Pilgrimage (3 page)

A group of students hiking ahead of me begins to sing. I hear my husband’s laughter behind me, and I remember that David wasn’t alone in the desert. He not only felt God’s
presence with him, but he also had flesh-and-blood companions: “All those who were in distress or in debt or discontented gathered around him, and he became their leader” (1 Samuel 22:2).
Distressed
and
discontented
? Yikes! That’s hardly the company I would choose! I’ve been with disgruntled, self-pitying complainers in the past, and I couldn’t wait to leave them. Unhappiness can be as contagious as chicken pox. Grumblers nibble away at hope like a child eats candy. But God gave those four hundred discontented men to David to be his companions. They endured years of hardship with him in this treacherous place, and when David finally became king, they shared his triumph, as well.

Burnt House

Comfort also came from David’s close friend Jonathan, the son of David’s enemy King Saul. “While David was at Horesh in the Desert of Ziph . . . Saul’s son Jonathan went to David . . . and helped him find strength in God” (1 Samuel 23:15–16). That’s the kind of friend we need in our wilderness times—like a dear friend of mine who once dropped everything to sit in the hospital waiting room and pray with
me when my husband underwent emergency surgery. It’s the kind of friend I should be to someone else.

So often I have felt alone in my journey, yet I’ve been afraid to let anyone see my fear and weakness. What would they think of me? Someone who has been a Christian for as long as I have shouldn’t feel afraid or discouraged. As in the words of the children’s song, shouldn’t we be “happy, happy, happy all the time”? Again, I look at King David’s example. He was a powerful warrior who had faced a giant single-handedly, yet he wasn’t afraid to turn to his friends for strength or to ask for help in fighting his battles. Why do I try to be so independent, facing discouragement and change and loss all alone? Why am I too proud to ask for prayer? Even Jesus asked His friends to pray with Him in Gethsemane.

I turn and look behind me and see a college student from our group hiking all alone, plodding dispiritedly, sweating and red-faced. I slow down and wait for her to catch up to me. Her water bottles are empty, so I offer her a drink from mine. “Where are you from?” I ask her. “What are you studying in school?” As I listen, I forget about my own aching feet and weary body for a while, and I think she feels better, too.

The wilderness is a place where we can lean on God and trust His promises, but it’s also a place to discover that the arms He provides and the ears that listen to our fears sometimes belong to flesh-and-blood people. Instead of carrying my discouragement alone, I need to accept help and then offer help in return. Like David’s distressed and discontented companions, the people God sends my way might be just as weary and fearful of the future as I am. Maybe together, praying for each other, bearing one another’s burdens, the journey will be lighter for all of us.

Falling Stars

We are nearly to the end of the trail. I am looking up, marveling at the beautiful, cloudless desert sky, when I happen to see a shooting star streaking across the heavens from horizon to horizon. “Did you see that?” I ask my husband. “I just saw a falling star!”

He stares at me as if I’m crazy. “Lynn, you can’t see stars—it’s broad daylight.” It takes me a moment to realize what I have just seen. A missile! We are, after all, in Israel, a nation continually on the alert for enemy attacks.

This tiny country the size of New Jersey has been surrounded and outnumbered by enemies since its founding. Its territory covers only 8,000 square miles, while more than 5 million square miles of land belong to the surrounding Muslim nations. And Israel’s population of 7 million is tiny compared to its neighbors’ combined populations of 330 million. No wonder we’ve seen Israeli fighter jets patrolling the skies every day, watching from above. Once or twice, I’ve jumped in surprise when a jet has broken the sound barrier with an explosive sonic boom.

Our bus has traveled through military checkpoints manned by unsmiling, well-armed soldiers. We’ve seen barbed wire security fences and protective walls and signs that warn about the danger of buried land mines. We have passed through metal detectors on our way into restaurants and shopping malls and had our purses and backpacks searched. And it is commonplace to see teenage Israeli soldiers munching French fries at McDonald’s with rifles strapped to their backs. Yes, Israel is very much aware of her enemies. Yet I feel completely safe here. The price of freedom, someone once said, is eternal vigilance.

At the moment I’m not aware of any enemies stalking me out here in the desert—except thirst or weariness, perhaps. But I recall from Scripture that enemies often choose wilderness places such as this no-man’s-land to launch their attacks. Moses led the Israelites only a short distance from Egypt when Pharaoh and his armies came thundering after them in chariots, their swords and spears gleaming. Further down the road, before the weary Israelites could reach their destination at Mount Sinai, the Amalekites launched a surprise attack. And where did Jesus face temptation from His adversary, Satan? In the wilderness.

Enemies like to take advantage of our disorientation and vulnerability to sneak up on us, ambushing us when we’re lost and weak. Like predators in a wildlife documentary, our enemies always go after the stragglers, the young, the feeble. The assault is even more horrifying if we’re not expecting it. Remember our shock at the 9/11 attacks? We discovered that day that we had enemies we weren’t even aware of. For months afterward, Americans were told to remain vigilant, watching for suspicious persons and activity. And then we grew complacent, trusting that the Department of Homeland Security was doing its job.

The missile that just flamed across the sky has jolted me from my slumber. I have been in a desert place for months, spiritually weakened and vulnerable to enemy attacks, yet I have not been vigilant. Seeing Israel’s constant state of readiness reminds me that as a citizen in the kingdom of God, I will always be at war until Jesus returns. “Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour” (1 Peter 5:8). And the devil isn’t my only enemy. The attractions that the world
offers, along with my own human desires and fears, conspire to lure me away from God’s path. The depression and inertia I’ve felt lately is probably the result of such an assault. I have allowed the enemy to rob me of my greatest weapon—joy. And “the joy of the Lord is your strength” (Nehemiah 8:10).

