Chasing the Divine in the Holy Land

Chasing the Divine in the Holy Land by Ruth Everhart Page B

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Authors: Ruth Everhart
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written record, and is well-developed in the earliest literature. As for Bethlehem versus Nazareth, that conundrum isn’t really so difficult. We all understand that a birthplace and a hometown can be different places.
    Stephen presents scholar Raymond Brown’s suggestion that Christology developed retrospectively, beginning with the cross, and moving back toward the birth. “The idea of objective historyis a Western Enlightenment idea that we often mistakenly apply to Scripture.” I glance at Shane and notice that he’s scowling. My heart softens. Stephen’s lecture is not new material to me, but I remember when I learned all this and found it threatening. Biblical criticism is a lot to absorb, especially if you’re already overloaded by the sights and smells and people of the Holy Land.
    â€œThe upshot?” Stephen says. “After you balance faith and history — the Gospels, the Epistles, and the tradition — Bethlehem is a reasonable answer to the question of where was Jesus born.”
    Then come some easy facts. Beth-lehem means “house of bread” in Hebrew. The fourteen-point star is a symbol of Bethlehem because Jesus’ genealogy is recounted in three groups of fourteen generations in Matthew 1:17. It is a pleasure to write down these undisputed facts.
    We board the bus for the five-mile trip to Bethlehem. As usual, we documentary folk sit in the back of the bus. “So, what did you think of the lecture?” JoAnne asks Shane.
    â€œWhy do you ask?” he responds.
    â€œBecause it reminded me of seminary, I guess. It’s not every day you hear a lecture like that. So I wondered what that was like for you.”
    â€œWhy? Because I haven’t been to seminary?” Shane says. “I’ll tell you what. I don’t think any of this is as hard as people make it out to be.”
    â€œThe Bible is compli — ” JoAnne begins, but Shane cuts her off.
    â€œMaybe I’ll never go to seminary. I don’t have to. I’m already doing ministry.” Shane’s voice has an edge.
    â€œGood for you,” says JoAnne. “You’re doing what you want to do.”
    There’s a little lull as people let go of the conversation and turn back to their seatmates. “When you went to seminary,” I ask Michael, “did they dismantle everything you thought you believed?”
    He grins. “They sure did.”
    â€œIt’s good to know the Lutherans do that, too,” I say.
    Stephen gets on the bus’s loudspeaker to alert us to the factthat we’re passing through Gehenna Valley, which was the city’s original garbage dump. In the Bible it’s referred to as a place that’s constantly burning, a place where the outcasts scavenged a living. It’s significant because it gave birth to Scripture’s Gehenna/hell imagery. The bus windows are open, but I don’t notice any overpowering odors, which is disappointing. I have a good nose and had hoped to catch the stench of hell itself. But I’ve smelled much worse in New York City during garbage workers’ strikes.
    The bus winds through city streets and then suburbs, never leaving greater Jerusalem before we arrive at the Wall of Separation between Israel and the West Bank. We are armed with our passports. A teenager in a dark green uniform and black beret boards the bus carrying a rifle in both hands. He strides down the aisle, swinging his head from side to side for a cursory glance at our papers. He doesn’t stop to examine anything. When he passes me, I notice that his cheeks are peach-fuzzed.
    The bus gets the go-ahead and begins to move. Camera Michael scrambles in front of me to film out my window. We both strain and crane as we roll past the barrier. The Wall stretches twice as high as our bus and casts a long shadow, both literally and figuratively. It is an obstruction that demarcates inside from outside, Israeli from

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