Welcome to Jordan!

The muddy, narrow Jordan

You could almost walk on water - without a miracle - on this side of the River Jordan! It's caramel brown, thick with mud, and so narrow you could pole vault across!

"Jordan hasn't invested much in Holy Land tourism," our new guide, Dani, tells us. He's apologetic, a bit defensive, a little embarrassed. "How many places did you see in Israel?" he wants to know. We tell him we saw many places, every day. "I can't go to Israel," he reminds us. "I'd like to visit all those places too, but our country doesn't recognise that country. We don't say the name, 'Israel' here. And we don't have many holy sites."

Dani, our friendly Jordanian guide

Bedecked Dani explains Rift Valleys

Dani is a young, bearded, gold-wearing Jordanian, with chain link bracelets, rings and a necklace. He says people would know he's a Christian by his gold. "Muslim men never wear jewelry." he tells us, "Jordan is 98% Muslim. Only 2% are Catholic or Greek Orthodox.... This is why they don't invest in Holy Land sites. There are many, many sites in Jordan," he says, "but no-one cares. We have to wait for foreign money, and it doesn't come."

Workmen clearing the roadway

But the sites he shows us are authentic and moving. After all, it probably was on this side of the Jordan river that John the Baptist ministered much of the time, and on this side that he baptised the Lord Jesus. In the past, symbolic white doves fluttered here, but there are none today; only muddy water and a group of workmen paid to clear the road to the river, anticipating the Pope's visit.

Israeli side - easier when soldiers work!

"Make a highway in the desert" takes on new meaning. The spiritual road, cleared here by John the Baptist, has long since been filled in by dirt, debris and doubt, and it seems like a token gesture now to level it for Christ's Roman representative.

Greek Orthodox church by the River

But redemption gleams from the crannies! There's a little gem by the riverside: a church, golden domed like the Dome of the Rock, but much, much smaller, and open to visitors. We go inside.

It's Greek Orthodox, and I delight in its curving wooden seats along the walls; the blue base for  iconostasis art, painted from ceiling to floor; the gleaming brass and candles. We study the stories on the walls, taking in Crusader angel motifs, and troop back outside.

And then I see it happen: the thing I've been hoping, waiting for all along the way. A baptismal site miracle! Or at least a divine moment. An instant of quiet in chaos. Vincent is still, stationary, seated in a curved bench, looking, leaning, feeling the air on his skin, stories in his eyes, the comforting weight of faith on his head. Vincent, with autism, hardly speaks, so I specially request that we visit Greek Orthodox churches, where one needs no words; the paintings speak clearly. Here at last, right where Jesus heard a voice speaking words of love to him from heaven, Vincent listens. I imagine the same voice speaking to Vincent; speaking for him, speaking with him. Listening to him.

Vincent, tucked into the church wall like a prayer

I remember our final group gathering, before leaving on this tour, when we wrote prayers on post-it notes and stuck them to a brick wall - symbolic of the prayers we'd post into the Wailing Wall once we reached Jerusalem. Each person took another's prayer, and committed to praying that for them. I took Vincent's. "I want to talk to God," he wrote.

I watch him a moment, in this shining sacred space. Maybe here by the muddy, narrow Jordan, that yellow post-it note becomes a flame, burning as gold as an icon's candle.

Jackie & Ken wait outside

Maybe, with his parents waiting outside, Vincent himself becomes a small prayer, tucked into a wall of faith, talking straight to God. I hope so.

We move on to Moses' country, driving on the King's Highway, chronologically reversing through time. Oh, but it's a dry land, and it's a relief to stop at the "Grand Canyon" of Jordan, and see the "third best view in the world." (Dani enjoys those qualifications!) This is the Valley of Arnon, wide and deep. On one side are the Mountains of Moab; on another, the Mountains of Ammon. The valley's enormous - over 200 sq. km of nature reserve.

Tradition says that Moab was the offspring of Lot and his elder daughter, while Ammon was Lot's child with his younger daughter - from the infamous episode after Sodom and Gommorah's destruction. These hills became their family homes. Remarkably, Ruth, great-grandmother of the great King David, came from Moab. The distance between dirt and glory is much closer than we think!

