{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_60140/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_60140","id":"gutenberg_60140","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60140","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - Modern (1750+)","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Travel Writing","Palestine -- Description and travel"],"text":"Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 60140-h.htm or 60140-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/60140/pg60140-images.html)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/60140/60140-h.zip)\n\n\n      Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive. See\n      https://archive.org/details/newpathsthrougho00slatuoft\n\n\nTranscriber\u2019s note:\n\n      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\n\n\n\n\nNEW PATHS THROUGH OLD PALESTINE\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  Instead of the soft-footed camels, the motor truck stood at the gates\n    of the Holy City.]\n\n\nNEW PATHS THROUGH OLD PALESTINE\n\nby\n\nMARGARET SLATTERY\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPrinted in U. S. A.\n\nThe Pilgrim Press.\nBoston      Chicago\n\nCopyright 1921\nby\nSidney A. Weston\n\nThe Pilgrim Press\nBoston\n\n\n\n\n\n                                   TO\n\n                                M. R. H.\n\n                      THE UNDERSTANDING COMPANION\n                           OF THE PILGRIMAGE\n\n\n\n\n                       A WORD ABOUT THE NEW PATHS\n\n\nFrom our earliest childhood when at Christmas time we gazed with intense\ninterest at the Wise-men on their gaily caparisoned camels, those great\nawkward ships of the desert have been associated in our minds with\nPalestine. The Child held close in Mary\u2019s arms as she sat upon the\ndonkey while Joseph urged it on through the day and the night in the\nhurried flight into Egypt has made that faithful little beast a part of\nPalestine.\n\nWe saw both the donkeys with loaded panniers driven along by wandering\nArabs and the strings of camels, soft-footed, heads held proudly high,\nmoving off over the yellow sands up to the hills. But we sat in a modern\ntrain, with comfortable leather seats, and a madly puffing engine\ndragged us over the wind-blown sands up through the hills of Judea to\nthe little modern station just without the walls of Jerusalem. Once when\nwe stopped at old Lydda we heard a rushing, whirring sound over our\nheads. It grew louder and, as we searched the sky, a plane swept out\nfrom the soft clouds into the clear blue, came down nearer, nearer to\nearth, rose again, and passed out of sight. It had come from the City of\nZion: it would go into Egypt.\n\nThe Wilderness, the Dead Sea and the forty long years of wandering, the\nvictories over the Philistines, the waters of Jordan parted for the\npassing of the hosts of Jehovah, the tumbling walls of Jericho, the\nspots where \u201cthe arm of the Lord prevailed\u201d: with these we had long been\nfamiliar. They were associated in our minds with tents, with much\ncattle, with slow beasts of burden, with men, women, and children who\nmoved leisurely in times of peace and fled in wild confusion in times of\nwar.\n\nThe Wilderness, the Dead Sea, the Jordan, and Jericho we saw. A motor\ncar driven by the son of an Arab chief took us over and past them all in\nless than a day!\n\nOld Palestine still lies between the great desert and the seas. The\nwomen still grind the corn, stand gossiping about the well, and wrap\ntheir babies in swaddling clothes. The shepherds wander through the bare\nhills with their sheep and lead them, when spring comes, to the green\npastures and the still waters. But there are _New Paths Through Old\nPalestine_. They cross age-worn desert-ways, go down into the shadows of\ndeep valleys, climb hoary mountains, follow Elijah\u2019s chariot through\ngreat spaces of the sky. The new paths bring new days fraught with\npossibilities. In time they _may_ bring a new Palestine: not the mystic\nland of the Zionists but the promised land of which the prophets and\npoets of Israel sang. Old Palestine died in nineteen-fourteen with the\nrest of the world that was and will never be again. New Palestine is\nborn. What its future shall be depends upon the souls of those who\nfollow the new paths. They may lead only to temporary triumph, to the\nselfish goals of the kingdoms of men: they _may_ lead to the Kingdom of\nGod.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  Margaret Slattery.]\n\n NOVEMBER 1, 1921.\n\n             \u201c_Ah no! that sacred land\n             Where fell the wearied feet of the lone Christ\n             Robs not the soul of faith._\u201d\n                             \u2014_Richard Watson Gilder._\n\n\n\n\n                                CONTENTS\n\n\n                                                  PAGE\n\n                  I GO UP TO JERUSALEM               3\n\n                  I GO OVER TO BETHLEHEM            21\n\n                  I GO DOWN TO JERICHO              39\n\n                  I GO TO BETHANY                   61\n\n                  I GO OUT TO THE MOUNT OF OLIVES   79\n\n                  I GO TO THE GARDEN                97\n\n                  I GO DOWN INTO EGYPT             113\n\n\n\n\n                          I GO UP TO JERUSALEM\n\n\n            _Our feet are standing\n            Within thy gates, O Jerusalem,\n            Jerusalem, that art builded\n            As a city that is compact together.\u2014\n            Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.\n            Peace be within thy walls,\n            And prosperity within thy palaces._\n\n            _Praise Jehovah, O Jerusalem;\n            Praise thy God, O Zion,\n            For he hath strengthened the bars of thy gates;\n            He hath blessed thy children within thee.\n            He maketh peace in thy borders._\n                                    \u2014_Psalms 122, 147._\n\n\n\n\n                          I GO UP TO JERUSALEM\n\n\nThere was a moon that night. Now it was half hidden by soft clouds, now\nclear, brilliant, white against a velvet sky. We stood crowded close to\nthe heavy ropes stretched across the bridge, which had swung open to\npermit one boat after another to pass. We were at Kantara on the Suez.\nAcross the canal was the train dimly lighted, standing on the tracks\nthat seemed half buried in the soft, yellow, desert sand. We waited\nimpatiently. Nearly three hours had passed since the train from Port\nSaid had left us there to attend to baggage and troublesome passports,\nand to eat a meager supper from boxes brought with us from the Port.\n\nNow a Japanese boat passed slowly along the canal; then a smaller craft\nwith cargo, flying the Dutch flag; a British boat brilliantly lighted,\nits passengers, many of them in uniform, dancing on deck. The canal is\nso narrow that great ships must creep slowly and carefully along, with\nno place for miles where one boat may pass another. It is a miracle,\nthis Suez Canal, and the story of its building a most fascinating tale.\nIts banks are scarred by the battles of the great war. Barbed wire, old\ndugouts, the remains of hastily constructed forts reminded us of the\ndesperate struggle made by the Allies to protect it against the enemy in\nthe air and under the water. Had any one of their many attempts\nsuccessfully closed the canal, the war would have had a very different\nending.\n\nWe had just spent nineteen and one-half hours coming through the canal\nat the slow speed permitted by law\u2014five miles an hour. Even then our\nboat twice grazed the retaining wall. In a single year over three\nthousand boats passed through the locks, crept along through the canal,\nthen hurried to far ports, east or west.\n\nAs the fifth boat swung lazily past, a sigh of relief went up from the\ncrowd pressed against the ropes. A moment and the great bridge moved\nback into place and we were given the signal to cross. It was a weird\ngroup that hurried along in the moonlight\u2014a party of Americans, a group\nof British officers, some Australian soldiers, Jews from Russia\nclutching their permits to enter the land of promise, Egyptians,\nSyrians, Arabs in native dress. There were but few women. Our porter\nfound us seats close to the window in one of the compartments. We were\nsorry for this later, as the fine sand sifted in and covered clothing\nand baggage. No sleeping-car was possible, so we made ourselves as\ncomfortable as we could with bags for pillows and heavy coats for\nblankets. We were most grateful for this railroad from Kantara to\nJerusalem, realizing that before the war we would have been compelled to\nmake the inconvenient and dangerous landing in the small boats at Jaffa.\n\nWe made our way slowly through the night across the desert that\nstretched as far as the eye could reach in the moonlight and slipped\naway into blackness when the moon had set. What it had cost the men who\nhad laid those ties in that wilderness of sand, under the scorching rays\nof a pitiless sun, no history of war can adequately relate. How often in\nthose days, as we looked reverently at old battlegrounds, we searched\nfor words with which to describe the miracles performed by the\nengineering corps of the fighting armies!\n\nWith the morning light, we began to see signs of life on the desert.\nGreat masses of cacti, in clumps as tall as trees, with stems as thick\nas a man\u2019s body, were growing but a few feet from our windows. Here,\nduring the war, the enemy had hidden their machine guns, a refuge from\nwhich they might safely do their deadly work, practically certain that\nthey could not be captured. Many a brave soldier of the Allies gave up\nhis life in agony, caught in the cactus hedge to which the rush of\nbattle had driven him, and many an heroic rescue of a comrade held by\nthe cruel thorns took place on that desert plain. When the cactus growth\ncleared and the desert was unbroken we stared in amazement at what\nseemed to be a line of dark earth\u2014a road made in the shifting sand. When\nwe got nearer we found it to be strips of chicken wire. This wire was\nthe solution of a problem that at first threatened to tie up all the\nplans of Headquarters, for the heavy artillery and the loaded motor\nlorries, sinking deep into the sand, made progress impossible. The wire\nroad was the result of the ingenuity of some of the men in the ranks. As\nthe fine and coarse net used alternately pressed down upon the sand it\ngave the resistance that enabled the great guns and loads of supplies to\npass over places otherwise uncrossable. When they had passed, soldiers\nrolled up the wire, loaded it on the camels to be used again over some\nhard stretch ahead. The war over, it lay there rusting in the sand.\n\nAgain and again, as one crossed the battlefields of Palestine, he saw\nevidences of the triumph of man\u2019s mind over earth\u2019s obstacles. Nothing\nwas too ordinary, too commonplace, too insignificant to be used to\nfurther the success of the great cause. For fresh supplies of food and\nwater, for \u201cheavies\u201d with which to batter down the defenses of the\nenemy, the army was for a time dependent upon temporary tracks of\nchicken wire laid in a waste of moving sand!\n\nAgainst the horizon we could see the slow moving train of camels. A\ngroup of Arabs on horseback halted to watch us pass. We were in\nPalestine, that land of small distances and great deeds.\n\n\u201cI cannot believe that I am in Palestine,\u201d said the young daughter of a\nBritish officer who was to see her father for the first time in four\nyears. \u201cI have not been able to think of it as a real land. I know, in a\nway, that Moses and Joshua fought here. But think of father\u2019s fighting\nhere, too!\u201d The girl had expressed the thought of hundreds of others who\nhave studied the Bible stories, become familiar with the difficult\nnames, drawn maps and located the cities of Moses and of Paul, marked\nthe journeyings of Christ, but to whom the land has never been a real\nland and its records, shrouded in vague mystery, have never seemed a\npart of the earth. But now we knew it to be real. We began to comprehend\n\u201cthe wilderness and the solitary place.\u201d\n\nIt is only about the size of my own state of Massachusetts, I told\nmyself again and again. Its greatest length is but one hundred eighty\nmiles and it is nowhere more than fifty-five miles wide. If I had the\nrailways and engines of home I could cross it in less than two hours. I\ncould travel its entire length easily in five or six. But the present\ntrain, with its light engine, on a roadbed hastily made, parts of it\nfinished under fire from enemy guns, moves slowly. We are stopping at\nGaza.\n\nOnce Gaza was the largest city of the old country of the Philistines. I\ncan almost see Samson, strong and powerful, coming down over the hill\ncalled today Samson\u2019s Ridge, bearing the great city gates upon his\nshoulders while men stood aghast. I can see him too, blinded and\npowerless, walking the treadmill of his enemies. As I look out over the\ndesert road, I remember the Ethiopian struggling to find the meaning of\nthe words of the prophet Isaiah and young Philip running by his chariot,\neagerly responding to the invitation to sit with him and explain the\nprophecy. Riding along through the dust, I can hear him talking with the\nruler about Jesus and what He had taught of God and man; and,\nhalf-astonished at the quick response, I can hear the Ethiopian, as they\ncame near to a place with water, saying, \u201cBehold, here is water, what\ndoth hinder me to be baptized?\u201d But I am brought back suddenly from the\nlong past. Men in British uniform are on the platform of the little\nstation. They follow the mail bag eagerly, joking each other in clear\nEnglish accents about the probable contents.\n\nFor eight months in nineteen hundred and seventeen, Gaza became again\nthe center of a great battle area. We could see the remains of the\nTurkish trenches, dug deep into the earth and protected by great masses\nof wire or by sand bags made from the gay colored hangings and curtains\ntaken from the houses of its people. But in spite of all their careful\npreparations and their gallant defence, Gaza fell into the hands of the\nBritish troops whose splendid officers and men had braved heat, terrible\nthirst, sand-storms, deadly fire that robbed them of hundreds of their\ncomrades, that they might take this important post on the road that was\nto lead them through untold suffering up to Jerusalem, as it had led\nother armies of days long ago. The British Tommies read their Bibles in\ntheir spare time these days. They read over again the battles of\nIsraelites and Philistines which they had found very stupid when they\nwere boys in Sunday schools but which are exceedingly interesting to\nthem now. As they fought, step by step, for possession of that same\nland, they asked themselves if, battling against a foe to whom the\ndesert was home, on trackless wastes whose every spring and rock was\nknown, they could ever win. Never for a moment did they hesitate in\ntheir answer, but many a brave young officer and many a hardy soldier of\nAustralia or New Zealand must have had misgivings as he looked at the\ncactus hedge, miles deep, or out over the still, barren, hopeless desert\nhills.\n\nWe left Gaza to climb slowly up to Lydda, now called Ludd, where we were\nobliged to change cars. On all sides were signs of the fighting of two\nyears before, and now and then white crosses or Turkish graves reminded\nus of the terrible price youth has paid throughout the long centuries of\nhistory to make this land holy indeed.\n\nAs we climbed up into the hills, it began to rain, the air was fresh and\ncool, the vineyards here and there on the hillsides brought great relief\nafter the glare of the sands through which we had been passing for so\nmany hours. Our first glimpse of Jerusalem was in the soft mist through\nwhich the sun was attempting to shine. The walls looked high and\nforbidding, the whole city, from its point of vantage crowning the\nhilltops, seemed to look down upon us as though we were but very little\nthings, little and unimportant, come to gaze, without half understanding\nwhat we should see, upon all man has dreamed and suffered in his reach\nfor God and happiness.\n\nA thrill of anticipation had passed up and down the corridor of the\ntrain. Not a person sat in his compartment. Corridor windows were opened\nand eager faces crowded about them. The face of the young girl who was\nto see her father after the four years of separation was flushed with\nexcitement, but the face of her mother was pale and there were tears in\nher eyes. She had given her two sons\u2014one in France and one in\nMesopotamia\u2014to the world\u2019s great effort to preserve its freedom. I shall\nnever forget the light in the eyes of two thin, haggard, long-bearded\nHebrews, looking out from the windows, then turning to speak with each\nother in Russian words that, though unintelligible to us, seemed to be\non fire with passion. Their gestures were expressive of emotion that\ncould not be restrained. Long before the train stopped they were at the\ndoor.