After Vespers yesterday afternoon, I walked around a bit and then headed back to the hostel. I said hello and chatted a bit with the new person at reception ‎and then crawled into my bunk to write up the afternoon’s excitement. Just as I was finishing up, Mousa tapped on the door to the room and said he was going to the market. I hit send on the message and went along with him. (I was the only person staying at the Bethlehem Youth Hostel last night, so he must have figured it would be okay to step out for a few minutes.)

On our return, we shared a meal together and got talking more. Mousa is an evangelical student at the Bethlehem Bible College. I didn’t ask what his Catholic father and Orthodox mother thought of that, but he assured me he wasn’t like some evangelicals — he is convinced that non-evangelicals are Christians too. (I was quite gratified to learn that most of the students in the Biblical Studies department with him are actually Orthodox.)‎ I doubt my finances will allow me to attend, but the Christ at the Checkpoint conference scheduled for 2016 is very intriguing.

christatthecheckpoint.com  (This media-rich site works much better on a computer than a mobile device.)‎ After verifying that I could leave my pack at the hostel and pick it up after Liturgy, I excused myself and began preparing for bed.

I slept well, and this morning I woke up a few minutes before my alarm. I was at the Church of the Nativity by 7:30 to find the chanters halfway through Matins. It was strange but neat to hear the service in Greek and Arabic. There was a brief pause at 8:00 when His Eminence Archbishop ‎Theophylactos of Jordan entered the church, but by 8:30 the Liturgy had begun. Two hours later, we were done. When I tried to revisit the Grotto beneath the altar, I discovered there was an English language Mass being said in a side altar. The priests were performing the consecration of the Host, so I decided it was better not to intrude. Presumably the tour companies all know the church is off-limits Sunday morning, because I didn’t see any groups. I’m not sure how many different sanctuaries there are on the site — there’s a large Franciscan church sharing a wall with the Orthodox church, and I believe the Armenians also have space there. The 19th century “status quo” agreement for sharing holy places is still in force, but the situation is much less confusing in Bethlehem compared to Jerusalem. Walking around town a bit I saw an Ethiopian monastery, a Coptic monastery, a Lutheran church, a Baptist church, and numerous Catholic churches.

After a bite of breakfast‎, I started going over my travel plans for the day. I dropped the notion of visiting Mar Sabbas Monastery, in part because of the expense of hiring a taxi, but also because the subsequent walk to the Dead Sea through the Judean wilderness is very daunting. It’s one thing to make plans in the comfort of the hostel, it’s another to see the parched rolling hills shimmering in the heat and haze. Instead, I took a shared taxi (“sherut” in Hebrew, “servees” in Arabic) to Jericho.   I ignored the archaeological riches in this 10,000 year old town, and went to the beach. I’m sure most people reading this are already aware of the geological oddities of the Dead Sea, but at 402 metres below sea level, you can’t get any lower than this while still working on your tan. I successfully avoided sunburn by taking several short dips, followed by a freshwater shower and a spell in the shade sipping water.  It was wonderfully relaxing! (Jericho will have to wait for another trip.) While I was there, I was surprised to hear someone calling my name. Without my glasses on it took a few seconds to focus, but there before me was one of the Chinese students I’d met at the hostel in Jerusalem on Friday. We didn’t talk long, but the encounter left me with a smile on my face. 

Three hours after I arrived, I was walking back to the highway. Another reason for skipping Mar Sabbas and Jericho is the transportation situation. Looking at a map of Israel and the Palestinian Territories, I had assumed I’d be able to hop a bus or servees north along Highway 90 from the Dead Sea to Tiberias, on the coast of the Sea of Galilee. I leaned today that this isn’t possible. The only option from Jericho is a servees to Jenin, and then maybe a bus or taxi across into Israel. That seemed rather iffy, so I put my pack down on the bench of the first bus stop I came to on the highway. According to my Lonely Planet guide, it’s possible to get to ‎Jerusalem by bus relatively easily. There was no schedule posted, so I began rolling down my sleeves to protect my forearms from the setting sun. I’d finished one arm when a bus appeared, and it was even the one I needed!

The landscape in this part of the country is surreal. There is no flat surface anywhere, unless it’s been bulldozed into existence. The hills aren’t all that tall, but they are many. The winter often sees heavy rain which creates flash floods‎ that roar through the otherwise dry creekbeds between the hills — yes, it’s possible to drown in the desert! Some of the tourist guides refer to this region as the Judean wilderness, while others call it the Judean desert. For many people, the word “desert” conjures up images of sand dunes and camels, but the tough rocky hills, general lack of moisture, and temperature extremes of this region all fit the bill. And this is where Christ spent 40 days fasting after his baptism. (On the outskirts of Jericho, there’s a summit known as the Mount of Temptation, associated with that time in the life of Christ.) There’s an image of Christ, very popular in some Christian circles, which depicts him gently knocking at a door, illumined by the light of the moon. He looks soft and sweet, and very very white. Let me tell you, anyone capable of surviving in this wilderness alone for 40 days (never mind fasting) is gonna be tough and brown — kinda like a walnut, if that’s not too disrespectful a comparison to make. Yet another reason for me to put my pudgy white body on an airconditioned bus to Jerusalem!

