Pilgrimage (21 page)

I wonder, as I walk through the remains of Capernaum, if God allowed the turmoil and upheaval for a reason. The early Christians might have been tempted to build a huge institution on this site. This was Jesus’ headquarters, after all. Why not make it the Christian church’s headquarters, too? Why not build a sprawling religious campus with a 4,000-seat auditorium and a ministry center and a healing hospital and a discipleship training school? The apostles could have sat back and waited for the world to flock here to learn from them. Why not use Capernaum to launch all of the programs and ministries that the church has founded in His name over the centuries?

The early Christians might have done exactly that if they had been given the choice. Instead, God allowed chaos and destruction, persecution and scattering. It began, we’re told in Acts 11, after Stephen was stoned to death. But instead of destroying the young Christian church, the chaos and desolation at the end of the first century strengthened it. Scattered against their will, the early Christians brought the teachings of Jesus to the entire world. They became salt, scattered freely, and light, shining abundantly, everywhere they went.

It might be our natural tendency to build impressive monuments for Christian ministry, but it isn’t God’s way. We are supposed to go out into the world, not wait for the world to come to us, even if God has to turn our comfortable lives upside down to get us to do it. I’m told that in the original Greek language, the wording of Jesus’ Great Commission reads: “
As you
are going
into the world . . . make disciples.” Jesus assumes that we will be going; His orders are to make
disciples along the way. When He sent His disciples out two by two to teach in all of the villages, He didn’t tell them to buy a chunk of land and build an impressive building. He said, “Take nothing for the journey except a staff—no bread, no bag, no money in your belts” (Mark 6:8). I call that traveling light. Jesus wanted them to trust God and the Holy Spirit’s leading, not build elaborate projects and programs and ministries.

I’ve learned, here in Capernaum, not to get too comfortable. When my world is shaken and my ministry seems to change and I’m forced to move on, it doesn’t mean that something is wrong in my life. This is God’s usual way of doing things. His template is change, not settling down. It’s a relief to know that the upheaval I’ve been experiencing is normal. I can trust Him. In the long run, His building plans always turn out so much better than mine.

The Decapolis

Now, this is a city! I have come to the ruins of Scythopolis, one of the ten settlements known in Scripture as the Decapolis. These free Roman cities were located within the borders of Israel but were inhabited by Gentiles, not Jews. Roman culture and customs flourished here. In Jesus’ day, Scythopolis was located at the crossroads of two main travel routes, one going through the Jezreel Valley to the Mediterranean coast, the other following the Jordan Valley north to Galilee or south to Jerusalem.

Today Scythopolis is a ghost town, the casualty of an earthquake. But the excavations and reconstructions are so widespread, so nearly complete, it’s easy to see I’m walking
through a once-bustling city. I stroll down colonnaded streets adorned with monumental pillars. I enter a row of boutique-sized shops paved with intricate mosaic floors. I peek into a pagan temple and then a Roman-style bathhouse rivaling any modern spa. Near the amphitheater, there is even a public bathroom with indoor toilets, the space large enough to serve as a modern rest stop along a major highway. I walk through the arched entrance to the theater and climb the stone bleachers to the “nosebleed” section. The acoustics are so perfect that when four students from our group stand on the stage and sing, their voices carry all the way up to where I’m sitting, as clearly as if they used microphones. Tourists in the gift shop on the hill behind the amphitheater come out to listen.

As a practicing Jew, Jesus probably never spent much time here in Scythopolis, if He visited at all. Devout Jews who followed the teachings of the Torah avoided places like this, with its Roman decadence and idolatry. The cities of the Decapolis were pockets of foreign, pagan culture invading the Jews’ ancestral land; Gentiles built their own cities and Jews built theirs. You don’t find synagogues or ritual baths in the Decapolis, nor do you find pagan temples and Roman baths in small Jewish towns. Jesus and His disciples would have looked very conspicuous here among the toga-draped Romans, easily identifiable as religious Jews with their beards and head coverings and ritual tassels dangling from their garments.

