…and the walls came a tumblin’ down…never to be built again. Today we traveled to Jericho in a Palestinian controlled area, the West Bank. Several soldiers met our driver at a checkpoint and asked who we were. Quickly they raised the blockade and we went on our way (by the way, this checkpoint was nothing like the Israeli checkpoint outside of Bethlehem. The Israeli checkpoint had guns and a huge wall…Prince of Peace help us). Jericho could have easily been missed. From the road it looks like a pile of dirt, but as you climb the path you look down into an excavated pit containing one of the oldest structures in human history, a cylindrical stone building 10,000 years old. That’s thousands of years before Abraham!
Humans have been here for so long, yet we still can’t seem to figure out how to live in peace. True, abiding peace. Not conformity or uniformity. Well, these have their place, like a choir singing in unison. Having a uniform sound, all conforming to one note can be lovely and ethereal, oh but to add harmony, adding a different voice all it’s own dancing with the melody…this is not music…it is beauty. Two, three, twelve parts each voice is its own, all in the same key. The key is the key. All of the voices in their individuality must be in the same key, whether it be a lamenting A minor, a joyful C major, or some strange and postmodern E sharp diminished. You see, the key is the key, and the key is Christ. Many parts, but one body, one Lord, one Spirit, one baptism, one salvation, one eternal God.
After spending some time at Jericho we went to Qumran, where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found. I don’t have all that much to say about Qumran. Archeologists may have been more profoundly impacted by caves in the rock face and newly upturned ground revealing ruins of the Essene Community, but I could have skipped it and kept on living. You will just have to read their blogs.
Not quickly enough, we loaded the bus for the Shepherd’s Field. On the outskirts of town we explored caves carved out of the rock, which provided shelter for the shepherds as they watched their flocks by night. Others had a more powerful experience in the field than I because I spent most of my time convincing myself to spelunk through the narrow and dark and stuffy and narrow and treacherous and foreboding caves. Ok, foreboding might be strong, but if you know my fears, this is one.
Many years ago when I was in middle school our church youth group went spelunking in caves in Tennessee. I wanted to challenge myself to the “Wild Tour,” a four hour caving experience through narrow passage ways, crawl spaces, and careful ledge walks. Three and a half hours into the tour I heard our tour guide shout to us that the upcoming portion of the cave can be explored in one of two ways–you can either crawl above or below the hourglass shaped opening, but we are not to try to crawl through the middle. Well, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to crawl high or low, so eventually I found myself stuck. I wasn’t a small young man either. I never have been. My arms were pinned to my sides. My legs couldn’t move. I was stuck. I also came to the realization that in a very real sense, I was being buried alive. My heart began to race, my breathing became shallow, and tears starting flowing as I, in a panic, screamed out to anyone who would listen, “I’m stuck!” My friend, David, who was touring behind me put his feet in the small of my back and kicked me through the opening. It hurt. My body was hurt, my feelings were hurt, I was embarrassed, and I wanted to go home. So, most with our party whipped right through those caves, but I…I needed more time, but I did it and I have the video to prove it. So, I didn’t have time to ponder the “Gloria in Excelsis Deo,” nor did I see the actual shepherd to walked by while our group was there, but Jesus got me through the cave. For what else could I ask in that moment?
After briefly touring the Church of the Shepherd’s field we journeyed to Bethlehem. We visited the Church of the Nativity, one of the oldest intact churches (roughly 1,500 or so years old). Your journey begins by entering a small door hewn so you have to bow as you enter the sanctuary. The ancient stone and faded icons seem to whisper a mystery to you saying, “To you is born this day, a savior, who is Christ the Lord,” which is what I should have heard in the Shepherd’s field, but a delayed revelation is a revelation all the same.
The church is just beautiful. We waited in line to go into the cave where tradition holds that Jesus was born (I know, another cave, right? I guess the Spirit knew what it was doing asking me to stay and travel the caves at the earlier stop). When you go down into the cave under the altar you see the natal star, which is a fourteen point gold star marking the place where God became flesh. Was this the actual place? Doesn’t matter. It will take your breath away anyway. After each of us had a moment to meditate we all starting singing Christmas carols. It was profound. It was corporately personal, and I’m still trying to figure out what that means. Singing “Silent Night” in a cave marking the incarnation, is just…what true and abiding peace feels like..