Seyi's swashbuckling suitor!

A shaft of blue parts the dust, and we see a large dam, sourced by seven springs, whose water goes primarily to Madaba. We follow it there, after rescuing Seyi from the amorous invitations of a Bedouin Romeo, wishing for her lovely hand in marriage!

Guide to Madaba Map - listing all the places depicted on it

Ma- (water) -Daba (fruit) is a land of plenty, and certainly was back in its heyday. Inhabited for over 4500 years, it is cited in Numbers 21:30 as a Moabite town. After the Moabites, it saw Nabataean, Roman and Byzantine rule, becoming a prominant Christian centre in the 700's.

The Madaba Map - a mosaic on the church floor

It also became famous for its mosaics, and at last we get to see the original 6th century mosaic map of the Holy Land, including a detailed depiction of Jerusalem with its walls, streets and churches. If only all maps could be so clever! This one has brought many archaeological mysteries to life - researchers followed what was pictured here, and sure enough, discovered buried sites. The mosaic was buried too! An earthquake leveled Madaba in 797, and it was abandoned for over 1000 years, till a few Crusader families from Kerak chose to settle there. As they dug foundations for their homes, magnificent mosaics were unearthed; and now every wall of this church is hung with a series of them, depicting the events of Jesus' life. Rocks and stones crying out!

At the 2nd best restaurant in Jordan!

It's lunch time, and we eat at "the second best restaurant in Jordan, where George W. and Laura Bush ate!" (thanks, Dani!). Their framed photo proves it! Getting lunch is a slow process, but all part of the journey we're on; we're here to taste and see, to learn and listen! Entering the time line of this land - past and present - is one way to do that.

Khaled drives us up a hill and we enter a new air, fresher and clearer. Thin green trees sway in a mild breeze. The last stage, to the mountaintop, must be taken by foot, like the trail I once took up Mount Sinai - though this path is paved and smooth. We're arriving at another great mountain in Moses' life: Mount Nebo.

Behind me - the amazing vista Moses saw - Promised Land

On this Mtn, God took Moses to Himself

Moses saw all these places - so near - from a distance only

At the top, like Moses so long ago, we survey the wide valley and the vista beyond. Moses must have longed for the "beyond," as he saw that land. He had brought the children of Israel so very far; all the way from Egypt; from inner and outer slavery. Now they knew for sure that they were bound to no-one but their God. They were to enter the good land! It was very near.

Moses would not go there. The baby rescued from water, the man who had parted the shining waves of the Red Sea, had been so angry that he needed to provide water for these complainers again that he struck the rock, instead of speaking to it as God commanded. Water gushed, but Moses' spirit was crushed. How tired he must have been, looking from Mount Nebo after all those years. Maybe it was a relief not to have to lead the people any more. God knew. In the silence of the ages, Moses died on this mountain, in the arms of God, and was laid to rest by God himself. His grave and body were never found.

Mosaics, now stored in a shed where birds make their home

Closed 4 years

The church in his honour has been locked up 4 long years; "under repair." Maybe it will take a full 40 years of wilderness waiting to see it open! Who knows?! ... But it's maddening, nearby, to see massive mosaics, formerly in the church, now in open display, ruined by seeming neglect and bird droppings.

A new sight in a women's washroom! No-one used them ...

(And I'd never seen a women's washroom full of urinals before!! - The men's had none! They must have mis-labelled the doors, and never bothered changing them.) "We're not business people, we're Bedouins," Dani says happily throughout the day, speaking of the Jordanian people. "We don't care about money; you can trust us!" Perhaps, but maybe not with ancient treasures! Trust includes doing good, not just not doing bad! But who can judge? Moses had his foibles, and God believed in him.

We drive to the site where Moses struck the rock: Meribah. "You can drink the water, even now!" Dani tells us. Bobbing in the water is an empty pop bottle, so we decline; but apart from that it really is sparkling and clear. The Rock itself is here too - housed in a small building that looks from the outside less like a shrine and more like a water pump station. Turns out, in some ways, it is - this water supplies the whole town! Thanks be to God, for perfect faithfulness in spite of petty failure.

