Communion

From Keith,

To the Congregation.

Mark 6:31 “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.

Communion in the Garden

We were on our final journey around Jerusalem. It included a visit to the Via Delarosa and the traditional sites of the the crucifixion and tomb. No one knows for sure where Jesus was buried and I think it is best this way. Given all the elaborate shrines, churches, altars, and pay per view areas in Jerusalem we don’t need to know. At the church of the sepulcher three churches have built competing sites and there is but one key to open the area and the Muslims hold it because of the dispute and distrust between the churches. If we did  know  there would just be a new shrine and they would charge pilgrims to get in. There is A Catholic, Greek Orthodox or Eastern Orthodox church built over just about every site. Keaton calls it “Pope-ing” the site. If I were to choose a place it might be some place far from the crowds. A place called the Garden Tomb.

We went there. It is not the traditional site. The Garden Tomb has not been pope-ed. It may be too far from the center of Jerusalem. Or maybe it just has never gotten the credentialing as the real place of Jesus’ burial. Never the less it is a quiet place, reverential, and it carries some credibility. If you recall Golgotha is referred to as the skull. The rock that is the hill of the Garden Tomb fits the bill. The rock looks like a skull and the tomb bears several of the marks of authenticity.

Our group decides to celebrate communion here. It is quiet, reflective and beautiful.

Our group numbers 48 people. We had purchased olive wood cups for the communion. We sing and celebrate and it is most wonderful. Each one of us serves the next as we come to the Lord’s table in this garden. One of the younger members sings, “When I survey the Wondrous Cross” and then continues with “Oh the Wonderful Cross.” The song echoes off the rocks. As it had been on the boat, we lose ourselves in the setting and the symbols.

But something wonderful happened.  There were others in the garden and some came over to our area and sat and began to worship with us in their own tongue and prayers. When we stood to come to communion they stood to come and share communion with us. I looked at them and the elements that remained and counted the people. I was saddened to think the elements would run out  before  these folks from Tanzania, Finland, and Germany could share in communion.

Now what happened next I am not claiming to be a miracle, I am just claiming in the beauty of it. We never ran out. In fact we had one lonely cup left as the last person tipped their cup and returned to their seat. This was the cup for the one leading communion. There was enough for all. Not one cup short. All were served! The two men from Tanzania disappeared. Not literally, we just didn’t see them after that moment when they got the elements. The women from Finland stood at the back of the group crying, praising God and marveling at having communion in this setting, in this way. We gave them their olive wood cups from which we had drunk. They thanked me and cried all the more.

Miracle? I don’t know. I am hesitant to use that word. What I know is that everything that took place there was completely filled with the nature and character of Christ and for that I believe I witnessed the miraculous.

He is Lord of the empty tomb!

The Last Crusade

The Last Crusade…..

Did you watch the 3^rd movie in the Indiana Jones Trilogy called ‘The Last Crusade’?  If you did, you will remember the last part and the climax of the movie that was filmed in an amazing place called Petra.

           When I found out that one of our stops in Jordan would be in Petra, I couldn’t imagine what it would be like.  How in the world would we get back to this archealogical treasure that was tucked in between a mountain, carved thousands of years ago. 

Petra is another famous ruins that is in the country of Jordan.  It was a city that was built by the Nabataeans, ancient Arabs who originally came from the Arabian Peninsula. For a history lesson…the Nabataeans are not listed among the tribes of the Arab genealogies, their origins are obscure.  They are first mentioned in historic documents around 312 BC. 

They had lived a considerable time in north-western Arabia, and then settled in Petra because of a natural cut in the mountains that saved days of travel through a harsh desert, and mountainous region.  It was a strategic area that lay on the ancient trade routes linking China and India to the Mediterranean coastal cities.  The Nabataeans; masters of the region’s trade routes, levying tolls, protecting caravans laden with Arabian frankincense and myrrh, Indian spices and silks.  And where have we heard about frankincense, and myrrh? You guessed it, the Kings that traveled from the East to visit the Christ child.  They would have likely traveled this ancient road that took them through Petra.

