Pilgrimage

© 2013 by Lynn Austin

Published by Bethany House Publishers

11400 Hampshire Avenue South

Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

www.bethanyhouse.com

Bethany House Publishers is a division of

Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

Ebook edition created 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

ISBN 978-1-4412-6219-6

Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 Biblica. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations identified as KJV are from the King James Version of the Bible.

Scripture quotations identified as THE MESSAGE are from
The Message
by Eugene H. Peterson, copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group. All rights reserved.

Cover design by Jennifer Parker

Cover imagery by Inspirestock Inc. / Alamy

Holy Land photo by Lynn Austin

Interior illustrations by Louise Bass. Used by permission.

To my dear friends and fellow writers Jane Rubietta and Cleo Lampos

And to my faithful friend and cheerleader Cathy Pruim

Contents

Cover    
1

Title Page    
3

Copyright Page    
4

Dedication    
5

Wilderness of Zin (Map)    
8

1. Leaving Home and Ho-Hum    
9

2. The Wilderness of Zin    
19

3. The Judean Wilderness    
33

4. Crossing the Jordan    
55

5. Jerusalem    
77

6. The Temple Mount    
103

7. Holy Week    
127

8. The Judean Countryside    
155

9. Galilee    
179

10. The Far North    
205

11. Sabbath Rest    
217

12. Going Home    
231

Back Ads    
240

Back Cover    
241

1
Leaving Home and Ho-Hum

I rejoiced with those who said to me, “Let us go to the house of the Lord.” Our feet are standing in your gates, O Jerusalem.

Psalm 122:1–2

M
y journey to Israel has been long and wearying. I feel like a bedraggled contestant on a TV reality show as I near the end. I’ve endured two airplane flights totaling twelve hours—hours spent sitting, standing, rushing through airport corridors, hauling bags and passports and suitcases. They were confusing, jet-lagged hours when I didn’t know if it was day or night as I tried to wedge myself into a cramped airplane seat and sleep. At some point during the night, I wandered lost through Heathrow Airport during a stopover in London. I have run the hectic obstacle course of airport security three times and waited in endless lines, the final one here in Israel’s Ben Gurion Airport where
the no-nonsense passport inspectors wear pistols. The journey has been a parody of my life recently: rushing, waiting, wandering, feeling lost and losing sleep, wondering if I’m getting anywhere.

But at last I pull my limping luggage through the airport doors to claim my prize. And what a prize it is! Palm trees rustle and sway in welcome. The warm evening air smells of sweet spices and green earth. I’ve arrived in time to watch the setting sun gild the Israeli sky before it disappears into the Mediterranean Sea. Something inside me releases a sigh. A tangled knot in my soul relaxes and begins to unwind. I have arrived in the land where Jesus walked. My pilgrimage has begun.

The opportunity to tour Israel came at a good time. For months, my life has been a mindless plodding through necessary routine, as monotonous as an all-night shift on an assembly line. Life gets that way sometimes, when nothing specific is wrong but the world around us seems drained of color. Even my weekly worship experiences and daily quiet times with God have felt dry and stale. I’m ashamed to confess the malaise I’ve felt. I have been given so much. Shouldn’t a Christian’s life be an abundant one, as exciting as Christmas morning, as joyful as Easter Sunday?

I have to wait a few minutes for our tour bus to arrive, so I drop my suitcase near the curb and shrug off my carry-on bag, aware of the symbolism of laying my burdens down. It feels good to walk a bit and stretch my legs. In twelve hours I’ve gone from snow to sand, from bare trees to palm trees, from biting cold to merciful warmth. I needed a change, and I welcome these. But back home, too many changes—unwelcome and unexpected—had erupted in my life like dormant volcanoes, rumbling and smoking and creating havoc.

Within five months, all three of our adult children moved far away from home, leaving our nest permanently empty for the first time. Our older son and his wife found new jobs in another state. They no longer attend the same church we do, share a pew with us, join us for Sunday dinner. I feel their absence like a pulled tooth, and I can’t stop probing that still-tender spot, surprised by the pain and the hole they’ve left behind. I had imagined that they would always live nearby, where I could watch my grandchildren grow up and be part of their lives. My imagination is the problem, you see, especially when it collides with God’s plan for my life and the lives of my children.

Tower of David

Our younger son has moved to Europe for four years to study for his doctoral degree in Biblical Studies. I’m proud of
him and excited about what God has for his future, but that doesn’t stop me from missing him. The move also forced me to acknowledge that his intended career as a Bible professor and theologian would likely keep him far away on a permanent basis. In fact, one of his goals after he completes his studies is to teach at a seminary in a third-world country, helping to train local pastors and leaders. Again, my dream of having my extended family nearby will be sacrificed to God’s plans. Why couldn’t He call my son to live next door and teach in a seminary nearby?

