My Via Dolorosa

    Comparing my time, wants, needs, actions, concerns, experiences, perspectives, relationships, with those of the Savior. And, feelings for family and loved ones.

    First off, He is the Man. He is the God of me and Creation; He is all the other appellations that go with Him. Lamb and Lion, Alpha and Omega. And on. He never ends, and He provides eternity for all of us. That is what I and many believe. We all are part of His world, which He conquered for us; we must find our own paths and ways. Each of us is unique and individual; we fit into this life and existence as we may. We influence and impact others as we do. Much of these ripples and waves of life are subtle, which can be mysterious and unknown. We are all a part of it. We all count. I like to see and ruminate about how this happens. According to my understanding and angles.

    I was privileged to go Jerusalem and the Holy Land at the end of my bachelor's studies; every day I was learning and feeling new and old things that I cherished and still try to keep alive. Some things I wrote down, but many things are in me, but I have not been able to share or express. Perhaps some of the sentiments and lessons offered to me that summer in the Holy Land and Egypt were not available to me in the moment. Possibly not then. Maybe some of the impressions and messages were meant for me, and even others, years later.

    Maybe now. I wish to find out. Life leads us in many sundry and interesting ways. Writing, thinking, pondering, explaining, absorbing, breaking down some of these memories and thoughts help me know those things better. I hope I can accomplish this. One thing that I think that I am assured of is, which is that these feelings are based in affection and love.

    Center for Near Eastern Studies

    Our Middle-East Center program through my college wanted us to know three principal things while over there: the Old Testament, the New Testament, and secular history of the area. These were formal classes that we took while we lived and visited proximate to the Old City. We were able to travel about much of the country of Israel and into Egypt, too. I think that I needed one or two of these accredited courses in order to graduate with my four-year degree. 

    I did not walk in a robe in Provo that spring; I was in the Middle East during the August graduation ceremony, so I enjoyed babysitting my baby niece instead, before leaving Utah. She was my sisters' first child; I definitely felt the love that an uncle can feel for a child. I was some six years from being a father myself. As a child I was a foster brother to many small children, and like my sisters and parents, we missed the presence of littles ones. We felt it when a baby had to move on, especially one in particular that stayed with us for the better part of a year when I was in second grade.

    We had a married student in the Jerusalem program, last name of Anderson, who considered himself a man of no uncertain faith and power. The two examples of this that I recall are that he said that in his mission in "difficult France", perhaps in the late 1980s or early 1990s, he taught and baptized successfully like our missionaries do in "easier countries" of the world, like in Latin America. For him, he said it was a matter of positing greater faith in the Lord to find such evangelical productivity. Secondly, he said that he had a gift for sizing up when someone would be married, like in 4 months, a year, whatever. He offered his personal discernment to many fellow students. He was confident in his ability and his predictions. I was curious about myself. At that point I had a girlfriend that I thought I was serious with, committed to. 

    Upon inquiry Anderson looked at me, trying to see my future in companionship, and said: "I don't know. I cannot read you." What? He could predict everyone else! There were over 155 single students in our program. Okay. Fine. I was looking; I thought this guy would give me a head's up. A bone. Nope. Oh well. Marriage is an important thing, I know it. And so is having children. Information deferred. Patience.

    Little ones come to us in love and effort, as the human family survives and thrives. These commitments propel us to develop, grow, and expand. Christ came to us in a mission as a statement and as a Spiritual Father to us, to offer all of us a chance to be redeemed from sin and death, to move on as guiding heirs to the throne of God, His Father. He invites us to accept similar roles in our own spheres. These are part of my beliefs. It involves growing a family.   