\n\nThe faces of young British officers on leave, coming up for the first\ntime to see the city for whose delivery they had prepared the way down\non the dry parched plain, were keen with interest; no detail of the\napproach escaped them. The residents accustomed to the journeyings from\nthe Port to the city looked at us all with mild curiosity and kind\ntolerance.\n\nFrom the station, the horses dragged us up through gray mud that flew\nabout us in showers, covering carriage, baggage, and robes,\u2014there was no\nescape from it. From the mist the walls of the \u201ccity of cities\u201d emerged,\nclear, strong, unbroken, no mark of battle upon them. As we went through\nthe great gate, the sun, breaking through the mist, flooded with light,\nfor a few moments, the narrow street and brightened the faces of the\ncrowd of people of every nation that poured ceaselessly in and out. We\nstopped before the hotel that during the war had served as the Red\nCrescent Hospital. Lunch was waiting and we sat down with the Mohammedan\nin his red fez, the Bedouin in his long, beautiful, gay-colored coat,\nthe French officer and the British officer on leave, Jewish business\nmen, the Greek and the Syrian\u2014the world, it seemed to us as we listened\nto the various languages. All orders for food were given in French, and\nin French men of different nations spoke with each other in courteous\ngreeting.\n\nWe were in Jerusalem. Here Samuel sat; here at the gate was David\u2019s\ntower; King Solomon once lived over there on the hill in his glittering\npalace and by his wealth and wisdom made himself famous throughout the\nworld, and here he lost his wisdom as has many another in the courts of\nthe women. Herod and Pilate looked out over these hills; the Crusader\nstormed the walls and the Turk brought terror and slavery with his\nsword. Twenty-three times in its history Jerusalem has been captured. It\nhas been pillaged, plundered, burned, utterly destroyed, rebuilt only to\nbe plundered again. Yet here it stood. Upon what unspeakable sorrow the\nstars of Palestine have looked down! We gazed from our balcony out over\nthe low buildings of solid rock, out through the break in the wall made\nthat the Kaiser, on his visit to the Holy Place, might enter in great\npomp and glory with his impressive army of followers, the break redeemed\nby the simplicity of the entrance of the victorious General Allenby into\nthe city that he had conquered without the destruction of a single\nbuilding or a foot of wall and accepted, when surrendered, as a sacred\ntrust placed once more in the hands of Christians. It may be that the\nwhite crosses in long rows, out on the hillside, guarding the graves of\nsoldiers from every part of the British Empire, young, very young, will\ncontinue to remind these latest conquerors of the tremendous cost of the\nvictory that left the city unharmed and help them govern the land with\nan unselfishness of purpose that will measure up to the high standard of\ntheir victory.\n\nAfter lunch we found that dark clouds had gathered low over the hills,\nand before we could leave our room the rain came. We studied the map of\nthe city, searched out the location of its sacred places, read over\nagain the words of poet and prophet describing the days of its great\nglory, when from Mount Zion king and shepherd could look over at Mount\nMoriah where the smoke of the sacrifice from the temple of Jehovah\nascended to heaven.\n\nLate in the afternoon the rising wind scattered the clouds and the sun\nset in a blaze of glory. We stood just outside the gate on the city wall\nlooking down across the valley over toward Bethlehem. The hills, deep\npurple, reached up on every side to touch the sky. Their bare rocky\nslopes became soft as velvet in the fading light.\n\nA young British private, leaning against a part of the parapet, took out\na khaki Testament and turned the leaves slowly. He seemed to find what\nhe wanted and read, following the lines with his finger. Then he closed\nthe book, put it back in his pocket and turned, half apologetically to a\ncompanion not in uniform.\n\n\u201cWe fought out there,\u201d he said, \u201cthe 53rd division. We fought around the\nvery hills where the angels sang about Peace on earth.\u201d\n\nA moment of silence and the other spoke: \u201cYonder is the road He must\nhave climbed when He came up to Jerusalem.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll take you over it tomorrow,\u201d was the answer. \u201cWe\u2019ll see all the\nplaces where He used to go. It makes the story in the Book very plain.\u201d\n\nThey moved away. Reluctantly, in the face of coming darkness, we left\nthe great wall and joined the group of Arabs who, with camels and\ndonkeys, were passing in and out of the gate. As we climbed the long\nstairs to our room, we remembered that tomorrow would be Sunday at home.\nIn thousands of churches all over the world, trusting little children,\nstrong, courageous youth, men and women bearing heavy burdens, the old,\nthe sick, the missionaries would read the story of what He did and said\ncenturies before, in and about Jerusalem\u2014the story that, despite the\nlimitations of those who have told it, has changed the world and that\nmust continue to change it until it shall become what He prayed it might\nbe\u2014the kingdom of God upon the earth. Tomorrow we, like the young\nsoldier in khaki, would begin our journeys to \u201call the places where He\nused to go.\u201d And we hoped that for us, too, the sacred spots would \u201cmake\nthe story in the Book very plain.\u201d\n\nIn a long procession with torches the worshipers of the Greek church,\nchanting an evensong for their feast day, passed beneath our balcony. A\ntorch lighted up the cross held high over the heads of the marchers. Out\nover the hills of Bethlehem, hidden now by the night, bright stars were\nshining. We fell upon our knees and worshiped Him.\n\n\n\n\n                         I GO OVER TO BETHLEHEM\n\n\n _There was a baby born in Bethlehem.\n   I know they say\n That this and that\u2019s in doubt, and, for the rest\n That learned men who surely should know best\n Explain how myths crept in, and followers\u2019 tales confused the truth._\n\n _I know\u2014but anyway\n There was a baby born in Bethlehem\n Who lived and grew and loved and healed and taught\n   And died\u2014but not to me.\n When Christmas comes I see Him still arise,\n The gentle, the compassionate, the wise,\n Wiping Earth\u2019s tears away, stilling her strife;\n Calling, \u201cMy path is Peace; My way is Life!\u201d_\n                         \u2014_Author Unknown._\n\n\n\n\n                         I GO OVER TO BETHLEHEM\n\n\nIt was clear and cold. The hills of Moab were deep blue. They seemed\nvery near. In a low carriage that bore every mark of long service, drawn\nby two thin dark horses and driven by an Arab in a dull brown Bedouin\ncoat, with the long, heavy head-dress falling over his shoulders and\nprotecting him from rain or sun, we drove out through the gate. Dark\neyes watched us curiously. The horses at first were swift of foot and\nthe carriage lurched and rolled down the steep grade of the valley of\nHinnom, past the former German colony, over the new bridge; then, losing\ntheir enthusiasm, they climbed slowly. On a hillside the sheep were\nfeeding, but how they could find enough to sustain life on those bare\nrocky slopes is hard to understand. Now we passed a flock following the\nshepherd in his vari-colored coat down a steep incline and through a\nvalley which in the rainy season would be a rushing stream. We could\nhear the lambs call, and now and then the shepherd\u2019s reprimand to a\nstraying sheep. Over there were the fields of Boaz. How beautiful they\nmust have looked when the heavy sheaves of wheat were yellow in the sun.\nThe land of Moab seemed such a short distance away as we who had been\nhalf-way round the world thought of distance, but to loyal, faithful,\nloving Ruth those desert plains, rounded hills, and deep valleys meant\ndistance enough to separate her forever from the home and kindred she\nmust leave behind. The brave words came back to us: \u201cWhither thou goest,\nI will go; thy people shall be my people and thy God my God.\u201d She\ndeserved the happiness she won out there in the fields as she followed\nthe reapers. As if agreeing with our unspoken thoughts our guide turned\nand looked down at us. \u201cBoaz, the owner of the field, married Ruth, the\nMoabite girl. She was very beautiful,\u201d he said.\n\nThe wind was bleak on the hilltop as it was that night centuries ago and\nwe were glad when we reached the protection of the low stone houses of\nthe village of Bethlehem. Such a tiny village! Nothing was left of the\nglory of that other day when the busy tax-gatherers checked up the names\nof the people and the keeper of the Inn hurried about trying in vain to\nfind room for his guests, when officers of the army in resplendent\nuniform and civil officers proud and haughty made every Jewish pilgrim\nconscious of the power of great Rome.\n\nNothing remains of the old inn or khan which was crowded on that night\nto its very gates. Thankful indeed must both Joseph and Mary have been\nfor the protection of the cave with its great manger hewn out of the\nrock. Over that spot to which they went so gratefully for shelter now\nstands the Church of the Nativity. It is a simple beautiful church, but\nthe shrines within are garish indeed.\n\nBy General Allenby\u2019s command, the high forbidding walls of stone that\nhave so long divided the interior and marred its beauty have been taken\ndown. The walls had formerly separated the church into sections claimed\nby the various faiths. The nave of the church belongs to the Greeks, one\ntransept to the Coptic Christians, the other to the Armenians. The\nRomanists have built a church and monastery close beside the little\nchurch of the Nativity, but worshipers could only reach the grotto to\nkneel at the manger of stone through a devious, difficult underground\npath. When the Turks captured Palestine they compelled the Armenians to\nopen a passage through their wall that the Romanists might enter. As we\nstepped into the church we heard the chanting of their choir, and soon\nthrough the door in the Armenian transept came priests and altar boys in\nthe rich robes of the church to say mass. We stood aside until they had\npassed and only the echo of their voices could be heard floating up from\nthe cave below.\n\nEver since the coming of the Turks, Christmas and Easter services have\nbeen marred by desperate quarreling and bloodshed. At each service\nTurkish soldiers were on guard and swords and guns punished offenders\nbut were unable to prevent the paying of old scores by Armenian and\nRomanist, Copt and Greek. The British general was exceedingly anxious\nthat no such quarrels should mar the celebration of the first Christmas\nand Easter after the return of the holy places into the hands of\nChristians, to be theirs no matter what their creeds might be. In many\nlanguages, he made his appeal to the people. The American Colony of\nJerusalem was asked to be present at the services to help quiet any\ntrouble-makers, but they did not wish to assume the responsibility.\nTherefore certain individual members of the Red Cross Commission\nanswered the General\u2019s appeal, and were present all day at the services,\nquietly warning any of the rougher element who, as in the past days,\nattempted to start trouble by taunting words. Not a British soldier was\npresent. The Commission members, wise, alert, and friendly, did their\nwork well and the day passed in dignified impressive worship for the\nfirst time since the Turks took the Holy City. The General expressed his\ngratitude in most cordial notes of thanks to the men who had so\nsuccessfully endeavored to carry out his wishes.\n\nWe waited until the mass was over and then, with our lighted candles,\nwent down into the shadowy grotto. Myth and legend, superstitions weird\nand fantastic have gathered about all the sacred places. While these\nthings mean little to the modern Christian, he is bound to respect the\nreverent belief in them held by many of his comrades in the faith. With\nconfidence the guide tells of the hundreds of years the fire in the\nhidden place has burned, not once going out, just as it has burned in\nthe Church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. If, as one kneels and\nprays, holding his taper close to the opening, it is lighted by the\nunseen holy fire, rich blessings will come to him and those he loves.\n\nI shall never forget the thin, tired, sorrow-marked face of an Armenian\nwoman whose taper, as she knelt murmuring prayers, suddenly caught the\nsacred flame. It was transformed. She went up the shadowy steps in a\ntransport of joy. Nor shall I soon forget the face of a Russian woman as\nshe swayed back and forth on her knees in an agony of prayer. When at\nlast she rose she could not stand and a kindly attendant steadied her.\nHe spoke to her in Russian and they talked softly for a moment. She was\nin Jerusalem on a pilgrimage when the war broke out. Her husband, her\nson, and a son-in-law were in the Russian army. Of them she had had no\nword. She had received a month since confirmation of the news of the\ndeath of her two daughters in prison. She could not go back to her home\nin the hot-bed of Bolshevism. She took a taper from the hand of a priest\nand went toward the place of the holy fire.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  _Copyright, Underwood & Underwood_\n\n  \u201c\u2019Twas a humble birthplace, but oh, how much God gave to us that day!\u201d]\n\nI was glad when we were in the fresh crisp air again, wandering through\nthe streets of the little village, stopping for a few moments for coffee\nwith a Syrian shopkeeper who wanted to sell us olive-wood beads with a\nbeautiful carved cross as pendant. His son, a boy of twelve, spoke\nEnglish. The father brought him out proudly. He attended a Quaker school\nfor boys over in Ramallah and was having a holiday. The souvenirs\noffered for our inspection were poor tawdry things, but the faces of the\nsalesmen were so eager that we could not disappoint them. Visitors had\nbeen exceedingly rare during the years of the war and curious friendly\neyes followed us hopefully everywhere. There had been great excitement\nin the village that morning. An Indian prince who was a Christian had\nvisited the church, had left a gift for the priests, had made purchases\nin all the little shops\u2014his taper had been lighted by the holy fire.\n\nWe were just about to go back to our carriage when, turning the corner\nabruptly, we were face to face with the young Britisher and his friend\nwho had stood on the wall with us in the sunset the night before. He was\npointing out over the hills. We smiled our recognition and asked if we\ntoo might hear of the coming of the army to Bethlehem.\n\n\u201cThere is not much to tell,\u201d he said, in the way of those who have\nrisked all in battle. He told us a little about the difficulty of the\nfighting in the Judean Hills, the gigantic task of feeding the army and\nsupplying it with water, the intense sufferings of the men in the cold\ndrizzling rain and the chilling wind on the hills. Wrapping our own\ncoats tightly about us, we could understand something of what they must\nhave endured lying out on the bare unprotected hillsides as they did\nthose nights before the city of Jerusalem was captured. After a moment\nhe pointed out to us the hill Beit Jabor two miles northwest of\nBethlehem won by the Welsh Division troops and opening the door for the\nentrance into Bethlehem, showed us the great house just south of\nBethlehem where the Turks had seven mountain guns turned upon the road\nover which the troops must pass. But a thick heavy impenetrable fog\nsettled down and, taking the risk, the heavy guns of the British passed\nup the road within easy reach of the enemy had they known. \u201cWhenever a\nfog settled down like that, to our advantage, the boys would say, \u2018the\nLord sent a great fog,\u2019 or \u2018the Lord hath covered the moon with a\ncloud\u2019; but when rain or moonlight favored the enemy they said nothing.\u201d\nHe smiled. \u201cThe war is over,\u201d he said, \u201cyet it seems as if at any moment\nthis silence might be interrupted by the booming of a gun.\u201d \u201cGod\nforbid!\u201d said our guide fervently. \u201cWe have had enough of guns.\u201d We\nechoed his words heartily as we said a warm word of appreciation of what\nBritish arms had done and went back to our carriage.