Of course, like everywhere else in this region, Roman influence was seen as well.  Ancient colonnaded streets are still seen, tombs of royalty, pagan temples, a high place of sacrifice, a treasury, and the As-Siq, which is the famous main entrance to Petra.  A 1200 meter long, deep and narrow gorge that is carved by water into beautiful reddish colored rocks. A strong cool wind flows down the shaded path way.  Not at all what the desert feels like otherwise.  It is an absolutely amazing sight.

We walked through it in 5 hours, and most people take at least 2—3 days to visit it.

Keith and I loved every minute of it.  It was hot, dry, and not for the faint of heart to walk 1 ½ miles in to the Treasury façade, another 1 ½ miles inside, and then back out. That doesn’t count the miles we walked around the ruins, and up a 100 step ancient stairway with no rails.   We don’t know how many miles we walked that day in the hot sun and dry conditions, but it was so worth it. 

This special place was where I decided to take a bucket list experience. 

I rode a Camel! 

A live, smelly, growling, chewing his cud, Camel.  I am glad that Keith didn’t have the video camera running while that camel was getting up from his sitting position with me sitting on his hump saddle.  While he was getting up I had to throw my body back and then balance forward while he manuevered his front legs up, all this after he had unfolded his back legs. This has to be done while I am hanging on both in the front and the back.  It was quite a sight to see, and I am sure it wasn’t a pretty picture when I was trying to balance myself on top of this large creature, but it was a blast, and I am so glad  I did it.

While walking up the path way that led out of Petra….I could almost hear the Indiana Jones theme song…

I hope you can go to Petra someday……

How Can I Keep from Singing Your Praise

From Keith,
To the Congregation.

Mark 6:31 “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.

Ecclesiastes 3:4
There is a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance!

So here we were walking the gangplank to a boat called the Hippos. My experience with hippos has not been good. So you can understand why there is a bit of trepidation in me. For those of you unfamiliar with my hippo tale, let's just leave it at I had an angry run in with a hippopotamus in South Africa over a misunderstanding about marking his territory. Back to the this adventure though.

We are heading out on the Sea Of Galilee. Fishing boats dot the waters. We are crossing from a kibbutz (cooperative agricultural community - recall Karl Marx was Jewish) to Capernaum. It was just supposed to be a three hour tour... wait, sorry, different story.

Were do I begin? We are hardly off shore when the music begins and the Spirit descends. I have never experienced anything like it. The joy and elation that came over the people was a site to behold. Our voices echoed off the mountains and the heavens as we sang at the top of our lungs...

My Jesus, my savior, 

Lord, there is none like you.

All of my days, I want to praise, 

The wonders of your mighty love.

My comfort, my shelter, 

Tower of refuge and strength.

Let every breath, all that I am, 

Never cease to worship you.

Shout to the lord, all the earth let us sing.

Power and majesty, praise to the king.

Mountains bow down, and the seas will roar, 

At the sound of your name.

I sing for joy at the work of your hands, 

Forever I'll love you, 

Forever I'll stand.

Nothing compares to the promise I have

In you.

 

And then we began to dance. I don't mean baptist style with one foot nailed to the floor. (sorry Scott) I mean like David before the Lord! We sang hava nagila (let us rejoice) a traditional Jewish folk song. 

The boats captain lost himself in the moment and the joy. He becalmed the boat, left the helm, and joined the dance.

All sense of time was lost. Our tour guide, Michael, (You kind of have to clear your throat on the "ch" sound to get it right.) who was normally pressing us on time just smiled and laughed with joy. There was not hurrying this moment.

Then the silence came. Perfect silence. We stood at the rails and looked over the sea. Peace, be still. 

The one who stilled the waters, stilled our hearts. I did not want our time to end. But end it did. We stepped across the threshold of a synagogue  in which Jesus had taught. We were standing in the place he stood and you could almost hear him whisper in the winds. But that is another story for another time. 

Quiet your heart and hear him speak.

Keith, Do you Love me?

Start the video and listen as you read

From Keith,
To the Congregation.

Mark 6:31 “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.

