Rector's blog

“Vast, echoing and God-like” were T E Lawrence’s words for Wadi Rum.  We had been expecting to travel from Petra to Aqaba by midday, with the guide pointing out Wadi Rum as we drove smoothly past it on the highway.  But the lunchtime ferry was cancelled so we had to adopt Plan B.  We exchanged our air conditioned coach at a Bedouin camp for open top jeeps, some of which would have been elderly when they were filming Lawrence of Arabia in the 1960s.  The Bedouin drivers clearly love taking these jeeps across the desert, and would give Hamilton and Button a run for their money in Formula One.  And so we are led to explore Wadi Rum, the place made famous for its role as one of Lawrence’s bases during the uprising against the Ottoman Empire during the First World War.

That fame pales into insignificance compared to the enormous beauty and magnificence of this place.  The sandstone varies from pink to ruby red, with the soft mountains being carved into Gaudi-like patterns by the wind and the rain.  Many of the high hills rest on a granite base.  Since that is impermeable, occasional springs form 50 metres up the slope.  It’s odd seeing a line of green – the occasional tree and scrub – hug the mountain side.  I expect springs in the desert to be oases on the sandy ground.  But just as this expedition was unexpected, so this majestic scenery is an unexpected gift too.  In many ways it rivals Petra – but this time all the carving is done by God’s force in nature.

We lunch at a Bedouin camp under a tent made of goat’s hair, which apparently does not catch fire (so they can light small fires inside) and (after the first shower of rain) becomes water-proof.  I know that we are tourists – but we catch a sense of desert hospitality.  As we drive on, I notice that the low lying clouds often take the colour of the surrounding sand: pink-ish clouds in the middle of the afternoon, well before sunset, seem remarkable to me.  But then there is something about heaven taking its colour from what we expect to find on earth.  If you believe in being generous, you will likely find a generous God.  Be half hearted and stingy, and God’s behaviour will appear like that to you.

Today is dedicated to visiting Petra: “rose-red city, half as old as time”.  It is nearly impossible to find the words to describe what we see, or what feelings it evokes.  This is truly an awesome place.  The story of it being re-discovered by westerners in 1812 (though known well by the local Bedouin) is itself a remarkable part of its charm and intrigue.  Having been here once before, I am slightly better prepared for what I see.  But I don’t want to spoil it for others: the approach is remarkable.  Our pilgrims start eulogising over scenes, well before what I recall as the places that are truly stupendous.  So, Petra begins magnificent and then gets better. 

“Half as old as time” has been described as an exaggeration and a nonsense phrase – but actually it captures one of the important aspects.  This is that many of the most marvellous moments are actually natural rock carvings: the soft sandstone is etched into amazing shapes, revealing wonderful colours, by wind, rain, flash-floods and simply the slow weather-beaten-ness of time. As well as that, the various civilizations that lived here have given us temples, tombs and homes superbly carved into the rock.  But essentially it is a mix of divine and human ingenuity.  After the initial shock of seeing human habitations carved straight into the rock-face, we see afresh the wonderful natural rock formations.

That’s how Petra works.  If you come to a tourist attraction, you will see something that is special – but no more.  If you are ready to be inspired, and allow yourself to be transported into wonder, then you will be.  After lunch some of us take a steep path up to the building known as the Monastery.  Perhaps that sounds suitable for those on Pilgrimage – but the place is really just an old pagan temple.  However, the path leads us up to a high spot from which we can see across the Arabah valley to Israel.  We have left all the ancient remains behind – and what stuns us is quite simply a magnificent view.  By this stage of mid-afternoon, all I need is an ordinary cup of tea, because Petra has worked its magic on me.  I have had enough new experiences – I need to let them settle within, and make sure my soul is supple enough to absorb such marvel.

 Half way through our visit we are shown a recently discovered church that was in use in the 5^th century.  There are some beautiful mosaics, but what catches our eyes is a labourer’s notice above the baptismal area which appropriately declares “work in progress”.  I am work in progress, and my baptism declares that I will always be work in progress until the day that I am taken home.  Being a person who can appreciate and rejoice in marvels is part of what I am called to become.

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You may have read in the news about a ferry fire on the crossing that we are taking tomorrow to Egypt.  This is NOT the ferry that we will be taking.  We have a modern catamaran (the sort that goes daily to the Isle of Wight).  We are assured that we will be completely safe.  Please don’t worry. If I need prayers today, it is that my blisters will shrink by the time that I have to climb Mount Sinai.