\n\nTwo miles or more outside the village we looked down upon the place of\nRachel\u2019s tomb. There have been few more beautiful stories of devoted\nservice for love than that of Jacob who had \u201cloved Rachel\u201d and laid her\nthere with a breaking heart. The simple, homely record of the joys and\nsorrows of every-day life written in the Book that is so full of human\ninterest seems very real indeed as one looks into the faces of men and\nwomen about him, almost any one of whom might have played the part of\nhero or heroine without change of costume on a stage with scenery set. A\nlittle further down the long hill we stopped while the guide pointed to\nthe place where the shepherds had watched their flocks. It was a plain\nlying close between the higher hills. Even on a chilly night it would be\na sheltered spot and, huddled dose together with the fire blazing near\nand the watchman at the gate of the fold, shepherds and sheep would be\nsafe and warm. So they lay that night when the dark sky was suddenly\nflooded with light and voices sang over the awestruck hills of Judea.\n\nWe looked back at the little spot on the hill that was Bethlehem, where\nthat night was born the baby who turned the world upside down\u2014the baby\nwho inspired the world\u2019s best art, its finest literature, its greatest\nmusic,\u2014there in that little town with its stone houses, its irregular\nstreets, its simple people struggling with poverty! There was Bethlehem,\nthe city of David, the shepherd boy of the hills, strongest and best of\nall the sons of Jesse, born to be a king and through his long line of\ndescendants at last to give to the world the King of kings.\n\nWhen we stopped at the desk for our keys and to ask for a fire in the\nlittle square stove in our room the clerk, in hesitating, careful\nEnglish, said, \u201cYou have found it cold out on the hills. You have seen\nBethlehem. It is a small place, Bethlehem. There is little there that a\nman may do. Many travelers are disappointed by Bethlehem.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat depends upon how much one sees when he looks at Bethlehem,\u201d I\nthought. For me it held no disappointment.\n\nThat night in the great hall, around the stove that could not warm it,\nmen talked of the future of Palestine. A good friend, who understood\nmany languages and spoke Arabic fluently, interpreted much of the talk\nfor us. The present population of Palestine, Jews, Christians and\nMohammedans, is not even a million! Jews and Christians together number\nperhaps less than one-third. The Mohammedans make up most of the\npopulation and are found in every city and village. Arabic is the\nlanguage of the people, but in Jerusalem and in Jaffa most European\nlanguages are freely spoken. The people who live in the towns are called\nMadaniyeh, the villagers are the Fellaheen, and those who live in tents,\nwhom we called Bedouin, are Arabs. Despite its rocky, unpromising\nhillsides and its deserts, Palestine is an agricultural country and that\nmust be its future, the men told each other. Wheat and barley, maize and\nlentils, figs, watermelons, grapes, pomegranates, mulberries, apricots,\ntomatoes, oranges, and olives could be easily raised. We heard glowing\ndescriptions of the Jaffa oranges and some sent later to our room\nfulfilled all that had been said of them. There was much talk of the day\nwhen the cultivation of raisins and the manufacture of olive oil would\nmake men rich; talk of the bananas that could be made to grow in large\nquantities at Jericho and of the date palms that would make Gaza prosper\nonce more. There must be new plows, new machinery of many sorts. They\ntalked of the Zionist movement, but the talk was cut short by an Arab\nwho would not hear of it and, as some faces darkened and voices grew\nlouder, our friend rose and took us to our room. Sometimes in these days\na friendly talk about Palestine\u2019s future ends in hot words and even\nblows. The Arab does not want Palestine to be passed over into the hands\nof the Jews. Many of the Jerusalem Jews express no pleasure whatever\nover an influx of their brothers from many lands. The problems of\nPalestine today are very grave and only great wisdom, unselfishness and\npatience will solve them.\n\nAfter trying in vain to warm ourselves over our small wood stove we put\non our heavy coats and stepped out upon our little balcony. There was no\nmoon. Save for a light over the Jaffa gate and soft rays from the\nwindows of our hotel, Jerusalem was dark. The narrow little street at\nour left was black. The stars were clear, sparkling, very near. One star\nseemed larger and brighter than all the rest. As if unconscious of my\npresence my friend sang softly:\n\n                  \u201cO little town of Bethlehem,\n                  How still we see thee lie!\n                  Above thy deep and dreamless sleep\n                  The silent stars go by.\n                  Yet in thy dark streets shineth,\n                  The everlasting Light;\n                  The hopes and fears of all the years\n                  Are met in thee tonight.\u201d\n\nWe hurried to our beds with their gay colored hangings and lay buried\nunder blankets and rugs for warmth. For a long time, gazing out into the\ndarkness, I could see the star.\n\nO little town of Bethlehem! Small indeed\u2014but spreading over all the\nearth. Only a few days before in America millions of children had heard\nits story, hugged their precious gifts, and thought of the angels and\nthe shepherds. Thousands of parents, forgetting the pressure of dull\ngray days, filled with problems of food, clothing and shelter had smiled\nupon their own children and thought tenderly of the Child, and many men\nand women without a child to love remembered the days of their own\nchildhood and greeted each other with \u201cMerry Christmas.\u201d Small\nindeed\u2014but I had heard the children of Japan with beaming faces sing its\nstory; I had heard the youth of China with strong, beautifully serious\nfaces tell of white gifts to be given in the name of the Child who found\nHis way into the world out there on the hilltop of Judea; in India I had\nheard the story told by a girl whose face shone in the telling, as rows\nand rows of little dark faces looked up at her. I knew that in the sands\nof African deserts, in the snows of Arctic lands, in the farthermost\nislands of the sea, they had heard of Bethlehem. A long line of familiar\nwords surged through my mind\u2014democracy, freedom, liberty, justice for\nall, the brotherhood of man, love\u2014as women may say it in Christian\nlands: ... how many of them were also born with Him that night in\nBethlehem!\n\nNo, \u201cthou Bethlehem in the land of Judah art not the least among the\nprinces of Judah, for out of thee shall come a ruler ... and his name\nshall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father,\nPrince of Peace.\u201d\n\nThe wounded, hungry, puzzled world\u2014the memory of the sufferings I had\nlooked upon pressed hard upon me. I closed my eyes to pray that men may\nhave the courage so to love and the faith so to act that the Prince may\nsoon come into the possession of His kingdom.\n\nWhen I opened my eyes, low over the hills against the blackness of the\nsky the star was still shining.\n\n\n\n\n                          I GO DOWN TO JERICHO\n\n\n                 \u201c_He passed by on the other side._\u201d\n\n             _That \u2018other side\u2019 is trodden smooth\n             And worn by footsteps passing all the day;\n             Where lie the bruised ones faint and torn\n             Is seldom more than an untrodden way.\n             Our selfish hearts are for our feet the guide,\n             They lead us by upon the other side._\n                                   \u2014_Author Unknown._\n\n\n\n\n                          I GO DOWN TO JERICHO\n\n\nAn interested group surrounded us that morning at nine o\u2019clock as the\ncar which was to take us down to the Dead Sea and the Jordan drew up to\nthe door of the hotel. I call it a car by courtesy. It had seen hard\nservice. It had a battered running board, a mudguard with many dents, a\nfront seat bending in the middle to the breaking point, no windshield\nand no horn. We protested, but our guide said it was the best that could\nbe had.\n\n\u201cIt is the engine that is important,\u201d he said, \u201cthe engine and the brake\nboth are good. As for the horn, no fear\u2014he is a horn with his mouth.\u201d He\nwas a most successful human horn as we found when we passed through the\ngate into the traffic outside the wall. Our guide was not an enthusiast\non the subject of motor vehicles. As we swept around the hairpin curves\nhe was restless. \u201cThe Arab is not the temperament for a driver of cars,\u201d\nhe said seriously, \u201che is the temperament for a horse.\u201d And again after\na pause, \u201cIt is well to go to Jericho in a carriage. The inn near\nElijah\u2019s Spring is a good place for a rest, and three days\u2014it is a good\ntime for the trip.\u201d\n\nThere was little traffic passing after we turned onto the long\nhill\u2014donkeys with panniers loaded with products to be exchanged in the\nmarkets of Jerusalem, a boy driving a few sheep slowly up the steep\nhill, a lone Arab on his horse. The air was still, crisp, and very\nclear. We were exceedingly thankful for the road built by the Turks in\nexcellent fashion for the visit of the Kaiser twenty-three years before\nand carefully repaired by the British troops for military service. We\npassed the rest house built that William Hohenzollern might refresh\nhimself before approaching the Holy City. Lower and lower into the\nvalley we went. The road now had a thin covering of soft gray mud.\nSuddenly, turning to avoid a huge rock that had rolled down the hillside\ninto the road, the car skidded. A second and the light machine had\ncrashed into the retaining wall of rock and cement. The axle bent, the\nfront wheels turned at an angle, we were thrown back and forth in our\nshaky seat. The car stopped. We heard the sickening thud of the rocks as\nthey fell to the dry bed of the stream below. Then we climbed down\ncarefully over the loosened mass of cement. \u201cThank God we are to live!\u201d\nsaid the guide reverently. The driver was trying to turn the wheels\nback. He pushed the car into the road. The engine would still run but\nthe axle looked hopeless. The guide spoke again\u2014\u201cAs I have said, a\ncarriage is better for Jericho.\u201d After all our effort, we had failed to\nimpress him with the fact that for us to give three days to the trip was\nimpossible. \u201cOf old,\u201d he continued, \u201cthey fell here among the thieves.\nWe have fallen among the rocks.\u201d We could not help smiling at his look\nof dismay as he walked around the car again and again. He was so proud\nof his record of over thirty years as guide to whose care was due the\nfact that no serious mishaps had ever befallen any of his people. We\nwere so grateful that we were not lying down there among the jagged\nrocks in the dry bed of the stream that our present difficulty seemed\nslight indeed. We were midway between Jerusalem and Jericho. If no help\ncame we could walk in either direction twelve and a half miles though\nthe prospect was not tempting. While we were discussing it we heard a\nrumbling, then a horn. It was a British hospital car taking an officer\ndown to Jericho. It was pay day for the soldiers and he was late. The\ndriver of his car felt sure that with a little help the axle might be\nrepaired enough to enable our driver to crawl back to Jerusalem, but the\nsteering gear had been damaged and it would be an uncertain venture. A\nlorrie was on its way to Jerusalem and was to wait at the Good Samaritan\nInn to give a message to the officer. He would leave instructions for\nthem to help our driver back to the city and he could get aid for us.\nThe men in the lorrie which came along according to schedule looked the\ncar over with the air of expert mechanics. They spent a half hour or\nmore on it with the help of our driver and then the little Ford turned\nand climbed slowly and bravely up the hill, keeping with greatest\ndifficulty close to the safe side of the road. The lorrie was out of\nsight in a few moments flying along to make up for lost time. It would\ntake word of our trouble and send another car.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  There lay the boat in which one might row across the Jordan to the\n    land of Moab.]\n\nThere was nothing to do but wait and nothing to see but bare hills. We\nclimbed one great rocky mound only to see more hills with deeper valleys\nlying between as far as the eye could reach. They reminded us of the\nhills in the most desolate part of the Mormon trail in our own American\ndesert. The sun rose higher and the heat became almost unbearable. We\ndrew down our hats, put on our dark glasses and sat on the rocks in the\ndry bed of the stream. There was not a sound, not a bird note, no\nbleating of sheep. There were caves in the side of the hill. They looked\ndark, cool, and inviting, they had sheltered many people good and bad\nduring the long centuries, but the guide warned us that they were full\nof vermin and unclean. There was a tiny boulder half-way up the hill\nwhich made on one side a narrow strip of shade and we made ourselves as\nsmall as possible and sat there.\n\nNoon came and we ate our chicken and hard boiled eggs, French bread,\nfigs, dates and oranges made ready by the hotel, and drank the water in\nour thermos bottles sparingly. A group of Arabs clattered past us over\non the road. One sang a couplet in a clear, ringing voice and the others\njoined as in a chorus. They did not see us, or, if they did, made no\nsign. \u201cWhen the Turks ruled Palestine,\u201d said our guide, \u201cwe could not\nsit here so safe. There was much danger on this road and no man traveled\nover it at nightfall.\u201d He told us tales of brigands in league with\nTurkish high officials with whom they shared their spoil that would have\nmade excellent material for certain types of American motion pictures.\nSuddenly the simple story that Jesus told to the crowd in answer to the\nhalf-mocking question of the keen Jewish lawyer came vividly before us.\nIt was in these hills, in the desperate loneliness of them, that the\ncertain man, stripped of all his goods, beaten and half dead, lay\nhelpless. He might wait for help for many an hour before out of this\nplace of emptiness any would come! How could Priest and Levite pass him\nby on the other side and leave him in this forsaken spot that their own\njourney might be undisturbed? To them he was only a man robbed by the\nbandits. He would die as had many another. It was a common thing, and,\ninhuman as it seems, they went on to their task of holy worship and to\nthe seat of judgment.\n\nHow keen was the mind of Christ! How quickly and unerringly He put his\nfinger upon the very center of sin! It was easy to see, coming down the\nnarrow camel path in the hills, the hated Samaritan with the spirit of\njustice, mercy, and brotherhood in his soul. He stopped\u2014the man one\nwould least expect to stop\u2014and rescued with generous tenderness the\nsuffering victim of thieves, while the servants of Jehovah and his law\npassed by on the other side, doing in that day even as, in all the days\nsince, the followers of the letter and not of the spirit of the law have\ndone.\n\nThere was only one answer to the question the lawyer had asked of Jesus\nand he was forced to give it\u2014\u201cHe that showed mercy.\u201d I doubt if any who\nhad heard the question, \u201cBut who is my neighbor?\u201d ever forgot the\nanswer, or the command that followed it: \u201cGo and do thou likewise.\u201d\n\nI was so lost in a new sense of the significance and sincerity of His\nwonderful teaching that I did not see our guide make his way toward the\nroad. \u201cA car comes,\u201d he called, but we, lacking his desert-trained\nsenses, heard nothing. Two or three minutes and we could see it coming\nrapidly along the white road on the farther hillside. The guide was\noverjoyed when he saw the new driver. \u201cAh!\u201d he said, \u201cthis is the man I\nwanted. He drives anything that can go. Through the war he drove over\nhills with no road\u2014always safe! He speaks English, too.\u201d He examined the\ncar. It had both windshield and horn. It had an extra tire and seats\nthat were straight. Hope revived.\n\n\u201cWe shall now get quickly back to Jerusalem,\u201d said the guide. \u201cTomorrow,\nperhaps, we shall have the carriage.\u201d \u201cTo Jerusalem!\u201d we said. \u201cIt is\nonly one o\u2019clock. With such a driver we can surely get to the Dead Sea\nand the Jordan. If it is late we can stay tonight at the Inn near\nElijah\u2019s Spring and go back to Jerusalem in the morning. Our time is\nshort and we cannot take another whole day.\u201d Jamil looked at the driver.\n\u201cThey are Americans,\u201d he said, \u201cand when they will go, they will go!\u201d\nAfter a moment he added, \u201cThe sun has been very hot. Perhaps for you it\nhas dried the roads.