The group enters the castle

Kerak Crusader Castle - another church era!

Our final stop for the day is Kerak castle, Crusader fortress in the 1100's, bastion of Christian warriors and prison for their enemies. We marvel at the solid structure, with its trapezoid "arrow" windows - small and narrow outside, broadening to much larger within - so nothing could enter except air and light.

Hole in ceiling lets in light & air

We wander through big stables, cavernous meeting places, prison cells and a chapel. It's all here - except the knights themselves, but we can almost hear their clanking armour, smell their woodsmoke fires and feast around their table.

Broad lookout - for safety - from the hilltop castle

It's odd to have this European architecture in the middle of the Mediterranean, but whoever said the history of the Holy Lands was graceful? It's a muddled jumble of hopes shattered, dreams repaired, and bruised again. As we leave, small smiling Muslim children say "Welcome to Jordan!" I think to myself, "A few hundred years ago, their parents would have been locked in those prisons!"

Dani has told us he will never have children because he has only despair for his land. There will never be peace. He can't even run water freely - he gets only 6 hours of running water each week to fill his water tank. Jordan, named for its river, is not flowing with abundance for ordinary people. Dani's vision is a reunited Jordan/Israel. "Geographically we are one!" he declares. "Together, we are the most beautiful land in the world." ... Easy to say the word "utopia," but harder to deliver.

It's peaceful when we get to our hotel, just outside the gates of Petra. This day has been eye-opening, and a little unsettling. 

Life at the Dead Sea

Crossing Jordan is more hassle these days than it was when the priests dipped their toes in the water, it parted, and they strolled over. Nowadays you have to take piles of passports into a non-airconditioned office where someone goes through and stamps each of them; you need a "tourist police" with you at all times, or you'll be pulled over at rigorous checkpoints; and you need at least a $10 "tip" so that the security officer doesn't yank every suitcase that has just been through security in Israel, back off the bus to go through it again. (With that "handshake", he glanced through two, and pronounced them all clear! Phew! This bus is small; it was hard to pack them all in!)

Jordan is dry, dusty, much poorer than I'd imagined, in its southern parts. The King's Highway, along which we drive, has speed bumps so often that it seems less like a highway and more like a school zone! But our driver, Khaled, is great - famous for two things: for playing semi-professional soccer ("42 games, never scored a goal" ... oh, he was the goalie!) and for looking like the former King Hussein! He speaks great English and is courteous and friendly.

There's plenty of life at the Dead Sea!

Stay awhile!

He drives us to the Dead Sea, and the Moevenpick Hotel.We are to rest here for two nights, with nothing to do in the intervening day but relax! We obey!

O little town ... apartment path to the beach

Birthday Queen - Karen (right)

It's Karen's birthday today, and there couldn't be a better place to grow older - or younger, if the Dead Sea lives up to its reputation! I think it's working on her :)

The view goes on and on ... to the Israeli side beyond

Karen, Seyi, Christine, Linda & Brad
soaking it up in the Infinity Pool!

Sunny smiles!

Garden oasis

The only question is: which pool do we use, or is it straight to the Sea? Wandering pathways invite, the spa beckons, apartments look like timeless desert homes carved into the hills.

Connie & Sharon - the beach beckons!

Everything is luscious, the food is delicious, the cool, gracious receiving rooms enormous!

Scott's face is pretty enough - no need for Dead Sea mud!

The timing is perfect.

We've imbibed so much from our Israel experience; and taken in layer upon layer of history and meaning.

Michelle stays afloat!

Now we need our own "Sabbath" to reflect and let it soak in. We do soak - literally!

The Sand-Art guy

On our second night there, rested, refreshed - we come together to catch up. Quiet joy fills our souls as we share the highlights, the learning points, the moments that meant most to us so far:

Lynda and her new-found-friend, the Cat!

baptisms, mountain mustard seeds, garden communion, desert walks, friendships, increased knowledge, musical memories...We pray, give thanks for Yossi, for the Holy Land, for the wonder of being there; most of all, for being graced with the Light of God, that makes all the difference.

