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Photo by Stuart Meeks when Ruth and Bhushan’s children were baptized at St. Mark’s Episcopal Cathedral in Seattle.

Small World of Love

After scurrying at least a mile through the Istanbul airport, to transfer to the long flight home, I was almost out of breath and on fire. I was looking forward to reconnecting with Hannah who was coming in from Tel Aviv, having worked in Jerusalem while we were on the Jordan extension.

Instead my name was called at the gate by Ruth, of all peope! She was behind me with her preschoolers, transferring from Mumbai, after an extended visit with her husband Bhushan’s family. Ruth is currently a yoga teacher at St. Mark’s. I met her traveling on another pilgrimage to Nicaragua more than a decade ago, first met Bhushan at a flamenco fund-raiser at Diocesan-House and witnessed their wedding and the baptisms of their little ones.

My heart flew open.

Imagine. The hope, the warmth.

We pilgrims are all home now. Finished uninjured.

The Light of the World has come.

[From Penny: My friend, Bryan Jackson is ordained in the American Baptist Churches USA, a registered Cherokee descendant, and active in the Cherokee Nation satellite community. While I was in the Holy Land, Bryan submitted a post. I share it with you now, as I re-enter through the haze of jetlag. Thank God for this gift of rare beauty.]

I wonder as I wander on my four legs during the 40 days of this cycle of the Christian year.

I wonder about my friend Penny as she wanders and ponders on her journey in the Holy Land. The Lord be with her. She’s rolling with the big dogs. I saw where she just spent time in the living waters of the Dead Sea. Will she bring back more life for me or will I be gone before the next Lenten season?

Either way is a win because though death feels repeatedly cheated by me, no true death exists because our Lord has promised this

and besides I have

my own Penny (a friend

of Penny too) to look after

me.

I write for the

Little People

of this world and when I’m

on a roll

my heart sings like nobody’s

damn business

because I’m half man/

half dog—or so I’ve

been told—and a dog always

magically appears

in my stories

and

you just know there’s some

celestial connection between

P.D. Eastman’s Go, Dog. Go!

(The I Ching of children’s books

if you must know, and I

think you must) and the homeland of

the Cosmic Christ.

Favorite Memories

Imagine a band of pilgrims gathered around the giant pottery font full of clarified water from the Jordan River. We have come full circle, having prayed with our larger group the week before from the other side in Israel.

This was a spontaneous service. One of us read about John the Baptist—John 1:19-28—then two of us led singing three verses of “Come thy Fount of every Blessing.” Again, unexpectedly, the call came up at the end, “Remember your baptism,” and we all sprinkled each other. What was next? Why, the Passing of the Peace, of course….undirected and unscripted. You might have thought we were Baptists ourselves.

And then, they were like magnets, more that half of us, stripped our feet and stepped down the slippery steps to the cool, muddy water again. Not predicted, as I had done this already, for Heaven’s sake, from the other side.

Zaid says Jordanians are discussing changing their country’s name to the “Kingdom of Peace.” I can imagine it. I am feeling hopeful as we drive toward Queen Aliah Airport in Amman to fly home.

People of the Book

Yesterday we traveled south-to-north, from Petra towards our hotel on the Jordanian side of the Dead Sea. The trip was broken up with stops at Shoback (a crusader castle), Madaba with its exquisite mosaic map, the Tree of Life Handicraft Center, and Mt. Nebo where Moses saw the Promised Land before he died.

En route, Zaid answered our questions, the ones he had shored up for this road trip…

…about how the four names on his i.d. line up (his first name, given by his parents; his father’s given name; his grandfather’s given name; and finally, his tribe name of Bedouin heritage),

…about his arranged marriage, and

…about the meaning of the word jihad. One translation is “hard work.” It can be useful in Arabic. For instance, after a long, hard day’s work, a person might come home and respond when asked how their day was, “Jihad, ha Bibi,” meaning, as I understand it, “It was a long, hard day, honey.”

I know of another translation, “Holy War.” Remembering the history of the Christian Crusaders today as well as extremists/fundamentalists the world over, I agree with Zaid that religion can be used as an excuse for gaining money and power.

I am sad through and through. Will we ever learn? It is time to close my eyes, put in my ear buds, shuffle my music and cry .

*Photo taken by Zaid Mohammed Abdel Rahman Al Abadi

Pi Day in Petra

31 years ago I had one of the best days of my life, my 2nd Birthing Day, when my daughter, the marvelous Carolina Jane came into the world. No matter what, I was determined to make yesterday one of the best days too. What could possibly get in the way of that? After all, this was our day to explore the ancient ruins of Petra. At one point, I remember saying to our guide, “I can’t imagine being more content.

First we strolled through the most fantastic slot canyon, with carved sandstone cliffs rising up all around us (think Indiana Jones). This was experiential learning at its best at the hands of our knowledgeable guide Zaid. I also enjoyed some of the most fun shopping with the birthday girl as my excuse.

After lunch, it started raining in earnest such that flash flooding threatened and the siq (gorge) was closed for safety sake. By then, we had separated for our free afternoon. Let me just say, we all have wild and fascinating stories to tell about how we each got home via foot, shuttle, donkey and pick-up truck. All the town’s residents must have been called to service to get the masses home and settled for the night. I’m happy to report we nine finished uninjured with stories to tell.

And anyone who tells you it’s hot in the desert, hasn’t enjoyed a good downpour where it rarely rains.

Sometimes on a pilgrimage you have to dig deep but it’s pretty easy to find something interesting going on internally and/or externally. I laughed as my donkey ZuZu and I plodded along. Thirty minutes prior I would have not imagined I’d be riding half the way home on this magnificently strong beast of burden then traveling in the pick-up driven by the donkey owner’s brother for the second half of the trip.

One’s attitude must be flexible as just about anything can happen.

*Today’s photos courtesy of James Violette and Stuart Meeks. Can you believe I forgot to bring my phone/camera today of all days?