At 5:30 am it is dawn, but the sun is not yet visible. At almost seven hundred feet below seal level and with hills that surround the Sea of Galilee, it will take the sun another hour or so to make an appearance. The only inlet into this valley is the Jordan river. Its delta marsh used to extend over three hundred feet across in Jesus' day. Today the river is robbed of most of its waters by towns, cities and irrigation systems before it reaches the Galilee. And to call this a sea is a bit optimistic. It is not as big as Geist Reservoir. You can see across to all sides. It is called by several other names depending on what city you are near; the Sea of Tiberias, Kinneret, and the Lake of Gennesaret.

It is not by accident I am up so early standing at the edge of the water. I am starting a small fire about fifty feet from the water. Small waves crest and roll to the shore. There are only small fishing boats on the lake. Not a sound rustles. I gather kindling reeds along the shore and set the flame to them. As I add small sticks, they crackle. I place a cedar half board on some rocks at the edge of the fire. Then I lay four strips of fish along the top of the board. Smoke curls around the board and licks the fish. The grape juice is poured and the bread is ready.

This is one of my favorite moments in communion. The table set and the people start to come. One older woman sits down next to her husband and begins to read the scriptures to him. I am not certain he can read. They are simple in their dress and posture, but they have dreamed a lifetime of coming to the Holy Land. A stroke that causes her to throw her leg and waddle a bit when she walks was not going to stop her.

As others gather there is a holy silence that sits with us. Then one begins to read

After this, Jesus appeared again to the disciples, this time at the Tiberias Sea (the Sea of Galilee). This is how he did it: Simon Peter, Thomas (nicknamed “Twin”), Nathanael from Cana in Galilee, the brothers Zebedee, and two other disciples were together. Simon Peter announced, “I’m going fishing.” The rest of them replied, “We’re going with you.” They went out and got in the boat. They caught nothing that night. When the sun came up, Jesus was standing on the beach, but they didn’t recognize him.

Jesus spoke to them: “Good morning! Did you catch anything for breakfast?”

They answered, “No.”

He said, “Throw the net off the right side of the boat and see what happens.”

They did what he said. All of a sudden there were so many fish in it, they weren’t strong enough to pull it in.

Then the disciple Jesus loved said to Peter, “It’s the Master!”

When Simon Peter realized that it was the Master, he threw on some clothes, for he was stripped for work, and dove into the sea. The other disciples came in by boat for they weren't far from land, a hundred yards or so, pulling along the net full of fish. When they got out of the boat, they saw a fire laid, with fish and bread cooking on it.

Jesus said, “Bring some of the fish you’ve just caught.” Simon Peter joined them and pulled the net to shore—153 big fish! And even with all those fish, the net didn’t rip.

Jesus said, “Breakfast is ready.” Not one of the disciples dared ask, “Who are you?” They knew it was the Master.

Jesus then took the bread and gave it to them. He did the same with the fish. This was now the third time Jesus had shown himself alive to the disciples since being raised from the dead.

 After breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?”

“Yes, Master, you know I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.”

He then asked a second time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”

“Yes, Master, you know I love you.”

Jesus said, “Shepherd my sheep.”

Then he said it a third time: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”

Peter was upset that he asked for the third time, “Do you love me?” so he answered, “Master, you know everything there is to know. You’ve got to know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my sheep. 

The question hung in the air. Do you Love Me?

The images and words are still pounding in my heart.

Feed my sheep! 

To my community of Ovid Community Church I need you to know. That moment called, convicted, and committed me.  

“God Moments”

Our next stop was the country of Jordan.  We traveled all day long to get there.  We walked out of our B&B in Rome at 6:15 am, on October 6th.   After a wait at the airport, flying back through Paris, (literally flew over Rome twice) and a 4 hour flight, we arrived at Amman, Jordan, at 7:00 that evening.  The sun had already set. Now, I don’t know about you, but when I travel, I like to arrive well before sunset.  There is something about going to a strange city in the dark.

There were approximately 20 people standing in line to enter the country.  We were herded through a line to have our passports checked and stamped.  For the first time we had to look in a camera and have the iris of our eyes photographed before we could enter a country.  But, we got through, picked up our luggage and quickly scurried through the series of gates, and hallways.  They must put customs people through special training on intimidation.

