Traveling Thoughts

This is the outside of the Abby of San Galgano. It once had great vaulted ceilings and a fairly high bell tower. I wanted to say towering, but ‘towering bell tower’ just seemed to be a redundant phrase. Over its centuries of existence, it rose to power in the area of Siena. As political power shifted, its somewhat isolated location made it a target for bandits and raiders. The correct term in this situation would be condottieri, Italian mercenaries, but I didn’t want anyone to have to look it up. Eventually, the towering bell tower came down, taking most of the vaulted ceiling with it. Yes, I used that phrase anyway. This aerial view of the abbey gives some perspective on the size of that roof that collapsed.

Previously, I told the story of why San Galgano put his sword into the stone. There is another story about that, one involving a mythical king. No, it’s not King Arthur, although it really should be. In any case, this mythical king was fed up with all the battles occurring throughout Italy. During a meeting with several of the Italian leaders, he drove his sword into stone as a symbolic act of peace. Whether he was echoing the prophet Isaiah and the imagery of turning swords into plowshares is unknown. But the comparison is quite clear.

The first five verses of Isaiah 2 give a picture of a time when peace would reign. Swords would be transformed into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks. Instead of instruments of war, the people would have instruments for peaceful agriculture. The Abbey of Galgano became a place dedicated to agriculture. As I noted previously, we still use agricultural techniques developed there.

The Abbey represents mankind. We desire peace. We proclaim that desire loudly and demonstrably. Yet the world around us is not peaceful. The raiders and bandits are lying in wait outside the abbey, hoping for a weakness they can exploit. But we have weaknesses within as well. The rest of Isaiah 2, plus Isaiah 3, illustrate these. Greed. Social injustice. Pride. Idolatry. Despite our deep wish for peace and justice, we’ll end up like the ruins of San Galgano if we don’t drive our swords into the stone. Or at least turn them into plowshares.

If you’re ever in the region of Siena, Italy, you can visit an actual sword in the stone (but you can’t try to pull it out, sorry).

The Abbey of San Galgano is tucked away in a river valley, situated between two Tuscan towns. Founded by Galgano Guidotti, it was built in the 13th century as a Cistercian monastery. I could try to explain the Cistercian religious order, but that would involve a semester class in the history of Catholic monasticism. To put it simply, the Cistercians were a group of monks and nuns that believed current monastic practices had gotten too liberal. They restored what they believed was the original intent of the Rule of Saint Benedict (a 500 year old book of monastic precepts).

The Cistercians followed the Rule of Saint Benedict literally, and sometimes in a strict austerity that went beyond the Rule. Their practices involved a simple life of work, love, prayer and self-denial. Manual labor was particularly important, especially working out in the fields. The Cistercians became incredibly good at hydraulic engineering (water flow, sewage, dams, and such). The systems they developed are still in use today. Whenever you turn on your water faucet, be sure to thank the Cistercians.

What does this have to do with a sword in the stone? There are two stories. The first is that Galgano was guided by an angel to a rugged hill. Once there, he had a vision of a temple on the hill. The angel urged Galgano to repent of his sins, but Galgano complained that it would be an impossible task as hard as driving a sword into a stony outcropping. To prove his point to the angel, he thrust his own sword at a large chunk of stone. The sword slid smoothly into the stone, where it still remains to this day (as the story goes). Galgano founded a church there and became one more person who learned the lesson that you shouldn’t argue with angels.

The second story? Next time. Next time.

I’ll end my religious journey of Ethiopia here, at Tigray. Specifically at a church called Abuna Yemata Guh. This friendly Christian church was hewn out of solid rock in the 5th century and sits at an altitude of over 8000 feet high. It’s accessible only by a rock trail that even Indiana Jones would hesitate to walk on. There are stone and wooden footbridges with 850 foot drops on both sides. There’s a vertical rock wall to be climbed. The final approach to the church is a 19 inch cliff ledge. And you thought the church parking lot was harrowing.

You might be thinking, as I was, that this is no longer a functioning church. You would be wrong, as I was. Services are held throughout the week. They are attended regularly by all types of people including old people like me, children, and even pregnant women. Fortunately, there are guides along the route helping people choose the correct hand and foot holds. Now those are what I might call critical church staff! According to church records, no one has ever been killed on the way to church.

The inside of the church is filled with painted images of the 12 Apostles and the 9 Saints (early Ethiopian missionaries) as well as Old testament figures and parables. There are a set of sacred scrolls stored there. The cave church is illuminated only by candles. There’s no restroom. The next time I’m feeling a little too lazy to go to church, I’ll just think about this place. Hopefully, I’ll be grateful for my local churches and get myself moving.

Near the ruins of Aksum is another interesting place, known as the Church of Our Lady, Mary of Zion. Ethiopia claims that the Ark of the Covenant is inside this church, resting in a small chapel. The problem is, only one person is allowed to see the ark. A guardian monk. That sounds like my kind of job. This guardian monk serves for life and is sequestered in the church. He never leaves. He never visits Disney World. He’s allowed outside in a small garden like area, but that’s it. Occasionally, he will talk with people on the other side of the fenced in garden. Okay. Maybe not my kind of job.

