Walking in the Footsteps of Christ Despite My Unparalleled Disorganization

Never have I been this dirty in my life. Not through the back to back nights spent on a steady diet of Doritos and video games in Byake's basement. Not through a personal record 6 weeks without laundry, involving reusing socks twice, sometimes thrice. Not after 4 days of camping in the Minnesota "spring" (read:winter), forcing me to wear all my clothes at once. Never have I been this dirty.

I've spent the last 5 days in the midst of travel and confusion, from our farewell dinner with the Mubarek's to a night spent in Tel Aviv, watching the Vikings-Packers game until 6 am when the wearied bartenders finally got to go home and be free of 6 weeks of repressed American belligerence. Then traveling back to Jerusalem on no sleep, unless you count the accidental 2 hours Alex and I got on the beach, only to be rudely awoken by a strange, crouching man, inquiring in Hebrew about our bottle of vodka. Then straight to Tiberias, where I biked the Sea of Galilee, surviving not because of my exceptional organization skills, but despite my lack thereof.

With all the travel and excitement, I haven't showered in 5 days. I'm ashamed of the stench my body exudes right now. My feet could kill small animals, and probably has. But despite my physical wretchedness, what seemed perfunctory to any trip to Israel, has finally struck resonance in me - I'm walking in the footsteps of Christ. One would think this would occur almost immediately, after placing my hand in the spot of the crucifixion, or saying mass in his tomb, or walking along the stations of the cross. But despite the indundating amount of religious history that overwhelmed me, I felt just that - overwhelmed. Perhaps it was due to how divergent the modern layout of Jerusalem is to the layout in the time of Christ, obstructing a sense of how Christ saw it. Perhaps it was that I came completely unprepared for a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Whatever the reason, biking the sea of Galilee gave me that childlike fascination that I expected when I arrived in Jerusalem. Christ really was here.

However, all this revelation (ba-dum-ch!) may never have occured had it not been for the generosity of the local people and some dumb luck coupled with an increasing know-how of how to sneak into sites for free. I left yesterday morning, planning on seeing the birthplace of Mary Magdalene, the Mount of Beatitudes, where Christ gave his famous sermon on the mount, the place where he multiplied the loaves and fishes, where he conferred on Peter the keys to the Church and his home town for much of his life - Capernaum.

However, the organization gremlin struck me again, and I began my ride without any water or food in my belly. I figured I would stop at the first town to eat and drink, because I could not carry anything with me. By the time I reached the first town, I was already feeling dizzy and thought I might not make it. At this point, I decided that it was time to eat and replenish my salt reserves. I opened my wallet and was greeted by 40 shekel cents, roughly equivalent to one dime in monetary terms, and roughly equivalent to no food in actual terms. Fortunately, my bike uphill reaped precious rewards, as I found the one place in all of Galilee that accepted credit card. Score one for the disorganized! A bag of chips and liter of water later, and I was rejuvenated and ready to start my ride again.

Unfortunately, I was unaware of the absurd amount of hills in the region. For some reason the "Mount" of Beatitudes didn't cause me any concern. Well, biking up the mount in high heat to arrive before closing time is less than fun. So is arriving at the gate and realizing that you don't have the money to pay the entrance fee. Things always seem to work out though, because I silently sneaked by the gatekeeper as he washed his plants. And my reward was an astounding view.

Also, I asked the woman at the concession stand if I could buy anything with 40 shekel cents, to which she responded with a crippling laugh and said she accepted American money. I tried to get her to accept either Syrian or Jordanian money, but to no avail. Finally, she took pity on me and my odorous and beleaguered self and gave me a bottle of water. Following my trend of luck, I continued my win streak on my Palestine bracelet, which I expected only to receive scowls and slammed doors, but in fact won me sandwich from ya boy Omar, who said, "I saw your bracelet and knew you must be one of the good Americans." Omar, as you probably guessed, is Palestinian, and hasn't seen his family in Bethlehem since the wall was erected, because he has the Israeli blue passport.

My trek continued to the Church of the Multiplication, which is built around a stone that has been historically recorded as venerated since 28 AD. For those of you keeping track that would be before Christ's death, and would have to be soon after the occurence of the miracle. It's the closest thing I've seen to historical evidence of the occurence of a miracle, because 28 AD is before even the first Gospel was written, so there were no fervent Christians reading the story in the Bible and retroactively assigning a spot to the story. Over 5000 people witnessed the event, according to the Scriptures, and if this were the case, news would have spread fast, and it wouldbe hard pressed to believe that the spot was either forgotten, or created as a well-executed and subversive plot to obtain followers for this man who had not yet even began the Christian Church. Not that it's proof of its occurence. Not at all. But it is at least evidence.

My last two stops were the place where Christ called Peter rock, and conferred upon him the primacy as pope, which is beatifully situated along the shores of Galilee, and Christ's hometown of Capernaum, which is mentioned in the Bible as where Christ made his home.

Who knows the historical accuracy of these exact places, but one thing is certain is that Christ did walk these shores, and whether he was the Son of God, a madman or simply an eloquent speaker that followers formed a religion around under no compulsion of his own, he was here. And that note finally struck resonance in me.

Here are some bonus pics of our dinner with the Mubarek's, courtesy of Manal, since my camera is still broken.

This is too good. Now if only I had a picture of Alex with a moustache...

What Makes Traveling Worth It

Traveling has an idyllic shroud that surrounds it, filled with fantastic vagaries of empty beaches of endless white sand, setting suns that pierce the sky with a spectrum of reds and purples and nights that end when most people are beginning their work day. And in truth, it is all these things. But not only these things.