We pray our daily blessing, "May the Lord bless you and keep you, may the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you. May the Lord turn the light of His face toward you, and give you peace." He has; he does, moment by moment. We bask in eternal, holy love.

End times

The elevator plays a strange, haunting song as I descend: "Bye-bye-bye-bye-bye-bye-bye" in an Israeli girl's voice. It's a sorrowful message that helps me prepare and become present. I need to take in every moment; this is goodbye. I may never return.

A bridge too empty!

I've loved every moment of this tour because I've lived in each one. This will be no exception. I'm out with a smile and forward stride. The bus waits, we identify luggage, off we go. We drive under the harp-shaped "Bridge of Strings," designed for pedestrians in homage to King David's harp; enormous, expensive and unused!

In a few moments Yossi welcomes the group to this, our final day in Israel. He talks about what we'll see and learn, about ancient travel and passports ... Passports! I left mine in my room's safe! What a blessing he used that word! I could have been at the Jordan border before thinking about it! We turn back. No-one complains. The hotel comes out with my passport and cash. I am covered, cared for, even in my shortcomings. "Who can despise the day of small things?" (Zechariah 3:10)

This time we're really off, and drive to see all Yossi still has in mind for this last day. We stop, debark, and survey the land.  Zion.

Bedouin donkey - seen later this day

The prophet Zechariah said, "Rejoice greatly, daughter of Zion! Behold your King is coming to you; lowly and riding on a donkey, the foal of a donkey" (10:9). Handel's Messiah has an unforgettable piece based on this. But it was also Zechariah who said, "They weighed out for my wages thirty pieces of silver. And the Lord said to me, 'Throw it to the potter'" (11:12). Yossi shows us the potter's field and we look in silence at that dark history, foreshadowed by Zechariah and fulfilled by Judas. This land has more than its share of betrayals and blood buried in it, through Jew, Muslim, Christian. Yet these are a people who tell their history in terms of personal triumphs and enemy defeats, an equal partnership of humanity rising up in action with divinity. The name Isra-el, "warring with God" is a powerful one for them.

How could a city like Jerusalem otherwise have survived? Heroditus says a city must: 1. be located high  2. have fertile land  3. be on a commercial route  4. have plenty of water. Jerusalem is in a valley, in the midst of scrub desert, nowhere near the sea or trade routes, and it has no natural springs. Yet it stands, a bastion for the ages, the heart cry of differing faiths.

Montefiore windmill

Near the gates of the old city is an incongruous sight: a windmill, white and high; we stand by it in the morning sun. Behind us is an antique carriage, preserved on display: such European elements! Yossi tells us the story: in the 1880's a British Jewish banker, Moses Monetefiore, visited Jerusalem and saw the poverty and indolence of the ultra-orthodox Jews there. He created another opportunity for them, a chance to work and earn their food rather than live on charity. He planted fields in the valley, built the windmill on top, along with beautiful little terraced homes (the community of Yemin Moshe), and invited them to live in these homes. There was a simple condition: they must spend some time working the fields themselves, and grind their own flour in the windmill. They never did, preferring poverty and ease to routine and opportunity, a pattern that continues.

Artist's front garden

Today the windmill stands immobile but the houses, white and sparkling in sunshine, are lively homes to intellectuals and artists. It's stringent to get into the community; I feel particularly pleased, because my Swedish friend with the UN, Elisabeth, lived there, and I was completely charmed by her and her sun-embraced, flower-filled, artistic home when I visited last!

Shoshanna flower

Pausing under a flower-laden tree, Yossi asks what we think it is. He points out a flower, six-petaled, like the Star of David, and says it's the Shoshanna flower, flower of this nation. This, we learn, is the pomegranate tree, bursting with life, hope, colour and vigour.


A few steps around a corner and we come to the Tomb of the Sons of Herod. There are no other visitors here, but it's a significant spot: Herod's family's burial place! (Even though he did kill half of them himself!)