Jerusalem and Me

    Prior to visiting and studying in the Holy Old City of Jerusalem in my 24th year I was not very knowledgeable of the Via Dolorosa. This is translated by some as the "Sorrowful Way" or the "Way of Suffering". It is the supposed route that Jesus took while bearing the cross until arriving in Calvary, the place of His execution. We know of some privations of Jesus of Nazareth prior to his final demise, and triumph, but this was certainly the worst of it. The night prior to this Friday he suffered greatly in spirit, and bodily, according to many, in the Garden of Gethsemane. After his trial by the Sanhedrin and Romans, he was sentenced to death, and mocked by a crown of thorns, whipped or scourged forty times, force to carry the instrument of his death to the Hill of Calvary, or Golgotha.

    We walked it. Some of us did it on our own private time. We went to other places, or nearby, where He may have held the Last Supper with the Twelve Apostles, and places where He walked in glory at his arrival at the Festival of Palms a year before. All parts of the Old City of Jerusalem hold sacred meanings to Christians, and among the believers of Judaism and Islam, which preceded and proceeded this Man of Men. As a class of 40 young adults, we stayed on the steps of the temple where the Lord Himself purportedly walked. One of the few places in the entire land where this is true.

    From a 2019 article by a Christian writer, Jan White:

Thinking about the life of Neil Armstrong brought to mind the words of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “Lives of great men all remind us, We can make our lives sublime, And departing, leave behind us, Footprints on the sands of time.”

Armstrong reportedly told the Israeli archaeologist, “I am more excited stepping on these stones than I was stepping on the moon.’” Because of his faith, (Armstrong) realized that “to walk in Jesus’ footsteps, literally, was more significant than walking on the moon.”

    I have never been to the moon, like Neil. But this city, and these sites are amazing places to be, from 2,000 years ago, from before over a thousand more, and now in the modern age. We search and try to capture the essence of what was done, said, and left. Literally we are attempting to trace his footsteps. Jesus commanded, and invited, has implored, all of us to follow Him. Some of this is metaphorical and some of it is literal. 

    I concur with Neil Armstrong's notion of excitement at the temple steps on the southeast corner of Mount Moriah, possibly the very site of ancient Abraham and his altar over 1400 years before Jesus. Perhaps I might call it more accurately a solemn honor and area of respect, and yes, of reverence and grief, even sorrow and melancholy. There is much to contemplate. I have been more recently thinking of the millions who have died for Him, our Savior; many have lived and died both for His causes or by wicked purposes exploiting His name. We believe that he knew all of it. He knows us, the good and the bad. We all fall short; He asks us to change, to repent, to do better. To be kind and loving. Tolerant, yes. Hate is not part of the love of our Redeemer, except for perhaps the vices that plague us. Or abusers. 

    He recognizes pain, sorrow, loss, fear, doubt, all of it. He knows us and loves us, and he beckons us to seek peace through Him. He will give us relief. He will give us all that we desire. He has promised it, and I draw hope from it, and I trust in His word. There are many reasons for this. I cannot go into all of the reasons now. But this is what I believe and know.

    Jumping Ten Years into the Future

    2005, some ten years after my summer in the Holy Land, and that choice experience, I found myself in a place where I had lived before, a city called Angol, in south central Chile. I had changed a bit during the course of those ten years. But I had maintained many common interests. I added another bachelor's degree to become a teacher, in my home state of Indiana. I had then moved to California. I met my wife, we had two beautiful daughters, I earned a master's degree from UCLA, and my intent was to work for the U.S. State Department. Why that field and vocation, after trying my hand at working in film and television, and teaching as a teacher at various levels?

    I forgot to mention that in my time in the Holy Land, I was very aware of the modern troubles of that divided place. Political, cultural, religious differences abound. I had studied two years of Arabic before going to the Jerusalem Center, between my schooling in Indiana and Utah. I had lived with Muslims and Arabs in close quarters. I grew to understand better the dire complexity of all the sides that could not always get along, and too often violence springs up and hurts and kills many. I wanted to help stop the hatred and animosity that flared up in tragedies. Many think it will not stop until Yeshua returns. Maybe.