Although Jesus may have stayed away from Scythopolis, Scripture says that large crowds from the Decapolis followed Him (Matthew 4:25). What drew them? Was He a curiosity, the latest celebrity to chase for their own amusement? As word of His healing miracles spread, some people probably followed
Him in search of a cure. But how many of Scythopolis’ citizens gave up their Roman gods and bathhouses and other amusements to become Christians? The Bible doesn’t say.

As I tour modern Israel, it’s still pretty easy to tell which Jews are Orthodox and which are not. Religious men still wear beards and head coverings and tassels on the corners of their garments. Religious women dress conservatively with long sleeves, long hemlines, and high necklines. I can’t help wondering what our tour group looks like to them. Can they tell by looking at us that we’re Christians? I have seen Orthodox men avert their gaze as the young women in our group parade by in tank tops and plunging necklines, and I shudder at the message we’re sending.

Christians are difficult to spot in our culture, blending in so well that we’re indistinguishable from typical Americans. A cross dangling from a necklace has become such a common decoration that it’s no longer an indicator of the wearer’s faith. Jesus said that His followers “are not of the world any more than I am of the world” (John 17:14), but how do we draw that line, separating ourselves from the popular culture without becoming bogged down in legalism? Should we stand out in a crowd or shouldn’t we?

The Old Testament gave Jews very specific guidelines on how to dress, including the way men should cut their beards. Likewise, the New Testament gives guidelines to Christians, advising among other things for “women to dress modestly, with decency and propriety” (1 Timothy 2:9). But even more emphasis is given in Scripture to our character and to our actions. We shouldn’t fit comfortably in a godless culture any more than Jesus could fit comfortably in Scythopolis. I should feel uneasy in an environment that flouts God’s moral
principles and takes His name in vain. I shouldn’t be desensitized to movies and TV shows that are violent and sacrilegious and profane. They should shock me. We’re told to focus our minds on things that are true and noble and pure and admirable (Philippians 4:8). I can’t avoid being surrounded by our popular culture, but I can be careful not to adopt its habits and world view. We’re told to be in this world but not of it.

Jesus traveled through the region where I’m now sitting, not to absorb their habits and culture or even to condemn them, but to minister God’s love and grace. People were important to Him, so important that He would stop His travel plans to speak with them and heal them. So maybe I should ask myself this question: Is the love of Christ evident in my life, or am I indistinguishable from the rest of the crowd? I hardly think it would matter if I dressed like an Amish woman and cloistered myself from the “bad” stuff in our culture if my actions and words were just like everyone else’s. “The kingdom of God is within you,” Jesus said (Luke 17:21). I take Christ’s forgiveness and grace wherever I go. In my day-to-day life, the way I treat the bank teller and the grocery clerk and the mail carrier all matter. My reaction to the guy who cuts me off in traffic or steals my parking spot matters. So does the way I treat members of my extended family who don’t know Christ. In the words of the old gospel song, “They will know we are Christians by our love.”

Two thousand years ago, some of the people from Scythopolis who sat where I’m now sitting laced on their sandals and went looking for Jesus. For many, it must have been like following the latest celebrity to see what the fuss was all about. But there might have been one or two people who were tired of their vain, empty lives and longed for words of life and
healing for their souls. Maybe one of the people I encounter every day longs for the same thing. In our culture of busyness, people are often secondary to results and things. Why not go countercultural, laying aside my busy agenda and to-do lists to put people first? And while I’m rubbing shoulders with the world, I can show them the love of Christ.

God has placed us at the busy crossroads of our culture for a reason. He wants all of our actions and attitudes in all of our petty, everyday affairs to be so different, so transformed by His grace, that we stand out from the crowd—as conspicuous as a religious Jew in ancient Scythopolis. He wants you and me to “let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven” (Matthew 5:16).

City on a Hill

I’m relaxing on the balcony of my hotel room on a balmy evening, gazing at a stunning view of the Sea of Galilee. The night sky is pricked by millions of stars, the air scented with tropical foliage that rustles gently in the breeze. From my vantage point, the sea looks like a bowl of molten silver surrounded by hills of rumpled green velvet. On one of the hills across the lake from me, the city of Tiberias twinkles and shines, its lights reflected and multiplied on the still water.

