I'm thinking of the number "eight" in honor of the eight beatitudes, so here are eight experiences that, notwithstanding the whirlwind pace, have left lasting impressions.
Mount Nebo. Many of my fellow travelers questioned why we started our adventure in Jordan. We arrived in the capital, Amman, and went directly from the airport to our hotel, the Crown Plaza, where our first meal together awaited. We had been on the go since we reported to MSP at 2:30 p.m. CDT on Friday the 12th. It was now almost twenty-four hours later, 9:30 p.m. Jordan time on Saturday the 13th. We were grateful that the hotel kept its kitchen open for us. The late dinner would turn out to be the only time all twenty-nine of us sat at the same table. The answer to our travel question regarding Jordan became apparent the next morning.
When I was a kid I owned a beautifully illustrated children's bible. One of my favorite stories was Moses leading the Jews out of Egypt across the Sinai desert. You probably recall that, according to scripture, God allowed Moses to see the Promised Land from a mountain top, but due to a momentary lapse of judgment in the form of displaying a lack of faith, Moses was not permitted to enter. The mountain was Mount Nebo.
In
my illustrated bible, the Promised Land appeared in the vast distance, perhaps
fifteen, twenty or more miles away across sweeping sands. That is how
I've pictured it for almost sixty years. The first important sight of
our Holy Land pilgrimage was the famous Mount Nebo, located about thirty
miles south from Jordan's capital, Amman, where we spent our first
night. Looking west from Nebo, we could easily see the shores of the
Jordan River, which appeared as a dark green stripe across the brown
valley below. The Jordan forms the boundary between the countries of Jordan and Israel,
long-time enemies but, since a 1967 treaty, living in peace as
next door neighbors. The city of Jericho, about eight miles beyond the
Jordan, is also visible from the top of Mount Nebo. This is what Moses saw.
It turns out that the illustrator of my children's bible was a little off. At most, the Jordan River is three miles from the mountain top, at the bottom of the rise. Poor Moses! Did his punishment fit the crime?
Wally, The Scholar. There were two particular ingredients which were key to making our pilgrimage outstanding, and without which the trip could easily have been viewed as a long grind. The primary key to the success of the entire venture was in the hands of our fabulous Israeli guide, Waleeb, affectionately called "Wally." As we traversed the heavily secured Jordan River Crossing into Israel, Wally boarded the bus, introduced himself, and explained that he was more than just a tour guide; he was a scholar. My immediate thought was that such a proclamation was rather presumptuous, but it did not take me long to come around to agreeing with his self-evaluation. He wisely set us straight about the different ethnic and religious mixes in the country, placing special emphasis on what constitutes an Arab. "The word 'Arab' has nothing to do with religion," he said. "You can have Christian Arabs, Jewish Arabs and Muslim Arabs." The term "Arab" is more akin to a race of people and the part of the world from which they originated. Wally said he was a Catholic Arab.
As the week went on it was clear that this man, who attended college at the University of Miami and thereafter lived in the US for several years, was an expert on both the Old Testament and the New Testament, plus the fascinating history of his relatively new (since 1948) country. Without fail, he had a wealth of information about every one of the many places we visited. Some of that information would be delivered en route to the destinations, with the rest given on site. Since the days were long it was important for us to know why a particular stop was included on the itinerary, and then what to watch for once we arrived. He was the difference between our simply visiting a sight and actually understanding their respective significance.
It turns out that the illustrator of my children's bible was a little off. At most, the Jordan River is three miles from the mountain top, at the bottom of the rise. Poor Moses! Did his punishment fit the crime?
Wally, The Scholar. There were two particular ingredients which were key to making our pilgrimage outstanding, and without which the trip could easily have been viewed as a long grind. The primary key to the success of the entire venture was in the hands of our fabulous Israeli guide, Waleeb, affectionately called "Wally." As we traversed the heavily secured Jordan River Crossing into Israel, Wally boarded the bus, introduced himself, and explained that he was more than just a tour guide; he was a scholar. My immediate thought was that such a proclamation was rather presumptuous, but it did not take me long to come around to agreeing with his self-evaluation. He wisely set us straight about the different ethnic and religious mixes in the country, placing special emphasis on what constitutes an Arab. "The word 'Arab' has nothing to do with religion," he said. "You can have Christian Arabs, Jewish Arabs and Muslim Arabs." The term "Arab" is more akin to a race of people and the part of the world from which they originated. Wally said he was a Catholic Arab.
