehem – and the whole West Bank – is one giant prison – a “Warsaw Ghetto” within a wall, a Soviet-style puppet state where internal passports and permits are required for Palestinians even to move from one part to another of the West Bank itself.
And The Wall is not just a violation of human rights it’s a violation of human dignity – in fact it is, ultimately, a violation of humanity itself.
And there is a deep irony to the way that the Israelis are acting toward the West Bank – as an occupying force that looks a whole lot like the Roman occupation some 2,000 years ago.
There is a humanitarian crisis developing in the West Bank and Gaza and Israel is the instigator.
The voice of injustice cries out.
What are we to do in response?
More pictures of Bethlehem are here. A short video clip of the walk down to the site (a grotto) of Jesus' birth is here in Windows Media format or here in QuickTime format.
Our Pilgrimage has begun! Yesterday the rest of the group – numbering some 26 people – arrived from Washington D.C. and we immediately began walking together.
This was quite literally so – our guide Iyad Qumri, who is a member of St. George’s Cathedral parish, immediately took us on a brief walk to orient ourselves with the Old City.
As I mentioned earlier, we have already been here five days, and have had time to explore a good part of the Old City on our own. What struck me particularly was that the so-called “streets” were nothing more than narrow alleyways – perhaps ten feet wide, with small stores (sometimes no bigger than a bathroom!) on both sides.
The level of First Century Jerusalem is 20 feet below the current street level. Every time the city was destroyed – by invaders or an earthquake – the rebuilding was done on the remains rather than clearing away the debris.
The Old City also goes up! I would imagine there are three or four floors, densely packed together, above street level – but it’s difficult to tell, because you can so rarely see “up”.
Another immediate impression was how close everything is to each other. The Kidron Valley – which separates the Old City from the Mount (really the “hill”) of Olives begins at the City wall. If you are standing at the Lion’s Gate on the Eastern side of the city, it is a matter of a ten-minute walk to get to Gethsemane, which is barely above the floor of the valley on the other side, and then perhaps another 15 minutes to labor up to the top of the Mount of Olives. From there, Bethany is right in front of you. Bethany, you will recall, was the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus, who were all intimate friends of Jesus.
Of course, these are not gentle hills! The valley is deep and each side rises steeply. One of the last things we will do will be to repeat the Palm Sunday procession from the Mount of Olives, and then the traditional route of Jesus’ final walk to Golgotha.
But that is to get ahead of ourselves! We will begin with a visit to Bethlehem, tomorrow.
More pictures of Jerusalem are in this photo gallery.
Today we visited Caesarea Maritima - about 65 miles north-west of Jerusalem on the coast. The Pilgrimage is not visiting this ancient port, but it is significant to Holy Week, so I decided to make a separate trip.
As it’s name – “Maritima” – implies, Caesarea Maritima is –as I said - a port.
Or, rather, it was a port.
Unknown today to many people Caesarea Maritima was, in Jesus’ time the largest and most important city in the Roman Province of Judea, one of the largest ports in the eastern Mediterranean, and the site of the residence of the Roman Prefect Pontius Pilate.
Caesarea Maritima was built by Herod the Great in 40 B.C. – a hugely ambitious project. To show his power to control even nature Herod chose the least suitable location for a port – a straight stretch of sand, and built a large city along Roman lines including an artificial harbor capable of holding many ships. Such techniques as the pneumatic application of concrete to create the artificial harbor walls show the advanced engineering used at Caesarea.
It was from here that, on several occasions during the year, the Prefect would journey with a military force to Jerusalem – at least a three-day journey – to be present for the great festivals of the Jewish religious calendar. Such a show of force was very necessary because of the likelihood of political unrest that was common on such occasions.
Caesarea Maritima also contained one of Herod the Great’s lavish palaces, the largest temple to Jupiter outside of Rome, and one of the largest theaters anywhere in the Empire – Herod was a man who always thought on a grand scale.
It was to Herod’s palace – subsequently taken over by the Roman administration after his death – that Paul was brought before the Roman governor Festus in 58 C.E. on charges that he had caused a riot in Jerusalem. In fact, according to the Acts of the Apostles, the riots were incited by Paul’s Jewish opponents.
Paul – a Roman citizen – exercised his right to be heard by the Emperor’s court, which would lead inevitably to his transfer to Rome itself, where, along with Peter and almost all of the Roman Church, he was swept away during the first great Christian persecution by the Emperor Nero.
I stood on the spot where Paul would have stood during his hearing – the Mediterranean Sea’s waves crashing into the shore to one side, and a view across to the artificial harbor in front of me. It was not difficult imagine that confrontation, done, no doubt, in the relative cool of the morning, and to have a sense of the momentous consequences of that request for Paul in Rome.
A few more pictures of Caesarea Maritima are here.
