Sunday, April 4, 2010

Postcard from Nearby

Last week at this time I was still deciding among my three proposed plans for the upcoming Easter weekend: I thought I might go to Beirut, or maybe Cyprus, or then perhaps Sharm-el-Shiekh on the Red Sea. I have a plane ticket to Beirut from last May that had to be cancelled and I need to use it by this mid-May, so that was why Beirut sat at the top of the pile. I have been meaning to go to Cyprus, and then I still want to go up to Mount Sinai again, and thought a sunrise service where God spoke to Moses could lend an air of drama. Where to go…it is strange when you are abroad because, naturally, you are not tethered to the home base and traditions of your family.

My most glamorous Easter, I suppose, was 25 years ago, when as a college student abroad I met in Rome with my great friends Jill and Steve. We all had been studying abroad and this was our first time to all three meet up together and share what our experiences had been like, respectively, in Salzburg, Florence, and London. We knew it was a once-in-a-lifetime moment to be in St. Peter’s Square on Easter Sunday with Pope John Paul II bidding his Easter wishes in 65 languages and taking communion with hundreds of thousands of people. I have only the happiest memories of that Easter Sunday—a gorgeous day, talking on the telephone to my grandmother who could hardly believe she was speaking to me from Europe, and eating as much tortellini and gelato as we could afford.

As last week played out, I decided not to go anywhere. On one hand, my decision to stay around came out of an article I read on-line about a famous sermon, “The True Wilderness,” by an Anglican theologian who urged Christians to “keep Lent” in a more true fashion. As I read the minister’s words, I realized that my plans had a somewhat Las Vegas-y feel to them, and maybe I should have some sort of pilgrimage, not unlike Jesus’ own wandering in the desert. I mean I have desert just down the street! There was another reason why staying around had an odd appeal: my wonderful friend Lubna, an administrative assistant at the school and a tried-and-true ally, had secured for me appointments with an eye doctor and with a dentist. You have to understand that I have been meaning to go visit these doctors for about 18 months, and I never take the time during the hectic and never-ending school week. Between a desire to enter into a Lenten rhythm of “giving up and taking on” and a desire to check on my physical health, I scrapped the plans to go abroad.

Most of my colleagues, naturally, had planned to wing their way somewhere else, so I knew the weekend would be one of solitude. I have no problem with solitude. I rarely indulge in it so it is a welcome prospect. I decided to borrow from our library the mini-series from 1977 I remembered watching as a young one entitled, Jesus of Nazareth. This is one of those spectaculars with a cast like Laurence Olivier, Peter Ustinov and Anne Bancroft. I toyed with the idea of joining the church I attend in Amman down at the Baptismal site for early Easter services. Anyway, as I looked at the weekend, I decided I wanted to re-read the Gospel accounts and just see what new things I could pick up from watching the movie, spending some time alone, and actually reading the biblical Easter story (maybe compare it with the mini-series).

As I watched the movie, I did have to deal with a certain Franco Zefferelli 1970s golden mysticism (he was the director) but what I really loved about the film was how much the sets and locations looked like the Middle East that I recognize! When I saw the film in the 6th grade I am sure I never thought I would live here, but as I reveled in the landscapes I appreciated their attention to detail as to the landscape of this area. I also enjoyed the attention to art historical detail with the Roman buildings and costumes. Anyway, while the film was not very spiritually uplifting, it was striking how well the terrain looked like my home of the last 32 months.

As I watched the film, and we joined Jesus and the disciples in the upper room for their Passover seder, it caught me off-guard how relaxed everyone was—they were reclining! It just seemed strange since no artist that I have studied (like Leonardo, or Giotto, or Castagno, etc.) ever showed Jesus and his bros so relaxed. But of course—that is what you do here in the Middle East around mealtime anyway. So—okay, you have to remember I am alone and not busy out doing things—I get the gospel and discover the verse in John, “the disciple whom Jesus loved reclined next to him.” This just got me thinking about those guys. What do we know about them? What do the movies and paintings reveal about them? Ahhhh…here is that reflection I hoped might happen.