Thankfully, we found our “Pilgrim Tour” driver, and off we went for a 40 minute drive to Amman to our hotel.  Our driver was a friendly Jordanian.  Thankfully.

I wasn't sure I would be able to enjoy this archaeological country, full of artifacts and history.  But, the next day would prove differently.

 Another driver named Samur met us at the front of the hotel the next morning.  We didn't know until late the night before that we would have a driver take us to archaeological sights…..alone.  The rest of the tour would start with another couple and our tour guide on the following day.  Then another group would join us on Tuesday October 8^th.

Our driver was quiet, and spoke a fair amount of English.  We could communicate with him pretty well.  We drove for 4 hours to reach the small town of Um Qays.  If you look on a map of Jordan, you will find that it is near the Syrian Border.  There are English subtitles on the road signs so we knew it was near Syria..  However not until we received our maps the next day, did we realize we were near an area of conflict with the Syrian Refugees.  Again, God protected us.

We walked around the ruins of a small town called Gadara.  This is where Jesus performed the miracle of the Gadarene swine.  The Romans had been there as well, for it was another city in the Decapolis. This is where we first saw the Sea of Galilee, and it literally took my breath away. 

Then our driver took us to Jerash which is one of the best preserved and most complete provincial Roman cities in Jordan.  It is called the Pompei of JordanIt also was one of the cities of the Decapolis, which was a confederation of 10 Graeco-Roman cities dating from the 1^st Century BC.  The Decapolis was situated in Jordan, Syria, and Israel.  If you check the map of Jordan again, it is just a little south of Um Qays.  A very large area of ruins, with columns, piazzas, all with Roman influence.

We arrived back at our hotel, rested, had dinner, then showered for an evening with the director of our tour group in Jordan.  He had invited us to his church for Sunday evening services. 

I had decided to stay back at the hotel to write our next blog entry, and organize our suitcases. But, then I decided to walk down to the lobby with Keith to meet “Fadi”.  When I met him I quickly changed my mind.  He was 30ish man with a great smile.  He told me that communion would be served, and I would have the chance to worship with Jordanian Christians!  It was something I may never have the opportunity to do again!  It had been far too long since I had taken communion because of our travels, and I was missing corporate worship. 

On the way there we found out this church was Evangelical Free.  Their service would be very similar to ours at home.  I was so excited I could barely contain myself.

The service was more than I had hoped for.  We sang “How Great Thou Art”, and "Amazing Grace".  They sang in Arabic, we sang in English. The sermon was translated from a lady sitting in the sound booth speaking to us in headphones.  We met congregation members after the service, and one fellow had attended college in Birmingham, Alabama.  He had visited the town my parents lived in!   

Tears streamed down my face.  It would remind me of what Jesus came for, and someday we would ALL be singing, worshiping, laughing, and fellowshiping together, no matter where we were born.

A friend and congregation member wrote a detailed journal with questions for me to keep each day while we were gone.  It would challenge me daily to look for a “God Moment”. It wasn’t hard to find the God moment that day.

 My cup was overflowing, and my tired bones were renewed……

Delaine 

Basilicas, bones, corpse, crypts, and tombs

From Keith,
To the Congregation.

Mark 6:31 “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.

This entry will be intentionally brief. Still it has struck a raw nerve. Of course we are in the land of the Papacy. There have been 265 Popes according to the records of the Catholic church and they all had to buried somewhere. Well that is what leads me to write. 

I have seen enough crypts, corpses, tombs, and bones to last me a very long time. As we walked through St Peter's Basilica there are 91 popes buried. I see people praying before them, crying upon them, and leaving candles or money around them.

I have to tell you. As far as I am concerned, the only tomb I would ever kneel at is an empty one!

2 Corinthians 4:14
...Because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you to himself.

Roma, Italy

Flying over Italy before landing in Rome was spectacular.  The terrain was different colors and reminded me of a beautiful quilt with the colors of browns and greens.  Not in a grid pattern of our farmland at home, but in triangles, and shapes of many geometric names.  The most beautiful were the vinyards, and olive groves.  They were stunning in their line formation.  Even at 10,000 feet you could see the details of the vineyard verses the olive groves.