As the week went on it was clear that this man, who attended college at the University of Miami and thereafter lived in the US for several years, was an expert on both the Old Testament and the New Testament, plus the fascinating history of his relatively new (since 1948) country. Without fail, he had a wealth of information about every one of the many places we visited. Some of that information would be delivered en route to the destinations, with the rest given on site. Since the days were long it was important for us to know why a particular stop was included on the itinerary, and then what to watch for once we arrived. He was the difference between our simply visiting a sight and actually understanding their respective significance.
I
was amazed at the planning and coordination of the agenda each day. No
matter where we went, there was only minimal waiting in line. Father
Joe celebrated Mass each day, sometimes outdoors, sometimes on the main
altar of famous churches, and other times in small side chapels. This
was all made possible by Wally's impeccable planning.
Throughout it all, Wally maintained a sense of humor, and welcomed questions. It was apparent to all that he was a former teacher, and that his twenty-seven year career as a Holy Land tour guide was a natural extension of that vocation. Since he was fighting a cold, sometimes he'd clear his throat without turning off his microphone, causing one of the women to declare with a chuckle that she thought her earphones became wet. I will always remember how he would conclude many of his mini-lectures with the words, "Thank you very much," sounding (intentionally?) like Elvis Presley.
The Sea Of Galilee. I must admit that, before I started planning for our trip, the name of the mountain (Nebo) from which Moses viewed the Promised Land had escaped my mind. Not so the Sea Of Galilee. When I first saw it out the bus window, a kind of chill came over me. This is where the apostles fished and where Jesus walked on water. We were now in the land of the New Testament!
One of the best highlights of the trip was an hour long Monday morning boat ride across the northwestern quarter of the sea. The boat was called a "Jesus boat" because it resembled the type of boats which plied those waters two thousand years ago. The "sea" is really a very large lake, approximately thirteen miles long and eight miles wide. But as Wally explained, the ancient civilizations, lacking a frame of reference, often labeled any large body of water a "sea," and in similar fashion used the term "mountain" to describe what we would presently refer to as a very high hill. A moving moment occurred a few minutes into the boat ride when the small crew hoisted Old Glory and played a recording of the Star Spangled Banner. The picture I took of the US flag unfurled at the top of the pole next to Israel's flag is a favorite, although its presence did cause me to comment to a companion that I was glad the bad guys did not have drones like the USAF does. Otherwise we would have been sitting ducks.
At the northern end of the Sea Of Galilee lie four noteworthy pilgrimage destinations, all of which we visited. The first stop, the Mount Of The Beatitudes, was my favorite. Once again, when we walked on the same grounds where Jesus rendered His famous Sermon On The Mount, the reality was gripping. The atmosphere was serene and it did not take much imagination to picture Christ advising the throngs to live peaceful, merciful lives.
Also on or near the northern shore was the Church Of The Primacy Of Peter, where Father Joe celebrated Mass in a mini-amphitheater, Tabgha, famous for the mosaic of the Loaves and the Fishes, an emblem seen all over the Holy Lands, and Caphernam, the home town of the first pope, St. Peter. Caphernam brought back memories of our visit to Pompeii, but on a much smaller scale; an archeologist's paradise.
The Scots Hotel. We stayed three nights in the Scots Hotel in the seaside town of Tiberius. From the small balcony outside our room, we could see the Sea Of Galilee. The Scots, which had its origins as a hospital built by Scottish surgeon David Watt Torrance in 1894, is one of the best and most beautiful hotels I've stayed in during any trip. For breakfast and dinner our travel group feasted on enormous spreads of food displayed on long tables in an area adjacent to the dining room. Imagine having small -- or for that matter, large -- portions of top grade meat, fresh fish, pasta, cooked vegetables, salads, delicious soup, fruit and scrumptious desserts available at dinner. The breakfast variety was just as broad, anything you could imagine in whatever amounts your heart desired.