Is the Ark of the Covenant really there? It’s possible. The story is that Solomon and the queen of Sheba had a child together named Menelik. This royal young man is thought to have taken the Ark from Israel to Ethiopia (Sheba) after meeting and visiting his father. Some say Solomon gave him the ark. Some say he absconded with the ark. In any case, he returned home and founded the Solomonic Dynasty of Ethiopian rulers that lasted some three thousand years. Until 1974, to be specific. The last Solomonic king was believed by many to be the Returned Jesus. Until he was strangled in his bed by disillusioned members of the military. I hate when that happens.

As far as I can tell, besides Ethiopia, there are only a few viable places for the Ark to be hidden. One would be Babylon; the ark would have been a great war trophy for Nebuchadnezzar. Another would be right there in Jerusalem, somewhere deep beneath the Temple; a few attempts to look for it there have been made but you can’t exactly do excavations on a sacred Muslim area (that’s where the Dome of the Rock is). It’s also possible the ark was just melted down for its gold. That’s not a very satisfying explanation. I would expect some Indiana Jones style pyrotechnics if anyone actually tried to destroy the ark.

I would really like to take a peek in that chapel of the ark!

The ruins of Aksum are impressive from the outside, but there’s much more to see if you find your way inside. It’s got underground tunnels and chambers that were used for various purposes, one of those being solitude and prayer. We Christians have found solitude in many ways. Going out into the deserts. Going underground in natural or manmade caves. Going up to elevated platforms and praying. Personally, I prefer sitting on the beach when it isn’t crowded.

Christianity in general needs more solitude and prayer. Our world is too noisy. Wherever you go, some kind of noise is there. Music. Arguing. Tik Tok videos. Sports broadcasts. Superficial conversation. Aksum is a reminder that sometimes we need to get away from all the noise and just be alone with ourselves and God. If you do this, two things will start to happen.

First, if you isolate yourself completely, meaning no phones, books, or any other distraction, you will quickly become uncomfortable. All the negative things that you’re suppressing and being distracted from will quickly rise to the surface. This is not a pleasant experience. You will quickly want your distractions back. However, in time, you’ll become comfortable with those thoughts and feelings welling up. Comfortable might be overstating it.

Secondly, over time, you’ll become more sensitive to the presence of God. As the outside world of distractions is eliminated, the voice of God becomes easier to hear. The ancient monks understood this and have much to teach us about solitude. If we’re wise, we’ll learn what we can from them and prepare ourselves for looking past the distractions that serve as walls to protect us from our own depths. I think we all need this kind of experience occasionally so we can go deeper in our spirituality.

Aksum, Ethiopia

The ruins in Aksum are an interesting representation of how history ebbs and flows. Aksum was once an empire that rivaled the Roman and Chinese Empires, but few have ever heard of it. Based in Ethiopia, Aksum dominated East Africa and Southern Arabia because it controlled the trade routes of the Red Sea. The culture was fond of building stele, large monoliths that generally contained ornate decorations, maps, and writings. Is there any doubt I’d be interested in a place like that?

Aksum began as typically pagan, worshipping nature gods of various types. In time, a few gods graduated to prominence, creating a strangely trinitarian paganism. At some point, influenced partly by Judaism, Aksum shifted from polytheism to its own unique version of monotheism. Scholars don’t agree on the name of the Aksum god, though Astar seems to be one of the names frequently suggested. Regardless of the name, things changed radically in the 4th century. Those of you familiar with the history of the world will recognize the subtle wit of that comment. Or maybe I’m not as witty as I think…

Things changed when two young men, Frumentius (unrelated to the fermenting of wine) and Edesius (unrelated to the famous Odysseus) were survivors of a massacre and captured as slaves by the king of Aksum. These two men gained such respect that the king of Aksum freed them. Well, he waited until he was on his death bed, but still, he set them free. The grieving queen persuaded the brothers to stay and educate the young, future king Ezama. Years later, Frumentius converted Ezama to Christianity. King Ezama II then turned the whole Aksum Empire Christian. The Ethiopian Orthodox Church was formed and still exists to this day.

The impact of a single individual on the world at large should not be underestimated. Frumentius influenced Ezama who influenced his empire. As individual believers, we probably won’t influence kings or world leaders. However, we will influence thousands during our life time and those thousands will influence thousands more. And one of those will likely be a Frumentius.

from the pen of Jeff Joyner

Several years ago a friend of mine took this picture in Montana. I was so captivated by this landscape, that I stared at it in silence for several moments. I could see this was not just your ordinary picture.

What first caught my attention was the dead tree in the front. It was the first thing I saw. The tree was now a mere shadow of what it once was. As I continued to examine it, I began to visualize what it must have looked like before the onset of decay. I also wondered what external factors attributed to its demise. Then I finally looked past the tree. Off in the distance was an incredibly beautiful display of God’s handiwork. I knew there was something else God wanted me to see in this picture.