\u201d\n\nSo we climbed the steep grade, ran along a level strip, then a steeper\ngrade to the Inn of the Good Samaritan where Arab traders and men of the\ncaravans stop for coffee. There was a tank in the yard where one could\nbuy gasoline!\n\nThe road before us was down grade now, and the driver more than lived up\nto his reputation. Once Jamil turned to show us a Mohammedan mosque in\nruins in a desolate spot high up in the hills and again to point out a\ntomb. \u201cIt is the tomb of Moses by the word of the Mohammedans,\u201d he said;\n\u201cbut we do not believe it, for no man knoweth where God hath buried him.\nHe never came into the land so we shall not believe it.\u201d\n\nNeither of us who took it will ever forget that ride through the\nWilderness. There was no road. Two deep ruts here and there marked our\nway. We wound through soft ooze turning now into the rut, now out again.\nOn every side were hillocks of soft gray sand. \u201cThis is a good place to\nride the donkey\u2019s back,\u201d said Jamil as we bounced up and down in the\ncar, but he smiled. We told him we had motored to Germany over the\nshell-torn roads fording the bridgeless streams and this seemed very\nsimple. Three miles of it and we were on a rough road close by the Dead\nSea.\n\nIt lay still and calm, a blue gray thing crossed here and there by\nribbons of silver where the sun glistened upon it. I should have said it\nhad no motion but for the tiny little ripples that broke on the pebbly\nbeach made frosty with salt deposit. A thousand feet and more below the\nMediterranean it lay there. Sitting beside it we were lower than any\nsubmarine has ever been. The city of Jerusalem is two thousand five\nhundred feet above the level of the sea so our descent had been over\nthirty-five hundred feet since morning. It was very warm. Though the\ngreat body of water lay there now so still, Jamil told us that when the\nTurks were using it to transport supplies, fierce storms swept over it,\nthunder roared in the hills and over the plains, and giant waves dashed\nupon the smooth shore. We looked across the fourteen miles of sea to the\nplateau in the hills of Moab and knew that there was no living thing in\nit nor on its whole great stretch of fifty miles! Hungrily it swallows\nup the rivers and the tiny streams, the Jordan alone pouring millions of\ngallons into it every day, but never, never does it send out even a tiny\nstreamlet. It grants no answer to the plea of the thirsty land that\nseems to reach down into it hopefully. We put our hands into the water\nfour times as heavy as the Atlantic and they were covered with an oily\nsalty deposit that would not come off until we had scrubbed with hot\nwater. Suddenly we heard a sound\u2014the bleating of a sheep. It was so\nwelcome in that dead silence! Beyond the bend in the shoreline was a\ntiny house with children and the sheep!\n\nWe walked slowly along over the smooth gaily colored little pebbles to\nthe spot, half a mile beyond, where the car was waiting. But we turned\nto look back again and again. The great silent sea held for us the awful\nfascination of _death_.\n\nThere was a road of a sort across the plain to the Jordan. When the\nriver is in flood this plain is covered inches deep with ooze, rank\nvegetable growths spring up, the brown bushes are green, clouds of\nmosquitoes, scorpions, vipers and all manner of crawling things make\ntheir home here for a season; but now there were only long cracks that\ncrossed and recrossed in the dried mud. Twice our wheels spun round in\npockets of soft gray clay, but small thick boards, a spade and dry sand\nhelped us out. A turn and we could see the river!\n\nTo one who has never studied the geography of Palestine or to whom books\nof travel are strangers, that first sight of the Jordan must bring far\ngreater disappointment than to one in a way prepared for the dark, muddy\nstream whose swift current hurries on ceaselessly, gathering silt as it\ngoes. Within its normal banks it is such a narrow stream! We stopped for\na moment in the house where sweet Turkish coffee and oranges were served\nus and where the boats used by fishermen and by tourists who like to row\nacross to touch the land of Moab lay moored to a tiny wharf. The banks\nwere steep here and soft willows bent over them. We sat down in the\nlittle boat that swung lazily at its moorings. It seemed the strangest\nand the most wonderful of rivers, this little muddy stream! Over it the\ngreat hosts of Israel passed; along its banks John, coming out of the\ndesert, preached the kingdom of heaven to the multitude; and here came\neven Jesus Himself to be baptized in the waters His presence made\nsacred. We dipped our bottles carefully into the stream and filled them\nwith water as all pilgrims do. We listened to the stories of the feast\ndays when pilgrims come down to the river to worship there; we read the\nstory of Naaman and understood why the proud leper of the king\u2019s court,\neven at the command of the stern prophet, hesitated to bathe in its\nwaters. We lived in another day. Proud armies marched over the plain\ntoward Jericho and we could almost hear Joshua\u2019s ringing commands. We\nwere brought back to our own day suddenly by the sound of a voice, a\nvery American voice, singing in the distance, \u201cRoll, Jordan, Roll.\u201d We\nlooked at each other in amazement. After a moment\u2019s silence the voice\nrang out again, nearer now:\n\n               \u201cSome day I\u2019m going to murder the bugler!\n               Some day you\u2019re going to find him dead!\n               I\u2019ll amputate his reveille\n               And stamp upon it heavily,\n               And spend the rest of my life in bed.\u201d\n\nWe climbed out of the boat and up the bank. A man in the early thirties\nstood there with a sapling, root and all, in his hand. He was an\nAmerican working with the British under a commission for reforestation.\nHe was most enthusiastic over his work and painted for us a wonderful\npicture of the hills, now bare and desolate, and the banks of the river,\nwith the low scrubby growth, transformed some future day into valuable\nfruit and olive orchards, irrigated pastures, great stretches of light\ntimberland. Jamil shook his head. \u201cThere is much talk these days about\nthe changes that are coming to this land, but we shall see\u2014we shall see\nand _then_ we shall believe,\u201d he said. Our friend went into the little\nhouse for food and rest and we stood in silence watching the stream\nwhich artists for centuries have painted, the river which has always\nstood for separation, under whose spell poets have written their sad\nhymns\u2014watched it rushing on pouring more and more water into the Sea\nthat is _Dead_.\n\nThe dunes, yellow and gray, between which we rode on to Jericho were\nround as though a giant hand had played with them, smoothed them over,\nand left them there. Twice we passed low stone houses with cisterns of\nwater cut in deep rock hidden below the surface, and there were oranges\nand green things in the garden in the midst of the desert. It was cooler\nand the air was soft and balmy. The walls of Jericho\u2014City of\nPalms\u2014though now there are none, had indeed fallen, but there was no\nfear upon the faces of the people. The once mighty city is now but an\nordinary village of lower class Arabs, with a supply station, a few\nshops, and the hotel where British officers live. Traces of recent\nbattle over the very ground where the men of Joshua had routed the\nancient enemy were all about us. The story of the taking of Jericho from\nthe Turks by British troops when the river at its flood had to be\nbridged by boats and the temperature ran to 120\u00b0 and more, is as\nthrilling, as fascinating, and as triumphant as that of Joshua himself.\n\nPassing through the center of the town, we came to the orange groves.\nThe air was fragrant with the perfume of thousands of jonquils growing\nwild along the edges of the irrigated section. The children offered two\nhuge bunches for sale and we rejoiced in them. Our driver took twenty\nbunches for a friend to sell in Jerusalem. He tucked them away neatly in\nthe folded top of the car. We bought delicious oranges and our machine\nbecame a chariot of delight. We went out to Elijah\u2019s Spring, whose\nwaters, made sweet and wholesome by the prophet, were responsible for\nthe luxuriant flowers and delicious fruit, past the home of Rahab who\nhad saved the spies in Joshua\u2019s day, stopping for a moment at the spot\nwhere the sycamore tree had sheltered the rich publican Zacch\u00e6us when he\ndetermined to see Jesus. It was easy to imagine the consternation that\nfilled the city when it became known that Jesus had commanded him to\ncome down because He would be a guest in his house that day\u2014the house of\na _publican_. It was on this road, too, that Bartim\u00e6us met Jesus and,\ndespite the demand of the multitude that he be quiet, continued to cry\naloud until the Healer saw him, opened his eyes and set his soul on fire\nwith gratitude. How close the multitude must have pressed in those\nnarrow streets, as driven by curiosity and longing for help, they\nfollowed Him! How often the body and soul of the Master must have cried\nout for the shelter of the mountain, the stillness of that waiting\ndesert where in the night God could come very near with a new message\nand new strength for the coming day! It was at times like these, when\nhalf carelessly they pointed out to us the spots where on common days\nJesus passed by, changing forever the lives that He touched, that we\nloved Him.\n\nThe sun was creeping on toward the horizon. We must turn back toward\nJerusalem. Every foot of the road the driver assured us he knew. He\nwould leave us in the Inn with the guide if we wished and send for us\nearly in the morning, but he would get back to Jerusalem. So would we\nand he was content. He got all possible speed out of the car. It must\nclimb back over those thirty-five hundred feet we had come down such a\nshort time since.\n\nWe stopped a moment to peer at the lonely monastery where monks still\nlive on the Mount of Temptation and pray daily for all who are tempted.\nThe road which had been so lonely in the morning was stirring with life.\nGroups of Arabs on horses and little swift-footed donkeys moved aside to\nlet us pass. Twice at a signal from a man riding ahead on horseback we\nstopped to let a great caravan pass us. The leading camels wore gorgeous\ntrappings and tinkling bells. Once a camel without cargo, following in\ndignified fashion behind two others, stood perfectly still, trembled,\nthen turned and ran ahead of us. We were amazed to see how swiftly he\nran. In vain the rider of the other camel shouted and called. Had it not\nbeen for a friendly companion, who, coming down the hill, drove his own\ncamel straight across the path, spoke soothingly to the great beast\nwhile a man on a donkey grasped his chain, he might have led us a chase\nall the way to Jerusalem. They did not attempt to take their prisoner\npast us in the road but turned off into a deep defile. When we looked\nback from the hilltop they were again on the road moving on toward\nJericho. But most of the camels bearing their burdens merely sniffed and\npassed us by in scorn.\n\nIt grew very cold as we reached the heights and the discarded robes and\ncoats were welcome. We could see shepherds and sheep seeking places of\nshelter. Sometimes we caught glimpses of herds of goats reluctantly\nfollowing or plunging ahead silhouetted against a soft violet sky. The\nsun set calmly and we missed the blazing glory. Suddenly it was night.\nWe were glad to be well past the scene of our morning\u2019s mishap and\nnearing Jerusalem. When we stopped at the door of the hotel, Jamil gave\na sigh of relief. \u201cWe have had a wonderful day,\u201d we said. \u201cWe have had a\nday of miracles,\u201d was his answer in a solemn, devout tone. Both he and\nthe driver were most happy a moment later when they received their extra\nfee.\n\nDinner was over for most of the guests, but we were given a warm corner\nand more food than it would be possible to eat in many meals. We found\nthat the entire hotel had joined in Jamil\u2019s sigh of relief when we\nreturned. There was a snapping wood fire in the little stove and hot\nwater bottles that made the great curtained beds seem more inviting. The\nmaid wished us \u201csleep without dreaming.\u201d\n\nBut for a long time, lying there in the darkness, I dreamed with my eyes\nwide open. Dreamed of the forty years wandering in the wilderness while\none generation passed and a new one was born. Dreamed of the kings and\nthe prophets, of David hunted like a wild thing through the desolate\nhills and caves, of captives marching across the sands to Babylon.\nDreamed of the Man who, with weary feet, in the heat and the dust\n_walked_ about the Jordan Valley, through Jericho, walked up the long,\nlong hills even to Jerusalem with men and women following, always\n_seeking_, only a few sharing. Dreamed of the demand that He made upon\nall who did have the courage to share\u2014that they love God\u2014and the\nchallenge that they love their fellow men as He loved them, ... dreamed\nof the day when the challenge would be answered and the other man\u2019s\nwelfare would become each man\u2019s passion.\n\n\n\n\n                            I GO TO BETHANY\n\n\n           _I tell you when I looked upon these fields,\n           And stony valleys,\u2014through the purple veil\n           Of twilight, or what time the Orient sun\n           Made shining jewels of the barren rocks,\u2014\n           Something within me trembled; for I said:\n           This picture once was mirrored in His eyes;\n           This sky, that lake, those hills, this loveliness,\n           To Him familiar were; this is the way\n           To Bethany._\n                           \u2014_Richard Watson Gilder._\n\n\n\n\n                            I GO TO BETHANY\n\n\nOne afternoon when we were driving about the busy semi-modern streets\nthat lie outside the walls of Jerusalem we suggested to Jamil, our\nguide, that some afternoon we walk to Bethany. He answered briefly that\nit was too far and turned to call our attention to the well-equipped\npostoffice, the modern looking shops, the Italian hospital, the\nwell-built hospices of the French, Italians and Russians which before\nthe war were thronged at the feasts with devout pilgrims. There was an\natmosphere of western life about the outer city. Signs over some of the\nshops looked amazingly like New York\u2019s East Side. Books, pictures and\nmaps, school supplies, men and boys\u2019 clothing of every sort, girls and\nwomen on the streets dressed in European fashion, together with Cairo\npapers in French and English, helped us to see the trend of the new,\ngrowing city without the walls. The streets were wide and well kept. The\nchurch of St. George was an artistic, beautiful reminder of the reason\nwhy the word of the capture of the Holy City had been received with\nsolemn joy in every English household. We passed the dignified Damascus\nGate and the Sheep Gate before which camels knelt grunting and little\ngroups of sheep huddled close each around its shepherd; lorries passed\nus on the road, then a motor taking General Storrs to confer with the\nHigh Commissioner on important business. We stopped to visit the British\nHigh School for girls, doing its work against great odds in a former\nGerman orphanage poorly equipped for school work. The girls of twelve\nnationalities with most excellent _\u00e9sprit de corps_ were studying there;\nthe principal, a real educator, formerly head of the girls\u2019 school at\nBeirut had wise, far-seeing plans for the future of the school and,\nthrough it, for the welfare of the city. As I listened to them I wished\nthat my purse were well filled that I might make some of them possible\nnow in the day of crisis when the whole future of Palestine is in the\nmaking. Surely there are new paths through old Palestine.\n\nWhen we again entered the city through the Jaffa Gate it seemed\ncenturies older than when we had left it, so great was the contrast\nbetween the air, sunshine, and breathing spaces outside the walls and\nthe narrow, dark, and crowded little cobble-stoned alleys, shared by man\nand beast, where no full ray of sun ever shines. Only the flat roofs of\nthe houses save the people within the city from life in a semi-dungeon.\nIt was this plunge back into the city of age-old days and deeds that\nmade us long the more to walk leisurely to Bethany and so, on Saturday\nnight, we told Jamil we should not need him until Monday morning at\nnine.\n\nWe left the city just after noon on Sunday by St. Stephen\u2019s Gate,\nstopping reverently for a few moments close by the steep hillside to\nthink of the brave words of the young martyr as he looked into the hard\nfaces of his accusers and his wonderful address, recalling to them each\nstep of their history and the reason for each great defeat. We\nremembered the daring words: \u201cWhich of the prophets have not your\nfathers persecuted? and they have slain them which showed before of the\ncoming of the Just One; of whom you have been now the betrayers and\nmurderers: who have received the law by the disposition of angels, and\nhave not kept it.