Round tombstone, high as a man

... But here is a perfectly intact round 1st century tombstone; archaeologists have stopped at precisely the right moment to capture it in place. There's a slide channel for it to run through. History underfoot! Since it's from the same era, no doubt this is where we get our Bible story design of the stone that rolled from Jesus' grave!

Ezekiel's Living Creatures - in stone

We quickstep to the courtyard of the YMCA, where Ezekiel's "living creatures" gaze over us, carved into stonework. Built nearly 100 years ago for the "new Jerusalem" of God, the Y here was planned by a Brit as a Messianic safe haven and tribute to "the visit of Jesus to England" during his "unknown years" of age 18-30, with Joseph of Arimathea. Now it houses guests from around the world; its motto is one of peace. Yossi's flute fills the courtyard with the soaring, majestic "Jerusalem Hymn," music that Prince William and Katherine, and William's parents, had at their weddings. Ten days ago we drove into this city with the other "Jerusalem" hymn; we leave today with this, based on William Blake's poem, gleaming with "the Countenance divine shining upon these cloudy hills." It has done that for us. But the chapter is closing.

"Where political & religious jealousies can be forgotten..." - in Arabic, English & Hebrew

"We have 10 minutes," says Yossi, man of strategic vision. "I think we can make it to see King Solomon's Mines, if you will." King Solomon's Mines! Images from National Treasure movies and Indiana Jones flit through our minds: gleaming gold heedlessly tossed in heaps, waiting to be uncovered - but woe to the unworthy! Are we amongst those counted worthy to glimpse? We fervently nod! We'd love to see!

Inside King Solomon's Mines

We pull up right at the city wall. King Solomon's Mines are here? Into a door in the white stone wall we enter; Yossi pays at the inner gate. We follow and descend into darkening spaces that widen out into golden-lit cavernous rooms. Down into the depths of the under-city we walk, wonder filling us with exclamations! Who knew that this was here? "The spaces under the city of Jerusalem are like Swiss cheese," says Yossi. "Caves and tunnels everywhere - Hezekiah's tunnel is another example."

But these caves are magnificent, magnetic. We're drawn inexorably into the belly, under the wondrous city of God - to the heart of it all, where stone was chiselled, carved, quarried faithfully, steadily by hidden workmen, who kept the sound of the hammer and pickax far from the Temple itself ... but not so far that transportation would have been an absolute pain. They mined for veins of rich, reddish rock: earth's blood, not gold, and much more precious! 1 Kings 5:17 tells us that the king ordered "great, costly stones" to make the foundation of the Temple!

Maybe it really is a gold mine!

Walls shine in the dim glowing lights. Yossi tells tales of Freemasons, and of miners in Solomon's time; points to the secret spring, known as the "Spring of Zedekiah's tears" - "a myth!" he says, letting us know that if a leaking pipe in the Austrian Hospice was fixed, Zedekiah would soon stop weeping! When we laugh, he stops us, "Ah, but what is mythology?" he inquires - still asking questions, still teaching "on the way" even though we're in our last 10 minutes of Jerusalem. "Mytho-logy" includes the concept of Logos/Logic. It is the "true word" that shapes our ideology. "See this," and he points ahead. "This dark tunnel takes us under the Holy of Holies. True."

Tunnel to under the Holy of Holies

We gaze. 5780 years ago this opened the way to the Rock of Foundation, also known as Mount Moriah, on which was built the Temple of Solomon. We're at the bedrock of history - the tangible truth of the invisible greater truth, Rock of Ages. Yossi points to a corner, carved out huge and empty: "That is where the Cornerstone came from."

Oh, it's so hard to take it in; all the worlds and words, the worries, whispers, wonderings, weary moments of our souls combine and are melted and formed into something far more precious than any treasure we saw in movies. All the language - the "mythology" that leads us from concrete to unseen - comes together in that place of tunnels, of questions followed, trails explored, leading to the foot of the Holy of holies. What a quest humankind has always been on. We follow.