We know that Jesus and his twelve men were local celebrities. There must have been a kind of magic about them. They went everywhere together and wherever they went, things happened, crowds gathered, storms were stilled, people were fed, others were healed, others forgiven. I imagine that some politicians and other celebrities showed up to see them. There must have been parties with food and wine and animated conversation and I would guess public arguments probably broke out.

So, I wondered, what happened when they stepped out of the public eye? What were they like in private, out of ear shot and out of view of the media and the masses?

That verse from John gives us a peek at a personal life.

In the movie Jesus is played as stiffly as ever, but I got a better sense of the disciples, and certainly a better glimpse of Judas. So as I watched the movie, I multi-tasked, and looked through those gospel accounts seeking more information about those disciples. I wondered about them for awhile—what had they been like, how had this evangelizing mission transformed them, how they were frightened or boastful or sarcastic or sensible.

On Saturday I attended the church in Amman where I can usually be found on Saturday evenings. It was not really an Easter feel—no one wore new clothes, and I missed the lily-saturated sanctuary of my childhood church at Price Hill Baptist Church in Cincinnati. But the sermon title, “Resurrection is Go!” reminded me of my mother and one of her favorite bible verses. Since she had been in love with missionary work, she was particularly attracted to the “Great Commission” verse at the end of the gospels when Jesus urged those friends, those disciples, to “Go ye into all the world…” Indeed, if you know our family well, you may know the story of my mother making a speech in front of a state-wide church organization and exhorting them—with her cane raised in the air—to “Go, ye!”

So Easter morning dawns, and I knew I wanted to partake in the sunrise part of Easter. I have happy memories of my childhood experiences at Mt. Echo Park, high above Cincinnati, shivering in the cold as my parents’ sunday school class celebrated the moments when the women showed up at the tomb and found that Jesus was not there. Last year, when I was home in Cincinnati for Easter, my dad and I attended a sunrise service as usual.

I decided not to go down to the Baptism site—I know it would’ve been interesting being in a spot where Easter has been publicly celebrated since the 320s. But I decided to drive over to Mt. Nebo instead and just, kind of, hang out with God. Mt. Nebo is the spot about 20 minutes away from here, where Moses died, and there is a church at the top dating back to the 6th or 7th century. It just felt in keeping with my weekend to continue the solitude and stare down into the plunging valley that looks right at Jerusalem. I could sit and stare at the city, just about 40 miles away, where it all transpired.

Let’s go back to that upper room scene. Without explanation, Jesus takes off his robe and fills a basin with water, and washes the feet of his disciples, one after another, wordlessly engaging in this tender act. It is then that Jesus delivers a farewell address, or even a last will and testament. “A new commandment I give you: love one another. As I have loved you, you must love one another.” If we think of this as his last will and testament, think of what he possesses: love. This is what he bequeaths to his followers: love.

Buddhism, by contrast, teaches the means to enlightenment, ultimate liberation, nirvana.

Islam teaches submission, or surrender, to Allah.

Judaism teaches a means to keep a covenant with the One God who brought the Israelites out of Egypt.

So sitting on this mountaintop, with the sun coming up behind me (I forgot that Mt. Nebo is perfect for sunset, actually, not sunrise!!) I pondered the heart of Christianity. I don’t know which is harder, more arduous and difficult, the attempt to achieve enlightenment, or the attempt to love one’s enemies. But they are different.

There it was on the horizon—the city of Jerusalem. My colleague Charlie is there right now. I am eager to hear what it was like to be there during Easter and Passover. I was comfortable on the side of the mountain, alone, staring down at the Dead Sea, over into Israel, thinking how Abraham of old left the proven pathways of his homeland, of the Eastern wise ones who followed a star in search of a savior, for those gutsy twelve who left their fishing nets at the invitation to “follow me,” and for Jesus too, who wandered in the very wilderness before me.

The silliest thing popped in my head as I sat there pondering the biblical narratives—I thought of my visit to the Grand Canyon in 2004…throughout the Grand Canyon National Park, an arid climate not unlike the very one in which I sat, there are signs posted that read,
“Stop! Drink Water! You are thirsty, whether you know it or not.”

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