2:00 a.m. on Friday morning found me in the Athens airport for the only non-stop flight to Jerusalem - departing 2:20 a.m. and arriving at 4:05 a.m. in Tel Aviv. The flight was barely half-ful - I guess there aren't many Greeks going to Israel!
By the time I cleared the usual formalities and collected my bags it was nearly 5:00 a.m. - and Ben Gurion airport was a hive of activity.
I took a shared taxi, operated by Nesher, to St. George's Anglican College. If you ever need anything to wake you up after a sleepless night, I recommend a Nesher from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. I didn't know that those Mercedes buses would actually do 95 m.p.h. But I digress.
We reached Jerusalem as the sun came up and I got this odd, distorted picture that everything seemed to be white - all the buildings were monochrome. As it turned out my eyes were not deceiving me - all the buildings ARE white! The Israeli government requires that all building materials come from local quarries and so every building looks the same - I'm not sure of the reason for this, but it makes the Jerusalem sky-line exceedingly boring.
St. George's, on the other hand, is wonderful, an oasis of color - a haven, someone told me by email yesterday.
Perhaps unintentionally she was right about the "haven" bit. High fences topped by barbed wire. Electronic gates permanently closed except for access. 24 hour security. All exterior doors locked. Floodlights. Sounds like a prison, except this security is intended to keep folk out.
I do understand why. I've felt safer in most major U.S. cities than on the walk between St. George's and the Old City.
There is a real tension in the air in Jerusalem. I have yet to see anyone smile - outside the college, anyway. I can usually get a smile out of anyone but I've had no luck - except for the false 'bonhomie' of the street vendors there sees little cheer here.
And no one wants to talk
Of course, as Dean Stephen Near said to me yesterday "Jerusalem is empty" - meaning empty of tourists and pilgrims. The recent war caused massive cancellations (there are three of us at St. Georges at the moment - it's usually full at this time of year).
Yet Jerusalem is not empty. All its inhabitants are here, as I discovered today. Which means that incomes in the street business sector have plummeted. Family budgets are, no doubt, "stressed".
Today I wandered into the Old City for the first time - and was immediately reminded that Jerusalem is a city on a hill - it slopes - and St. George's is on the high end. Through Herod's Gate I immediately found myself in a maze of narrow alleyways sloping down toward Temple Mount.
On my way down I was passed by an Israeli police patrol. Forget the crisp white shirts, the grey pants with the stripe, or the dark blues. In the high heat of mid-day it was green fatigues. Body armor. Helmets. Automatic weapons held at the ready.
And everywhere there were security cameras - on posts, on the side of buildings.
Jerusalem is a city that is on edge.
Most Arabs will not make eye contact. Actually most everyone will not make eye-contact. The only exceptions are the young children (the only ones I heard laughing) and, of course and the ubiquitous street-merchants, who seem as likely to tackle you around the ankles and drag you into their shops as to exchange the time of day with you.
And there is a sullen arrogance in the residents, one which says "we don't want you here - but we'll tolerate you for your money". There is little love for Westerners on this side of town and - except for a few places - less for Americans, who - it is clear - are identified with the Israelis. Whatever your feelings about supporting Israel there is a cost in human relationships.
The central alleys through the Old City are crowded with its residents and traders. There is little courtesy and none for women, who are clearly third class citizens. In every other city I've visited I took hundreds of pictures, but here I put my camera away - it didn't feel safe to intrude in that very personal way.
And I found myself thinking "This is the Jerusalem that Jesus found." Heavily armed Roman patrols walking the narrow alleyways. Crowds of traders all hawking their wares. Noise and disrespect and third class citizens. A sullen, quiet hatred for the occupier.
A city that was on edge.
No wonder this country-boy from the green fields of the Galilee wept over a Holy City that was under guard, one where its worthies seemed to be doing everything they could to abuse their sacred trust in its true identity.
And one more thought. Yesterday - Friday - the Muslim Holy Day - I suddenly understood the way the Romans must have felt when they watched this Jewish peasant's entry to the cheers of the crowds on Palm Sunday:
It was how the Israeli police behind their crowd-control barriers must today feel each Friday as they watch the head Mullahs walking to the Temple Mount surrounded by crowds of cheering, chanting Muslims - nervous, and knowing that this is a power-keg, and that they're heavily outnumbered, and hoping that none of the crowd know it too........
And if they identify a trouble-maker - a crowd-inciter - they will, no doubt, be just as quick as the Romans to remove him from play.....that's how the domination system works.
Not much has changed in 2000 years.
And so I can say this - at first I was disappointed that my expectations for a faith-filled experience in Jerusalem were being dashed by the dirt and the sullen anger and the exploitation, the tension and the threat.
But now I realize that through these things I am closer to the experience of Jesus as he entered Jerusalem - and closer to the Jerusalem he experienced - than I could ever have imagined possible.
More pictures of Jerusalem are here in a photo gallery.
Continue reading Nigel's journal with his entries from Greece.
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