After our stressful time in the Paris airport it was good to rest and know that we were headed on our way again.

I had to keep reminding myself, we are actually in Italy!  Buongiorno!  Ciao (Chow!)

I can only speak English, I stupidly thought learning another language as a teenager in high school would be useless.  Now, I undoubtedly regret that decision.  My daughters would have laughed at me trying to say “Grazie”.  I just don’t have the Italian flare for the words.  Their language is colorful in the way they speak it.  “Mamma Mia” was drawn out and almost musical.

We arrive at our bed and breakfast which is just across the street from the Vatican.  When we were planning  this part of the trip, we were a little disappointed that our sleeping quarters were so far away from the “big, familiar” things such as the “Colloseum”, or the “Palatine”.  How silly we were.  It was a spectacular view of St Peter’s, and is one of the most popular areas.  We watched out our window each morning as droves of people step out of buses and taxis making their way around the sidewalk.  There is a wall that surrounds the Vatican that is at least 40 to 50 feet high.   The sidewalk follows the wall all the way around.  I have never stood beside the wall of a country before.

I thought I would stick out like a sore thumb with this blonde hair, but not so.  Every ethnic group is represented.  Spanish influence is strong, but  Asian citizens are everywhere.  Chinese, Japanese, then there are Russians, Czechs, Swedish, French, Scandinavians, and of course Americans walking the sidewalks.  According to the locals, July, August and the week before Christmas are the only slow times for tourists.

For those of you who don’t know, Vatican City is a country in itself.  It is huge and elaborate, and to the Catholics, it houses their “Papal”, as well as St. Peter’s Basilica, The Vatican Museums, and the Sistine Chapel. 

We saw it all.  Rooms and rooms of Rome’s finest.  Famous sculptures that have been collected by different Popes throughout  the ages. No money was spared.  There were beautiful paintings, tapestries, drawings from famous artists that we only read about in history books; Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo  Donatello, Raphael, (not the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles by the way) and names I had never heard before. Many times we saw classes of students with their Art Teacher giving the details.  We saw sketch books, and carbon pencils flying.  They were studying the best, and brightest artists of the world.

 We walked slowly through each room in the Basilica, the museums, and Vatican square.  It was spectacular.  I kept humming the song, “We will never pass this way again”, and occasionally I would reach up and pinch myself to just make sure I wasn’t dreaming. 

The final day we were there, our host at the B&B offered us tickets to see the Pope “personally”.  We didn’t have any idea what this meant when we agreed to take the tickets.  We even wondered just how close would we be to him?  LOL!!!  How silly of us to think this.  We along with 5-6,000 people were all herded into Vatican Square to sit in chairs to see the Pope ride around in his PopeMobile.  You know the little white car that he stands in waving?  Bullet proof glass surrounds him as he waves and smiles at his fellow Catholics.  He emerged from the car to sit in a chair on stage facing us with St. Peter’s in the background.  It was an experience not many have.  There were people there from all over the world. Cardinals, Priests, and the devoted stood at the microphone and mentioned each place a group was from.  Many of them were from the USA.

I sat next to a woman who had been a devoted Catholic all her life.  This was not her first visit.  She didn’t speak a word of English, but her body language spoke volumes.  Her hands were aged, obviously from hard work.  Between her fingers were Rosary Beads being rubbed each time she spoke a prayer in Italian. She knew every time to stand, what direction he would be coming from, and shook her head at the silliness of others as they screamed and yelled at him.  She was there to pay her respects to the man who is the Pope; the Leader of the Catholic Church.

The other days we spent many hours walking the streets of Rome looking at the ancient ruins.  My favorite was the Coliseum.  The massive structure looms above all buildings and is surrounded by other ancient ruins.  It is an Architect’s dream. When you walk around the corner and see it for the first time you can’t help but gasp. 

 We saw the streets with black mosaic stones, some large, some small.  We also walked where Paul most likely was walked to his death from his prison, not far from the Coliseum.  Where Peter walked to his death as well.

