A Travel Vignette
“How many things have to happen to you before
something occurs to you?”
―
Robert Frost
Up north in my country - in a
very inconspicuous
part of this world, I
used to wonder how my tomorrow would be -
just like any young girl then would.
Never in my wildest dreams could I
have imagined going out of my town, out of
my country - and into the world to
find at one end of it something that occurred to
me after a lot of things have had
happened.
So I grew up, got an education, got a job, got a husband and a family and thus,
a life. The works! And I thought
that was it! Even as I'd remember how in those
young years of mine I would sit by the river bank which was not
far from our old
family home. I would quietly watch
the water gently flow by me as I tried to figure
out just where it was all coming
from and where it was all going to! I had no
answers then so I just pocketed
those thoughts and went on.
Notwithstanding putting up with my share of disappointments, of difficulties,
of desperate moments, I did have my
share of some joys. I reveled in academic
fulfillment, in work achievement; I
relished family accomplishment. I savored
the love around me that came in all
shades. And then I got blest with the God-
given chance for travel - to
fly, to float, to roam the lands out of my north and out
of my country.
Oh yes, I began to think that one was not
meant to live in just one place.
Travel and the chance to live in
different places were so enriching! Nuances like
elephant- rides up in Thailand and
kangaroo-races down under in Australia; the tri-
ethnic celebrations in Malaysia, the
castles and old churches of Europe, the
skyscrapers and the snow of America
- these were some novelties that began to
creep into my life. But of course,
added to these mind openers to blow away my
naivete were aspects of money, of
language, of religion, of educational and
governmental systems. My mind
comparatively soaked up the diversity I saw in
socio-economic and cultural
constructs all around me. And my world ostensively
grew kinda small. Until I got the
chance to visit the Holy Land. Israel,
the Holy
Land!
At that point, I was ready to thrill to
another foreign land –
one more chance to be out of my
north and out of my country. So I did
embark on
the trip. It was a promise to walk
the steps of Jesus Christ and I nonchalantly said
to my mind, okay! Well, there was this two-pronged bonus to the
Israel package
deal, the first being the fabled
Lost City of Petra in Jordan where one comes face to
face with rose-colored monumental
buildings artfully carved out of sheer rock! I
experienced not only the Indiana
Jones film right in here but also the realization
that this amazing city had been borne out of bare hands actually in a non-
technical age, so to speak. The
other bonus came in terms of the Pyramids of Giza
in Egypt. Like Petra’s buildings,
these gigantic tombs of Pharoahs were a
testament to human labor as well as
ingenuity- perhaps with some camel and
donkey help, but again at a time so moved away from our
present. One does get to
be left speechless at such
spectacular world wonders. But well, it was just another
travel episode to me!
Israel, the Holy Land, however, came as a
distinct experience. It is said that
this land located at the end east of
the Mediterranean is a land of faiths – of
Judaism, Christianity and Islam, as
it is also a land of unrest – of war, blood, and
misery, (and I am reminded of my own homeland), but it
has played a great role in
human history. Here lies the ruins of the world’s most
ancient civilization
beckoning the world to come visit up
to this day. To the Christians, especially, the
history of Israel is bound with their faith as it is in this land
where Jesus lived and
died. Biblical events unfold here
like the stories of Abraham, Jacob, Moses, Elijah
and many others, but of course,
central are those of Jesus himself.
From north to south, from sea to sea, from
mountain to mountain, and from
church to church, I followed His steps. The path was basically
from the
Anunciation in Nazareth to the Crucifixion in Golgotha. In between these two
celebrated remembrances
were the stories of Christ’s life mostly captured in time through Basilicas and Churches built
on the places where the events happened. I
had the benefit of being at the spot
of His Nativity in Bethlehem; - at the well in
Nazareth where as a boy, with Mary,
he was said to have drawn water and, of
course, - at the house of his
parents where he worked with Joseph, his foster father;
and - in Capharnaum, where after
Nazareth, he lived as an adult, and particularly
at the Synagogue where he taught. I had the chance to be in
Cana where He
changed water to wine; in Jordan where He was baptized; at the Mount of
Beatitudes where He gave His
well-known sermon. I had the privilege to be in
Tabgha where he multiplied two fish
and five loaves of bread to feed five thousand
people;- in Galilee where He walked
on the water towards Peter; - in Jericho
overlooking the Mountain where He
was tempted by the devil. I found myself on
Mount Tabor where his disciples
witnessed his Transfiguration; - on
Mount Zion
where He had His Last Supper with
His Apostles ; and - on the Mount of
Olives
where He had ascended to
heaven. Now, earlier I said this was
going to be another
of those trips. Why, then, l started
to think, were these Holy Land places giving me
a feeling I found hard to explain.
Just being there was simply being effectual to
me like everywhere I’ve been to was now water down the drain.
At the Via Dolorosa which we
followed, my mind would now even be less appreciative of the interests my environment offered - much less be aware
of it. Of the 14 Stations of the Cross, two
were located within the site of the Antonia Fortress, the site where Jesus was
led from the house of the High Priest Caiphas to
be mocked and scourged and condemned
to death. The next seven were located in
the streets of Jerusalem, and the
last five in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher
which stands on Golgotha where
Christ was crucified and was buried. The strange
feeling I couldn’t understand continued and was fast getting into me
It was at Gethesemane , however, where
I felt the impact of the
entire Holy Land trip on me. I stood
there momentarily among the Olive Trees at
the Garden as I visualized Jesus
prostrate in prayer, taking upon Himself all the
sins of the world. But I had to get in the church already. And as I entered, a soft,
palpable darkness kind of arrested
me – a condition probably brought about by the
light filtered through the purple-tinted
windows, making a lovely atmosphere fo
prayer and meditation. So I knelt there. And as
I raised my eyes to the altar
painting of Jesus in agony, I clearly saw the tremendous pain on His gentle
face.
I saw how humbly He was offering His
bitter cup to the Father, even as He asked
to be spared His up-and-coming
suffering and death. Then strangely did
the next
moment whip a cold blast to my face!
I felt myself a wretched creation of God.
My mind traveled to the things I
relished - the joys of comfort and well being, my friends and loved ones, a
taste of knowing different cultures and life styles- maybe even a sense of
belonging to some of these. My life was perfect, right? But seeing my Lord prostrate in prayer struck
me as being a part of His
bitter cup. Whatever perfections I
thought my life was made up of, they couldn’t
erase the fact that I was a sinner like
everybody else It brought home to me the
reality that while Christ’s cup was
full, mine was actually empty. His was full of
His love for humanity, mine was
empty because if there was love at all, it was only
love for myself and for all it was
worth, it was nothing. And unabashedly,
my
tears began to flow and it went on like
a river. Like a river? Wait now, I told myself.
The river goes on forever, or so the
poem goes. If Christ’s bitter cup represented
suffering and death, then inextricably
connected to these was resurrection, - of life
after death! Suddenly it dawned on me that if I wondered
where my river was
going, that was where – into a hopeful aftermath.
And my despair transitioned into
a sunrise of resolve. If I had lived
in nothing but a material world, a path into a
complementing spirituality had just
been lighted up for me to follow. Gethsemane
had just spelled out for me the
essence of true Christianity. As the
saying goes,
“Man doesn’t live on bread
alone!” And as Robert Frost asks, “How
many things
have to happen to you before
something occurs to you?”
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