The great 3rd century scholar Origin, whom I mentioned in my last post, was well acquainted with the holy land, since he was a native of Alexandria in Egypt and taught for a time in Caesarea Maritima, about 60 miles from Jerusalem. He’s one of the first Christian sources to speak of the cave at Bethlehem, where Jesus was born, and he must have been aware of other places associated with Jesus as well.
I remember a pilgrimage I made to Mount Sinai years ago, with Origin’s commentary “On Exodus” in hand, traveling by bus from the Red Sea through the mountains on what seemed like an interminable, narrow winding road. “We go to God by a winding road,” Origin said in his commentary, and I knew he had traveled this road.
His commentary explored the spiritual meaning of the scriptural events, but he was there all right. He didn’t forget what was there.
As a pilgrim in Jerusalem he must have stood before the ruins of the temple in Jerusalem. According to early sources, Jews came regularly to the Mount of Olives across from the Kidron Valley to look upon the ruined temple and mourn its passing. Origen must have seen them there. The present custom of gathering for prayer and remembrance at the “wailing wall” or western wall today began with them.
Then as now, some thought of rebuilding the temple, because they couldn’t envision their faith without it. Others realized that the Presence they sought there could be found elsewhere in other towns and places. Their synagogues and homes became more important as places of faith and worship.
Origen thought like the Jews who looked beyond the ruins. “Troubles and persecutions” led to rebuilding, but somewhere else and in another way. At the same time, he looked upon the ruins and acknowledged their glory, as signs of the One “who is, who was, and is to come.”
The Victor's Place 
I should have gone to the Holy Land with you and Origen, rather than a small team of archeologists buried in a herd of typical tourists. For them, old was good. And older even better. Documented Old was of course, the very best. No one wanted to much to do with the present moment of the Middle East, passing all around them. Only a dozen of us recognized the holy moment and danced with a group of Israeli soldiers who slung their machine guns across their backs. The latest dance tunes flown in by an American airline… living psalmody… offered in a hotel bar in Tiberius.
We fell asleep that night to the sound of tanks rumbling down the road.
I went to pray for peace. The archeologists paid my expenses. Of 100 people I could not inspire even 10 to dedicate 15 minutes a day in prayer for peace in the Middle East. “Pray any way your heart is led… by an act of kindness… in church or temple, mosque or pyramid even… any way God calls you.”
These were the Jimmy Carter days. Peace Movements. Peter, Paul and Mary… singing Psalmody. Vietnam was fading. War what is it good for… absolutely nothing. Say it again…Ahh, but a peace movement, without a war — didn’t just didn’t get very far. A peace movement in those days looked for that bit of personal self-interest to stand… if it isn’t MY people dying then perhaps this war is ok, people seemed to say through their silence.
How different is all of that from True Peace…the Peace of Christ, the peace that only Jesus Christ can give our hearts… When I got to the Sea of Galilee, I knelt to pray on the shore. The Fishermen of the day in small boats with peace signs on the bow. Laughing. Playing radios. So very ordinary were these men. Bright eyes and weathered faces… as were the Apostles Jesus called from among them… to cast out into the deep for a catch.
Kneeling there beside the Sea of Galilee I lay my hands just above the waters, so that the roll of the waves dimpled against the palms of my hands. My my heart sighing whispered…
“This… is the water that kissed the feet of Jesus.”
The One who is, who was and is to come…
and my heart sang Peace.
Amen
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