THE JORDAN.
Two Thoughts—From Nebo to the River—Thrilling Emotions—Historic
Ground—A Sacred Scene—An Earnest Preacher—Christ
Baptized—Awe-Stricken People—A Sacred River—Bathing of
Pilgrims—Robes Become Shrouds—The Ghor of the Jordan—The Valley
an Inclined Plane—The Three Sources of the River—The Jordan
Proper—Banks—Tributaries—Bridges—River Channel—Velocity of the
Water—Its Temperature—Its Width and Depth—Vegetation along the
Stream—Wild Beasts—Birds.
I AM now, as never before, impressed with this thought; that God’s
plans and purposes never depend upon any one man. When Moses was no
more, Joshua took up, and carried on to completion, his unfinished
work. We also have here a beautiful example of how the labors of God’s
servants are interlinked with each other. Moses liberated Israel from
Egyptian bondage, but it was left for Joshua to lead them into the
promised land. Forty years they had wandered in the wilderness, warring
with the different tribes through whose territory they had passed;
forty years they had been miraculously fed with manna; forty years
they were guided by a pillar of cloud by day, and a pillar of fire by
night,—but at last the gladsome day came when they were to exchange
the stony wilderness for the land that flowed with milk and honey.
There was joy in the camp. With happy hearts and strong hands, three
million Hebrews folded their tents and marched side by side, shoulder
to shoulder, to the river’s brink. And I am sure that while there they
sang in spirit, if not in letter:
“On Jordan’s stormy banks we stand,
And cast a wishful eye
To Canaan’s fair and happy land,
Where our possessions lie.”
[Illustration: THE RIVER JORDAN WHERE IT IS SUPPOSED CHRIST WAS
BAPTISED.]
It is well to walk in the footsteps of great men; so having followed
Moses out of Egypt, let us now follow Joshua into Canaan. Leaving
Nebo’s summit, and coming down on the north side of the mountain,
we find at its base a bold spring which bears the name of the great
law-giver. Around this spring of Moses the hosts of Israel, it is
supposed, pitched their tents. Still following Joshua, we soon find
ourselves standing on the banks of the Jordan. Ah, sacred river! How
it thrills me to be here! “Thy banks, winding in a thousand graceful
mazes, are fringed with perpetual verdure; thy pathway is cheered with
the sight and song of birds, and by thy own clear voice of gushing
minstrelsy. There is a pleasure in the green-wooded banks, seen far
along the sloping valley; a tracery of life, amid the death and dust
that hem thee in, so like some trace of gentleness in a corrupt and
wicked heart.”
I have crossed many important streams. I have been on the Rio Grande; I
have sailed up and down the Mississippi and the Ohio, the Hudson and
the St. Lawrence; I have sailed on the Thames through London; on the
Seine through Paris; on the Tiber through Rome; on the Rhine through
Germany; on the Danube through all western Europe; and the Nile through
Egypt,—and yet I freely acknowledge that I was never so moved by any
stream as by the sight of this historic river. It was the Jordan that
divided and let the children of Israel pass over on dry ground. It was
the Jordan whose waters cleansed Naaman of his leprosy. It was the
Jordan whose stream floated an ax at the prophet’s command. It was
the Jordan, also, on whose banks another prophet stood and preached
repentance, and in whose waters he buried Christ in baptism. John the
Baptist was a man after my own heart. He came on the stage of action
filled and fired with a purpose. He was conscious of a commission from
God. He believed, therefore he spoke; and, as he spoke, the people left
their homes and hovels in Jerusalem, Judea, and all the region round
about Jordan, and flocked to hear him.
Reader, we are on historic ground. Stand here with me on the banks of
the stream, and let us behold a sacred scene together. The river here
makes a graceful curve towards the east, and is at this point about
fifty yards or one hundred and fifty feet wide. The western bank, on
which we stand, is low and level, not more than eighteen inches or two
feet above the surface of the river, and gently slopes down to the
water. The opposite bank is a wall of rock, rising up perpendicularly
for eighteen or twenty feet, then receding beautifully in a terrace,
another terrace, and another one still. Terraces rise above and beyond
each other like seats in an opera-house. These terraces gracefully
stretch themselves along the rocky bluff of this river for two hundred
yards or more, until at least a hundred and fifty or two hundred
thousand people could be so seated along the terraced bluff as to look
down upon its watery surface. Let us in our imagination re-people
all these terraces with the Jews of old, with their quaint, Eastern
costumes, with their hard faces and beaming eyes. There they sit,
rising tier above tier.
Now on this low bank, not far from us, stands the preacher in the midst
of a great concourse of people. Every ear is all attention, every eye
is on the preacher. See! his bosom heaves, his face glows, his eyes
sparkle, his words burn. His sentences strike, swift and glittering,
like lightning flashes midst the roll of judgment-day thunders. Terrors
of the day of wrath roll over his hearers as the foremost thought;
sounds of hope break in, like soft music, to keep the contrite from
despair. The moral world seems to shake. The people realize as never
before their sin, their guilt, their need of a Savior. In their hearts
they want, they yearn for, the promised Messiah.