\u201d In fierce anger they ground their teeth and hissed\ntheir reproaches at him. But he did not even see them. Suddenly, looking\nup to heaven, they heard him saying, \u201cBehold, I see the heavens opened\nand the Son of Man on the right hand of God.\u201d It was enough. Seizing\nhim, they rushed him through the narrow street and cast him out of the\ncity. They laid their garments at the feet of a keen young man named\nSaul, who watched with approval as they hurled down upon their helpless,\nsuffering victim the jagged stones of the hillside. But above the noise\nof their mutterings of revenge the young man Saul heard the words of\nprayer: \u201cLord Jesus, receive my spirit.\u201d And again, \u201cLord, lay not their\nsin to their charge.\u201d And Stephen died\u2014but Saul never forgot.\n\nFrom St. Stephen\u2019s Gate the smooth, broad road makes a steep descent\ndown to the valley of the brook Kedron, then it climbs again around the\nshoulder of Olivet, where we stopped to look back at the city with the\ndome of the mosque of Omar glistening in the sun. The air was clear and\nthe hills, with the light, shifting clouds above them, changed color\nevery moment. Jamil had told us that the hills about Jerusalem bore\nalways \u201ca luxuriant crop of stones\u201d and his words seemed true indeed, a\ncrop made even more abundant by the heavy shell-fire of the months past.\nStill, in little square patches between the ridges, men were plowing.\nOne plowman had a thin, patient ox and a donkey together under what\nseemed a heavy yoke. Here and there thick vines leaned against sunny\nwalls as in the days when Jesus used them for the text of His great\nsermon \u201cI\u2014the vine: ye\u2014the branches. Without me, ye can do nothing.\u201d\n\nIt was when we walked out a little from the main road to Bethany to look\nover into a deep valley that we saw a carpenter at work in his sunny\nyard, making yokes for the oxen. He worked deftly with his clumsy tools\nat his primitive bench. The court-yard was swept clean, save for the\ncorner where the shavings fell. There were green things growing in a\ngarden. After a moment a woman appeared in the doorway. She looked\ncuriously at us but answered our smile. \u201cIng-leesh?\u201d she queried. We\nshook our heads. \u201cAmerican,\u201d we said very distinctly. The man at the\nbench turned quickly. A shower of words in the Hebrew tongue and a\nmotion to wait answered us. The woman hurried into the house and was\nback in a moment with a photograph in her hand\u2014a man, a woman, two\nchildren. The photograph was taken in _New York_! She pointed proudly to\nthe word. As we were about to leave, being limited to conversation by\nmeans of nods, smiles and gestures only, a boy came from the rear of the\nhouse. He had great, dark, dreamy eyes, his head was a mass of thick\ncurls, in his hands he had two irregular blocks of wood which he gave to\nhis father. He smiled at us shyly, but turned to look again with frank\ninterest and curiosity when his mother repeated the word American.\n\nIt was hard to tear ourselves away from this picture of the carpenter\nwith his little son and the mother at the door, but there was no excuse\nfor lingering. We could only hope that this young son of a carpenter\nmight sometime know the story of that other Son, of whose early days in\nthe village of Nazareth he served so forcibly to remind us.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  It was here that He came to talk with one who seemed to understand\u2014and\n    there were so few.]\n\nIt is not a long walk to Bethany, a little over four miles they told us,\nand we soon saw the low gray stone houses with their roofs of mud not\nfar ahead. As we approached the village, a veritable host of children\nrushed to meet us, calling, with a score of accents, words supposed to\nbe English. At first we covered our ears then motioned to one child to\nspeak. We learned that they were offering their services as guides. The\nmoment we appeared to understand, the babel began again. \u201cMary and\nMartha,\u201d they called. \u201cSimon-Lazarus, I will show.\u201d When we spoke they\nlistened, but only for a moment. \u201cYou cannot all be our guides,\u201d I said.\n\u201cIf you all follow we will go back to Jerusalem and no one will have\n_back-sheesh_\u2014not one. We shall not look at the house of Mary and\nMartha.\u201d The tallest among them, a lad of fourteen, he told me\nafterward, evidently repeated our words and he emphasized them with a\nflourish of a stout cane which he carried. He showed us a soiled card\nwith a name written upon it which he said was his. We chose him and one\nother guide, a little girl of six who had pointed to herself proudly,\nsaying, \u201cI know\u2014I know, Mary\u2014Martha\u2014Lazarus.\u201d At a word from a villager\npassing on his donkey the children scattered and it was a great relief.\n\nOur young guide knew the method perfectly. Driving the dogs out of the\nway with his cane, he led us up a steep path to the house of a man who\nwas a dwarf, badly crippled. He was to take us to the tomb of Lazarus\nwhich he did, when we had paid the piastres he asked. He insisted upon\ntelling us the story before we went down the long winding stone steps\nworn smooth by the passing of men\u2019s feet for centuries. He told it in\nvery graphic fashion. We had only the dripping candles to light our way.\nFollowing him, we could hear his call at each turn, \u201cHave care! Have\ncare!\u201d We decided not to make the entire descent of sixty steps but\ncontented ourselves with looking down from the fortieth step into the\nblack pit below. The air and sunshine were most welcome when we climbed\nback and, giving more piastres for the shepherds\u2019 slings the old dwarf\ntook from his pocket, we left him happy. We stood for a few moments at\nthe entrance to the tomb, thinking of all that spot had meant in the\ncenturies since it was recorded that, in warm human sympathy with the\nsuffering sisters, \u201cJesus wept.\u201d\n\nWe stood a long time on the wall of the ruins that covered the spot\nwhere the home of the three friends of Jesus had stood. It looked out\nover the valley on one side and toward Jerusalem on the other. Our\nguides, big and little, sat down on the stones and were silent. Nowhere\nin our journeys through Palestine did we trouble our souls over the\narguments of men as to exact spots and identical places. If not to the\nplace of this ruined wall, then to some spot near by Jesus came. Came to\nreceive rest for His body and comfort for His soul. Came to forget for\nthe moment Jerusalem with its noise and confusion, its need and its\nhate. Came to talk with one who seemed to understand and sympathize\u2014and\nthere were so few. What it would mean to us today if we could know the\nmany things about which Jesus talked that have never been recorded for\nus! We remembered that it was from Bethany over the hills through which\nwe had come that Jesus made his way to Jerusalem on the day when He\nfound the colt and rode triumphantly through the streets to the temple,\namidst the shouted hosannas and waving palms that filled the Pharisees\nwith jealous anger. It was here that he may have spent the nights of\nthat last crowded week until the night of the Supper when he sought the\nGarden. One could feel, standing there looking toward Jerusalem,\nsomething of the agonizing sorrow that swept over that household when\nthey learned of the trial that was a mockery of justice and the\ncondemnation of their beloved friend to death on a cross.\n\nWhen we were ready to leave, the young guide asked if we would like to\ngo into one of the houses and see the upper room where a guest may\nsleep. We hesitated to walk in this fashion into a home but he explained\nthat we were sure of a welcome and a little _back-sheesh_ would pay.\n\nThe upper room was a dean and quiet spot. There were small woven rugs, a\ncot with handmade covers spread over it. A bed roll stood in the corner.\nThere was a heavy metal basin for washing and two lamps, ages old,\nfilled with oil. The window was open toward the road that leads to\nJericho. It was a place where one might rest his soul. \u201cMany guests came\nto this room before the war,\u201d said the boy, \u201cthe family is large. Some\nlive far away in Damascus. They come for the feasts. But not since the\nwar\u2014there is not money and some have died.\u201d The _back-sheesh_ was\naccepted gratefully with many words of thanks by the two women below\u2014one\nvery young with a baby in her arms.\n\nOur next stop was at the spot where once had stood the home of Simon the\nleper where a woman did the Great Teacher high honor as she broke her\nvery precious box of alabaster and, in an abandonment of love and\ngratitude, poured the fragrant perfume over His head. We could hear the\npetulant voices of those who complained because the ointment had not\nbeen sold for a good price and the money given to the poor. But Jesus\nunderstood.\n\n\u201cThis is all for Bethany,\u201d said the guide of fourteen years. \u201cIt is not\nlarge and it is poor.\u201d We did not need his words to make us realize it.\nThe little girl who had called herself _guide_ so proudly had not spoken\na word, but, as she had climbed over the steep places, had waited\npatiently, had listened intently to the boy, and had given us at every\nturn a smile which we remembered for many a day, she had earned her fee.\nWhen she received it she ran madly toward a house near by and\ndisappeared. The boy walked with us courteously to the edge of the\nvillage. In response to our query as to where he had learned English he\nsaid, \u201cOff a merchant I worked for since I was six. He lives just\noutside the city.\u201d The \u201coff\u201d with which he began his sentence sounded as\nthough the merchant might at one time have lived in America.\n\nAt the outskirts of the village, where we had met them as we entered,\nwere the children. They ran beside us shrieking \u201c_back-sheesh_\u201d and\nholding out their very dirty little hands. We shook our heads\nvehemently. It meant nothing. Then we stopped and reminded them that we\nhad paid our two guides and all the people who had helped us, but that\nthey had done nothing for us. \u201cWe are poor,\u201d said a girl with a baby in\nher arms as though that were reason enough for her demand. I shall never\nforget the thin face, the piercing black eyes of a boy, perhaps ten.\n\u201cAmerica rich,\u201d he said, \u201cplendy, plendy, _plendy_ money.\u201d There was the\ndeepest reproof in his voice.\n\n\u201cSome people are _very_ poor,\u201d I said, \u201cthe children cry for bread. In\nthe winter they are very cold. There are many very poor people in\nAmerica.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said the boy stoutly, and I saw that he did not believe me, but he\nrepeated what I had said to the others. It was very hard to refrain from\ngiving them money, but we remembered the request that we should not help\nto train a new generation of beggars and steeled our hearts. When we\nstarted on again a few accompanied us but we paid no attention and one\nby one they dropped out, having followed us almost a mile. Some said\ngood-bye cheerfully, others made gestures of disgust. One lone lad still\nwalked patiently beside us. He had great hollows under his eyes and, now\nthat we could see him separated from the others, we noticed how very\nthin and pale he was, how ragged and dirty. In his arms he carried a\nbaby whose eyes were in a pitiable condition, one so swollen that it was\nentirely closed. He said faintly in a weak, tired voice,\n\u201c_back-sheesh\u2014back-sheesh_\u201d over and over. He looked as though in dogged\ndetermination he would follow us back to the city gates. Unable to\nresist the pleading we yielded, gave him some coins, watched the light\ncome into his eyes, saw him turn and make his way slowly back\u2014one of\nthese little ones who so easily perish while waiting for the coming of\nthe kingdom of God\u2014the kingdom that Jesus said was _theirs_. It may be\nthat the school now being opened in the little village will help to\nbring them their rights.\n\nWhen we told Jamil next day of the children he said, \u201cAh, that is why\nyou should have me! The guide saves you. You should not go alone, and\nwalking you cannot get away.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere are the parents of these children,\u201d we asked.\n\n\u201cPoor,\u201d he said slowly, \u201cvery, very poor. Always poor and the war has\nmade it very hard. It will be better now, but they have learned bad\nhabits.\u201d\n\nA turn in the road and the village was entirely out of sight. We\novertook a flock of sheep and for a time walked slowly behind them. The\nbleating of the lambs who seemed weary sounded like the voices of the\nchildren. The shepherd turned into a narrow path between the hills,\ncalled in clear, urging cadences, and the sheep followed him. We climbed\nup from the road and sat on the rocks under gnarled old trees. A tower\non the mount of Olives stood out clear against the sky. We read aloud of\nthe Holy City from the words of the prophets and the Psalms of David.\n\nNight would soon steal down over the valleys, so reluctantly we moved on\npast a cluster of tiny stone houses, past the cemetery of the Hebrews,\nwhen, flying up the hill at reckless speed, shaking us rudely back from\nthe past into the present, came a motor rushing toward Bethany. Bethany\nthat seemed to be out of the world of motors! It was the doctor\u2019s car\nfrom the hospital, they told us when we described it. Just before the\nroad drops abruptly into the valley we stopped to look again at the\nCity. There was always something strangely gripping in the sight. The\nwords of Jesus wrung from Him as, in deep compassion that was agony, He\nlooked at the City, feeling the weight of its sin, its pain, its need,\ncame back to us\u2014\u201cO, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, that killeth the prophets and\nstoneth them that are sent unto her! how often would I have gathered thy\nchildren together even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings,\nand ye would not!\u201d We hurried on through St. Stephen\u2019s Gate.\n\nOn the hills it was light but in the narrow streets with their gateways\nand buttresses it was quite dark. We took out our faithful flashlights,\nand with our canes to help over the shadowed steps went rapidly up to\nthe hotel that stood as a strong and sheltering friend in the faint glow\nthat still lingered in the western sky.\n\n\u201cNot much in Bethany,\u201d they said to us at the desk as they had said of\nBethlehem. \u201cToo far to walk for the few stone houses and the ruins.\u201d\n\nHow could they know what we saw in Bethany? How could they know the\noverwhelming sympathy that surged in upon us as we stood on the walls of\n\u201cthe house of Mary and Martha,\u201d looked upon the hills and valleys He saw\nin their purpling shadows, thought how much harder the friendship and\nfellowship of that home must have made it to remain true to the message\nthat was to take Him to Jerusalem to die, thought of the short day of\ntriumph, waving palms and lavish praise, thought of his youth and his\nglorious undaunted soul!\n\nNo, they did not know what we saw in Bethany.\n\n\n\n\n                    I GO OUT TO THE MOUNT OF OLIVES\n\n\n             _He turneth a wilderness into a pool of water,\n               And a dry land into watersprings\n             And there he maketh the hungry to dwell,\n             That they may prepare a city for habitation,\n             And sow fields and plant vineyards._\n\n\n  _Instead of the thorn shall come up the figtree; and instead of the\n  briar shall come up the myrtle tree: and it shall be to Jehovah for\n  a name, for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off._\n\n  _The latter glory of this place shall be greater than the former,\n  and in this place will I give peace, saith Jehovah._\n\n                                                         \u2014_The Bible._\n\n\n\n\n                    I GO OUT TO THE MOUNT OF OLIVES\n\n\nBefore we met our carriage at the Damascus Gate to ride out to the\nfarthest point on the Mount of Olives we walked through David Street to\nthe Wailing Place of the Jews. Every book we had studied warned us of\nthe unspeakable condition of the narrow filthy streets in this Jewish\nquarter of Jerusalem the Golden. But they were all written before\nBritish arms had captured the Holy City and, even in these short months,\nmade it in so many ways a new Jerusalem. In the windows of the shops we\nhad seen the quaint pictures of the water-carrier with his leather bag,\nbut not one had we seen in the streets of the city. The menace of the\nwater bag with its myriad germs is already a thing of the past. For the\nfirst time in all its long history, under rulers of many great faiths\nand names, the City has water, plenty of water, fresh, clear, safe. What\nthat simple statement means can be appreciated only by those who know by\nexperience what a priceless boon water is to cities that have little.