A beautiful swimming pool, accessible via the hotel's private pedestrian bridge, gave some of us respite from the heat. One floor above the dining area was a boutique bar where we gathered for a happy hour and recounted the days' activities. Maybe best of all was the terrace on the hotel lawn, overlooking the scenic Sea Of Galilee. A large group of us enjoyed each other's company there, sipping nightcaps as we gazed out across the glistening waters at the Golan Heights on the opposite shore. I would not have been disappointed in the least if we could have stayed another night or two at the Scots.
Throughout it all, Wally maintained a sense of humor, and welcomed questions. It was apparent to all that he was a former teacher, and that his twenty-seven year career as a Holy Land tour guide was a natural extension of that vocation. Since he was fighting a cold, sometimes he'd clear his throat without turning off his microphone, causing one of the women to declare with a chuckle that she thought her earphones became wet. I will always remember how he would conclude many of his mini-lectures with the words, "Thank you very much," sounding (intentionally?) like Elvis Presley.
The Sea Of Galilee. I must admit that, before I started planning for our trip, the name of the mountain (Nebo) from which Moses viewed the Promised Land had escaped my mind. Not so the Sea Of Galilee. When I first saw it out the bus window, a kind of chill came over me. This is where the apostles fished and where Jesus walked on water. We were now in the land of the New Testament!
One of the best highlights of the trip was an hour long Monday morning boat ride across the northwestern quarter of the sea. The boat was called a "Jesus boat" because it resembled the type of boats which plied those waters two thousand years ago. The "sea" is really a very large lake, approximately thirteen miles long and eight miles wide. But as Wally explained, the ancient civilizations, lacking a frame of reference, often labeled any large body of water a "sea," and in similar fashion used the term "mountain" to describe what we would presently refer to as a very high hill. A moving moment occurred a few minutes into the boat ride when the small crew hoisted Old Glory and played a recording of the Star Spangled Banner. The picture I took of the US flag unfurled at the top of the pole next to Israel's flag is a favorite, although its presence did cause me to comment to a companion that I was glad the bad guys did not have drones like the USAF does. Otherwise we would have been sitting ducks.
At the northern end of the Sea Of Galilee lie four noteworthy pilgrimage destinations, all of which we visited. The first stop, the Mount Of The Beatitudes, was my favorite. Once again, when we walked on the same grounds where Jesus rendered His famous Sermon On The Mount, the reality was gripping. The atmosphere was serene and it did not take much imagination to picture Christ advising the throngs to live peaceful, merciful lives.
Also on or near the northern shore was the Church Of The Primacy Of Peter, where Father Joe celebrated Mass in a mini-amphitheater, Tabgha, famous for the mosaic of the Loaves and the Fishes, an emblem seen all over the Holy Lands, and Caphernam, the home town of the first pope, St. Peter. Caphernam brought back memories of our visit to Pompeii, but on a much smaller scale; an archeologist's paradise.
The Scots Hotel. We stayed three nights in the Scots Hotel in the seaside town of Tiberius. From the small balcony outside our room, we could see the Sea Of Galilee. The Scots, which had its origins as a hospital built by Scottish surgeon David Watt Torrance in 1894, is one of the best and most beautiful hotels I've stayed in during any trip. For breakfast and dinner our travel group feasted on enormous spreads of food displayed on long tables in an area adjacent to the dining room. Imagine having small -- or for that matter, large -- portions of top grade meat, fresh fish, pasta, cooked vegetables, salads, delicious soup, fruit and scrumptious desserts available at dinner. The breakfast variety was just as broad, anything you could imagine in whatever amounts your heart desired.
A beautiful swimming pool, accessible via the hotel's private pedestrian bridge, gave some of us respite from the heat. One floor above the dining area was a boutique bar where we gathered for a happy hour and recounted the days' activities. Maybe best of all was the terrace on the hotel lawn, overlooking the scenic Sea Of Galilee. A large group of us enjoyed each other's company there, sipping nightcaps as we gazed out across the glistening waters at the Golan Heights on the opposite shore. I would not have been disappointed in the least if we could have stayed another night or two at the Scots.
