LETTER XXXIV: PILGRIMAGES PART II (The Baptism Site)

BEGUN: 12 JUNE 2010, AMMAN and COMPLETED: 29 JUNE, 2010, MAPLEWOOD

[Please see Pilgrimages Part I]

Au contraire, our approach to Jesus’ baptism site in Jordan three months later, was a simple test of audacity and a smile.

We’d spent the bulk of the day at play. First we visited the mosaic artist Samaher Khameis at her workshop in Madaba. I feature Samaher in my short film on Madaba’s Institute of Mosaic Art and Restoration. It’s fascinating to see how this intricate art form in process and to imagine men and women tooling over tiny pieces of stone millennia ago. What a legacy – what stories! – they’ve left behind. (Once the invoices for that project are honored – and that’s another story -- I will put up the piece for you to see.)

Of course we made the mini-pilgrimage to St. George's Church to show Janna the map and went again to gape at the mosaics in Hippolyta’s Hall (pictured) at the Virgin Mary Church.

Then we drove the long, narrow and winding roads south out of Madaba to Hammamat Ma’in – to the natural hot springs of Jordan that rush from the cliffs of the mountainside above the Dead Sea.

Like the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, CA, Jordan has three waters coming together: salt, fresh creek (as in Wadi Mujib), and hot: Ma’in. At Hammamat Ma’in the main waterfall ranges in temperature from 40° to 60° C (104-140° F).

Imagine the power of that water pounding down on your shoulders: hot, heavy, relentless; healing, soothing, invigorating.

We wore swimsuits with tee shirts and shorts over top. Nearby were women in long dresses with headscarves, smiling and laughing in the spray. There was one man, French, we thought, in a Speedo.

They say King Herod frequented the healing springs at Ma'in (when these waters were known as Baaras) and built a villa at nearby Mukawer. According to tradition, it was at that villa that Salome danced and John the Baptist was beheaded (Matthew 14: 1-12).

Speaking of John the Baptist … to the point of this letter.

We left the Hammamat via the other route: by the Dead Sea. Winding down the muscular mountains with a broad view of both our side of the Dead Sea and theirs. Every time I take in that view I am in wonder: it all looks so peaceful, unified; the land around a lake. Then I remember the contested ownership, the lines, imaginary and real cutting through towns, cultures, salt water, and the trickle called “the Jordan River.”

“Let’s go to the Baptism Site,” suggested Katie, as we turned north with the Dead Sea on our left and the mountains that hide Ma’in on our right.

“Lesh la? Why not!”

The signs are everywhere. Tourism – adventure and spiritual – is business for Jordan and the signage is good. So are the roads.

We drove past our favorite Dead Sea swimming spot, Amman Beach, and all the big hotels. Then we turned left toward the world’s widest partition and drove through the no man’s holy land to a simple entrance arch where three men were enjoying tea and an early evening chat.

“Marhaba (Hello). We’d like to visit the Baptism Site.”

“Yes, but we closed at 5pm,” said Emad, gatekeeper of the moment. It was 5:40.

After discussing the schedule (8am – 5pm) and the entrance fees (seven JOD per person) I smiled and asked, “Can we see it anyway?”

“I’ll ask.”

Within a few minutes we arranged with Emad that we’d pay our entrance with all the dinars we had (16) and that we’d drive him to his home afterward (on the road to Amman) and he escorted us to and through the site, Bethany-beyond-the-Jordan.

According to www.sacred-destinations.com, excavations on the site -- on the east bank of the Jordan River -- only began here in 1996, following Jordan's peace treaty with Israel in 1994. Land mines dotted the infamous and disputed border along the ever-shrinking river.

It took two years to make it safe. Since ‘96 more than 20 churches, caves and baptismal pools dating back to the Roman and Byzantine periods have been uncovered.

You still feel the tension as you approach the Jordan. After guiding us on cool wooded paths to the pools that scholars agree may be where Jesus Christ was baptized by the Prophet John, Emad told us, “I cannot go any farther. The Jordanian soldier will take you from here.”

And a military man stepped forward, gesturing us toward a simple gazebo-like structure with stairs down to the Jordan trickle and the Israeli flag in clear view.

The Jordan side of the river has a wood platform with steps at either end for visitors to descend, just a few at a time, and dip their toes into the 10-foot-wide-water about which so many anthems and spirituals are sung. On the Israeli side, a skipping stone’s throw away, a 20-foot-long concrete slab with steps the length of the slab so many pilgrims may access the water at once. Each country's flag flies high. There is no sign of Palestine.

I was glad we were alone there, that no noise disturbed our reflections but the call of the rula bird -- a brave little lime green bird with turquoise scruff. (Do you know its English name?)

It was strange being so close and so far from “the other side.” No guards but our Bedouin soldier. A peaceful stream between “sides.” A place so heralded, lauded, prayed for and fought for. Just my daughters and me. And the soldier. And Emad waiting for his ride home.

