Originally published 9/12/19
It seemed the perfect thing to do, to start the New Year, on New Year's day, floating in the Dead Sea. To practice dependence on something strange and counterintuitive, to rely on the word of someone else, to sit gently down in total faith that I would not sink, and that I would, indeed, be held up. I knew 2019 was going to hold change for us. The condition of the church had been documented in an official report, lines of communication had closed down, and writing was beginning to appear on the wall. I just didn't know how much change (and I still don't) but I thought maybe if I float in some healing waters and buy a truckload of moisturizer made from its minerals, just maybe 2019 will be alright.
The water is relatively shallow at the beach. But it takes no effort to float, and is actually tricky to push your legs down when you want to stand up and get out. The red mountains in the background are in Jordan.
Israel is a relatively small country within the context of the big story that comes from it - a story that wasn't just 33 years long, but that has continued for 2000 years, separating a people from their land, and sparking many wars, sometimes just over a few square miles of territory. The terrain of Israel is also part of its story, and is as varied as the people's religions who live within its borders. It takes just under three hours to drive from the north side of the Sea of Galilee, where Jesus spent much of his ministry to the south end of the Dead Sea. In those three hours the land changes from fertile banana, mango and citrus fields to dry mountains of red clay and a body of water so stagnant it can't support life. Stepping into the Dead Sea is slightly trepidatious and intensely curious, at the same time. You don't expect it to be refreshing on a crisp January day, nor that it would be in July. It is a resort, yet it is also a wasteland. Minerals are mined, carefully, as they have value, but the diversion of water for those fertile lands in the north from its only significant source, the Jordan River, is having detrimental effects on the sea. Not enough replenishment to a sea that doesn't receive any rain is causing it to shrink 3 feet a year. A short tutorial proceeds a gentle float in the Dead Sea - its 35% salinity (more than 9 times that of any ocean you ever swam in) means that your body behaves differently. There's no diving in headfirst, there's no cannonballing, there's no typical beach behavior. There's no tide whose waves may derail you, either, so gentle entry is possible. It's best that you have a buddy help lower you in, because the minute your bottom hits the water and your center of gravity shifts, your legs pop up from under you: you are no longer constrained by gravity, which can be freeing or frightening. Shoes are also recommended, as the salt that crystalizes and separates from the water floats to the bottom, creating not the soft, sandy bottom that Atlantic coast feet are accustomed to, but rather a prickly, crystalline floor that winter feet aren't tough enough to endure.
Left: I brought back a little baggie of salt crystals from the Dead Sea floor. Not sand, but these crystals cover the bottom of the sea.
Nothing can live in this water and nothing is fed by it, a complete anomaly if you think about the role water plays in our society, our lives and our bodies. Without it, we cannot grow food, we cannot clean things, we cannot survive. The human body, which is 60% water, can exist for only three days without adding more water. And yet, here is a significant body of water whose water cannot be used to support life. It's only redeeming quality is that it does produce some minerals that can fertilize plants and relieve skin conditions. The Dead Sea lies on the border of Israel and Jordan, two countries who have long argued about who gets what. Israel's 40 or so miles of coastline is mostly wasteland, with the exception of Ein Gedi, an oasis where historians believe David surprised King Saul, who spared him his life and told him he would be King, and Ein Bokek, a modern resort area on the south Dead Sea, with only five hotels. It seemed out of place, on one hand, to be staying at a five-star resort hotel while on a pilgrimage to see the places where Jesus lived out his ministry, and began and ended his life. Jesus was poor, and there's no record of his resting at resort hotels. He depended on the hospitality of others, usually those considered "others"- prostitutes, tax collectors and sinners. He didn't check into the Isrotel resort to recharge and renew before going on to perform more miracles, piss off more Pharisees and move towards his death and resurrection. All the same, I appreciated staying in one place for 18 hours, where I catalogued the events of 2018 and prepared myself for the unknowns of 2019. I hoped at the moment that 2019 would be ok, that somehow church would work itself out, that wounds would heal and we could continue on our ministerial path. The fate of my business also hung heavily over my head. Inherited from Michael, I ran a small marketing services firm and, despite Michael's encouraging words, I wasn't very good at it. I worked and worried as hard as I could, and prayed to God for guidance on what to do in a modern business world. The first day's cold got to me, and mom and I went back to the hotel, after a cursory float in the water. Being a luxury hotel, there was a heated pool inside, complete with water from the sea in which we could float in complete comfort. Others from our group had migrated inside as well, and I noticed one friend splashing the salty water on her face. "Does that feel good?" I asked her. We had been specifically instructed not to put our faces in the water. "Yes," she said, "It does." Her face looked scrubbed clean, slightly irritated. So I decided to splash my face with the mineral-laden water. I immediately regretted the decision. Our skin is all connected, but skin is different in different locations on our body. The skin on our feet is tough. The skin under our arms in ticklish. The skin on our elbow is dry and rough. The skin on our face, although the most exposed, is often the most tender. Even though the rest of my fully submerged body was fine in the salty water, my face began to sting and tingle, part way between facial peel and sand scrub as soon as I splashed it. My lips also began to burn, so I involuntarily licked them. We had also been instructed not to drink the water (one of the reasons not to put your face in the water) because it was physically impossible to do so. That instruction was correct. Even the trace of Dead Sea water that was on my lips, that I tried to lick off in response to the burning sensation, was rejected from my tongue and my mouth. The metallic bitterness clung to my tongue and to the top of my mouth. I could not, would not, did not produce any saliva that would have helped this trace amount of water pass through my mouth and into my body. My body would have none of it. My tongue worked the taste, like a baby eating something distasteful, until it somehow removed itself from my mouth. I've often done this...exactly the opposite as I'm advised. Paul talks about that in a tongue-twisting letter to the Romans. I always feel badly for the lay reader assigned this reading: For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it. Romans 7: 18-20
Splashing my face with Dead Sea water after being instructed not to likely isn't considered a great sin, but it's an example of my human impulse to do the opposite as instructed. Given wise counsel, I decided to go against it, and so suffered the discomfort of a stinging face and un-consumable water. There are worse punishments, but it consternated me about my own actions, that I am so untrusting of another's experiential advice that I go against it.
I had prayed just that day for God's guidance for the year, for help, for direction. Would I be willing to follow it?
Nine months later, the business I bemoaned has been sold, a gift for which I have thanked God. But, unable to help deep wounds heal, Michael was asked to leave the church in Florida.
So I continue to float in our own Dead Sea, held up by God's grace in that we have a home to return to while we await decisions from others about what we are to do next. I am praying intensely, trying not to list my demands for the place we will go next and when we should go there, what it should look like and how close it should be to aging parents and young adult children. My wise friend Kelsey, a young 20-something whose husband graduated from seminary in May and subsequently found themselves installed in a church in Shreveport, LA, a far cry from their Missouri home and family, reminded me that this is what we signed up for, to go where God calls us to go. A wise instruction from a fellow floater.
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