The dead tree represents past loss or dried up dreams. And like that tree, I can become stranded in a desolate place, unable to see the beauty that lies beyond it. Because I live in this dark and decaying world, I can be overwhelmed by the journey that still lies ahead. Yet as a follower of Christ, I must keep my eyes on the beauty that awaits me. An eternity in the presence of the King of kings and Lord of lords.

I was so grateful to have seen my friend’s picture. For it reminded me that I have everything I need to finish my journey homeward. I have Jesus who will be with me every step of the way.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Psalm‬ ‭23‬:‭6‬

There are many mysterious discs being seen in the skies around the world. This disc was not seen in the sky but dug up on the island of Crete. It’s called the Phaistos Disc and no one has been able to decipher it. There are numerous guesses about what it might be. Of the many guesses, I think my favorite is that it’s some type of ancient board game. It amuses me to picture our ancient ancestors, some 3500 years ago, playing their version of Monopoly!

There’s little hope of ever translating the symbols on the disc. We don’t have any other examples of this ‘language.’ Without a larger sampling, it’s simply impossible to figure out the intended meaning. Though human beings have never stopped trying to accomplish the impossible. Our one chance to solve the mystery would be a new archaeological discovery that contained another sampling of the symbols. Or better yet, a Rosetta Stone type tablet that would give us a translation in a language already known.

I was fortunate enough to see this disc on display in a museum. I even bought a book about it. Yet I’m unable to make any sense of it. Of course, I’m unable to make sense of a lot of things, but that’s another story. However, the disc did set my mind to considering the place of mystery in our lives. Humans don’t like mystery. We want to know all the answers. The universe is not designed to allow us to know all the answers. No matter how much we learn or how much we advance our technology, there will be mysteries. Mysteries in the far reaches of the universe. Mysteries within our own human nature. And definitely mysteries about God.

I think I have rocks on the brain this past month, as I keep writing about them. But it’s apparently something I have in common with ancient people in Europe who were apparently obsessed with them. This picture depicts Carnac, a collection of some 3000 standing stones located in Northwestern France. These stones were carved and erected about 6000 years ago, forming the largest collection of megaliths in the world.

For all the research and archaeology done, we still don’t know exactly why ancient Europeans were creating these sites. Were they some sort of ancient astronomical observatories? Were they aligned for the winter and summer solstices? Were they places of religious worship? I rather prefer the more legendary explanations. Pope Cornelius, being chased by an army of pagans, turned that army to stone. Or Merlin turned a Roman army to stone to protect King Arthur. Ultimately, we don’t know. It seems like we should be able to figure out why they were constructed, but I can’t even figure out why the builder of my house put in certain features. And that was only 20 years ago.

Carnac, and all the standing stone sites, represent for me a basic human problem. We want to understand things, but frequently it’s beyond our power to do so. Whenever humans are faced with an unknown, we try to make sense of it. We see strange shadows and our minds force those shadows to conform to shapes that are familiar to us. We see odd lights in the sky and we come up with explanations for them. Sometimes those explanations can be quite bizarre. But it’s something uniquely human, the need to make sense out of the world around us. Whatever those ancient builders were doing 6000 years ago, I’m pretty sure they were trying to make sense of the world by doing it. They’re not so different from us.

This collection of rock formations, located in Central Germany, is known as the Externsteine. Geology dates it back 100 million years. Archaeology has determined humans began to make use of it around 10,000 BC. Apparently, it was just sitting around doing very little prior to that date. It does look like the perfect place for pterodactyls to have their nests, though, so it probably spent most of its history protecting baby pterodactyls and other baby birds.

Archaeologists have found arrowheads and blades beneath one of the stones, as well as fire sites. Early nomadic humans probably used the place as a temporary shelter. Obviously, the pterodactyls were gone by then. Or maybe not. Maybe humans domesticated pterodactyls and flew around on them. Maybe that’s the source for tales of dragons. Or maybe I’ve watched too many science fiction movies.

Legends have risen about this location. The main story is that pagan Saxons worshipped here and they built a large pillar to honor their gods. This pillar is called an Irmunsul, and many of these were built throughout the lands occupied by early Germanic tribes. Charlemagne is reported to have destroyed a great Irmunsul during the Saxon Wars. Scholars speculate that Externsteine may have been the location.

In any case, the Extersteine eventually became a Christian hermitage and later a chapel. Small rooms were carved into the base of the rocks. Believers could seek solitude in the quiet darkness of the rocks or at the top of the tors. The Christian faith of the Medieval period had a strong emphasis on separation from the everyday world. It would be wise for us to recapture that emphasis in our busy world. We need silence and solitude. We need to get away now and then. The Christians at Extersteine went above the world or below the world to accomplish that. We have so many more options today. But it starts with the decision to do it by making it a priority.