It's supposed to feel sacred, to evoke awe.  Yet somehow, I allowed wonder to pass me by.

Any trip to the Holy Land is punctuated with moments of spiritual consequence.  Like sailing on the Sea of Galilee: you peer out into hills that once hosted a dinner for five thousand.  

Meandering through the streets of Jerusalem's old city is akin to time travel.

But for Holy Land travelers weary of shrines, icons and incense, the Garden Tomb is an oasis.  Stone is possessed of a rare eloquence having echoed the words, “He is risen.”

This seventh trip to Israel, I did what I always do.  I snapped pictures outside what may have been Christ's resting place.  Then I assisted one of our tour guests in and out of the stone vault, clicking the shutter of my Nikon all the way.  And then we were outside again, walking toward the communion chapel.

Only then did I mourn the loss.  I had walked inside the tomb where the Son of God may have lain.  Yet I failed to truly ponder it.  There were cursory thoughts, certainly.  But where was the deep pondering over my own sin whose payment bought this room?

Understand, I do not venerate the tomb itself, which likely may not be the actual location. Even if it is, the Bible forbids us from worshipping a place. But why my personal distraction? Had I become callous?  Or “merely” careless?  Truthfully, I was tired on the last day of a full tour.  But alas, the Judge of my soul knows better.  I went into the tomb, but did not experience the tomb.  I captured its image in pixels, but failed to be captured by its essence.  

God forgive me for having eyes—but not seeing, for collecting spiritual souvenirs—but not really bowing my soul.  May God deliver every one of us from “trafficking in holy things.”

A 4am wake up alarm is not my idea of a fun time.  But some destinations are worth it.  Masada is one of them.

On the eastern edge of the Judean Wilderness, an isolated mountain dominates the skyline.  At the top is a plateau upon which Herod the Great built the fortress known as Masada.  Here, 900 Jews once holed up and defied the Roman army until a siege ramp spelled their defeat.  Rather than become slaves to Rome, all 900 took their own lives hours before the Romans finally breached the top. The edifice stands defiant against time and weather, as it has for millennia.  

Two years ago, my friend Dan Anderson, co-producer of Moody Radio's “The Land and the Book” challenged me to join him in a sunrise hike up Masada's “snake path,” which we did with great satisfaction.  This year, he invited me (along with a few others) to repeat the feat. 

Strapping on LED head lights, we worked our way up, awed by the climbers who left before us.  They snaked back and forth above, their tiny lights piercing the mountain blackness.

A climb up Masada's “Snake Path,” will cost you 700 steps and purchase a view 980 feet above the desert floor.  Trip Advisor and Wikipedia suggest the hike should take between 40 minutes and two hours. I clocked in at about 45 minutes—several minutes slower than my time two years ago—and was mildly discouraged. Marathon runner that he is, Dan easily beat me to the top, by at least five minutes. 

But the thing I will always remember about this climb is what happened near the top.  Climbing those stone steps (many of which are not only uneven, but almost cruel in the agony they exact) I began beating myself up over my poor physical conditioning, wondering if I would even finish.

That's when I started to hear the sounds.  Voices.  There was laughter and encouragement and celebration.   It grew louder. As I climbed the final step I at last saw the hikers who had gone on before. 

What a stunning illustration of Hebrews 12:1, “Therefore, surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.”

Hey don’t give up!  The climb may be steep but the destination is worth it!  Besides—there’s a celebration coming!

There's the disaster you see—and the disaster you don't see.  I'll let you decide which is worse. 

Walk with me down the cardo (main north-south street) of Beit She‘an, an ancient town at the intersection of the Jordan River and the Jezreel Valley.  As the paver blocks are angled (not to mention ancient) do watch your step. 

Notice the fluted stone columns and cornices.  Clearly this place was at one-time a classy neighborhood.   Then an earthquake in 679 AD all but leveled the town.   Talk about disaster!  But this city is also the site of another epic event, one that goes all the way back to the biblical era of King Saul. 

Saul was a good guy. 