We saw the ruins of Nero’s home.  There were massive hallways that would allow a team of horses to walk down pulling him and his entourage. 

World War II was not kind to this city.  Large ancient Arches that told the details of a historical event such as a battle was missing pieces of stone where marksman stood and shot for fun.

The Romans did nothing small.  Piazza’s surround every Basilica, and Cathedral. Statues and fountains dot the cityscape everywhere.  We saw history come alive.

The modern day Rome is not much different from our big cities.  Public Transportation is everywhere.  Taxis, buses, and the Metro (their subway).

I thought we would hear Italian music playing in the streets.  Only on occasionan we would enter a Piazza and hear an acoustic guitar, or an accordion playing sweet music.  This was the musician’s way of making money for the day. 

The food was not what I expected.  Truly, I think our Italian food at home is better.  The owner of the restaurante would make and bake pizza, calzones, pastas, and breads early in the day, then keep it in a glassed in case for all to see and chose from.  He then would cut a slice, or dip up the pasta and warm it for you.  It was pretty good, but hand me a good ol’ Pizza King Pizza, or Art’s Pizza any day.  Gelato is in almost every restaurante.  Lines of people buy the sweet cream or sherbet at all times of the day.  It is our Ice cream at home.

We did have a sandwich shop just outside our B&B that made delicious sandwiches on crusty bread, with Panchetta, brie cheese, and the last day, spinach was added.  It had honey, and a brown mustard that mixed well.  We ate there several times.  I will try my hand at making this sandwich at home.  Hopefully my small group will enjoy my experimenting.

We leave Rome today. Our first stop on our sabbatical. We have been to 4 countries in the past 1 and ½ weeks.  America, France, Vatican City, and Italy.  Our next stop is Jordan.  We will miss Italy, and of course, we are missing our home.    

Arrivederci,

Delaine

  

The Mamertine

From Keith,
To the Congregation.

Mark 6:31 “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.

Mamertine

 I know not all of you will be able to do the following. But I am trying in some small way to help you capture the moment. So go into the bathroom or another room in the house where you can make it dark and where you have access to water. (Yes, I know you have your computer or phone and that is a light source.)Now turn on the water, not full, but just so it drips very slowly. Turn off the lights, and sit on the floor or any hard surface. Now sit in total quietness and darkness for a few moments. Listen to the rhythmic dripping. Turn back on the computer only after you feel uncomfortable.

The water is your only friend and enemy. It is the only way you can mark time accurately Its irregular cadence at least lets you know the next moment has arrived and you are still alive. The water comes from above and below. It seeps between the stones of the roof and gurgles in the spring at your feet. The spring water is fresh. The water from above is a mix of urine and every other form of putridness from the civilization above. In a city that officially has no prisons, you are a prisoner. And what is more you have been deemed so seditious that to have you among any population, even other slaves, could corrupt them with your insidious and persuasive ideas. Most prisoners would serve as galley oarsmen, be enslaved in the salt mines or marble quarries, or as household slaves or even gladiators. But you are considered too dangerous. It is not your hands or weaponry but your words. You will not stop speaking of the Way. Its message is sweeping the empire on the wings of your words. You and just a handful of men risk their lives daily to share the good news. So they hope you will just be washed away.  Maybe the water will kill you from hypothermia or maybe you will die of dysentery, but either way, in Nero’s mind, it would be good if you just died. There are some days the thought occurs to you as well. Perhaps it would be best to die. But you argue with yourself.

“I don’t know which is best. To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. But there are those who still need my encouragement, words of hope and life. So which is better, to go on living for the sake of others or to die and be with the Lord?”

 It was one of your visitors who took down your words recording these musings. Now you are again waiting, hoping there will be another who risks a visit to you.

There are voices above. It is the shift change for the guards. The guards gather around a makeshift fire they have lit for meager heat. A bit of its stray light filters into your darkness through the hole.