\nOne could change the whole record and history of Oriental cities with\nwater systems!\n\nWhen the history of Palestine in the war is fully recorded, one of the\nmost thrilling chapters will be written about the lead pipes now\nstanding boldly in the city streets two feet above the ground, capped by\nvery modern shining faucets. The girls and women who come to them with\ntheir water jars beamed with joy as they watched the silver stream\npouring out in the sun. For four hundred years the Turks ruled in\nJerusalem and in all that time no attempt was made to establish a water\nsystem although more than once the inhabitants were taxed with the\npromise of water that was some day to come. In a little over two months\nthe British engineers had brought running water into every street of the\ncity. New paths are so rapidly making their way through old Palestine!\n\nFor its water Jerusalem had depended upon winter rains to fill its great\ncisterns. The houses had underground reservoirs, some of which had not\nbeen cleaned in more than twenty years. At the Mosque of Omar was a\nlarge reservoir where the water from the springs about Solomon\u2019s Pools\nflowed down through a great aqueduct built by the Romans when Herod\nruled over the Jews. The searching engineers had found springs in the\nhills with fresh, pure water running to waste and, at the rate of\nfourteen thousand gallons an hour, it is now pumped up to the top of a\nhigh hill, run by gravity down through a long pipe-line to a great\nreservoir that has been built and carefully protected on the outskirts\nof the city. Direct lines take this pure water to the hospitals and into\nthe city streets. Despite the shrinking of the population, caused by the\nevacuation of the Turk, more than ten times as much water has been used\nas in previous years, which silences the oft-repeated statement that the\npeople would not appreciate the water if they had it. We were interested\nto learn that some of the pipes had been sent to Egypt to be forwarded\nfor use in Palestine by the American Red Cross Commission after we\nentered the war. But the Commission found that the need for water which\nwe had anticipated had been practically answered by the Royal Engineers.\n\nOne is deeply impressed by the change in the record of contagious\ndiseases. The reduction in cholera, smallpox, typhoid, and typhus is\nremarkable. Even under the sound of booming guns, children\u2019s welfare\nbureaus were organized, lessons in health given, nurses trained and\nkitchens opened to provide food for the babies, the sick and the old.\nThe workers of the American Red Cross deserve and receive full gratitude\nfor their enthusiastic and intelligent work in and about the City in\nthose days immediately following its surrender.\n\nThe people on David Street seemed to have lost something of the fear\nthat writers of the past saw in their haunted faces. It may be the fact\nthat now they are free. The old-time pressure and petty persecution by\ncorrupt officials is past. The Turkish prison no longer yawns\nthreateningly. A trader may go unmolested about his work. The heavy\ntaxation demanded in the past by a succession of officers, from the\nleast to the greatest, has disappeared. Contentment not known for untold\ngenerations reigns in humble homes.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  From the brow of the Mount of Olives where they lay sleeping under\n    white crosses\u2014these also \u201cfling to us the torch.\u201d]\n\nIt may be for this reason that on both occasions of our visit to the\nWailing Place there were but few present and they were old men, old\nwomen, and some very young children. Young manhood was not there, it was\nhard at work. Many of the older boys and girls were in school. The\nleader of the group chanting the Lamentations that morning was an old\nwhite-haired patriarch with eyes of fire. He was the only one of the\ngroup that did not interrupt his wailing to look at us. One tall,\nstrong, impressive specimen of womanhood moved along the line to quiet\nsome women whose wailing had become a piercing shriek or to straighten\nout a child who irreverently chased a playmate up and down the path. The\nguide said that her name was Miriam and that she had a son with much\nmoney in England. Erect and fine, forceful and devout, she reminded us\nof that other Miriam who led her people to victory. Here and there one\nsaw women\u2019s strong faces stained with tears and marked with suffering.\nThey leaned against the foundation stones of the old Temple area in an\nabandonment of emotion and sorrow. Near the end of the line was a very\nold man leaning tremblingly upon his staff. Jamil said that he was\nrepeating one phrase over and over. \u201cO God, the heathen are come into\nthine inheritance!\u201d His voice was bitter and full of anguish. A great\nwave of pity swept over us for these and all they have suffered, and yet\nsurvived. Against those massive walls of the past, Babylonian, Assyrian,\nand Egyptian had hurled their hosts and battered them to earth. They had\nrisen again only to meet the Roman and the Saracen, the brave Crusader\nand the unspeakable Turk until in very truth they lay \u201cin heaps.\u201d Piled\none above another, the various cities lie waiting until the hammer and\nspade of the excavator shall open up all their secrets for us. Buried\ndeep down in the earth is that early city of the Jebusites, over it the\nglorious city of Solomon, the city heroically brought again into being\nby Nehemiah, the city of Herod which Titus hammered into ruins and\nHadrian rebuilt, above it the city of the Saracens built after their\nwave of conquest, the city of the Crusaders, and now the city of the\nTurks, standing boldly above the ruins of the long past. It stands, the\nprotected property of a new conqueror who loves it, whose army chose the\nhardest road to victory to save it from the marks of war, whose people\nhave come into it with knowledge that they may overcome its ignorance, a\nconqueror who bears no malice, who is tolerant of the Jew and the\nMohammedan though he worships at the Cross which they hate.\n\nAs if reading our thoughts, the guide said quietly, \u201cSome day it will be\nonly the wall for the wailing that we shall see. There will be no more\nneed for wailing, and the children will forget. So the young prophets\namong the Jews say in the markets. We shall see.\u201d\n\nWe walked through a section of the Temple area and out past the Austrian\nHospice through the Damascus Gate where, according to agreement, the\ncarriage waited.\n\nThe road out to the spot where the Mount of Olives drops abruptly to the\nplain has been repaired, stray shell holes filled in and a large section\nof new road built since that wonderful day when the last line of Turks\nwere driven from the position they thought secure. The air was as clear\nas an October day at home and the shining city \u201ccompact together\u201d seemed\nsubstantial and strong. It was along the high ridge of Olivet that, in\nthe pressure of the days when relief workers toiled twelve and fifteen\nhours without respite, they came to renew their strength. In the home of\nthe Greek Patriarch more than one strong soul, overcome for the moment\nby the ceaseless stream of dirty, hopeless, despairing human things that\nhe must strive to save from the wreckage of war, found, in the white\nmoonlight sifting down over the hill, in the kindly stars, in the\nsilence and in sacred memories, courage to attempt again tasks that had\nbeen called impossible.\n\nWe had been gazing so steadily at the city that when the driver suddenly\nstopped we turned in surprise. There on a gently sloping stretch of\nground, close to the road at the left, stood row after row of crosses\nover the resting places of Scot and Londoner, Welshman and Irishman,\nIndian and Anzac who had paid for the Holy City with his life. On some\nof the crosses fresh green garlands were hanging, and on one a wreath\nwith English holly.\n\nWe got down from our carriage and walked slowly along, looking now at\nthe crosses and now at the place where in agony of soul Christ had\nprayed for the strength to meet the test of Calvary that has made the\nCross forever the symbol which shall mark the spots on earth most sacred\nto us. These lying out on the hillside had also been to Calvary.\n\nA little farther on in the road we passed men in the British uniform.\nThey had survived the terrible test of those wind-swept hills with the\nrain falling in torrents, the benumbing cold, the soft, thick, gray mud,\nthe night in the open with no shelter save a little wall of stones built\nup with care only to be blown over by a sudden vicious blast, with\nlittle food and only the ammunition that could reach them on the backs\nof the pack donkeys. It was through this they had won that peaceful city\nlying contentedly there in the sun, even the shining dome of its\nMohammedan Mosque unharmed.\n\nThe German hospice, Kaiserin Augusta Victoria, lies out on this road. It\nis exceedingly well built and untouched by shell fire. Although the Turk\nutterly demolished the mosque of Nebi Samwill and shot away its stately\nminaret, he turned no gun on this that was German property. Even when\nhis airmen, flying over Olivet, knew that an enemy signal station had\nbeen set up in the garden of the hospice no shot fell upon it. \u201cThis\nhouse,\u201d said Jamil, \u201cis like a German castle on the inside. The tower\nwas built higher than any tower on the Mount, the trees set out with\ncare. The picture of the Saviour is painted in the chapel and the\npictures of the Kaiser and the Kaiserin are on the long wall. It was\ncommon talk at the beginning of the war that the Crown Prince should\nlive here when he became King in Palestine. Now it is the Headquarters\nfor the British Army.... It is the Will of God!\u201d he added solemnly after\na moment. We took a picture of the hospice with two British Tommies\nstanding at the gate.\n\nWe had to leave our carriage and walk to the point where the Greek\nChurch tower looks down over the stretch of rugged upland crossed by\nmany a wadi, over the walled-in level spaces where green things were\ngrowing, over the plains of the Jordan and the Dead Sea so blue in the\ndistance, away to the far mountains of Moab. It was a wonderful picture\nat which one could look for long hours and come back to enjoy again and\nagain. It was from this point of vantage that the relief workers watched\nthe taking of Jericho. In the grove we found the \u201chusks that swine did\neat,\u201d lying about on the ground. Jamil picked one of the long brown pods\nfrom the tree and under the pressure of his urging we tasted it. It was\nsweeter than sugar cane, nauseatingly sweet. It took no imagination to\nunderstand why one would accept it as food only as a last resort. In\nthis grove we found the hyssop which the women at the hospice use both\nas medicine and for the whitening of their clothes. In a sunny sheltered\nspot we found violets, although we were wearing our warmest wraps.\n\nJamil sat down on a stone to talk with a workman while we, wandering\nabout on the slopes of the hill, found a warm sheltered spot looking\ntoward Mount Moriah. In all the days that we were in Jerusalem we could\nnot fully sense the fact that the Christian was now free to visit all\nthe sacred places, that the Temple area was open to him, that he might\nenter the sacred Mosque of Omar which once it had been death to enter.\n_The Turk had gone!_ We took out the Book and read the old instructions\nfor the building of the Tabernacle, read the orders for the building of\nSolomon\u2019s temple and the majestic words of its dedication when at last\nthe building was finished:\u2014\u201cand Solomon stood before the Altar and\nsaid\u2014\u2018O Jehovah, God of Israel, there is no God like thee in heaven\nabove or on the earth beneath; who keepest covenants in loving kindness\nwith thy servants that walk before thee with all their hearts.... But\nwill God in very deed dwell on the earth? behold the heaven and the\nheaven of heavens cannot contain thee; how much less this house that I\nhave builded!... When thy people Israel are smitten down before the\nenemy because they have sinned against thee; if they turn again to thee\nand confess thy name and pray and make supplication unto thee in this\nhouse then hear thou in heaven and forgive thy people Israel and bring\nthem again unto the land which thou gavest to their fathers.\u2019\u201d Of\nSolomon\u2019s Temple scarce a vestige remains, yet Israel again is returning\nto the land of its fathers. We read of the visits of Jesus to the new\ntemple which, great as it was, had so little of the glory of the old.\nHow it must have thrilled Him, a little country boy from the village of\nNazareth, when He saw it for the first time at the great feast. He seems\nto have had no fear, as with all simplicity He pressed near to the great\ndoctors of learning, listening eagerly and asking keen questions, the\nkeenest questions that can be asked\u2014those that leap from the alert and\nhungry mind of a boy of twelve.\n\nAnd we read of that other day when He heard the quarrelings and\ncursings, saw the gross wickedness of the bargainings of the\nmoney-changers and those who bought and sold the sacrifices, and cried\naloud in words of burning denunciation, \u201cMy house shall be called of all\nnations the house of prayer but ye have made it a den of thieves!\u201d\n\nLittle wonder that the scribes and Pharisees looked aghast at the crowds\nthat pressed to hear as He taught daily in the temple, or that they\ndemanded by whose authority He did these things and asked each other\nhelplessly what they could do, since \u201cthe people were very attentive to\nHim,\u201d and \u201cthe whole world had gone after Him.\u201d In the temple courts how\nkeen were His answers to their clever questioning designed to condemn\nHim, so keen that after awhile none dared ask Him any more questions.\nYet when the teaching was over and, leaving the half-hostile,\nhalf-admiring crowd, He went out to the Mount of Olives to pray\u2014then He\nknew that He must die.\n\nIt all seemed very real as we sat looking down upon the City. So real\nthat we dreaded to read of the days before Him, of the hard way that the\nrulers of the synagogue, because of their jealous conservatism, the\ndesire to make their own places secure, the fear lest the people should\nfollow Him as prophet and leave them as priests, had already in their\nhearts condemned Him to go. So we closed the Book.\n\nLeaving the carriage again at the Damascus Gate we wandered back past\nthe convents, through Christian Street. The city was becoming a very\nlive thing to us. The children smiled at us as we passed through the\nnarrow arcade to our hotel. Oranges and dainty soft spring flowers from\nthe valley were in our room.\n\n\u201cI have lived thousands of years today,\u201d said my friend. \u201cI have been\nfighting all the battles from the days of King David to the days of King\nGeorge and I am weary.\u201d I smiled in sympathy, for one does not live in\ndays or years in Palestine but in centuries. The march of events over\nbroken cobblestones, past walls crumbling with age, catches one in its\nonward sweep and leaves him breathless as he hurries on from what has\nbeen to what is, and from what is to what is to be.\n\nWe took up our American mail. The steady tread of history\u2019s myriad\nmarchers halted for a moment. The clippings from the papers told us of\nthe wedding of a girl whom we love. Across the top of the clipping was\nwritten in the girl\u2019s own hand, \u201cUnspeakable happiness. The greatest day\nof my life!\u201d Names of guests, the most minute details as to flowers and\ngowns followed. In another clipping we read of the divorce of a girl we\nhad known in school. She had been married twenty years. I remembered the\naccount of her wedding. In the hall we heard laughter. Marie was\nlistening to the extravagant compliments of Alphonse. A letter from a\nboy of eleven asked for stamps from Egypt and Palestine. \u201cI want them\nmore than anything in the world,\u201d he wrote. The next letter brought a\nclipping making passing reference in six short lines to a critical\nmisunderstanding in the Far East. While we were reading it, a woman came\nto tell us a story of great sorrow and desperate need. The wild storm of\nhuman wrath and revenge that swept over Russia had left her, who had\nnever known anything but love, happiness and plenty, stranded, utterly\nalone, with not even a ruble of her vast estates.