First Week of Advent: Hope
“In the days to come the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established at the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it… He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks, neither shall they learn war anymore.” Isaiah 2: 2 and 4 (NRSV)
A couple of weeks ago David and I were in Jordan for an MCC staff retreat near the Dead Sea. Afterward we had several days to travel and enjoy the area and struck out for Mt. Nebo (which the Greeks called Mt. Pisgah). The seasons were changing and this Wednesday morning was brisk and blustery. Our taxi driver had us at Mt. Nebo before the 9am tour buses rolled in. We, like Moses, stood looking out at the land west of the Jordan. Jericho was at our feet. The Dead Sea glimmered to the southwest—aqua near the shore line. The land of Moab was all around us. I thought about Moses, peering over into the land of promise and in an odd way identified with him. In our lives as Christians in Qom, there is so much that we see and will never enter.
But what struck me most was the old church, into which we went and prayed. It was inhabited by monks and all sorts of pilgrims from the 3rd to the 9th centuries. Beautiful Byzantine mosaics and baptismal fonts adorned the church. But what touched me most deeply were the prayers—centuries of them – that reached out and included us as we sat quietly. The communion of saints was present to us and with us, an unexpected benediction.
Next we drove down, down, down to the Jordan River, just north of the Dead Sea. Bedouins tents were evident in the rocky landscape (what DO their flocks eat?) and occasionally they and their sheep filled the roadway. Camels grazed. We passed through a checkpoint and kept going. Bethany beyond the Jordan is the town that archaeologists identify with the baptizing work of John. Two old churches and three old chapels are in the midst of excavations. Jordan is allowing many Christian communities to build churches and monasteries near by.
Our guide was a Bedouin man of about 30, with excellent English and a fine grasp of history. “My father,” he said, “didn’t have much money to help me with university. I am the 4th son of the 6th wife.” He cheerfully showed us springs and wadis and archeological remains. “Come on,” he said, “ let’s go down to the river where the Lord was baptized.” A new Greek Orthodox church, full of exquisite icons, sits on the hill just up from the Jordan River. We wandered down to the Jordan and put our hands in it…. cold and at this spot, not deep and not wide. Israel is only 20 feet away, on the other shore. “Now don’t” said our guide, “talk to any pilgrims on the other side of the Jordan. Don’t smile at them, wave to them or answer them if they want to chat.” We look up at the reeds growing on the other bank and the Israeli flag flying just above us. A guard with an automatic rifle was right behind our small group on the Jordan side.
Climbing back up the bank and toward the museum, our guide said, “Look a minute. Do you see those antennas up on the hill in the distance? A wall? The towers? That’s Jerusalem. Pilgrims used to come here on the Roman Esbous-Linas Road, from Jerusalem to Jericho to here on the Jordan, then up to Mt. Nebo. You’re looking at the holy city that we all love.”
I though of our staff retreat near the Dead Sea. At dinner, the hotel had live music each evening. Two middle aged couples got up and danced with such joy—people from a Christian village near Bethlehem. Pilgrims still come to Jordan from Palestine, but past check points not Roman milestones.
Now suddenly it is Advent, the season of arriving, the season of the coming. Tehran is bright with Christmas decorations—three shops near where we worship have beautiful cards, wrapping paper and small, artificial trees. (I bought at 18” tree and am inordinately pleased with it). A young Muslim woman asked David for advice. “I want to buy nice cards for my colleagues at the office, most of whom are Christians. What makes a good greeting card for Christmas? What should the blessing inside say? Do Christians have a favorite color at this time of year?”
This week of Advent waiting is often called “the week of hope”. How badly we need to claim the positive anticipation that the gospel makes possible, a gospel that proclaims good news for all people, on all sides of borders, in every circumstance of our lives.
A couple of weeks ago David and I were in Jordan for an MCC staff retreat near the Dead Sea. Afterward we had several days to travel and enjoy the area and struck out for Mt. Nebo (which the Greeks called Mt. Pisgah). The seasons were changing and this Wednesday morning was brisk and blustery. Our taxi driver had us at Mt. Nebo before the 9am tour buses rolled in. We, like Moses, stood looking out at the land west of the Jordan. Jericho was at our feet. The Dead Sea glimmered to the southwest—aqua near the shore line. The land of Moab was all around us. I thought about Moses, peering over into the land of promise and in an odd way identified with him. In our lives as Christians in Qom, there is so much that we see and will never enter.
But what struck me most was the old church, into which we went and prayed. It was inhabited by monks and all sorts of pilgrims from the 3rd to the 9th centuries. Beautiful Byzantine mosaics and baptismal fonts adorned the church. But what touched me most deeply were the prayers—centuries of them – that reached out and included us as we sat quietly. The communion of saints was present to us and with us, an unexpected benediction.
Next we drove down, down, down to the Jordan River, just north of the Dead Sea. Bedouins tents were evident in the rocky landscape (what DO their flocks eat?) and occasionally they and their sheep filled the roadway. Camels grazed. We passed through a checkpoint and kept going. Bethany beyond the Jordan is the town that archaeologists identify with the baptizing work of John. Two old churches and three old chapels are in the midst of excavations. Jordan is allowing many Christian communities to build churches and monasteries near by.
Our guide was a Bedouin man of about 30, with excellent English and a fine grasp of history. “My father,” he said, “didn’t have much money to help me with university. I am the 4th son of the 6th wife.” He cheerfully showed us springs and wadis and archeological remains. “Come on,” he said, “ let’s go down to the river where the Lord was baptized.” A new Greek Orthodox church, full of exquisite icons, sits on the hill just up from the Jordan River. We wandered down to the Jordan and put our hands in it…. cold and at this spot, not deep and not wide. Israel is only 20 feet away, on the other shore. “Now don’t” said our guide, “talk to any pilgrims on the other side of the Jordan. Don’t smile at them, wave to them or answer them if they want to chat.” We look up at the reeds growing on the other bank and the Israeli flag flying just above us. A guard with an automatic rifle was right behind our small group on the Jordan side.
Climbing back up the bank and toward the museum, our guide said, “Look a minute. Do you see those antennas up on the hill in the distance? A wall? The towers? That’s Jerusalem. Pilgrims used to come here on the Roman Esbous-Linas Road, from Jerusalem to Jericho to here on the Jordan, then up to Mt. Nebo. You’re looking at the holy city that we all love.”
I though of our staff retreat near the Dead Sea. At dinner, the hotel had live music each evening. Two middle aged couples got up and danced with such joy—people from a Christian village near Bethlehem. Pilgrims still come to Jordan from Palestine, but past check points not Roman milestones.
Now suddenly it is Advent, the season of arriving, the season of the coming. Tehran is bright with Christmas decorations—three shops near where we worship have beautiful cards, wrapping paper and small, artificial trees. (I bought at 18” tree and am inordinately pleased with it). A young Muslim woman asked David for advice. “I want to buy nice cards for my colleagues at the office, most of whom are Christians. What makes a good greeting card for Christmas? What should the blessing inside say? Do Christians have a favorite color at this time of year?”
This week of Advent waiting is often called “the week of hope”. How badly we need to claim the positive anticipation that the gospel makes possible, a gospel that proclaims good news for all people, on all sides of borders, in every circumstance of our lives.
posted by Quakers in Qom at 2:57 AM
1 Comments:
+Merry Christmas David and Linda. Have a great experience. Donnie
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