The enormous cornerstone block gap -
recalls Jesus as our Cornerstone

Yossi's flute emerges and plays in the flickering glow. Notes bounce off secret hollows, going who knows how deep into the caverns of the under-city, taking with them the light of the world, brushing dust off deep inner shelves with logos of truth: words embedded in the music he spills out from Psalm 147:

"The Lord builds up Jerusalem; he gathers together the outcasts of Israel. He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Great is our Lord, and mighty in power; his understanding is infinite. The Lord lifts up the humble. Hallelujah, O Jerusalem! Praise your God, O Zion! For he has strengthened the bars of your gates; he has blessed your children within you."

Christine in the sparkling cave!

At that moment, we are literally children "within" the city. We are carved and caressed into the blessed of the ages, clothed in light and rock and music.

Liminal luminosity lasts but a glimmer; we catch the falling gleams; and now it's time to go back out, with a quick stop at the (most practical) King Solomon's toilets. They are not as glorious smelling as the lilies of the field, clothed in greater splendour than the king! But I'm equipped, and with a quick pump or two of my tiny perfume vial, all is well! I figure the Queen of Sheba would have done the same when she was here!

Tiny trail in the desert - made green thanks to flash floods

We're on our journey back into the visible, zipping past Bethany - "El Azaria" (town of Lazarus). It's now a Muslim village and they renamed it after him, honouring the great miracle of Jesus raising Lazarus from death.

Resurrection lingers with us as we return by bus to the dry desert. Is there any life here? We walk a narrow trail. It's hot, dusty, and most of us don't know where it will lead. The wasteland too is part of our mythology - our true life story - and here in this land we sense it and see it. Besides being moon people, these are desert people. Even the word "Zion" means "desert." When we're marching to Zion, do we know the cost? Glory comes mixed deeply with dust and grit.

Scott shares; monastery behind

Yossi knows, and leads us to the end of the trail: to a shaded place here in Wadi Quelt, where flash floods occasionally rip through, providing torrential streams; where today a Bedouin and his donkey stand, selling wares. Yossi tells him we will look later, first we must talk. We do: words from Scripture, words of prayer, words rising in time with deep chants from the Greek monks in the monastery below and with silent prayers from hermitages dotting the mountain. Words rise as incense, carried on the shimmering heat of the desert, and return to quench thirsty souls, filling outstretched cups with grace, brimming with light.

St. George's Monastery in Wadi Quelt

Yossi gives each of us a Holy Land pilgrim certificate, our names written on them in Hebrew (a phonetic language, so he reads and pronounces them out loud as accurately as if they were written in English.) He tells us that we are not in actual desert - it is not "desolate." There is life here; we can see it! Maybe it's not how we envision life, but it lives! We gain perspective for our own worlds. The Lord who walked these very hills behind us, to be tempted as we are, passed through the desert to life indestructible. Not dust to dust, but dust to glory. We are not left desolate. We will survive!

Bronwyn and the Bedouin

We trek back to the bus, first sampling some of the "genuine camel bone" goods from the smiling Bedouin and his patient donkey.

Cheerful Greek Monastery

Yossi doesn't leave us desolate either. A desert is not a good place to depart from. He takes us to a cheerful sanctuary within another Greek monastery, where doves perch on sills. People come to pray, relics rest in boxes, candles are lit with hope.

The candle man

Outside, the Taverna awaits, vine leaves stretching over rooftop, stone floor made for dancing. Yossi pulls out his last gift there: a baglama - a Greek instrument that great-grandfathered the guitar, though this one is new and shiny. Very small, with incredible resonance, notes spin out as sweet as baklava, smooth and deep as date honey, bright as a peacock's crown gracing the Mediterranean sky. Yossi announces this will be a multi-media show: he'll play and Scott will dance! But sabbatical hasn't ingrained that deeply yet, so it's just the music ... and it is enough!

Dove in the desert monastery

We clap and kiss and get on the bus. It's time to go to Jordan for the final stage of our journey. We'll have a new guide there, on the other side of the river.

At the border: the final parting. Moses leaving the children (only in fact we're the ones going to Moses' territory.) We process paperwork and cross over safely. Bye-bye-bye-bye-bye-bye-bye. Israel has warred with our hearts - and won!