The Garden Of Gethsemane.
On the second-to-last full night of our Holy Lands sojourn, we attended
Mass which Father Joe celebrated in the Church Of All Nations, which is
adjacent to the Garden Of Gethsemane in Jerusalem. What followed immediately
thereafter was truly unique. All twenty-nine of us walked outside and
silently meditated along the fence of the Garden, each person alone in
her thoughts. (I wish I could report that we actually strolled into
the Garden proper, but alas, it apparently was not permitted.) This
was the first and only visit our group would make in the darkness. The
olive trees were softly lit and a moderate breeze made them seem almost
animated. Recollections of younger days, when as a grade schooler my
classmates and I recited the Sorrowful Mysteries as we prayed the
Rosary, came to me. The first such mystery, the Agony In The Garden,
when Christ asked His Father to "remove the cup from my hands," took on a
deeper meaning. I also thought about all the places we'd been lucky
enough to see for the past week. It was so nice to have the chance to ruminate quietly and without ceremony. Sometimes it can be hard to find a good
time, or any time, to pray. This was our opportunity.
The Dead Sea. The shoreline of the Dead Sea is 1,312 feet below sea level, making it the lowest spot on the face of the earth. The trip there from Jerusalem took us across the deserts, past Bedouin encampments perched on the sandy wastelands. We ate lunch in Qumran, where the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered in a series of caves, and spent an hour or so in Jericho, which Wally told us was the oldest city in the world.
The Dead Sea. The shoreline of the Dead Sea is 1,312 feet below sea level, making it the lowest spot on the face of the earth. The trip there from Jerusalem took us across the deserts, past Bedouin encampments perched on the sandy wastelands. We ate lunch in Qumran, where the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered in a series of caves, and spent an hour or so in Jericho, which Wally told us was the oldest city in the world.
Joshua fought the Battle of Jericho
And the walls came tumbling down!
From the hills outside of town we could, once again, see the Jordan River and above that, Mount Nebo.
The heat was stifling as we finally made our way down to the nearby Dead Sea. I brought my bathing suit, but the thought of an uncomfortable ride back to Jerusalem dissuaded me. Momma Cuan, ever the trooper, was not deterred. Even if we lived to be a hundred years old, we'd never be back here again, she said, so she was determined to experience the sea. About a dozen from our group joined her, while the rest of us took pictures and drank cold beer in the shade. I have to admit, some of the best photos of the hundreds we took are of the "swimmers." (You don't actually swim in the Dead Sea; you float. It's impossible to submerge in the thick salt water.)
Fellow Travelers. I wrote above that there were two keys accounting for the ultimate success of our pilgrimage, the first being our guide, Wally. The other, of course, were the individual travelers comprising the tour group. If you think that the folks you're traveling with don't have a major impact on your level of enjoyment, think again. As I noted in Part I, Momma Cuan and I were already comfortably familiar with seven of of the twenty-nine, so our gamble wasn't huge, but by the end of our eleven days together I can report that our circle of friends quadrupled. We ate three meals a day together, spent hours on the bus as we rode from sight to sight across two countries, took each other's pictures and compared notes and observations as we walked around the various holy places. What really got the group comfortable with each other aside from the prearranged activities was the opportunity to sit outside and enjoy a few beverages together, a scene repeated on the terrace of the Scots Hotel, at Decks, the seaside bar across the road from the Scots, and on the patio of our Jerusalem hotel, the Inbal.
The Church Of The Holy Sepulchre. This particular place of worship bore significance for several reasons. After spending over a week visiting churches, chapels and various holy grounds, the Church Of The Holy Sepulchre would be the final church on our itinerary. Our visit was preceded by walking as a group along the Via Dolorosa, the actual "way of the cross" which Jesus endured on his way to His crucifixion on Calvary. The route was not as I'd imagined it, as we made our way through the very narrow congested open air markets of the Old City. Some, but not all, of the fourteen stations were clearly marked above the cobblestone street. The bustling crowd and the need for us to stay together to the extent possible -- an unenviable job well done by our Magi travel companion, Ann -- made it tough to think very long about the significance of each station.