When the Philippian Christians were under enemy attack, the Apostle Paul wrote to them saying, “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4). Beaten and chained in prison, Paul and Silas sang praises to God. And for all three of Israel’s annual pilgrimage festivals, the people of God were told to “rejoice before the Lord your God, you, your sons and daughters, your menservants and maidservants” (Deuteronomy 12:12). Joy explodes throughout the book of Psalms like fireworks and is the most potent antimissile defense system there is.

Besides re-arming myself with joy, I need to know the holes in my defenses, the places where I’m vulnerable and where the enemy has successfully attacked me before. One of my greatest areas of weakness is worry. I can fret over a problem obsessively, rehearsing arguments and counterarguments, wasting days at a time in nonproductive stewing. Most of the things I worry about never happen. I need to develop a defensive strategy to combat worry, such as keeping a prayer journal and rereading it when I’m under attack. It will remind me of all the ways that God has taken care of my worries in the past, answering my prayers in ways I could never imagine. The price of freedom from worry and fear is eternal vigilance.

The young Israeli soldiers who carry their guns with them everywhere they go display this vigilance. Back home, no one walks around my community fully armed except the police. But once I understand that my enemy is never going
to lay down arms and sign a peace treaty with me, I would be wise to remain on full alert at all times. “Put on the full armor of God so you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes,” Paul warned the Christians in Ephesus (Ephesians 6:11). Jesus used a piece of that armor, “the belt of truth,” when He was in the wilderness, countering Satan’s lies with truth from God’s Word. And when His disciples rejoiced that even the demons had submitted to them in Jesus’ name, He replied, “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven” (Luke 10:18). Bam! A successful anti-missile strike!

Like the nation of Israel, I need to stay continually watchful, prepared with the whole armor of God if I want to combat the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil. I have an enemy whose strategy is a sneak attack, especially when I’m weak. And I know that with all of the changes and upheavals in my life, I could become easy prey. From now on I need to wear the belt of truth at all times, along with the helmet of salvation, especially during wilderness times. And “In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one” (Ephesians 6:16).

[God] brought his people out like a flock; he led them like sheep through the desert. He guided them safely, so they were unafraid. . . . Thus he brought them to the border of his holy land.”

Psalm 78:52–54

A N
EW
P
RAYER
FOR
THE
J
OURNEY

Heavenly Father,

Source of all life, I praise You for lovingly providing us with everything we need. Just as You gave water to the Israelites from a rock in the desert, You give us Jesus, the Living Water, and the promise that we will never thirst again. Forgive me for grumbling about this desert where I’ve been traveling. I see now that You long to use it to show me my helplessness, my need for You, and to teach me to trust You. Let this wilderness time in my life accomplish that work, Lord. Thank You for the companions You’ve given me for this journey. Help me to stop wallowing in my own misery and pride and remember that we were created to walk with each other, pray with each other. Show me someone I can be a companion to in this place. And restore to me the joy of my salvation, so that I might become a spring of life to other weary travelers.

Amen

3
The Judean Wilderness

Ah, Sovereign Lord, you have made the heavens and the earth by your great power and outstretched arm. Nothing is too hard for you.

Jeremiah 32:17

W
e have left the Wilderness of Zin and traveled north to explore a slightly less desolate desert, the Judean Wilderness. Our first stop is Masada, King Herod’s mountain fortress. The site looks unpromising from a distance, blending in with the surrounding sepia-toned hills, but I’m learning that looks can be deceiving.

To reach the fortress more than 1,200 feet above us, we have two choices: a forty-five-minute hike up the winding Snake Path beneath the broiling desert sun, or a three-minute ride in a modern cable car. I wave down at the people on the Snake Path from my gondola. The view on my ascent leaves me as breathless as the hikers must be. I can see for miles,
but aside from the aqua-blue Dead Sea in the distance, the savage terrain is the color of dry bones.

The Snake Path was the only way to the top when King Herod built Masada, yet I’m certain that he never hiked the steep slope to his desert hideaway. His plentiful slaves would have carried him up in a canopied sedan chair. King Herod was a man of great excesses, initiating dozens of huge, ambitious projects throughout Israel, including the entire city of Caesarea with its man-made harbor, the Tomb of the Patriarchs in Hebron, and a complete remodeling of the Temple complex in Jerusalem. But this fortress I’m about to visit in the middle of nowhere, on top of a nearly inaccessible mountain, is a monument to his paranoia. This is the same King Herod who slaughtered Bethlehem’s babies in an attempt to kill his rival king, the infant Jesus. Herod also killed his wife and three of his own sons, along with countless enemies, real or imagined.

We soon reach the top and begin to explore the large plateau. It’s nearly half a mile long and as wide as three football fields placed end-to-end. We walk through a maze of storehouses built to hold vast amounts of food supplies: wine, grain, and olive oil, along with weapons, of course. We descend a flight of some sixty stairs into an enormous underground cistern with thick plastered walls, capable of holding a million cubic feet of water. We all want to know where Herod found water in the middle of a bone-dry desert! Our guide explains how his ingeniously engineered dams and conduits captured every scant drop of rainfall flowing down from the surrounding hills and stored it in two underground cisterns. Paranoia can make a man very resourceful.