Our only daughter left her job and her apartment close to home and has moved here to Israel to study. How could I welcome such a change, watching my youngest child set off all alone to live in a land that is the constant target of terrorists, enemy missiles, and suicide bombers? When she was fourteen years old she visited Israel with my husband and me and fell in love with this land. Afterward, she befriended several Jewish schoolmates and their families. “I think God is calling me to a ministry with the Jewish people,” she said after hearing a sermon on discovering God’s will for her life. In my heart I hoped she was mistaken, that it was a case of youthful exuberance. But time has proven that her call was from God, and now, after she completes her studies here in Israel, she plans to stay here, live here, work here. It helps to know that she is in the will of God—the safest place to be. But it doesn’t stop me from worrying about her and missing her. I will see her on this trip, even though our visit will be brief.

There have been other losses in my life, as well. My sister Bonnie, my dearest, lifelong friend, died of cancer. My husband’s brother and one of his sisters also died recently, leaving empty places in my heart and life. I can no longer call them
on the phone or sit and visit over coffee. A dull physical pain has settled on my chest as I’ve confronted these losses, mimicking the deep, emotional ache my children’s absence leaves inside me, as if an important part of me has been hollowed out. I think I’m a little angry with God because things haven’t turned out the way I always pictured them. Depression, I’ve learned, is sometimes caused by anger that we keep locked up inside. Was this why I’ve felt so ambivalent about going to church? Why my daily devotions are as gray and limp and lifeless as a soggy tissue? Why my prayers have become a dull routine? I’ve wanted my will, not God’s. But what is His will for me in all these changes?

On the outside, I’m in the same place that I have always been, pursuing the same calling of writing Christian fiction. But inside, I sometimes feel so disoriented that I think I’ve exchanged my life on land for life in a sailboat on the high seas—and I don’t know how to sail. I don’t even know how to swim.

———

I have experienced similar spiritual upheavals at other times in my life, times when the Scriptures were just words on a page and my prayers failed to lift off, grounded by a thick cloud of doubt. Each time, God has taught me some important lessons after I made up my mind to dig in and search for Him with all my heart. The lessons were life-changing—there’s that dreaded
change
word again—but they brought me closer to God.

During one of those desert times as I wrestled with unanswered prayer, wondering why God was silent in the face of suffering, I came across a novel called
The Chosen
by Jewish author Chaim Potok. It’s the story of the relationship
between a father and his son, and what happens when the father makes the radical decision to raise his son in silence. Not as a punishment, as the story eventually reveals, but as an act of love for the son’s ultimate benefit. In this novel, I saw a picture of Father God and His sometimes inexplicable silences. It enabled me to look beyond my own unanswered prayers and see God’s love.

But the book did much more than open my eyes. It inspired me to consider writing fiction, taking readers into the world of Christianity the same way that Chaim Potok had taken me into the world of Orthodox Judaism. Christian fiction was in its infancy back then, but I felt a calling to write novels that would touch readers’ hearts with Christ’s love. Without that dry time in my life and my wrestling match with God, who knows if I would be writing fiction today?

So, yes, I understand that God might want to set me adrift on the high seas to shock me out of my complacency. I’ve decided to accept the churning waves as an invitation from God to draw closer to Him, to dig deeper into His Word, to seek Him with all my heart and soul and strength. Most of all, to begin to pray to Him in a better way. Perhaps I will find a compass or a book of sailing instructions, or at least a life preserver. Maybe, just maybe, this pilgrimage to Israel will get me started on that new journey.

———

I will be in good company on my trip. God commanded the Israelites to make pilgrimages to Jerusalem three times a year for the three annual religious festivals of Passover, Pentecost, and Tabernacles. Did they feel the same way I do as they began their journey: tired from slogging through the same old routines, worried about their children and families,
battered by unexpected changes? Who has time to give more than a fleeting thought to God when life gets hard? But three times a year the Israelites had to pause in their labor and put aside their daily tasks as an act of faith and make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.

I can see God’s wisdom in making it a command. Otherwise, like most of us, they never would have found time to shoehorn God into their crowded lives. Excuses take over. We’re much too busy. Most of us have such long to-do lists that even the Sabbath, the day He ordained for us to stop working and worship Him, is hardly a day of rest. God knows human nature, and unless He commanded it, His people never would have taken time off to worship. But worship helps us recognize our need for God. During these three yearly festivals, Israel remembered what God had done for them and reenacted the history of their salvation. They left behind their routine lives to celebrate God’s goodness and renew their faith so they could return home refreshed and reconnected with the God who walked with them every day.