\n\nIt is a confusing world. Great events and small jostle each other along\nits highways. Wrapped securely about with affairs of self, old and young\nfail to see the momentous hours of human destiny as they pass\u2014pass so\nswiftly, to leave them on some future day dumb with surprise, aghast at\nthe significance of the things which, having eyes, they saw not and,\nhaving ears, they heard not. It is a most confusing and perplexing\nworld, but alas for him who does not love it, pity for him who does not\nbelieve in it, shame upon him who will not share the task of saving it.\n\nTomorrow would be Sunday and we would go to the Garden.\n\n\n\n\n                           I GO TO THE GARDEN\n\n\n               _Who fathoms the Eternal Thought?\n               Who talks of scheme and plan?\n               The Lord is God! He needeth not\n               The poor device of man._\n\n               _I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground\n               Ye tread with boldness shod;\n               I dare not fix with mete and bound\n               The Love and Power of God._\n\n               _Ye praise His Justice; even such\n               His pitying love I deem:\n               Ye seek a King; I fain would touch\n               The robe that hath no seam._\n\n               _Ye see the curse which overbroods\n               A world of pain and loss;\n               I hear our Lord\u2019s Beatitudes\n               His prayer upon the Cross._\n                               \u2014_John G. Whittier._\n\n\n\n\n                           I GO TO THE GARDEN\n\n\nLight clouds hung over the city that Sunday morning when we looked out\nat the tower of David, one of the oldest monuments of Jerusalem,\nstanding directly across the open space in front of our balcony. It\nstill looks the part it long played as a watch-tower and a place of\nrefuge and strong defense. The people call it the Citadel, and until the\ncoming of the British it served as a garrison for Turkish soldiers.\nDuring our first days in Jerusalem we had walked about Mount Zion, had\nread of the various controversies waged over exact locations, had gone\ninto the House of Caiaphas, the House of Annas, and had looked at the\nupper room. They may or may not have been the exact spots made tragic or\nsacred by that last week of the Great Life. It did not matter to us. The\nstone courtyards, the little chapels, the marks of Crusaders\u2019 crosses,\nthe burial stones made us conscious indeed of the triumphs and tragedies\nof men and nations that had written themselves from that hilltop into\nthe history of Palestine and so into the making of the world. It was\nvery easy, standing in that upper room, bare now save for an ancient\npicture, to imagine the long table, the couches, the reclining\ndisciples. One is almost overwhelmed as he realizes the effect of that\nsimple supper of bread and wine upon the characters of succeeding\ngenerations of men. What breaks in the ranks of Christendom the varied\ninterpretations of its significance have made! To what heights of\nspiritual power, to what depths of shame, sorrow and repentance has it\nled those who, following His request, have celebrated it in remembrance\nof Him. In wonderful cathedrals, in rude chapels, in the lonely spots of\nearth, in the jungle, in the desert, on the islands of the sea, in the\nhospitals, in prison, on the fields of war kneeling before improvised\naltars within sight of the no man\u2019s land which tomorrow would be their\ngraves, men have heard the words: \u201cAs oft as ye eat this bread and drink\nthis wine\u2014\u201d\n\nHow intensely He struggled, in those hours in the upper room, to make\nthem understand that He loved them, to lead them to a comprehension of\nthe meaning of service, to help them to accept the great commission His\ndeath would leave them to fulfil.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  _Copyright, Underwood & Underwood_\n\n  Out there on the wind-swept hills, without priest or altar, we could\n    better understand the words of the Book.]\n\nWe could almost hear the voice of our Lord saying: \u201cBehold the hour\ncometh, yea is now come, that ye shall be scattered every man to his own\nand shall leave me alone: yet\u2014I am not alone because the Father is with\nme.\n\n\u201cThese things have I spoken unto you that in me ye might have peace. In\nthe world ye shall have tribulation, but be of good cheer. _I have\novercome the world._\u201d\n\nIt was easy to see Peter standing by the fire in the place which they\nshowed to us and to hear the cowardly words, \u201cI never knew him,\u201d but\neasier still, as though a beam of light had fallen upon a dark picture,\nto hear Jesus saying, \u201cTell my disciples _and Peter_.... Peter, lovest\nthou me?... Peter, feed my sheep.\u201d\n\nFrom the background of Mount Zion we went to the Garden, not to the\nformal garden of Latin or Greek, with their chapels, their neat little\ngardens, their oranges and their olive trees planted about with fragrant\nflowers and green grass, though they are very beautiful, terraced there\nupon the steep sloping hillside. We went instead to the Armenian Garden,\nkept as nature made it, a wall with the vine leaning over it, a fallen\ntrunk covered with doll moss, and the olive trees, large and small, gray\ngreen with twisted boughs ages old, grass as in a meadow, with lilies of\nthe field nodding here and there in sunny spaces, though it was still\nwinter. A soft mist hung about the hill and settled in low lines over\nthe Garden. In one of the trees, hugging a branch, was a tiny gray bird.\nWe could hear its song in the silence.\n\nThe friend who had come with us had been often in the Garden. He told us\nof the beautiful service of the Relief Workers here on Easter morning,\nof the night after Allenby entered Jerusalem when the workers filled\nwith joy over the manner of the victory came to this sacred spot to pray\nin gratitude and for strength for the long wearying days of toil which\nlay ahead. He told us of the Armenian girl, kneeling early one morning\nin the damp grass, trying to repeat Gethsemane\u2019s prayer. She was a\ngraduate of the American Woman\u2019s College, was teaching in a girls\u2019 high\nschool when deportation orders came, and from then until her rescue had\nbeen an Arab\u2019s slave in his dirty tent.\n\nIt was very still. The walls of the city shut out its sounds, and it was\ntoo early for regular traffic along the road to Bethany. A British Tommy\nclimbed over the wall and sat upon a great rock under a gnarled old\ntree, his hat in his hand. Pictures of the old masters painted on walls\nof cathedrals, hanging in great galleries, hymns tender and sweet that\nhad thrilled the souls of thousands, poetry that had comforted man in\nhis deepest hours of need, shadowy forms of Crusaders who had dared the\nperils of sea and land, hunger and thirst and the swords of the enemy,\nthe monk, the pilgrim, the student searching for truth:\u2014all these passed\nbefore us under the olive trees and went out into the mist.\n\nSuddenly the day seemed to fade and that night of centuries ago came\nstealing into the Garden. Kneeling there under the olive trees, we saw\nLove make its supreme sacrifice and were not ashamed of the overwhelming\nemotion that stirred our souls to greater depths than ever had been\ntouched before. We read the words softly\u2014\u201cif possible\u2014if\npossible\u2014nevertheless thy will be done.\u201d The rest of the picture was not\nso hard to look upon for He had triumphed. He rose from His prayer a\n_Conqueror_.\n\nThere was more than one grassy hollow near the sheltering wall where the\ndisciples might have slept in the open, as did many at the time of the\nPassover. Regretful, He wakened them. The Roman soldiers with staves and\nsmoking torches were coming down over the hill. His doom was sealed.\nWhat the law gave them no right to do, misunderstanding, cunning, and\ncraft had done. Judas kissed him. We read the rest of the story from a\nlittle book that made it very plain.[1] Then we prayed, but not with\nwords\u2014there were no words.\n\nFootnote 1:\n\n  _By an Unknown Disciple_\u2014Hodder and Stoughton.\n\nOn the little bridge that crosses over the Kedron to the Bethany road we\nstood for a long time looking back, loathe to leave. We remembered the\nwhite crosses of yesterday standing in long rows over there on the other\nside of the mount. He was not alone in the Garden! With Him there had\ngathered through the centuries an understanding multitude, young and\nloving life as did He, who had met their own Gethsemanes and gone out\nfrom them bravely to die.\n\nAgain we went through St. Stephen\u2019s Gate and along the path where the\nRoman guards had led their prisoner. We stopped at Pilate\u2019s Hall. Like a\nking indeed he met the false testimony of his accusers, the cynical\nquestions of Pilate, the jesting soldiers who had seen many a man\ncondemned to die but none who met the madness of a multitude that cried\n\u201cCrucify! Crucify!\u201d with such dignity and calm. No wonder Rousseau cried\naloud as he studied the story, \u201cSocrates died like a philosopher, but\nJesus died like a God!\u201d With what ardent devotion have the great artists\nof the past attempted to paint for us those scenes. So vivid were they\nas we stood there in Jerusalem, looking up at the tower of Antonius\nwhere Jesus suffered the scourging, that their reality pierced our\nsouls.\n\nWhen the fickle crowd left the hall shouting curses as they had shouted\nhosannas, they moved along the narrow street which still bears the name\nVia Dolorosa.\n\nOpposite the Pretorium is a convent. In it are orphans and stray waifs\npicked up about Palestine. The ravages of war have added to the usual\nnumber and the place is crowded. On this Sunday they were at service,\nand the clean happy faces as they sang made us feel that it was because\nof the Sorrowful Way over which He had walked that they were sheltered\nand fed. Although intended for Jews, Turk and Armenian, Jew and Gentile\nsat together in the Chapel of Love and Forgiveness. It is under this\nconvent, many feet below the level of the present street that one finds\nbits of the old Roman pavement over which the multitude, curious, cruel,\nmocking, followed Him to the place of crucifixion.\n\nEach spot along the Via Dolorosa is marked\u2014the place where the Master\ntook up His cross, the turn in the narrow street where in answer to the\ntears and prayers of the women He said, \u201cDaughters of Jerusalem, weep\nnot for me, but weep for yourself and your children,\u201d the spot where,\nstaggering from weakness, He fell beneath His cross and Simon lifted it\nand carried it to the hill of Death, dumbly sharing the Saviour\u2019s pain.\nAt each place of suffering as we passed, we saw men and women praying\nand making the sign of the cross. All men walked silently.\n\nVia Dolorosa, since the coming of the British, is scrupulously clean.\nThe houses of stone with beautiful doorways and old carvings on the\ndoorposts make a solid unbroken wall on either side, and very early the\nstreet is quite dark. Narrow and not even a mile in length, it stands\nout in the memory above all the great highways of the world.\n\nWe did not follow the narrow streets to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre\nwhere reverent worshipers were at that moment kneeling before the tomb,\nor kissing the stone upon which are the marks of the three crosses. It\nseemed incredible to us at first that this small church could cover both\nthe spot which was called Calvary and the tomb in the garden of Joseph\nof Arimathea. Within the church are the chapels of the Greeks, the\nRomans, the Armenians and the Copts. In each are beautiful shrines with\nvery precious lamps studded with jewels, lamps that burn in honor of\neach of the four Christian groups. Once there were four great doors of\nentrance to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, but so frequent were the\nquarrels of those coming to worship that these doors were closed leaving\nonly one way of entrance. The key to this door is still held by a\nMohammedan according to the command of General Allenby, in memory of the\nfact that the Caliph Omar spared and continually protected this Church.\nPriceless jewels are hidden within it, the gifts of Pilgrims from every\nland. Its treasury is the richest in the world. Jamil saw it when it was\nshown to the former German Emperor for whom he interpreted, but could\nnever find it again, so devious were the ways that led to it. The\nKaiser\u2019s gift, presented as with impressive ceremony he knelt to pray,\nwas of great value\u2014in gold.\n\nBut it was not to this church of the Holy Sepulchre with its wonderful\nshrines, its most sacred associations reaching back into the long past,\nfilled with memories of devout men and women, rich and great, poor and\nlowly, young and strong, weak and old, who had reverently worshiped\nbefore the rent in the rock, the place where the soldiers parted His\ngarments, the tomb in the solid stone down in the very bowels of the\nearth, worn smooth as glass by the feet of pilgrims who, like Peter and\nJohn, must stoop to enter it, and Golgotha, reached by winding steps cut\nin the rock and leading up almost to the roof of the church\u2014it was not\nthis place which we sought as we came from the garden of Gethsemane,\nfollowing Him along the Sorrowful Way. It was out on the hills beyond\nthe Damascus Gate to the spot called Gordon\u2019s Calvary that we went, not\nbecause we cared to enter into all the reasons why many believe it to be\nthe place of suffering, rather than the other, but because out there on\nthe wind-swept rocks under a darkening sky, with a garden in the little\nvalley and the tombs cut in solid rock, their \u201cgreat stones\u201d lying\nnear\u2014out there with no priest and no altars it was easier to read the\nwords of the Book and try to understand them.\n\nIt was on this Mount of Calvary, looking down upon the city, that there\ncame to us an overwhelming sense of the sin of selfishness and greed. In\nthe ruins of Belgium we had felt it, in the tumult of war on the\nbattlefields of France we had seen what it could do, in the records of\nthe desperate struggles of the Peace Table we had caught glimpses of its\npower, in China we saw its work, in Korea we looked upon its suffering\nvictims, and here on Calvary the weight of the world sorely wounded and\ndismayed by sin, pressed hard upon us. It would not have been possible\nto bear had we not read also of the stone rolled away and the great\ntriumphant Victory.\n\nA deep conviction settled down upon us until it possessed every muscle\nand fiber of body and mind, until it possessed our souls\u2014the thing that\nHe preached and that only can save the world. His great command that man\nlove his God and serve his neighbor\u2014this principle alone can rescue\nhumanity from the abyss of chaos into which blind greed, individual and\nnational, has plunged it. As the pilgrims knelt at the Holy Sepulchre,\nwe knelt there under the open skies on the hill that is called Calvary\nto accept again His first great commandment, and the second that is like\nunto it, in repentance and humility to pray for pardon for past failures\nand strength for new endeavors.\n\nThat night at evening service in clear soprano voice a boy in the choir\nsang:\n\n                   There is a green hill far away\n                   Without the city wall\n                   Where the dear Lord was crucified\n                   Who died to save us all.\n                   Oh dearly, dearly has He loved\n                   And we must love Him too,\n                   And trust in His redeeming blood\n                   And try His works to do.\n\n                   There was no other good enough\n                   To pay the price of sin:\n                   He only could unlock the gate\n                   Of Heaven and let us in.\n                   Oh dearly, dearly has He loved\n                   And we must love Him too,\n                   And trust in His redeeming blood\n                   And try His works to do.\n\nThe echo of the last line followed us home. There is work to be\ndone\u2014challenging, mighty world-building tasks\u2014and for the doing of them\nthose who call themselves servants and followers of Him whose brave,\nsuffering footsteps we had traced from the Garden along the Sorrowful\nWay to Calvary have waited too long.\n\n\n\n\n                          I GO DOWN INTO EGYPT\n\n\n             _The strings of camels come in single file\n               Bearing their burdens o\u2019er the desert sand;\n             Swiftly the boats go plying on the Nile\n               The needs of men to meet on every hand.