ONE DAY IN GETHSEMANE

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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