Journey

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Journey

by Virginia Piper

Bustling Tel Aviv and the contrasting quiet shores of the Sea of Galilee; my baptism in the Jordan River where Jesus himself experienced the same newness of life; the picturesque view of the Mediterranean Sea, and the walls of Old Jerusalem; the City of David, old ruins of The Roman Empire and the town of Bethlehem.

The journey I had made to the Holy Land provided countless opportunities to walk where Jesus walked, imaginings of him playing as a little boy. Visions of Him speaking and mentoring His disciples came into focus just as his long walk down the Via Dolorosa did. Jesus’s life, though short, was full of living.

Of all the memories made during my travels there was one brief period of time that encapsulated an extreme array of emotions extending from silent tears to songs of gratitude and praise.

Descending the steep stairway to the dungeon in the the familiar words of the old hymn- “What Can Wash Away excavated palace once belonging to Caiphas, the High Priest, I My Sins, nothing but the blood of Jesus.” Those words became could feel the air getting warmer and more humid the further even more real and personal for me that day. I was in a place I went down. At the bottom the stone walls were cold offering where that atoning blood had splattered and landed on the a bit of relief from the pall of the moist, motionless air. It was very stones under my feet. My own sobs erupted in physical here that Jesus was imprisoned for a short time after being and emotional response to the feeling of being overcome scourged and beaten. Blood, perspiration, and dirt mixed and overwhelmed by the length Jesus had gone to restore a with the dank air dripped down His face into His eyes. His relationship with me and the depth of suffering He endured to sight obscured though His vision and objective clear. He was accomplish that. voluntarily there as the blood sacrifice of a spotless lamb. His I have struggled for years recognizing my own value. That life’s purpose almost complete. day it became more apparent, I was being reminded of the

Glancing around the small dimly lit space the only light tremendous price that had been paid for me. Believing myself came from above our heads from the hole in the ceiling to be less than His intent for me and my life diminishes the where Jesus might possibly have been thrown to the floor work of Jesus and the sacrifice He had so willingly made. 20 feet below where I now stood. The silence screamed the Leaving that place after prayer that afternoon, slowly, emotions felt by all of us lining the walls. Pressed by the stones silently, and solemnly making the trek back up the steep stairs, surrounding us, breathing in the oppressive stale air, tears I felt I was walking out into the fresh air as a new follower silently rolled from our eyes as we stood listening to the agonal of Christ. One with a deeper more personal commitment words of Jesus from Psalm 88. Sitting on the floor of this room and connection; one with enhanced understanding, enriched He had felt alone, forgotten and forsaken, heavy with the passion, and identifiable purpose. burden of His purpose, crying out to His Father. His despair The unprecedented times we are in now call for stronger was almost still palpable in this dungeon. faith, deeper commitment, and a more solid and focused

At the completion of the scripture reading, softly at first, connection. Little did I know then how I would need to rely on then increasing in volume as we raised our voices in song, came that journey's memory to help me stay focused on the goodness 36 // November 2020 of God, His sovereignty and unparalleled sacrifice.