I love Galilee. Jesus spent so much time preaching here, visiting towns and villages all over this area, that it feels like I’m walking in His footsteps and hearing echoes of His voice everywhere I go. And the firefly lights of Tiberias remind me of His words, “A city on a hill cannot be hidden.” I pull out my Bible and find the verse. It’s part of His Sermon on the Mount and was probably delivered on the slope of a hill
not far from Tiberias. But as I read, I’m surprised to discover what the complete verse says: “You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden” (Matthew 5:14). He’s talking to us.

I remembered Jesus saying that
He
was the light of the world, but I had forgotten that He said
we
were the light of the world, too. He didn’t say “You
will
be” or “You
should
be,” He said that we
are.
He isn’t shaking His finger at us or encouraging us to decide, like the children’s song to “Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m gonna let it shine.” He’s telling us the way it is, and these are the facts: If I’m His disciple, then I am the light of the world. And as clearly as I can see Tiberias glowing in the dark ten miles away, my light cannot be hidden. Furthermore, Jesus says that since I’m already shining out there in plain sight, I should let my light shine before men in a way that brings glory to God (v. 16).

When Christ walked these hills by the Sea of Galilee, He shone God’s light into all of the dark places. The author of Matthew’s gospel realized that Jesus was fulfilling Isaiah’s prophecy: “In the past [God] humbled the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the future he will honor Galilee of the Gentiles, by the way of the sea, along the Jordan—The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned” (Isaiah 9:1–2; see Matthew 4:13–16). In Isaiah’s lifetime the brutal Assyrian army invaded this region, and the inhabitants of Galilee were the first in Israel to be slaughtered or carried off as slaves into exile. Darkness and the shadow of death surely covered this place. But Isaiah foresaw a time when a great light would dawn: “For to us a child is born, to us a son is given . . . And he will be called Wonderful Counselor,
Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace” (9:6). The first place that had suffered captivity was now being set free through Christ’s ministry.

It’s inspiring to read those Scriptures and see God at work, faithfully fulfilling His Word. But I’m part of that prophetic picture, as well. God’s light dawned with Christ and now shines in me and through me. I’m supposed to light up a world that is lost, shining like a city on a hill. Men and women whom God loves are groping in darkness, searching for the way. I know a few of them! God placed the light of Christ within us because He wants us to illuminate the path for those who are lost.

The only thing worse than being lost and unable to find your way is being lost in the dark. Once, on a family camping trip in Canada, Ken and I and our children foolishly set off for a hike in the woods after supper—without flashlights—thinking we could return to our campsite before dark. But we misjudged the length and difficulty of the trail, and we were still deep in the woods when night fell. The path became increasingly harder to follow in the dark, our progress slower. The kids began to panic, imagining bears and wildcats and being lost in the vast Canadian wilderness forever. Okay, I confess—I was spooked, too. Just as the kids’ fears were turning into tears, we spotted a faint light winking among the trees. We hurried toward it—after convincing our daughter that bears didn’t carry flashlights—and we soon saw more lights, flickering inside tents and glowing in campfires. Praise God, we had found the campground! We weren’t going to die after all!

That’s the visual picture Scripture is drawing for us. Jesus said that you and I are those lights shining in the darkness,
giving hope to people who are lost and fearful, lighting their way home to Christ. Whoever follows Him “will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life” (John 8:12). True, we might have to walk through fearful places. And we may make some unwise choices on our journey or fail to pay attention to the dimming light. But with Christ as our guide, at least we will see where we’re going instead of wandering around lost. We may even spot another city on a hill to help guide our steps.

Before I leave this balcony and go to bed for the night, I take one last lingering look at the lights on the hill across from me. I am that city! I need to crawl out of the rut I’ve been digging back home and look for a hill to climb so I can shine. Hide my light under a bushel? No. Not when there are so many dark places in this world that need God’s light.