You're in Jerusalem, nineteen centuries ago. You've come for the high holy days, and this year it seems every Jew in Israel has had the same idea. Every bed, every corner has been taken.
You let your family talk you into coming. Not that I took much persuading; you heard the Galilean would be there - the Master everyone's talking about. Judea, Galilee, Samaria, even Gadar wherever He's been, there've been miracles. Healing miracles of mind, soul, and spirit, as well of the body.
You could use healing - in all four realms. So you came. And dared hope that somehow, despite the crowds around Him, you might find a private moment with Him. That's all it would take. You've heard about the woman healed by touching the hem of His garment, the blind man whose sight was restored, the servant and the little girl raised from the dead. And you know in your heart it's true - all of it. But it's hopeless. The moment they hear where He is, everyone runs there.
So this morning you wander the dusty, sun-baked streets, wishing you were home - under the shade tree, with a cup of cool water by your side.
You enter a square, where the only shade is over there, under that blue awning of that vendor's cart. He's selling something to drink - water, flavored with a little honey.
Parched, you go over. There's only one person ahead of you - a young man, sandy-haired, quick smile under a perpetual frown. With a water yoke he's brought two jars, which the old vendor is filling for him, ladling from a massive urn.
Finishing, the old man asks, "Will He - be teaching this evening?"
"He may be."
"Don't you know? You're one of the ones with Him."
The young man smiles. "We never know where we're going or when. We're learning it doesn't matter, as long as we're with Him."
"Living that way - isn't it hard?"
"It is!" exclaims the young man laughing. "And I'm the worst at it! I never think things are going to work out! And they always do!"
As the vendor adjusts the jars under the yoke, the young man pulls out a coin purse. The vendor holds up a hand. "It's a gift."
"It's too much! Let me pay." The older man just smiles and shakes his head.
The young man looks at him. "Come to the Temple steps tomorrow morning," he says softly. "Before dawn. I can't promise, but the last two mornings He's been there at first light." And shouldering the yoke, he departs.
The vendor turns to you, eyebrows raised. But you shake your head and hurry after the young man - compelled by a thirst no honey-water can quench.
"Excuse me," you say, when you've caught up with him. "You're, um, one of His followers?" He nods.
"Well---" For once words fail you.
The young man stops and lowers the jars to the ground, lifting off the yoke and looking at you. "You want to meet Him?" You nod.
"Alone?"
You nod emphatically. He gazes into your eyes. And smiles. "You know the old olive grove on top of the mountain across the valley?"
"I've heard of it. Above the garden, isn't it?"
"That's the one. There's a path up to it. from the big cracked boulder at the south end of the valley. Start up it at noon."
You nod, and he sizes you up. "It's steep in places. And long- it'll take longer than you think." No smile now. "Can you do it?"
"I walked here, didn't I?" you snap. "It took us three days!" Then, more hesitantly, you add, "I think I can."
The young man's smile returns. "Use the climb as preparation."
"What do you mean?"
"You want to come to Him empty. Your mind clear, your heart free."
"How do I do that?"
"As you climb, ask God to help you set aside your cares and concerns, your feelings and emotions."
Straightening under the yoke, he raises the jars off the ground. You sense he's going there now. You could go with him! But as if he know what you're thinking, he smiles and says, "Noon. Come alone."
At noon you start up the path. It is steep. And rocky - he hadn't mentioned that. You've had to stop twice to get stones out of your sandals.
After climbing for half an hour or so, you come to an open place and wearily sit down on an old, bent-over cedar. Your feet are sore. Your back aches. Your lungs are burning. And he was right about one thing; it is longer than you thought. A lot longer.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe you should go back down. Now. No need to tell anyone. A fool's errand, that's all it was. Go down now, before you're missed.
A gentle breeze bearing the scent of oregano and rosemary caresses your cheek. You smile. This is not such a bad day. Gazing down at the Kidron Valley far below, stretching away into the hazy distance, you're surprised at how far you've come.
You remember the water skin slung from your shoulder. Carefully you remove its stopper and drink deeply. Not too much - you don't know how far it is to the top.
Then, taking a deep breath, you exhale and get to your feet. You can do this. And suddenly you're glad to be on the mountain.
Only then do you notice the tree you've been sitting on. An icestorm must have bent it to that shape ages ago. It should have died - yet each spring it pushes out fresh green needles at the ends of its gnarled limbs.
Smiling, you resume your ascent. What was it that young man said about preparation? Ask God to help you set aside your cares and concerns.
Well, there are plenty of them! Will there be enough room for all of us tonight? Are we spending too much money? And what about everything I have to do when I get home?
One by one, you add each worry to an imaginary bag - and give it to Him. All right, God, you can have them - for now.
What was the other thing? Oh, yes, I'm supposed to do the same thing with my feelings and emotions.
I've got plenty of those! Just the ones on this trip would fill a bundle!
Reflecting on them - and others - you add them to a second bag. "God, I give them to you, too!"
You pause. Is there - anything else?
The old hurts. The unforgiveness.
You know what He's referring to.
I'm not sure I'm ready to give those to You. Not permanently. Not yet. But - maybe till I come down.
At last the path levels off. And there's the olive grove, just ahead. As you follow the path into its welcome shade, you smile. Your mind is clear, and your heart free.
In the grove, under the ancient olive trees, it's cooler. And it's still - not even insect sounds.
After all that sun, your eyes need a moment to adjust to the interplay of shifting shadows. When they do, you see that you are not alone. Over there, on the other side of the grove, next to what appears to be the ruins of an olive press, there's a man kneeling - a tall man, long hair, robed, head bowed.
The Galilean.
But now that you're here - and He's here - you feel funny about disturbing Him. He's praying.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe you should turn around now, and slip away....
Wait - He's raising His head. Looking at you. He smiles - and beckons you to come over.
Go ahead. Yet you hesitate.
He nods, still smiling. He means it.
You start towards Him.
He gets up now, and sits on a low stone ledge. And pats the wall next to Him. He wants you to join Him. So... you do.
You sit down beside Him, and look into His eyes. And the two of you start to talk.
Now - without thinking about it or pre-editing it, write down what He says, and what you say. Do it intuitively, from the heart, not the head. Whatever comes.
