THE 21st CENTURY AND THE BEATITUDES

STANDING ON THE MOUNT where Christ preached the Beatitudes, I fight the wind that only moments before had raced across the Sea of Galilee, and, giving up, I remove my hat. I pause to survey the country side before I look for a seat among the exposed boulders.

MORE THAN ANYTHING, I’m reminded of Texas Hill Country. This is grazing land. Shepherds would have called their flocks together here amongst the outcropping of limestone.

TODAY A CHURCH RUN BY ITALIAN NUNS has preserved several acres from the vineyards and orchards that have long since encroached on most of the ancient pastures.

TIME HAS NOT STOOD STILL even in the land where Christianity was born. The Sea of Galilee has become a hot spot for windsurfers. More than a hundred have congregated in the newly-risen afternoon wind. On the hill I am high enough to let my imagination convince me their sails are sea gulls.

ISRAEL HAS TAUGHT THE LAND to feed its people. Black plastic is wrapped around bunches of dates. More plastic covers fruit trees. Harvest is only days away, and a bird is always eager to bury a sharp little beak into an apricot or a sugary date.

BUT, IF I TURN MY EYES AWAY from the road that brought me here, I can ignore the twenty-first century. I can carry myself back to the time when Rome called this place Palestine. Back to the time when Rome was disgusted with the hard-headed Jews who lived here.

I FIND A ROCK THAT DOESN’T HAVE TOO MANY BIRD DROPPINGS and settle on it among other members of the Bible study classes I’ve attended over the years. They are also hushed, seemingly meditative as the wind tears at their clothes just as it must have torn at the clothing of Christ’s many disciples so long ago.

OUR TEACHER, who struggles with the windblown pages of his Bible, encourages those of us who had enough forethought to bring one (I was not one of them) to open to Matthew 5:3. He begins to read, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.”

MY MIND IS SWEPT AWAY to the moment those words were first spoken. Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at our Jewish tour guide. He too seems caught up in some of the most beautiful, most hopeful words in the New Testament.

I BOW MY HEAD and let the rest of the words flow over me, blessing me again and again with a fresh understanding of grace.

You are blessed. Be a blessing!

ICKTHUS . . . SOMETHING FISHY FOR THE FAITHFUL?

SINCE I BECAME what I sometimes refer to as an Old Testament Christian, I’ve wanted to see Jerusalem and Canaan. I’ve wanted to walk where Jesus walked. I’ve wanted the breezes that grace those ancient hills to grace my own face. I’ve wanted the waters of the Jordan River to swirl around my ankles. I’ve wanted to put my hands in the very Sea of Galilee that Christ walked on.

I’VE DONE ALL THOSE THINGS NOW. I’ve also seen where David slew Goliath, and I’ve knelt down to touch Golgotha. I’ve peeked into the Nazareth home of Joseph, Mary, and family. I’ve seen the tomb of Joseph of Aramethea and prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane.

I KNOW HOW NARROW THE KIDRON VALLEY is and that the arid backside of the Mount of Olives meant freedom was only a hop, skip, and jump away for Christ. And yet He chose to wait for the burning torches He would have seen were meant to take Him away.

OH, YES. I can chalk the number one item off my travel To Do list.

WHEN THOSE WONDERFUL, MYSTERIOUS DAYS were completed, I felt the rest of the trip would be nice, but nothing to write about. I was wrong.

BEING IN THE MINORITY is something I’ve really never experienced. In most of the countries we visited—Egypt, Turkey, and even much of Israel—we pale Christians from a nice north Texas United Methodist Church were often outnumbered by as much as 98 percent of the Muslim population. Now that’s a minority.

IMAGINE AN ARMED GUARD ON A TOUR BUS. Imagine days without Christian symbols or churches. Imagine days without seeing a single woman show her hair.

THAT’S WHY, when I saw the Ickthus carved into the paving stones of Ephesus, Turkey, I was reminded that I was in the ruins of the world Paul had lived and worked in.

TALK ABOUT LIVING IN THE MINORITY! He might have been a super missionary, a force-to-be-contended-with, but much of the time he was alone. No wonder he landed in trouble so many times. (For Ephesus specifically, read Acts 19: 21-41.) Paul was not well-liked by the authorities or most of the citizens. Yet here, deeply etched outside a theater large enough to accommodate the same number of spectators as an NFL stadium, was the secret symbol of Christianity.

THE “Ι” RUNS NORTH AND SOUTH. The “Χ” (which is the “k” sound) is obvious. It takes a moment longer to find the ϑ (which is the “th” sound). The ϒ (the “oo” sound) is easier. And the Σ (the “s”) can easily be traced. Ickthus. The fish. As clear as it was in the early days when it first defaced the road. Christian graffiti. Paul’s legacy.

I PAUSED IN HUNDRED DEGREE PLUS HEAT and thanked God I was lucky enough to be in a time and in a place where I heard the Word. Where what I believe is what most of the people I know also believe. Where we don't have to resort to secrecy to share the truth with others. Feeling how very fortunate I was, I reluctantly followed the elbow in the road toward the bus where the others were waiting.

You’re blessed. Be a blessing!