Your prison is not bars and bricks. Your prison is a grotto in stone, a tullianum (dungeon). It is an ancient artesian spring. But this 15x20  “spring of darkness” has long since been abandon for its uneven flow.  The only entrance or exit is a manhole size hole cut into the ceiling ten feet above.  It was once intended for clay jars to be lowered through to gather water. Now, it’s only use is to toss in prisoners, rations, or lower an occasional visitor.  The walls are marked with the stains of the ebb and flow of high water marks. At its worst, the water has risen the height of a man. At that level, 55 degree water spelled certain death from hypothermia.

There are sounds that filter in as well. You can hear the shouts that emanate from the Coliseum. 70,000 people pack the palatial arena for games. Gladiators duel and elaborate hunts are staged for with animals imported from the furthest regions of the empire. Hippopotamus, lion, elephants enraged, bears, tigers  and wolves all are “hunted” in the arena for the entertainment of the crowds. But it is more often the sounds of the citizens from the Circus Maximus. 300,000 people fill these stands daily for games. Chariot races, cavalry, and infantry wage battle for the enjoyment of the crowds. Of  course all the debaucheries of man accompany the crowds. Ovid, the poet wrote that this was the place of horses and prostitutes. The people of Rome have become much more enraptured with their entertainment than their work; leave that to the slaves.

You call into the darkness. “Luke?”… John Mark?...Onesimus?” How you hope it is Mark. You ask him to bring you your cloak. Winter is coming so soon and the walls of stone are relentlessly chilling.

But the words are Latin not Hebrew. But it is the voice of the only guard who has shown any kindness. “It is I, Paulus.” Tito is a young man named after the Caesar who had defeated Jerusalem. He is part of the Praetorian Guard. Their legion and detail guards Nero himself. There is the soft thud of a piece of bread hitting the floor of your cell. It is a gift. Your chains rattle against the rock as you make your way to the place you heard it hit. A little groping and your hands find its hard exterior. You have gotten good at finding morsels in the dark.

 

“Your friend will be here soon. He was waiting to see who was on duty tonight. I saw him and told him my duty time, so he would know when he could enter and exit. He must be finished before I get off or he will be at the mercy of the next shift. They may not be so merciful to let him exit.

“Thank you, my brother in Christ.”

You gather your thoughts. What words will you dictate to your friends at the young church in Philippi?

The drops of water mark the moments. Then a rope ladder descends along with Timothy  and light. A Holy Kiss and you set to work. The visit will not last long. You must  work quickly.

To all God’s holy people in Christ Jesus at Philippi, together with the overseers and deacons:

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.I thank my God every time I remember you.  In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy  because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now,  being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.

It is right for me to feel this way about all of you, since I have you in my heart and, whether I am in chains or defending and confirming the gospel, all of you share in God’s grace with me."

This is the scene I imagine as I stand in the mamertine prison. He speaks of joy and I do not see how he can conjure joy in these circumstances. But that is exactly the point. Happiness is dictated by circumstances. Joy is a state of being. One electric light illuminates the area. There are three others who stand with me. We are not speaking a word. Then the light goes out and we are plunged into darkness. Only the faint whisper of the light that comes through the entrance speaks to us of the outside. Suddenly, I am transported in time. I am Paul’s visitor. My toes instinctively grip the stones beneath my feet. I don’t know how long we stood there. I was totally gripped with the sadness I felt for this man who had endured so much to write to me the “prison epistles”. When the light came back on I realized tears marked my cheeks. I was not alone. Each of us was crying.This, thus far, has been the most profound experience of the trip.

Passport to nowhere

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.

The Paris airport is not the easiest place to get around, especially when you don't speak French! Everything was going smoothly. Flights were all smooth, take offs and landings were great, and our seats were fine.  We were tired from our long flight over "The Pond", for neither of us slept well, but when we arrived in Paris, we knew we had only 3 more hours until our destination.

We gathered our carry on baggage and headed for the next gate.  Like I said, Paris is not an easy place to manuever around, but we asked employees and they helped us as much as they could.  It is amazing how many people in the foreign countries know English!