Home is always the destination of the pilgrim.

Amman and a Two-Parent Home

September 25, 2009

Amman’s sepia-brown welcome was quickly warmed by Peter’s arrival. I was especially excited for him to be, finally, in an Arabic-speaking country, abundant with geological formations to fill his studied eyes. And Katie and I had plans up our sleeves.

The best thing for a new arrival coming east is to keep awake as long as possible as an investment in a solid night’s sleep. We’d prepared a stir-fry with rice for dinner and then set out for Abdoun Circle, to Gerard’s for pistachio ice cream. Fancy Katie and me showing off our city, our new suspension bridge connecting Fourth Circle to Abdoun, comfortably giving our destination to the taxi driver in Arabic, and pushing our way, like the locals, through to the counter to order our cones. Then sitting outdoors and milking the moment.

We gave Peter the morning off. Katie was at school by the time he woke. And yes, he heard the roosters. During the next few days Peter took himself on a walk into the “bird zoo,” the “ha-DEE-ka at-to-YOOR” and discovered that the offending creatures were none other than Rhode Island Reds. Imagine coming this far across the planet only to be annoyed by foul from your own birth state!

For the view we brought him to Wild Jordan for dinner; for enrichment we brought Dr. Younes to dinner, too. In one swoop we managed to bring a newcomer and an old timer to a place in Amman neither had been before. The frozen limon bi na’na’ was again exquisite. Dr. Younes’ family had lived in the Rainbow Street area when he was little and we were going to walk and find his old homestead after dinner. But as we looked up the hill from the restaurant entrance he said, “There it is!” Small town. A security person at Wild Jordan said he thought the Hariri family from Lebanon had bought up most of that cliffside and its homes. Small region.

Friday. Emad came with his car for us at 10am and off we went to Madaba, the ancient town famed for its mosaic floors (http://www.bibarch.com/ArchaeologicalSites/Madaba.htm). Roman (with columns and colonnades) then Byzantine (with some mosaics rumored to border on pornographic) then Christian (with the extraordinary 6^th century mosaic map of Jerusalem and its surroundings at St. George’s Church). Abandoned for centuries and then rediscovered by Christian pilgrims en route Mount Nebo and the monastery honoring Moses. They reestablished residency in Madaba and archaeological explorations have continued since. There’s much yet to uncover here as in so many parts of Jordan.

We noticed that although signs said, “TOUR GUIDES: Please Do Not Step Inside the Chains Guarding the Mosaic Map” in English, there were none in Arabic. And you can be sure plenty of people (there was a group of Egyptian Christian tourists there) climbed right over the ropes ringing the mosaic and stood right on the Holy Sepulcher and Damascus Gate to get their photos taken. Maybe the tour guides themselves did not transgress.

It was a clearer view from Mount Nebo than the one I saw in 1976. Then it was so foggy I had to wonder what Moses really might have seen from this vantage point; perhaps the Promised Land was only the eastern slope of the mountain, falling off to the Jordan Valley. But this time the view proved longer. Although we couldn’t see them, signs indicated Bethlehem, Jerusalem, and Ramallah lay before us.

Our big surprise for Peter was the Dead Sea this afternoon. I think he’d guessed it already: bring your bathing suit; we’ll pack a picnic. “Dead Sea” signs dotted the road. Amman Beach was as picturesque as we’d remembered. And this time we had saved three JDs each for the mud rub.

It was a dream to bring Peter, my geologist husband, to see these vistas. Driving down, down, down to the Dead Sea … the verticals of limestone, the fall-offs of sandstone. The look of giant muscular protrusions just like Sinai, just like the California coast.

This Friday the Dead Sea. Next Friday the hot tubs at Esalen. Last Friday the swimming pool overlooking Beirut. Who is leading my life? (Ponder the pun.)

And tender, unexpected awareness of self presents in baby steps. These are not the POW BANG transformational experiences of the est Training or the Six Day Course., but the kind that comes with years of practice. Practicing life, as in practicing the flute. You return to Bach’s Sonata in B Minor and find a nuance brand new after 30 years of study. As Peter slept next to me, I wrote in my journal: “What will it be like sharing authority again? Even a two-person committee can be complicated.” I’ve been in charge for nearly a month; now my partner is here and the consultative process is naturally reinstated – especially about Katie’s activities and making dinner. Such a simple process to date in Amman, now will involve spices and sautéing. Also sharing the space. I love the utterly clutter-free place I’ve maintained. But immediately his computer commandeered the dining room table. Well, where else was he to work? I showed him his own closet – in the guest room. We have separate closets at home, but both in our bedroom. “It is logical,” I wrote, “and yet strange. A little cold. But better for me and sensible.” I like my under filled closets. My age and for the first time I can remember having abundant closet space.

How blessed I am that closet space is something to think about. And to have someone to think about sharing it with. And authority.