Traveling has an ugly underbelly that can soften even the strongest wills. Hellish days in the blistering sun carrying 30 pound packs on your sweat-drenched back, prostrating yourself to the mercy of foreigners who can't speak your language and could care less about how badly you need to find a bathroom and hygenic standards that are so low I won't even discuss them here.

Worst of all, there are days of utter displacement. On the heading of this blog there is a description about traveling in the land of foreign minds and foreign tongues. Sounds romantic. It can also be no less than rattling. Life on the road means life without home, and life without home means life without constancy. Being creatures of habit, this just cannot do.

So what makes traveling worth it? Why do we travel? If you type it into google, you'll find a slew of answers that range from a primordial and inordinate desire to explore to "we're bored." I venture that whatever the reason we travel can only be satisfied by the people we meet. Traveling forces you outside the box that you've constructed for yourself back home and into the world of the unknown - the world of potential rejection where every face could mask a hidden contempt for you. But once outside that box, you discover that, outside a few outliers, people exceed any expectation of generosity and hospitality that you ever had.

We've met so many different types of people on this trip (and I wish I had my camera to provide pictures). They range from Turkish communists that scoff at Islam to hermit imams that scoff at everything that is not Islam with a myriad of people in between. Tonight we have dinner with a Palestinian Christian family who live on the Vatican estate in Jerusalem, as the father is the private driver for the archbishop and the Pope when he is in town. Tomorrow morning, we have breakfast with a Catholic priest who studies here and then a third day of tours led by another Palestinian Christian, whose passion for his race is only outmatched by his passion for his faith, and a group of 80 Christian Ugandans who I've known for only 2 days but have been invited into over 15 houses.

Occasionally you do meet that one person who has nothing but contempt for you, but that one is overwhelmingly surpassed by the amount of men that welcome you without question, no matter their race, religion or disposition. Without these people, traveling is nothing more than a continuous stream of historical and aesthetic sights that begin to meld into one. But the people give traveling life.

Jerusalem My Destiny!

Though I cannot see the end for me, I cannot turn away! For all of you who actually know what I'm talking about, you've been exposed to too much bad Church music.

Anywhom, I'm in the Holy Land! I crossed the southern border into Eilat on the 29th. We were pulled aside for questioning, most likely because of our Syrian visas (although someone got through with an Iranian and Syrian visa). It only took 2 hours to cross when we were told it would take up to 8 hours.

We've spent the first 4 days here wandering the streets of the Old City, the same streets that not only Christ would have walked, but King David, Solomon, Abraham and Herod. It's an amazing city, not only because of the thousands of years of integral Biblical history, culminating in the death and resurrection of Christ, but because of the continuing modern political and religious turmoil in the city. To absorb the tension and conflict here to a point of understanding seems impossible. I can do nothing but observe and listen to the stories of others. I've spoken with Jews who have claimed that "if you look into the eyes of a Muslim, they are dead inside." I've spoken with Palestinian Christians who have castigated the Israeli government with scathing words of inequality and injustice. The tension here is not just religious and political in two independent spheres; rather, the spheres blend to a point of indistinction. For example, only days before our arrival there was an incident of violence (only one in a long history of incidents) between the Jews and the Muslims that was, fairly or unfairly depending on with whom you speak, regulated by the Israeli military.

To provide some background of the incident, I need to explain the layout of central Jerusalem. The most holy site in Jerusalem for the Jews is the western wall, one of the remaining walls of the structure that upheld the second Jewish temple. When the Messiah returns, the third temple will be built. However, on the Temple Mount, the platform directly above the western wall, is the second holiest site in Islam, the Dome of the Rock. This is the site that Allah gave Mohammed the Muslim faith to give to the people. The layout provides a wonderful breeding grounds for tension. Jews throw rocks up. Muslims throw rocks down.

So a few days ago, when the Temple Mount was closed to all non-Muslims, a group of Ultra-Orthodox Jews climbed to the top and began to perform their fervent prayers in front of the Dome of the Rock. The best analogy I can describe the insulting nature of the actions is to imagine if a Muslim entered the Vatican in the middle of the Homily and began praying to Allah in front of the altar. Well, the Jewish prayers were met with rocks and rocks were returned. In response, the Israeli military fired rubber bullets on the Muslims and injured several people. One thing I've learned thus far is that the military most often sides with the Jews. So today there is military posted all over the city, because they expect retaliation from the Muslims. I never expected Israel to be the most tumultuous country I've visited, even with traveler's tales of the unquestioning hospitality of Syrians and Jordanians. It's a very unique situation. I'll post another post on my take of the religious and political tensions.

I'll also post something on my religious experience so far, which has largely been overwhelming. I really can't wrap my mind around the fact that Christ walked the same steps that I have walked - that he was really here. I'm going to wake up very early one of these days and walk the steps of Christ during the last days of his life. From the point of the Last Supper to Gethsemani to the place of his arrest to his captivity with Caiphas to the Praetorium where he was judged by Pontius Pilate, and finally through the Stations of the Cross up to the place of his crucifixion and burial.

Also, I'll be making a trip to the Sea of Galilee to see the birthplace of Mary Magdalene, the Mount of the Beatitudes, the place where Christ performed the miracle of the loaves and fishes, and also where he conferred upon Peter the keys to the Church. It's all very exciting and very overwhelming. I also have to write a post on the people we've met. I wish I had pictured to share but my camera is broken. I take it as a blessing though, because now I'm forced to engrave these experiences in my memory rather than through a camera, and I think it's more meaningful this way. I'll keep you all posted though!