Life after death 2.1
Spong categorically rejects Wright’s interpretation of a supernatural God who miraculously invades the world to save us from the reality of death.
Spong categorically rejects Wright’s interpretation of a supernatural God who miraculously invades the world to save us from the reality of death.
It was our final night in Jordan. We sat in the hotel bar in the still-warm evening, reflecting back on a week spent roaming through the deserts, ruins and breathing cities of a country little-known and less understood by the inhabitants of our homelands. And as with most reminiscences, the stories twisted back on themselves, away from these final moments and toward the beginning of our journey.
Our guide for the week was Ali Abu Shakra, the son of a Palestinian father who fled Israel during the occupation of Gaza. As a 12-year-old boy he boarded a bus, not knowing where he was bound. In the early morning, he stepped off on a street corner in Amman, Jordan.
Modern Amman is home to an estimated 2.5 million people, or 40 per cent of Jordan’s total population. The city has grown from its initial seven hills to sprawl across more than 40 in endless waves of sandstone houses and tentacle-like roads that have a disconcerting tendency to veer off in unexpected directions.
“I believe we have a responsibility to emphasize the role of Arab Christians,” Father Nabil Haddad tells us. “I’m a very selfish Arab Christian. I think we can do much better than we have in the past. We’re able to understand; we all share a tradition, a civilization. We shouldn’t sit back and be a disgruntled little minority. We should be a very prominent element. We’ll never stop being the witnesses and the peacemakers.”
His Royal Highness Prince Hassan is a keen-eyed, mustached man whose duel Oxford degrees and near-encyclopedic knowledge of European and Middle Eastern history are enough to intimidate the finest journalist. But throughout his multi-tiered arguments, the under-girding realities were clear: what matters at the end of the day is a commitment to the sanctity of human life. We suffer from little nationalisms, from polarizing fundamentalisms (with the caveat, he added, that nothing is religiously fundamental), and breakdowns of governance because of “bad bedside manner”—an inability to relate to people in psychological, linguistically meaningful ways.
His Excellency Akel Biltaji is King Abdullah II’s advisor on Tourism Promotion, Foreign Direct Investment and Country Branding, and an appointed senator in the upper house of Jordan’s government. We expected his briefing to be over-spiced with positivity and glowing recommendations that might bring our readers—and their tourist dollars—to Jordan.
Behind barbed wire, a grand baptismal complex dominates Israel’s riverbank, and beyond it a lookout sits on the crest of a hill. Near the place where the Prince of Peace may have been baptized, a soldier with a machine gun watches us impassively, and steps away from any cameras that happen to point his way.
The town of Gadara was decimated by earthquake in the eighth century. Much of it was rebuilt in the Ottoman period, but the ruins of a theatre, nymphtaeum and mausoleum date back to Roman times. The ruins of a sixth century basilica also boast an unusual octagonal interior sanctum. According to our guide, such sanctums were exclusively used in churches built where Christ had spent time during his ministry.
Once the chariot-rutted streets of Gerasa bustled with life and commerce and its buildings were adorned with painted facades. From the days of Alexander the Great, the city rose in size and brilliance, until the Muslim conquest in 636 and a massive earthquake in 747 destroyed many of the structures.
Some scholars suggest the parting of the Red Sea may have arisen from a mistranslation of the Hebrew yam suph, meaning God parted not the Red Sea but a more modest Reed Sea. But the parting of the Red Sea has featured prominently in religious tradition and imaginations for centuries. It is named for its crimson coral reefs, which sometimes reflect the light of the sun and make the water seem red.
After following a seemingly endless, twisting road up mountains and past desert vistas, one can’t help finding a new appreciation for a 40-year-long journey through such rugged land. Even from a cushy air-conditioned bus it looks formidable. And from the top of Mount Nebo, one can imagine 120-year-old Moses, sinewy, sun-darkened, leaning heavily on his staff and shading his eyes as he finally views the Promised Land.
The Nabataean city of Petra is the best-known historical site in Jordan. It’s kilometers of rose-coloured sandstone has been hewn into countless tombs and intricate water systems which once served a city of about 30,000 people. Today only heaps of rock mark the place where their dwellings stood, but the tomb city remains an enduring monument to their honoured dead and their ingenious artisans.
This expanse of desert and rock once sheltered the well-known British officer T. E. Lawrence, or Lawrence of Arabia, who helped lead the Arab Revolt from 1916-1918. Evidence of ancient peoples, including the Nabataeans, can be found in images or scripts carved into stones.
With spas, pools, and plenty of mud to make our skin silky-smooth, it was a relaxing end to a fast-paced, whirlwind tour of the country. But it was a little strange to end our trip by this lake where nothing can live, and at the lowest point on Earth still on dry land.
Even though I am still getting used to the fact that I wake up in my bedroom at home and not a dorm room at Brock University, and am having breakfast whenever I please, I still enjoyed CY09 and look forward to CY12. I just wish it ran annually, instead of only on three year intervals and for only one week.
Although I sure am glad to be able to wake up to the sound of my cats meowing for attention and my mother just waiting for me to wake up. It is warming being home.
But I do miss everybody I met down there. I had so much fun while there. The welcoming atmosphere will not be around again for another three years. It’s like your first day at school; everybody is so welcoming, except unlike school that continues past the first day. At least I and many others keep in contact so we can update each other on the happenings around our sections of the country.
Goodbye everyone, I will always miss you guys! I will never forget any of you!
I’d like to continue to blog at CY12. So goodbye until then my friends. If you are on facebook or msn, you can add me. Dustyn Frankcom or d-frankcom_16@hotmail.com
Dustyn, out.
Canada Youth ended a couple days ago now, and I’m still missing it.
It was a truly awesome experience, visiting with the Lord, and with fellow Presbyterians across Canada, and the world even! New friends were made, old friends reconnected, networks and relationships formed. Everyone left the conference with something. I left equipped, but in a way I wasn’t thinking. Rather than learning how to run a Bible Study, how to bring youth to the church…I was equipped with how to pray about myself (something we often forget to do), how to take Sabbath, and how to form relationships with the youth I will be ministering to.
Because there’s no such thing as ‘youth ministry’ but rather ministry to youth, same as if you would be ministering to an older person.
I also left with 2000 photos. Most of which are edited now! You can view them here: www.flickr.com/photos/axle81401/collections/72157621857323330/.
So thank you to all of those who followed these blogs, photos, and twitter updates! And now, I’m looking forward to CY2012.
Today was a sad day, but also a happy day. Sad, because everyone had to leave their newly-found friends. Happy, because they had the chance to keep in touch with them via e-mail and/or phone and/or facebook.