    Professional and Big Picture Aspirations

    For me, as a patriotic American citizen, fluent in Spanish and with a healthy knowledge of Arabic, even some exposure to French, and college Portuguese, I thought I was this graduate degree away from being poised as an effective diplomat for peace for service to country and to benefit the world. I wanted to work as an interlocutor in the foreign service, and help "wage peace", as a button that my older sister wore as a youth proclaimed. We always wage war. Could peace be an option? I knew that the United States had the best chance of any nation in leveraging its power, might, and what we like to think of as decency to compel our fellow nations to get along. 

    Israel and Palestine had been in a constant struggle all my life, and most of my parents' lives. Since World War II, and to a degree before. Millions of citizens of those lands suffer because of this intransigent issue of territory and ownership. I think that the U.S. can be a part of the solution; we need American spokespeople to affect these initiatives and changes. Along with the rest of the free world.

    Topic for another day, but like when I dreamt of working in the entertainment industry for a time in my teens and twenties, I continually took the test for the foreign service to enter into this world of international opportunity and dialog. I felt like I studied and prepared to be qualified, to have the right stuff to be a representative of my country in diplomacy, in peace and other international relationships. I failed the first-round test in 2002, 2003, 2004, and finally passed it in 2005. The problem was, I was about 8,000 miles away from the nearest location when I received the news that I had passed it. Okay. Leave my wife and daughters in Chile, and take the second-round job evaluation in Washington D.C., right? It was a few thousand dollars on our family dime to travel there, but this was my future and livelihood, right? My hopes were good, correct? I was 34 years old. This was my life's trajectory. Right?

    I failed at the second round. But for the purposes of my Via Dolorosa, and this story, this is about my second daughter. Why? Allow me to explain.

    The Crying Baby

    The night before leaving far off Angol to take a long bus ride north to Santiago, November 2005, to stay at a friend's house to take the long flight the next day, I tried to help our one-year-old daughter fall asleep. I rocked her, sang to her, tried in vain to do the things that helped us get her settled down and asleep for the night. She was not having it. Her crying and resisting sleep frustrated me; I remember thinking that this was not the way that I wanted to leave my small family in South America for almost two weeks. Departing on a bad note, as it were.

    However, given the ups and downs of parenthood, it is a given that the grand majority of us would not trade all the fidgety and sleepless nights in the world in lieu of having that little soul in our lives, in our homes. One poor night does not determine how we feel. Nor 100. All us fathers and mothers will do it again and again and keep on doing it. For me, it was a bittersweet way to go back to the States. But it was memorable, yes.

    I was doing this bus ride, the stay overnight with my friend in the big city, this flight back to North America, longer than most flights to Europe, the stay outside D.C. in a hotel, the interview process after years of trying-- all of it: for her, for her older sister, for my wife, for my greater family, my communities, my nation, the world. For God. We must serve, right? I thought that this made sense for me and my talents. I felt like I could contribute and save lives, do good that no one else could do. 

    We all have a Via Dolorosa in life, yes? But is it worth it? I say yes. Do we get hurt, do we go through pains and travails, do we get mad, frustrated, disappointed, chagrined, betrayed, fooled, and a host of other negative things? Yes. But the benefits outweigh the negatives. We are promised this. This is part of the meaning, the holiness, the promise, and eternal hope of the Via Dolorosa, and all that comes with it.

    Fast Forward another 17 Years

    I moved on in life, from that setback (I took the foreign service exam twice more, and passed once again, but that is another thing). Also, for another day, the Marriotts of hotel fame reminded me a few weeks ago that the trip to D.C. may have been impactful for another reason entirely. But that is 'nuther another story. Luckily for me, the next years were with my family. Despite official duties that took me away from my wife and kids for short stints or longer periods of many months, my wife and children were always there supporting me, inspiring me, loving me.

    That little guagua (Chilean word for baby) crying and frustrating me back in 2005, the last night before my side trip to the nation's capital? She is a bigger, smarter, high school graduate, kind and strong, giving and caring. She works hard and we love her attitude and disposition. Everyone loves her.

