Wadi Qelt

the overlook of the Wadi Qelt

It's hard to describe the beauty of the denuded, wind-swept hills between Jericho and Jerusalem. Rolling and rising nearly 3500 feet in just a few short miles, the mountains stack steeply one on top of another in folds that resemble mounds of coarse white chocolate chip cookie dough. Between these hills are deep wadis, valleys if you will, that capture the rare rain water in streams and washes that nurture what little life this desert can sustain. In contrast to the cultivated fields of Galilee, one spies infrequent clumps of green dotting the landscape.  

Jesus spent lots of time out in this vast wilderness. Tradition holds that it was here that the Spirit sent him out to be tested after his baptism. From the time he was little, he made multiple pilgrimages to Jerusalem for the three big annual Jewish festivals. From Galilee, he likely traveled south along the lush Jordan rift valley towards the Dead Sea following the route of the Jordan River. At Jericho, the trail shifts to the west. The only way up to Mt. Zion is to hike through these desolate valleys and hills. It would have taken a day or two to make this steep trek and the Jewish pilgrims would have sung the Psalms of Ascent (Psalms 120-134) as they followed the rivulet up to the holy city.  

Sitting on the overlook, we began our time of extended silent prayer by reading Psalm 121:

St. George Monastery at the Wadi Qelt

I lift up my eyes to the mountains -

   where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord,  

   the maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip -

   He who watches over you will not slumber; 

Indeed, he who watches over Israel

   will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord is your keeper;

   The Lord is your shade at your right hand; 

the sun will not harm you by day,

   nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all harm - 

   he will watch over your life;

the Lord will keep

   your going out and your coming in

   both now and forevermore. 

In this broad unprotected landscape, God's protection was necessary. It was dangerous here. Thieves victimized the vulnerable. Wild animals threatened to ravage the weak. Water was scarce. No wonder Jesus set the story of the Good Samaritan on this same road. Only a fool would be traveling alone, unprepared for potential assault.  

the Judean wilderness from the Wadi Qelt overlook

We, on the other hand, found the spot peaceful, prayerful, and profund. Our only threat was the Bedouin trinket sellers who poped up out of nowhere fully prepared to take our money in exchange for bracelets, scarves, and fresh squeezed pomegranate juice. The intense pace of Jerusalem seemed eons away as the warm desert breeze gently embraced us. The stillness invited us to pay attention to slightest whisper. The vastness insisted we pause long enough to look deeply within.

Sitting on that hillside reminded me that the breadth and depth of God's love will never be fully mapped. It's impossible. Like the Yosemite granite that reminds me of God's undergirding strength or the ocean waves that gather up my tears and sweep them away with the tide, the Judean desert assures me of the concreteness of God's presence. I can't explain it but I know that God is real when I'm there. More than any cathedral or relic from the past, more than any holy site or ancient path that I've encounter here, the desert strips the senses down to what is essential and God is. I am. We are. Together. 

My friend Charlotte at the Wadi Qelt overlook in 2011
on our last First Pres pilgrimage