We travelled the Kings’ Highway today.  This is the road along the hills that edge the Great Rift Valley, connecting the capitals of the old kings o f Midian, Edom, Moab, Amor and Ammon.  The last 4 of these are in present-day Jordan – so we travel along an ancient highway.  Apparently engineers were commanded to improve the road a few years ago.  At one point, near the deep valley across which they have built a large dam, there was much disagreement about what the best route was to climb the valley on both sides.  Engineers disagreed about which route would be shortest and least steep, until they decided to trust the donkeys.  They recognised that the donkeys would know the best answer.  So they watched the donkeys – and this is the route that the roads now follow.  I was reminded of the story about the building of a modern university in England.  The builders finished and wanted to hand the site over to the new university – but the Vice Chancellor complained: you have not built any paths across the campus.  The response was: wait for a year – the students will know where the paths need to go – then we will build them wherever the students are already walking.

Sometimes we need to trust others to know and show us the way.  Our first visit today was to Mount Nebo, which is remembered as the site where Moses looked over the Promised Land.  Moses had previously disobeyed God’s command, and so was forbidden from entering the Promised Land.  Mount Nebo was as far as he got, then he died.  It is a poignant place.  But there is something known as the “dictatorship of the first generation”.  If, in a company or a school, say, there is a group of people who establish the organisation, set up the rules, make it a success, and run it for a time – then the task of the second generation will be enormously difficult.  Moses had brought the people of Israel out of Egypt into freedom, had led them through the desert, and had established the laws by which this community should live. Had he also been the first “king”, then his successor would never had stood a chance.  But God prevented Moses from leading Israel into the Promised Land.  Moses’ role was to be the one who prepared the way – like John the Baptist.  And there may be times when we are called to make success possible for those who come after us.

Especially while on pilgrimage, I love the passage from Hebrews chapters 11 and 12 – we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses – there are a large number of faithful people who have gone before us, showing us the way. Then, the first verses of Hebrews 12 names Jesus as “the pioneer and perfector of our faith”.  Whatever the word “perfector” means, I love the image of Jesus as our pioneer.  He is the one who shows us the way, cutting a new path through difficulties – and beckoning us to follow.

Joseph Burckhardt was the explorer who discovered the entrance to Petra, “the rose red city, half as old as time”, 150 years ago.  Without his skill and courage, we might even now not know of the existence of this city.  Petra is our destination tomorrow.  We can only enter this site because others risked all, and found a way in front of us.  Whereas there is little of explicit Christian significance in Petra; I look forward to going there as I am ready to be someone who follows another who has found a good way ahead of me.  There is a vocation in being the second, third and… subsequent generations.

And as a postscript: as we passed through Kerak, we called in at the 12^th century castle, built during the crusading period.  In the castle, we happened to bump into a group of 6 intrepid travellers, all of whom had taken a year out of paid employment to raise funds for street children in South Africa.  They were fund-raising by cycling from London to Cape Town. What a journey!  Let’s take heart from those who show us a way.  We may not have to follow them – but we are called to be courageous in our own way, whether it is as a pioneer or as a faithful follower.

On the top of Mount Nebo today, we sang “Dear Lord and Father of mankind, forgive our foolish ways”.  I reckon we need to ask God’s forgiveness for our timid ways too.

Hundreds of old houses in England claim that Queen Elizabeth 1 slept there.  The quip is that the Queen must have been on her travels for most of her 45 years on the throne to have slept in all the houses which make this claim.  Equally, when travelling in Israel along the River Jordan, Jesus must have been baptised on a weekly basis if all the claims made in that country are true.

But in Jordan there is one site that claims to be the “Bethany beyond the Jordan” where Jesus was baptised.  We visited there today and it was moving in all sorts of ways.  For me, this makes theological sense as, for Jesus to identify with his people, he had to be making the journey of the Exodus – from slavery in Egypt to freedom in the Promised Land.  Although the Jews of his own day lived to the west of the Jordan, they would have wanted to make the journey to the other side – so that they could, like the first refugees from Egypt, cross over the Jordan going westwards. They had to go left so that they could then go right.  If this sounds a bit odd, it is worth recalling that Christians want to claim that God’s kingdom has both begun and is still to be entered – perhaps we have to make a journey so that we can see that we have already arrived.  

Our guide told us a lovely story that happened when the Pope visited Jordan and Israel in 2000.  He first visited Jordan, and crossed the river going west.  At this point there was a formal handover from his being under the protection of the Jordanians to the Israelis.  The Jordanian Tourist Minister bade farewell saying he was making the journey as Jesus did, and that Jesus had been baptised in Jordan.  The Israeli Minister greeted the Pope saying that he was being welcomed to the country where Jesus was baptised.  The Pope’s response was to say that it was lovely to hear a Jew and a Muslim arguing about Jesus!  (At least that is what I think the Guide told us – I could not hear all the details).

Whichever direction he was going, Jesus was actually baptised in the river itself.  The river is a boundary place – and I am increasingly aware as we travel of the importance of many overlapping boundaries here.  More on that later.