When I arrived at the bus terminal in Jerusalem, I made inquiries about transport to Nazareth. Apparently the only way to do it by bus is to first go to Haifa and then hop another bus from there. It’s not that long ago that I was walking in the opposite direction, and now I’m cruising along in luxury back the way I came. The bus even had WiFi, although the much smaller one from Haifa to Nazareth did not. My (tentative) plan‎ is to spend Sunday and Monday nights in Nazareth, Tuesday night in Tel Aviv, and stay in Amman Wednesday and Thursday nights. That will give me all day Thursday to visit Petra. As always, this is conditioned by the Lebanese IBM – Inshallah, Bukara, Min shuuf. (God willing, tomorrow, we’ll see.)

Arriving in Bethlehem, I fired off the last update, mainly because I was feeling guilty about the long silence. After convincing the small coterie of taxi drivers which gathered around that I really did not need a taxi today, I headed uphill towards the Church of the Nativity. I stopped at the tourist office at Manger Square and picked up a map, and realised how close the‎ Bethlehem Youth Hostel is to the church. I checked in and freshened up a bit and was inside the church by 2:00. It was both disappointing and encouraging to see the major renovations underway — disappointing because there is scaffolding everywhere inside and the ceiling is completely covered, but encouraging because it means there’s the money and the will to do major maintenance. The church was dedicated in 326 AD, and has been in continuous use as a place of Christian worship ever since. When the Persians arrived in the Holy Land in the early 7th century, they spared this church.  Apparently, when they entered and saw the iconography of the three Magi, they recognised their own traditional garb. It may not be true, but it’s a good story!

While I was admiring the iconostasis from a distance, I spotted a priest. I got his blessing in Arabic and ‎then asked about the time for Vespers. I had just enough time to go have lunch at a nearby restaurant — I had a smallish breakfast this morning and nothing since, not even coffee! When I returned back at church, I was just in time to see the bishop arrive and be greeted by the clergy. (I’m not sure who he is, but since he was only wearing one pectoral icon instead of three I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the patriarch.) After the censing of the church during “O Lord I have cried,” one of the deacons approached me and another man in the congregation, asked if we were Orthodox, and told us to follow him. He led us into the altar, and gave us each a large processional cross to carry in the entrance. For my non-Orthodox readers, this may seem like a cool thing but not really a big deal. My Orthodox readers, however, know what a privilege was extended to me today. After “Phos Hilaron,” the deacon thanked us(!!!) and we returned to our places in the nave. Needless to say, I don’t have the photos to prove all this — it really wasn’t an appropriate time for a selfie.

The pilgrimage may be over, but the experience keeps getting better and better!

The line to enter the Grotto of the Nativity was way too long for me, but I plan to be at church nice and early tomorrow morning, long before the tour buses from Jerusalem arrive.  After Liturgy, I plan to take a taxi to Mar Sabbas Monastery, established in 439 AD. ‎ From there it should be a three or four hour walk to the Dead Sea, where I plan to camp for the night. I’ll be carrying at least three litres of water with me, and I’ll be walking with the sun behind me. (Or maybe I’ll ask if I can spend the night at the monastery, and head east just before sunrise when it’s still cool so that I arrive at the beach in time for a nice refreshing dip.)

Clearly, the last few days of my journey will be busy ones. I really don’t know how much of this is even possible, but at this point it’s all icing on the cake. As long as I’m at the airport in Amman by 8:00 Friday, I’ll be happy.

The paucity of updates lately is due to the many interesting conversations I’ve had in the hostel the past few evenings. Instead of spending my time thinking and writing (both of which require solitude), I’ve been speaking with history students from China, a Messianic Jew from the US, a Muslim woman from the UK with a surprisingly syncretistic religious outlook, an American contractor based in Beer Sheva, an Argentinian backpacker… Their stories are as interesting as they are varied. Last evening I stayed up very late, sorting and uploading photos — seven dozen of them, in fact.

This morning I finally found the Secretary of the Jerusalem Patriarchate in his office. His Grace +ARISTARCHOS stamped and signed my notebook, marking the “official” end to my pilgrimage. I’ll probably continue to collect stamps right up until the time I leave, but I’m no longer “on pilgrimage.”

As I type this, I’m on a bus bound for Bethlehem. The ticket cost 8 shekels, while the taxi driver who collared me as I approached the bus station had quoted 150. Yeah….

I hope to get to Vespers this evening and Liturgy tomorrow morning‎ before resuming my journey. If it’s possible, I’ll visit the monastery of Mar Sabbas on the way to the Dead Sea. The weather forecast is hot and sunny, so if I can find relatively cheap transport, so much the better. According to the Lonely Planet guide, there’s no problem at all with spending the night on the public beaches, and this has been confirmed by the staff at one of the hostels I’ve stayed at.

I had planned to leave Jerusalem much earlier than I did, since there is still so much I would like to see before I fly home, but I’ve worked out a tentative schedule that takes me to Bethlehem, the Dead Sea, Nazareth, Mount Tabor, Tel Aviv, Amman, and Petra. All of that before my flight leaves Amman at 11:10 Friday morning‎.

Just a few minutes after passing the “Arab Orthodox Sports Center” in Beit Jala, we arrived in Bethlehem. Time to find a hostel, dump my pack, and see the city!

Well, I didn’t make it to Bethlehem today as planned, but I did finally take the time to sort through the photos I’ve taken over the past two weeks and start uploading. To view them as I post them, please visit
Flickr.

I’ve arranged them, and photos dating back ten years, in groups‎ to make the viewing experience slightly less chaotic.
flickr.com/photos/phool4XC/sets