We went through customs, showed our passports and headed around the corner.
We had met an amazing young lady in the customs line who was traveling on her own at the age of 21.  She had been staying in the United States for the past 3 months selling books to help with her education.  When she arrived in California 3 months earlier, she didn't know a single bit of English, but now could speak fluently.
She was heading home to Warsaw, Poland, and her flight would take off from the same gate area as ours.  We struck up a conversation with her, for Keith and I are softies for these young kids who travel abroad....especially all by themselves.

All 3 of us were walking to find our gate.  We were a little confused about the way to the next concourse, so again we stopped for help.  The lady sitting at the desk pointed us in the right direction, and off we went again.  
When we got ready to turn for the gate, Keith looked down and did not see our passports in his hands.  He looked at me and said, "where are the passports?"  We both began to panic for we knew he had had them  in his hands when we went through customs.  We stopped, took everything out of our bags, looked in every crook and cranny, and every pocket. Still no passports.
We had already passed through a security gate, so there was no going back to retrace our steps without a security officer.  We remembered stopping at the lady's desk. That had to be where they were.  Keith must have laid them down when we stopped for directions. If we could just get back to her, we were sure they  were on her desk.
We  immediately went to the information desk. A security officer saw the looks on our faces. She called the lady at the information desk that we had stopped and talked to, she didn't have any passports.  The security officer came from behind a thick glassed desk. She knew the  heaviness of our situation. She would escort only one of us to retrace our steps through security.  There wasn't much time to debate, only Keith could go with her.

It is a little scary to be in a huge, foreign airport all by yourself, not speaking the language, knowing that your passport was missing, and our flight was leaving in 25 minutes.
My mind was going 90 miles an hour.  I was calculating the time it would take us to get to the gate, and load on board.....what if we missed our flight?  Would another flight be soon?  BUT, most importantly....where could our passports be?  What if they were gone forever?  What would we do then?  We have 5 more countries to enter.....OH MY.....it was too much to fathom.

I found a bench, pulled our carry on bags to my side and began to pray. The song "Take it to the Lord in prayer...." began to play over and over in my head.  A calm, and peace came over me.....I knew the Lord was right there beside me.  He was giving me the peace that I needed.

The security officer had taken Keith to AirFrance Guest relations and asked if there was any sign of our passports.  The man barely looked up from his work, and answered "NO".  She rushed Keith back through security, to the desk of the lady we had asked information of earlier.  The woman confirmed she did not have the passports.  The security officer tried to knock on the door of the customs officer, and was stopped by a police officer.  He was carrying a UZZI gun.  She hastily explained the situation and the police officer opened the door, but still no passports.
She told Keith at this point that our only hope was to go to Air France ticketing, and hopefully someone had turned them in. Then she walked away, and left him alone.
Keith started back down through security and headed towards the AirFrance ticket area just as he was instructed to do.  He began to sense that he needed to go back and check with guest relations just one more time.  ( I am so thankful that my husband listens to the Holy Spirit!)  The security officer was coming out of the area with a frantic look on her face, but when she saw Keith she started smiling.  Behind her was a woman carrying two American passports, with the name "Wooden" on both of them.   She said, "You are one lucky man".
Luck?  I don't think so.
Keith hugged both the French women, and as he put it, "the French are not fond of being hugged by big, frantic, American men".

It seemed like for ever until I saw Keith and the security officer round the corner, but I could tell the minute I saw Keith's face that the passports had been found. I also tried to hug the French lady, not knowing Keith had already tried.  They are not huggers! However, she did have a big smile on her face.

We are not really sure how it happened, it may have been our distraction with the young gal from Poland, or maybe it was the customs officer who was tired of dealing with people that day and failed to return the passports to us. The last place we remembered seeing them was at the his office. (For those of you who have traveled Internationally know, customs officers can be pretty intimidating.)

There wasn't much time to celebrate, we had a plane to catch.  We literally ran from the place we discovered  the missing passports to our gate that was 5 minutes away.  So much had happened in the past 20 minutes.
Thankfully, when we arrived at the gate. Our plane had been delayed for take off.  They were just beginning to board.
Again....coincidence?  I don't think so.
There is something to be said for believers that are praying in unison.  We are so thankful for all of you back home that are in the cadence of prayer with us.
Love you....
Delaine