    The last month before she left this weekend that I write this, it was tough to spend much time with her. She was working, spending time with dear friends who were leaving for other colleges very far away, and perhaps as some suggested, getting ready to be separated from her parents and siblings. I saw that I would have to schedule a special day and time slot to have a good moment with her. I wanted it to be memorable, instructive, and fun. It was. We went to a part of D.C. that we had never seen before, we learned some history and geography, we observed some interesting sites and venues, and we ate at a great restaurant that was scouted out by her and her girlfriends a few months ago. It was delicious Italian. All roads lead to Rome, no? Everything was nearly perfect, except my footwear.

Sandal Wear

    This summer I purchased some sandals that I wanted to look better, more formal than my make-shift crocs. I got some nice-looking ones; I had worn them on short visits and trips the last few weeks of the warm months of this summer. However, I had not walked significantly in them. Maybe because they were not broken in, or maybe because of the sandal design and my foot shape, by the time we arrived at the restaurant, the inside of my upper feet were sore and chafing. I took off my sandals in the eatery and tried to nurse them. I stuffed napkins in my sandals to try to prevent the wearing and rubbing on the long walk back to the car. It was a long walk both ways, and I enjoyed it. My daughter and I talked about a lot of things, and as stated, we saw a lot of new things for us.

    Driving home was okay, but upon returning home I checked my feet, and I had wounds where the rubbing occurred. Some of the skin had gone raw. It looked uglier than it was, but they were quite sore nonetheless. I was worried that the next morning while playing basketball that my feet pain would hamper my movement and activity; it did not. But the sores were visible and tender. Incidentally, I reaggravated a finger injury that I had that morning, but we know that physical trials are par for the course.

    I thought of my hero, Jesus the Anointed One, who walked many miles in sandals, who suffered everything, and went through extreme pain and elements, for me and all humanity, who did all these things willingly. I was feeling like I had sacrificed a little of my personal comfort for a better thing. I could have worn socks, yes. It was hot. And not so fashionable in my prideful brain. I could have walked more in my bare feet, which my daughter suggested on our walk back to the car, past the Audi Field of the D.C. United soccer club. My pride got the best of me. That would look weird, I thought. The napkins would do the trick. They probably helped. I would be all right, I reasoned.

    My little stigmata from our daddy/daughter walk. Very minor foot discomfort compared to the Lord of All, nailed upon the cross. Or compared to injuries endured by heroes across the ages. Ten days later I still have the scars or unsightly wounds on my feet, particularly on the left one. A house visitor today on the Sabbath remarked it was a "bunion". Yes, not pretty. But gratefully, not sore now for days, and totally worth it. 

    This was my Via Dolorosa with my daughter, my last chance to get some quality time before she moves on and away to the greater adult world, on the other side of our great country. I will see her in person again before Christmas, at the end of the year. We will talk by phone and text. But I wanted this. I needed this. Time with my baby.

    I wanted to walk the Sorrowful Way. And I am happy to announce, it was full of joy.

    I love you forever, honey! It is a goodbye for now but a big hello for always. At times life can present a Painful Path, but in the end and throughout it all, we have each other, and we have promises and eternal blessings from above. 

    We love you so much; we are excited for the present and the future.

    Christ walked the Via Dolorosa. We can follow Him and avoid the major pains of what life imposes, and we can be assured of a joyful and peaceful end. No matter the earthly ills and woes.

    Thanks for walking with me. And for being you.

    Love, 

    Dad

    

    Oh, it occurred to me as I think about my daughter starting college this next week. She has voiced hopes in international relations. Could she be the family member that brings peace to the Middle East? Could she be the one who makes it past the second round of the foreign service process, serve abroad, and be that negotiator to wage peace? Why not?

    As the Arabs say: Allahu *elm. God knows.

    Remember Anderson from my Jerusalem program? Maybe he has had additional skills of prescience added to his palette. Could he know what my daughter is destined to do, or when? He could not peg me for the time of my marriage (five years after his failed read of me), but maybe it takes two generations to work. Or, perhaps his children will be attending classes with my girl this fall.

?Quien sabe?