Crossing Jordan
One Woman’s Journey

by Emily M. Grey

When I received a media invitation to tour the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan and some of its 157 Biblical sites, I knew this was a lifetime opportunity. For a nanosecond, I had reservations because of the ongoing crisis in the Middle East. I then realized it would be dim-sighted to judge this entire area by chaos in neighboring regions.

One minister said I was brave to board a plane. So, I elected to test my mustard seed faith. Many prayers later, I boarded Royal Jordanian Airlines at JFK International Airport in New York, and in 11 hours landed in Amman, Jordan’s capital city. There I joined five other American journalists, a bus driver and two guides to explore a nation barely the size of Indiana.

So far, I’ve been blessed to see six continents. To my surprise, crossing Jordan was my most enriching journey. Although the majority of its nearly 6 million inhabitants are Sunni Muslims, there are also Christians and other denominations. Although English is widely spoken, local residents showed pleasure at my attempt to speak Arabic.

Throughout my visit, safety was never an issue. Metal detectors in major hotels and restaurants helped ensure our protection. Europeans, Americans, and tourists from other areas roamed carefree at every venue.

Adrenalin rushed as my group tread on sacred ground. In the area of Aqaba on the Red Sea, God first manifested himself to humans. I remembered that God parted these sparkling waters as Moses and his people walked across. From a Sinbad vessel, we saw Israel and Egypt lined with trees on the distant bank.

At Mt. Nebo, we glimpsed at a far-stretching no man’s land where Moses saw the “Promised Land.” A statue erected by monks translates, “All under one God.”

Strolling along the cardo amidst the aged remains of Jerash, I imagined the thunder of Roman chariots. In this “Cross Roads of Civilization” cradled in the hills of Gilead are stone vestiges of Byzantine, Greek, and other heritages.

High on a roadside hill in Zoar, overlooking the Dead Sea, we saw the salt pillar said to be Lot’s wife. Here in earth’s lowest place at 1,335 feet below sea level on the water’s surface, visitors reap the benefits of spas, mud and salt scrubs, and other wellness treatments.

At Bethany on the Jordan River, we gazed at a humble desiccated spot believed to be where John the Baptist baptized Jesus.

At ancient Petra, where Indiana Jones’s “Last Crusade” was filmed, we hiked 800 steps to a deserted monastery. Riding camels, donkeys and Arabian horses lent a different perspective to this rugged terrain of colorful caves, sacrificial sites, and endless mountains of bizarre rock formations.

Although staying in five-star hotels was wonderful, my favorite experience was camping in the desert at a primitive Bedouin site. As an introduction to Wadi Rum, we rode in Jeeps for a closer look. After ascending burnt-sienna dunes and assessing this vast wilderness, our guides instructed us to follow separate paths for 10 minutes. Absorbed by the sights, sounds and scents, my vision quest lasted 30 minutes. Swallows called from enormous striated cliffs. Thorny vegetation tasted like an aromatic tea. The arid heat felt kind and rejuvenating to my weary bones and racing mind.

Later, at our campsite, we climbed the sandstone cliffs, painted with the sinking sun’s golden glow. Bedouin boys rode camels over the flat turf creating dancing shadows on the hillside. Our Bedouin hosts served a traditional buffet dinner. Roasted chicken and lamb, fresh vegetables and fruit, and delicious Zhoula — a hot herbal tea — was delectable.

After discussing our eventful day by a flickering fire, I reclined on a blanketed sofa outside. For several hours, I remained motionless watching the unobstructed Milky Way and wishing on a shooting star. Eventually, I entered my Spartan tent, draped in woven goat hair. Only a cot, candle, matches, a table, and a mat covering a floor of sand adorned this small, simple chamber.

The following morning, a few of us awoke at dawn. We sat in silence as the sun’s nourishing rays caressed our faces while we drank more Zhoula. After a satisfying breakfast of boiled eggs and pita chocked with yogurt, jam and cheese, we bid our hosts goodbye and hit the dusty trail.

I challenge American pastors, other church leaders and parishioners to test their mustard seed faith and comfort level. Go and rejoice where the Cradle of Civilization began.

For more information, call Globus Tours at 800.942.3301 or log on to www.globusfaith.com.