• He dressed right.
• He talked right.
• He could sing the praise and worship choruses of his day with as much fervor as the next guy.
• He seemed like the real deal.

Yet time after time, he cut corners, spiritually.  He failed to wait for a sacrifice.  Failed to execute a king.  Took spoils he had been forbidden.  He murdered 85 priests!   When faced with the ultimate Philistine invasion, rather than consulting God, King Saul consulted a medium—a witch.

The very next day, on Mount Gilboa, King Saul lost his life (along with his sons).  The Philistines cut off his head and fastened his body to the walls of the city of Beit She'an.  What a gruesome ending for someone who seemed to be God's man.

Standing at that ancient site, just yards away from where Saul's body would have been spiked gave me pause.

You and I attend church Sunday after Sunday with folks who look right, dress right and talk right.  They sing all the worship choruses with gusto.   Perhaps most of them are as they profess to be—truly born again.  But some are not (the Bible tells us so).

What a horrible thing to reach the end of this life and the beginning of eternity—only to hear Jesus say, “Depart from me.  I never knew you.”

That would be the ultimate disaster. 

In the sixties and seventies they called it “white noise”--the background blanket of sound that relaxes some—and makes others more productive.  Then, The Sharper Image made it personal with their Sleep Sound Machine.
 
From Time.com comes a review of three background noise websites.  For starters, there's Coffitivity.com.  This site recreates the pleasant background sounds of a coffee shop.  Perfect for anyone who finds that atmosphere more conducive for work.  Coffitivity lets you dial in how much activity you want.  Choose from Morning Murmur, Lunchtime Lounge, or the more restful, University Undertones.
 
Noisli.com offers a huge array of background sounds you blend together for the perfect combination of relaxation or focus—depending on your mood: rustling wind, a crackling fire or passing train.  A user-selectable screen visual allows you to match what you hear with what you “see” emotionally.
 
MyNoise.net bases its sound palette on actual research and offers soundscapes specifically designed for health recovery, meditation, or just plain sound blocking.  The website automatically calibrates for your system's speakers and your personal hearing. 
 
Who knew there were so many toys for noise?
 
But in a sound-soaked society like ours, I'm wondering if more noise is what we really need.
 
Ecclesiastes 3:7 reminds us there's “a time to be silent.”  In Psalms 46:10 we're told, “Be still and know that I am God.” 
 
I submit that some of the world's most effective soundscapes are found in the 23^rd Psalm-- He makes me lie down in green pastures.  Can you hear the birds?  He leads me beside the still waters. Hear that peaceful trickle?
 
What you and I need is not more sound for the sake of noise…but peace for the sake of our souls.
 
You won’t get that online.  Only in God and His Word.

1.5 billion.  Dollars.

That's how much money is owed to the city of Chicago in unpaid parking and traffic tickets. Imagine one and half BILLION dollars!

A recent article in Chicago Magazine spelled out exactly what that kind of cash will buy. A creative number crunch suggests that 1.5 billion dollars is enough to buy 545.5 million Chicago style hotdogs (nearly two for every American). 

Those unpaid tickets could purchase 5,117 years' worth of school supplies for Chicago's kids.  Sick of potholes?  That money could also resurface 2,497 miles of Chicago's streets—about two thirds of all its streets!  Or if you'd rather, you could reconstruct 3.5 CTA rail lines.

But if you prefer to think big—really big—1.5 billion dollars would also buy you the 110 story Willis Tower--plus a 590,000 square-foot addition. 

All of this because people refuse to pay their tickets. The Pharisee-in-me is inclined to simultaneously label and lambaste these scofflaws.  How dare they cheat the government? But in pointing at others, we must beware the proverbial four fingers pointing back at ourselves:

• Do you and I pay our parking tickets?
• What about filing permits for home improvements?
• Do we get creative with numbers when filing our income tax?
• Do we dabble in deceit of any kind?

Amazing how comfortable I am pondering the scofflaws “out there” that owe a billion and a half, while overlooking my own moral debts.  I wonder if God were to actually show me the ledger how horrified I would be.

Romans 14:12, “Each one of us will give account of himself to God.”