Travel Scribblings: Ordinary Time

For the aid of the reader, here's a list of the new names that appear in this post:

• Dr. Coakley, our Life in Bible Times professor and tour guide
• Emilene, Meghan, and Ella, three of the cool girls from Room 7, who were intentional about reaching out and winning me over
• Bryan, another one of the guys who welcomed me in

...

“This used to feel so foreign.” Gena raised her eyes to look around as we crossed the street. “Like remember when Sanchez took us out?”

Heather nodded. “Yeah, it’s crazy.”

“It’s becoming ordinary,” I said, stepping onto the now familiar corner of our street. “And that’s a good thing.”

...

With the beginning of week three, we entered into our second session of classes. In every other session, two classes were being offered; in this session, it was only one. On Monday morning, then, all but a few of us piled into the classroom, notebooks at the ready for Life in Bible Times.

Two semesters in a row, I had had friends in that class, and I had watched them spend hours slaving over papers in the library. This class was never easy for anyone. On top of that, it was a history- and geography-based class, which had never been my strength before. Needless to say, I was nervous.

I was surprised, then, when Dr. Coakley convinced me within an hour that history and geography were important to my study of Scripture. By the time he let us out for a break, I was running up to my room with Heather and saying, “Why hasn’t anyone told us this before?” Though the hours in the classroom were long, I think we all found ourselves awestruck by how little we knew.

We had two main tasks for this session: (1) Memorize a map of Israel, to the point that we could draw it without any references for a test at the end of Week One, and (2) write a paper on an important artifact from the Bible. Though we groaned as usual about these assignments, I realized as I started that they were going to change my thinking, perhaps forever. There was a certain degree of satisfaction that came from plotting cities on my very own map of the Holy Land, and as I did research for the paper, I found myself hungry for the knowledge I would gain. This class, I realized, was an opportunity. Jesus could show Himself to me here in ways He never had before.

...

Two and a half weeks ago, we had blindly followed Dr. Sanchez down Bet Lehem Street, all forty of us snaking down the sidewalk, wide-eyed and directionally challenged. Today, though, Emilene and I walked it with relative confidence, neither of us paying much attention as we made our way a few blocks down to the Grand Cafe, now a favorite spot of the Israel Moodies.

She’d approached me a few days ago, touching my back as we were setting up tables for lunch after class. “We should get coffee sometime,” she had said, and I had turned to her, surprised. “There are a lot of layers to your personality that are coming out and I wanna get to know you.”

I had smiled, a little confused but delighted, and said yes.

So here we were, setting off for an afternoon of learning each other’s hearts. Since our arrival in Israel, Emilene had frightened me a little. We were different kinds of people for sure—she, a little blonde spitfire who hid behind her spunk, and I, a tall brunette masked by my sweetness. I had hardly thought to pursue her, so small was our connection, until she came up and spoke to me in my own language. (You’ll remember well by now, dear reader, how often I have asked a potential friend to coffee.)

We settled into a seat in the back of the cafe, where all the walls were windows and there were hanging plants draping themselves over the rafters, and, after asking the waitress for English menus, we settled in for the next two hours.

“I was scared of you,” she said, and I laughed and listened to her recount all the things that had intimidated her in the beginning. As she spoke, she softened and opened until there was nothing left for me to be afraid of; I followed suit. We shared deeply until sunset, when I sat back and sighed for the weight of the real life now laid out in front of us. “Okay,” she said, nodding once, as if we had finished our work for today. There would be more times like this, times for investing and cultivating affection, but we had put in what we needed for now.

The next day, I tiptoed around her, shy in the face of knowing and being known. But every time I looked her in the eye, she nodded, as she had at the end of our time, confirming that what we were building was worth the all that we would put into it, no matter how long it took.

...

My connection to Ella budded in one of the rougher parts of town, as we walked the north end of the Temple Mount with the rest of our group. She and I had lived in the same building for all three of my previous semesters, but had hardly spoken beyond reminding each other which button to press in the elevator sometimes. She was older than most of us, quiet and beautiful. I wasn’t really intimidated by her, just unsure if I was welcome to pursue. But there outside of the Temple walls, our small talk started to carry more weight than I’d anticipated, and both of us were intrigued.

It was disappointing, then, when we were interrupted while crossing the street, caught in the craziness of moving a forty-two person mass through Jerusalem at sunset. I told her we’d continue at a later date, not realizing it would take two weeks to make good on that promise.

After several failed attempts, we finally made our way out to the backyard, where the sun was making everything warm and restful. It was a Friday afternoon, which meant the city was just settling into the peace of Shabbat, and that peace seeped into my skin as we sat there, asking questions and listening eagerly.

Our conversation found its center on grace, how both of us struggled to receive it and how we were in a unique position to learn it here. Our responsibilities were temporarily on hold. There was no rushing around Chicago, trying to fulfill a dozen expectations—there was one class at a time, and forty people right in front of us to love. That’s it. Now was the time to practice the freedom of Christ, so that it kicked in and remained as we entered back into our homes come March.

Our conversation was short and good. We drank it in like spring water, and knew by the end that it wouldn’t be the last.

...

Ella and I ended by heading into the hostel, where Chris, Emilene, Meghan, and Bryan were waiting for her to go exploring with them. She ran upstairs to change and I started to push past them, wondering what in the world I would do with my afternoon. All my roommates and friends had gone out earlier, and it seemed I was destined to spend this sunny day working on a paper.

But as I pondered all of this in my half-second step up the stairs, Bryan said, “Wanna come?”

I stepped back down and frowned. “Where are you going?”

“To climb things,” Emilene and Meghan said.

Spontaneity and adventure had never been easy for me, but once in a while they would peep out to gift me with a good time. I made some excuse about not having the right shoes or clothes, which the others shot down easily, and by the time I reached the top of the stairs, I was going with them.

We set off to explore the Hinnom Valley, feeling a bit like little kids as we descended from the Promenade into an olive grove, off the beaten path. We threw stones together over the ridge, and slid and shinnied down the hills into the heart of the valley. The girls found an evergreen to climb, while Bryan and I stood beneath it and watched a group of shepherds running wild after their escaping sheep. “Wow, that’s such a good picture,” Bryan said, a bit too casually, I thought, for the reality of what he was saying. “God loves us like that.” I watched one of the young men come to a skidding stop in front of his flock, and pondered the tenacity of God’s pursuit. Without it, there was no way I would be standing here.

We climbed back up and out, cracking jokes and remarking on the view, and ran into an American woman who struck up a lively conversation with us about what we were doing here. She’d lived in Jerusalem for years now, and fallen in love with it, so she was thrilled for us. “I don’t know if any of your group will get married,” she said, stepping back and studying us, “but you’ll be friends for life.”

As we walked back in the sunset, I found myself hoping that, just maybe, she was right.

...

On the liturgical calendar, the time we're in now is called Ordinary Time. It has much more to do with the ordering of Sundays than anything "ordinary," but I've always loved the sound of it. God is always available to meet us in the ordinary, in the mundane seasons between the holidays and mountaintops. Ordinary times are often my favorite, because they invite us to hunt for the daily gifts and provisions God is constantly offering.

On Friday night, a group gathered in the kitchen to bake cookies, and several others started a movie on the top floor. I joined them for the movie, delighting in our newfound familiarity. When it ended, we all trooped down the stairs and turned toward our rooms. A few stayed up to talk, late into the night, and their laughter comforted me as I drifted off to sleep.

I was learning to enjoy the ordinary in Israel.