\n                     But still I wait\n             For the messenger of God who cometh late._\n                                     \u2014_Author Unknown._\n\n\n\n\n                          I GO DOWN INTO EGYPT\n\n\nIt was sitting on a housetop overlooking Jerusalem on the last day of\nour visit to the Holy City that we heard in detail the story of the\nofficial entry of the British forces. The woman who told us had spent\nthe years of the war as well as most of her life in Jerusalem though she\nis an American. Her children were born there, she speaks many of its\nlanguages, she knows its people and she loves it. She is one of the\nwomen appointed by Lord Samuel, the High Commissioner, to serve on an\nadvisory council to assist the government in establishing policies for\nthe protection and betterment of women. She is the Christian\nrepresentative, the others being Mohammedan and Hebrew.\n\nThe story, as she told it, revealing all the fear and anxiety of those\nhard years, the pressure of uncertainty, the daily, hourly struggle for\nfood with sufficient nourishment to keep the children and the old people\nalive, made us feel again, as so many times before, the sharp stab of\nthe fact that it is not those who bear arms alone who go to war. Little\nfaces, whose right it is to be round and rosy, covered with smiles, must\nbe pale and wan, yes, must even forget how to smile, as millions of\nlittle ones have forgotten since nineteen hundred and fourteen. Old\nfaces, whose right it is to bear the marks of peace and contentment\nafter the struggle of the years, must be left instead with marks of pain\nand anguish as have millions of the aged since nineteen hundred and\nfourteen. He is a cruel monster, War, and if man, after what he has seen\nthese past years, does not imprison him, starve him, and leave him to\ndie, then man deserves the bitterness of the fate that will be his.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  When we opened our eyes, the Nile lay almost at our feet.]\n\nThreatened deportation, first by the German, then by the Turk, had been\nagain and again postponed for the little group known as the American\nColony but finally word came that in ten days all must go. The men of\nmilitary age, though neutral, had been ordered away a week before and\nwere expecting the arrival of a Turkish officer at any moment, to tell\nthem the time had come. Food was very scarce, there was no sugar, little\nflour, and no fats. The woman who told us the story was herself doing\nall-day and sometimes all-night duty as a nurse in the Red Crescent\nHospital which was our present hotel. Some of the letters she showed to\nus proved what a consolation she must have been to the young British\nsoldiers, who lay with the Turks, prisoners, and sorely wounded. The\nthundering of the guns had been drawing nearer but, despite rumors that\ncrept into the streets and the hospital wards that the Turks were slowly\nlosing ground, they themselves reported progress. Great airplanes droned\nover the city, cannon roared in the hills. One afternoon there was\nunusual commotion in the open space before the hotel and, standing by\nthe window, our friend saw the Germans making hurried preparations for\nleaving. Signal wires, telephone wires, rugs, removable furniture, tons\nof supplies, went out through the Jaffa Gate. The Turkish General\nvisited her\u2014he must leave the wounded in her care. The German doctors\nwould go with the troops. He would leave two days\u2019 provisions and\nmedicines, after that\u2014\n\nWhen he had gone, half afraid to believe it, she whispered the word to\nthe British patients. They were nearly mad with joy, and there was\nlittle sleeping that night. \u201cWhen? When?\u201d they would whisper as she or\nher helper passed them. She could only answer, \u201cI do not know. We have\nprovisions for two days.\u201d Very early in the morning, before it was fully\nlight, the Mayor of the city, one of the direct descendants of Mohamet,\nsent her a message saying that he was about to surrender the city.\n\nAt half-past eight that morning the outposts saw the white flag\napproaching. General Shea was the officer sent by General Allenby to\naccept the surrender of the city. At half-past twelve Jerusalem had\npassed into the hands of the British, guards were placed at all public\nbuildings, and instructions given to the Chief of Police. The joy of the\npeople\u2014Jew, Christian, and Moslem\u2014was shown in the crowds that filled\nthe street, the tears and embraces, the shrill cries in many tongues.\nEven the Turkish sick and wounded in the hospital showed relief. For the\ntwenty-third time in its history Jerusalem had surrendered. But this\ntime there were no cries for mercy, no bitterness, no wailing, no\nterrible fear of the conqueror.\n\nOutside the walls the guns banged and hammered at the Turkish defences.\nMuch had to be done before Jerusalem was safe from attack, but although,\nspurred on by advices from Germany, the Turks made an attempt to\nrecapture the City, it was a disastrous failure.\n\nOne of the young men joined us on the roof and contributed his share of\nthe description of the next thrilling days. It was on December 11th,\n1917, that General Allenby, Commander-in-Chief, took formal possession\nof the City. He would not enter through the break in the old wall made\nwhen the former Kaiser with his great retinue entered as a Crusader.\nIndeed orders have been given to have the break closed. Allenby would\ncarry no flag. On foot and accompanied by a Guard that altogether\nnumbered about one hundred fifty, he stood on Mount Zion on the steps of\nthe Citadel at the entrance to David\u2019s Tower. He had been met outside\nthe narrow gate by the Guard representing all branches, faiths and races\nthat make up the British Army. Behind him, as he stood on the steps with\nhis staff, were the leading men of the City, ready to listen to the\nreading of the Proclamation. There were no shouts of victory, no\ntrumpets, no evidence of the spirit of triumph over a foe. The\nProclamation was read in Arabic and English, in Hebrew and Greek, in\nRussian, in French and Italian. As the people, standing respectfully in\nthe open spaces and upon the housetops, heard each in his own tongue\nthat all men might \u201cpursue their lawful business without fear,\u201d and the\npromise that \u201cevery Holy Place, revered and held sacred by any faith,\nwill be defended and protected,\u201d a look, first of incredulity, then of\nconfidence, passed over their faces. Many Mohammedans ran from the\nsquare to repeat the words in homes from which some fearful ones had not\ndared to come. Murmurs and gestures of approval were given on every\nside. The windows of the Red Crescent Hospital were filled with faces of\nthose who, though very ill or badly wounded, could not miss this\nsignificant moment of the Great War. All the promises made that day have\nbeen sacredly kept, our friends told us.\n\nIn the old Turkish barrack square the Commander-in-Chief met the heads\nof all the religious communities. The sheikhs in charge of the Mosque of\nOmar, the representatives of the Priests and Patriarchs of the Latin,\nGreek Orthodox, Armenian, and Coptic churches who had been deported by\nthe Turks, the heads of the Jewish communities, the Syrian Church, the\nGreek Catholic, the Abyssinian and the Anglican Churches, all were\nthere. It was indeed a cosmopolitan company as to religious faiths. \u201cThe\nbright color of the holiday dress which most of the people had put on, I\ncan see in detail at this moment,\u201d said our friend. \u201cNot one step in\nthat simple ceremony shall I ever forget. In two hours, leaving guards\nover all holy places, with Mohammedan officers and soldiers from the\nIndian regiments to guard the Mosque of Omar, the General walked back\nthrough the Old Jaffa Gate as he had come, received the salute of his\ntroops, entered his car and went down to the fighting area.\u201d\n\nThe relief workers took up the heavy burden of bringing food to the\npeople whose thin bodies and pale faces showed the effect of months of\nstarvation diet. All supplies must come up over roads muddy and torn by\nheavy traffic, crowded with army food and equipment that must have\nright-of-way. The task was one that taxed patience and energies to the\nutmost. The health commission assumed the equally great task of clearing\nthe streets of unspeakable filth left in the wake of the Turkish rule,\nour friends shouldered their burden of securing medical attention and\nfood for the sick, helpless and wounded men.\n\n\u201cOnly gradually,\u201d said our friend walking up and down on the roof, her\ncheeks flushed by the memories of days so vividly recalled, \u201cdid we come\nto realize that this Holy City was _free_. It was as though we had been\ngoing about in heavy chains that, suddenly taken from us, had left us\ntoo dazed to move. We unconsciously looked for old restrictions, old\nthreats, old taxes suddenly to be laid upon us. Despite the glory of its\npast,\u201d she added, leaning far over the parapet to look out upon it, \u201cthe\nCity in all its long history was never so truly the City of Zion as\nnow.\u201d\n\nWhen we went back to our hotel, standing at the windows from which the\nwounded had looked, we felt that though other scenes of many cities in\nmany lands would fade with the years, the description of that day when a\nvictorious army under the leadership of a great General, a true soldier,\nand a Christian gentleman had, beneath the shadow of the Tower,\nproclaimed a message of possession more truly in accord with the word\nand teaching of Jesus than any ever recorded in history, would never\nleave us.\n\nThe sunset that night was more glorious than any we had seen. The hills\nwere on fire with it, the Gate was gold. Then the valleys darkened, the\nstreets were still, the crowd of Arab and Greek, Jew and Moslem, the\nshepherds, the merchant with his camels, the shopmen and the traveler,\nall sought shelter. It was night, and we looked for the last time out on\nthe hills to the place where the stars shone over Bethlehem. Never did\nmore reluctant pilgrims leave a Holy Place.\n\nThe train, going twice each week down from Jerusalem and connecting with\nthe train for Cairo, had begun to carry both sleeping compartments and\ndining car. We boarded it late that night at the foot of the long hill.\nBefore it was light, we had pulled out of the Jerusalem station and did\nnot get even one more glimpse of the city set on a hill. Instead when we\nopened our eyes we were almost out of the Judean Hills and soon were\nmoving along through desert-rimmed lowlands. Then the desert itself lay\nabout us for hours, livened by occasional caravans that also were going\ndown to Egypt. Once an airplane flew over us and on into the glare of\nthe cloudless sky. We thought often of Joseph and Mary and the Child\nfleeing through this lonely desert, to find in alien Egypt refuge from\nthe jealous wrath of the Roman king. How rapidly the world has learned\nto cover time and space since then! How slow has been its progress\ntoward the kingdom the Child, whom Herod feared, had come to build. God\ngrant that now over the new paths through old Palestine messengers\nbearing Good Will may come with all speed.\n\nAt Kantara we saw a company of Jews sent by the Zionists into Palestine.\nThey were a weary group, their faces bore marks of deep suffering. They\nspoke Russian only, so we could not talk with them. They were going by\ntrain to Haifa. We could only hope that their sorrows were over and that\nin the land of their fathers they would find peace, a chance to forget,\nshelter, food and a home. But we could not feel sure. The threatening\nwords we had heard from the lips of the Arab, the protests on the part\nof the Jews that there was not land enough in Palestine capable of\nbearing crops to give food to those who now struggled to live, the\nbitter race hatreds and religious feuds very near the surface always\nready to burst into flame,\u2014these things made us doubtful. The\ntransformation within a generation of this land of Palestine into a safe\nand happy home for all the Jews of all the world seems but the futile\nday dream of children when one faces conditions as they are. Many lands\nhave done many things to the Jew who once in simplicity worshiped the\nGod of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob and tried sincerely, not only to obey\nthe great commandments of Moses, but to teach them to his children.\nWhether again they can gather from all lands and bring with them the\nbest who shall say? It may be that the fervent exhortations of rabbis,\nthe wisdom of judges, the training of educators, the science of\nagriculturists, the modern irrigation miracles of engineers, the proper\nplacing of peoples, will make of Palestine a modern state where the\ndream of economists, political and social, will one day be demonstrated\nin action. The only spot we saw that seemed like the coming of the day\nwas Ramallah, the city that had to be taken by storm before the troops\ncould reach Jerusalem and visited by us to see the splendid work of the\nschools of the Quakers who for long years have given learning and new\nlife to children of Syrian and Armenian, and now and then to a Moslem or\na Jew. From that little town between six and seven hundred Jews and\nSyrians had emigrated to America. Since the war many had returned and\nwere rapidly building the city. Others had sent money to rebuild the\nhomes of their families. These homes were of stone built two stories\nhigh with the flat roof but with plenty of space for light and air.\nGardens surrounded many of them and trees were being planted everywhere.\nThe children were well nourished, well clothed, and well trained. It\nhelped us to have more confidence in the dreams with the fulfilment of\nwhich all Christendom is in sympathy. If only patience and unselfishness\ncan be set as watchmen over against the door of enthusiasm! We were told\nthat the Hebrew High Commissioner of Jerusalem looks to Ramallah as a\nprophecy.\n\nWe sat for a while on the journey from Kantara to Cairo with a British\nofficer and a nurse who had seen hard service during the war and is now\nin charge of a number of stations where the native nurses meet her to\nreport progress and receive further instructions. She helps them to\nunderstand the care of mothers and young babies and trains them to fight\nthe terrible diseases of the eye that result in a staggering percentage\nof blindness. The native girls are taking up their work with enthusiasm,\neven the little children are sharing in the campaign against flies.\n\u201cThat is a far harder campaign than any we have ever waged when you\nconsider the people you have to train to fight,\u201d said the officer. And\nremembering the flies on our days at Suez and Port Said, we could agree\nwith him. It was nearly midnight when she left the train at a little\nstation in the sand. Her man-servant was waiting with her horse and we\nwatched her ride off to her hospital out there somewhere in the\nblackness. \u201cNo finer women on God\u2019s earth than those who wear that\nuniform,\u201d said the officer.\n\nA half hour or more and he left us. He was a lover of the desert and\nalmost made us forget how pitiless, how cruel, how destitute of all that\nmakes life for most of us, it is. He knew the names of all the stars and\nwhen they would appear in the velvet sky over his great stretch of\ncamps. He loved the cold of the night and was not afraid of the heat of\nmidday, he loved the sunrise and sunsets and \u201cthe desert-folk worth many\ntimes the puny men of cities.\u201d He, too, rode off into the darkness.\n\nAt last\u2014Cairo\u2014and we left the train through the long station, bright as\nday. A car was waiting. The luxury of our room made us feel that we had\nentered fairyland. It had been so long since we had seen the things for\nrest, comfort and cleanliness that had in our past been common\nnecessities, that now after these months of journeying about the world\nthey seemed extravagances indeed!\n\nThe next morning we looked through the open French windows with their\nrose hangings, out upon the Pyramids and the Nile. The river lay almost\nat our feet. The beauty of it was intoxicating in the soft light of the\nrising sun. When my friend broke the silence she said, \u201cIt is indeed\nbeautiful,\u201d then smiling she added \u201cbut,\u2014\n\n             If I forget thee, O Jerusalem,\n             Let my right hand forget her skill.\n             Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth,\n             If I remember thee not,\n             If I prefer not Jerusalem\n             Above my chief joy....\n\n\n  Awake, awake, put on thy strength; put on thy beautiful garments, O\n  Jerusalem, the holy city.... Shake thyself from the dust; arise, sit\n  on thy throne, O Jerusalem.\u2014Peace be unto thee, O Zion.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber\u2019s note:\n\n 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.\n\n 2. Retained anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as\n      printed.","title":"New Paths through Old Palestine","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":23523}