39. The Water of Life

Dearly Beloved,

The village of Siwa where I once lived in Oman lay beneath a huge 1,700m cliff of a desert mountain from the base of which flowed a huge spring which watered the gardens and gave the village its life. Many such gardens are still to be found in Arabia, the Holy Land , north Africa and even Spain, where on a hot summer's day the cool moist shade irresistibly draws one in from the searing, blinding heat of the sun outside. Such gardens are full of sweet lemons, and limes, shaded by huge date palms which shelter the under-crops of grass, vegetables, henna and indeed the gardeners too. The sustenance of many of these gardens is still dependent on ancient technology which brought the water many miles from its source along open channels or through tunnels underground or across small waadis (dry river beds) on aqueducts, or under large waadis through huge syphons. The gradients are tiny but they are sufficient to bring the water many miles from the spring to the gardens. In the night there are footsteps followed by the sound of water being released as a small dam, made of a rock enclosed in sack cloth, is removed from the water channel to allow the water to refresh another garden. The timing of the water allotted to each part of the village may be regulated by a giant sundial.

After death worthy Muslims go to the paradise garden. Apart from Genesis and Eden, we find the roots of this idea a thousand years earlier in Ezekial 47 where he wrote of a new temple in Jerusalem to replace that destroyed by the Babylonians. Out from beneath the “threshold” and the gate of the new temple he conceived, issues a stream of water to the East, at first shallow, up to the ankles, then deeper to the knees until it eventually becomes a mighty river too deep to cross, full of fish, with trees growing beside it bearing more fruit than may be eaten. This is Ezekiel saying that, despite the punishment of Judah for its misdoings, God has not deserted them and Jerusalem will be rebuilt.

At this time of lent we inevitably think of the Garden of Gethsemane, the place of the olive press, a place where, and when, history comes together literally and metaphorically. In the garden Jesus is neglected by his disciples who fall asleep during his prayer of agony. The servants of the High Priest advance to capture Jesus led by his disciple Judas who betrays Jesus with a kiss. Later, before dawn, Peter will deny Jesus three times. When we look back we can see our own weakness in the sleep of the Apostles and the denial of Peter. But there is another more severe question for us. Would we have been one of the bearers of staves and swords who came to arrest the Lamb of God? Would we have later at his trial been in the crowd crying “crucify him”? What would it have taken for us to have become one of the persecutors? Probably very little.

When the virus lock-downs end we can visit the Imperial War Museum in London which has an exhibition on the Holocaust which asks us a similar question. What would it have taken for me to have contributed to that disaster? After all it took place in countries which were, or had recently been, Christian before being taken over by a hateful political ideology. Would I, being human, have been a cause for that voice that was “heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping; Rahel weeping for her children (as she) refused to be comforted because they were not.” (Jeremiah 31;15, Matthew 2: 18). These are such hard thoughts for a hard Lent that I find them almost unutterable.

Lent with its demands lasts only a few more days and we can look forward to Easter Sunday, and celebrate the Resurrection of Christ with all its hope and promise of forgiveness and new life. Later we can remember Revelation (21 & 22) with its vision of a new Jerusalem:

“And he showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the midst of the street of it was the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits and yielded her fruit every month; and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations”.

Peace,  Paul  

Completed: Lent 2021                                                                                                                                                                       

Wikimedia Commons

Andrea Mantegna's Agony in the Garden (Gethsemene) c.1460.

(Note the water channel flowing through the garden with the log bridge (bottom right). 

                                                                                                                              

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