And the walls came tumbling down!
From the hills outside of town we could, once again, see the Jordan River and above that, Mount Nebo.
The heat was stifling as we finally made our way down to the nearby Dead Sea. I brought my bathing suit, but the thought of an uncomfortable ride back to Jerusalem dissuaded me. Momma Cuan, ever the trooper, was not deterred. Even if we lived to be a hundred years old, we'd never be back here again, she said, so she was determined to experience the sea. About a dozen from our group joined her, while the rest of us took pictures and drank cold beer in the shade. I have to admit, some of the best photos of the hundreds we took are of the "swimmers." (You don't actually swim in the Dead Sea; you float. It's impossible to submerge in the thick salt water.)
Fellow Travelers. I wrote above that there were two keys accounting for the ultimate success of our pilgrimage, the first being our guide, Wally. The other, of course, were the individual travelers comprising the tour group. If you think that the folks you're traveling with don't have a major impact on your level of enjoyment, think again. As I noted in Part I, Momma Cuan and I were already comfortably familiar with seven of of the twenty-nine, so our gamble wasn't huge, but by the end of our eleven days together I can report that our circle of friends quadrupled. We ate three meals a day together, spent hours on the bus as we rode from sight to sight across two countries, took each other's pictures and compared notes and observations as we walked around the various holy places. What really got the group comfortable with each other aside from the prearranged activities was the opportunity to sit outside and enjoy a few beverages together, a scene repeated on the terrace of the Scots Hotel, at Decks, the seaside bar across the road from the Scots, and on the patio of our Jerusalem hotel, the Inbal.
The Church Of The Holy Sepulchre. This particular place of worship bore significance for several reasons. After spending over a week visiting churches, chapels and various holy grounds, the Church Of The Holy Sepulchre would be the final church on our itinerary. Our visit was preceded by walking as a group along the Via Dolorosa, the actual "way of the cross" which Jesus endured on his way to His crucifixion on Calvary. The route was not as I'd imagined it, as we made our way through the very narrow congested open air markets of the Old City. Some, but not all, of the fourteen stations were clearly marked above the cobblestone street. The bustling crowd and the need for us to stay together to the extent possible -- an unenviable job well done by our Magi travel companion, Ann -- made it tough to think very long about the significance of each station.
Once we got
inside the church, Wally explained that the interior of the huge
structure is compartmentalized into three sections, so that the Roman
Catholic, the Greek Orthodox and the Armenians can each have their own
space. Other than the crunch inside the Church Of The Nativity in
Bethlehem, this would be the only real waiting-in-line we encountered
all week, a fact no doubt attributable to Wally's connections.
Actually, there were two lines inside the church. The first was to view
the sepulchre where Christ's body was taken after being lowered from
the cross. The second line, on an upper level, ostensibly led to the
spot where the cross was raised on Calvary. As was the case with other
sites we'd visited, it mattered little whether this was actually the very
spot where Jesus died. Regardless, this was the place determined by
archeologists, bible scholars, historians and other experts to be it.
Father
Joe selected Momma Cuan and two others from the MHT 8, Nancy and Julie,
to be the readers at the Mass he celebrated in a side chapel. He told
us that he picked them because, until more modern times, women were
prohibited from serving in any capacity at Masses celebrated in this
church. When Mary teared up while doing her reading, it made us think
about what happened two thousand years ago along the Via Dolorosa and on
Calvary. Many of our companions, and Father Joe, expressed gratitude
to Mary after Mass for showing her emotions, something they too were
feeling themselves.
***
Almost all of the foregoing Part II could be labeled "The Good." I am saving Part III for a small sampling of "The Bad" and "The Ugly." Look for it in a few weeks.
Almost all of the foregoing Part II could be labeled "The Good." I am saving Part III for a small sampling of "The Bad" and "The Ugly." Look for it in a few weeks.
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