Anyway, the archaeologists are still excavating the site we visited today, as this was a minefield (literal) up till about 15 years ago.  Many churches are springing up - one for each denomination, it seems.  Looking at this in one way, it appears a shame – yet more evidence that we Christians are just as good as squabbling with one another as the Jews and Muslims are.  But looked at in another way, each different church is simply ensuring an appropriate welcome for different groups of pilgrims.  It is a fairly modern (and rather protestant) view that the universal church should have a unified and uniform culture world-wide. We can enter the Greek Orthodox Church and marvel at their icons and wall paintings – there is something mystical expressed in their buildings.  Yet equally, most of us today felt much more at home sitting under a simple straw covering, reciting our baptismal vows, and singing “Guide me O thou great redeemer” in the open air.  One approach is not better than the other.  Trying to merge the virtues of different approaches into one would likely be very unsatisfying.

Indeed, at the hotel by the Dead Sea (where we went next) we had a most excellent lunch.  The salads in particular are wonderful.  I could not possibly describe all the flavours, but I find the best way to appreciate them is by having a small spoonful of each type on a large plate.  I would not dream of stirring them all together; but the humous tastes better for my having as the next mouthful a spoonful of roasted aubergine pate.

Floating in the Dead Sea is a lesson in itself.  All that is required is a great deal of trust: trust that you really will float if you simply sit down in the water; trust that someone nearby will give you a helping hand to pull you upright as you try to exit.  We all need such helping hands if we are to be upright in the end.

Love and prayers.

I knew that our pilgrimage would only have integrity if we made contact with the church active in today’s Middle East as well as visiting some of the great sites of the ancient church.  Through force of circumstance our first visit on the first full day was actually to a church project in Salt, a city just outside Amman.  The Holy Land Institute for the Deaf has been active for nearly 50 years, caring for deaf children – and now looking after deaf/blind children and others with multiple disabilities.  They do fantastic work here at a boarding school, and in outreach projects supporting families with deaf relatives throughout Jordan.  The Institute is an Anglican foundation which is a good way of securing support and funds worldwide, yet the staff are 20% Christian and 80% Muslim.  The students (aged from 3 to 18) are 99% Muslim.  There is a pervading atmosphere of care and respect.  We were told a number of heart-warming success stories, including ones about students moving through university, achieving a Masters qualification, and employment in the Civil Service or returning to teach at Salt.  There seems to be no inter-faith difficulties.  A worker told me that about 30 attend Morning Prayer in the Chapel – only about 5 are Christian, but the families are happy for their children to pray each day with Christians.  A shelf in the library held Korans and Bibles together, some in Arabic, some in English.  The Chapel is a beautiful space, soon to be dedicated by the Bishop, designed to make it easy for students to join in – the floor, for example, is wood so that they can hear through their bodies the rhythm of music and prayers.

Brother Andrew is now the leader of this community.  He greeted us at the end of our visit, telling us the story of one of the icons in the chapel.  This displays Abraham with his two sons – Isaac and Ishmael.  Br Andrew kept on referring to the latter as Saint Ishmael – this being the person through whom Muslims trace their link to Abraham.  It is so easy for Christians and Jews to air-brush Ishmael out of the spiritual picture.  But even a short time in Jordan convinces me that there is so much more in common between the traditions than we readily recognise.  I asked whether local families were cautious about entrusting their children to a Christian Institute: not at all, was the reply, for they recognise the quality of care.  That is what matters: the quality of care – or (to change a well-known quotation slightly): see how these Christians love…… (NOT “love one another”, but “love beyond boundaries”).

After this, we travelled to the River Jabbok where (as recounted in Genesis 32) Jacob wrestled with the angel of God and won.  Yet in discovering his strength Jacob also encountered the gentleness and vulnerability of God.  It was that that disarmed this boisterous Jacob, and converted him to a new life in which he is know by a new name: Israel (the one who struggles with God).  The site is tawdry but the story is marvellous.

And on, after lunch, to Jerash – one of the 10 Roman cities called the Decapolis.  These are referred to in the story of the healing of the demoniac whose demons were sent out into the herd of swine (Mark 5).  After reading this story in the midst of the Roman remains, I invited our pilgrims to reflect on the question: what happened next?  The story is clear: Jesus forbade the healed man to continue on his journey with Jesus.  He had to go home and tell what had happened to the people who might be most sceptical: his family and neighbours.  That’s OK for a few weeks, but I asked: what must it have been like doing that for the next 25 years?  Maybe it was this faithful witness that started the Christian community that became established beyond the Jordan River.  In the Roman remains, we were shown the churches built there 500 years after Christ – but they must have been built for a Christian community – perhaps the one founded by the original demoniac, now healed.

So this seems to be a theme for today: wonderful encounters happen – we can be changed – and then what?  How do we fulfil our vocation by taking responsibility to create lasting goodness that will be of benefit not only to those around us, but also to future generations?