Now, lifting his eyes above the motley multitude, John beholds a
strange personage coming towards him. Rough and rugged, bold and
heroic, John is not a man to shrink from his fellows. He is no reed
to be shaken by the wind. But, see! he trembles as the stranger
approaches. Spiritual greatness wears a kingly crown which compels
instant reverence. John, a moment ago as bold as a lion, is now as meek
as a lamb. Shrinking from the new-comer he says, “I have need to be
baptized of thee, and comest thou to me?” Jesus, answering, said unto
him, “Suffer it to be so now, for thus it becometh us to fulfill all
righteousness.”
Then leading Jesus down into the river he baptizes Him; and immediately
the heavens are opened, the Spirit of God, like a dove, descends and
lights upon Him. There is the Son with the Spirit resting upon His
head, and, lo! a voice from heaven, saying, “This is my beloved Son in
whom I am well pleased.” The vast multitude who witness this strange
sight are deeply moved. They are profoundly impressed. What means
this strange baptism, this descent of the Spirit, this voice of God?
What means it all? Who is this new-comer? John answers by pointing to
Jesus and saying, “Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of
the world.” As if to say, “This is He of whom Moses and the prophets
did write—of whom I have told you, and before whom every earthly
monarch shall bow.” This day have the people witnessed one of the most
wonderful events in the history of the world—a direct manifestation of
the Triune God. There has this day begun an agitation and stir among
the people that shall end in a tragedy on Calvary.
These scenes have made the Jordan a sacred river. From the days of
Constantine, to bathe or to be baptized in this river has been regarded
a great privilege. We are told that “in the sixth century, marble steps
led down into the water on both sides, at the spot where it is believed
our Lord was baptized, while a wooden cross rose in the middle of the
stream.” Nor has reverence for this river diminished. On the contrary,
it seems to have increased. Each year, during the week preceding Easter
Sunday, thousands and thousands of people, from all parts of the world,
assemble in Jerusalem and pitch their tents on the surrounding hills.
They continue to come until the hills round about Jerusalem look like
one far-reaching city of many-colored tents.
Easter Sunday, with its strange ceremonies and joyous songs, is over.
Monday morning, bright and early, there is great bustle and confusion
in the camp. Every tent is folded. Camels, mules, and donkeys are
packed ready for travel. The people mount—sometimes whole families of
five or six on one camel. Some of the number stride the animal, while
others are suspended in baskets which are tied together and hang on
either side. Leaving Jerusalem, the pilgrims, in one great caravan,
under the protection of the Turkish government, start out for the
“Sacred River.” The Kedron valley and the side of the Mount of Olives
are filled with inhabitants of Jerusalem and the surrounding villages,
who have come out to see the annual procession pass. On they go, an
escort of Turkish soldiers with a white flag and sweet music leading
the way. Then come camels and asses laden with pilgrims of every age
and condition, of every clime and country, clad in costumes of every
variety of cut and color, while a second group of soldiers, with the
green standard of the prophet, closes the long procession.
As the shadows of evening begin to fall, the pilgrims pitch their tents
by Elisha’s Fountain in the plain of Jericho. At night the whole plain
is dotted with cheerful camp-fires. Gathering here, in groups of two or
three hundred, the people engage with great enthusiasm in a weird kind
of ceremony which is to prepare them for the next day. At a late hour
they fall asleep.
The scene that follows their waking is vividly described by Lieut.
Lynch of the U. S. Navy. He says: “At 3 A.M., we were aroused by the
intelligence that the pilgrims were coming. Rising in haste, we beheld
thousands of torchlights, with a dark mass beneath, moving rapidly over
the hills. Striking our tents with precipation, we hurriedly removed
them and all our effects a short distance to the left. We had scarce
finished, when they were upon us:—men, women, and children, mounted on
camels, horses, mules, and donkeys, rushed impetuously by toward the
bank. They presented the appearance of fugitives from a routed army.
“Our Bedawin friends here stood us in good stead;—sticking their
tufted spears before our tents, they mounted their steeds and formed a
military cordon around us. But for them we should have been run down,
and most of our effects trampled upon, scattered and lost. In all the
wild haste of a disorderly rout, Copts and Russians, Poles, Armenians,
Greeks and Syrians, from all parts of Asia, from Europe, from Africa,
and from far-distant America, on they came; men, women and children, of
every age and hue, and in every variety of costume; talking, screaming,
shouting, in almost every known language under the sun.
“Mounted as variously as those who had preceded them, many of the women
and children were suspended in baskets or confined in cages; and, with
their eyes strained toward the river, heedless of all intervening
obstacles, they hurried eagerly forward, and dismounting in haste
and disrobing with precipitation, rushed down the bank and threw
themselves into the stream. Each one plunged himself, or was dipped
by another, three times, below the surface, in honor of the Trinity;
and then filled a bottle, or some other utensil, from the river. The
bathing-dress of many of the pilgrims was a white gown with a black
cross upon it.
“In an hour they began to disappear; and in less time than three hours
the trodden surface of the lately crowded bank reflected no human
shadow. The pageant disappeared as rapidly as it had approached, and
left to us once more the silence and the solitude of the wilderness. It
was like a dream. An immense crowd of human beings, said to be 8,000,
but I thought not so many, had passed and re-passed before our tents,
and left not a vestige behind them.”
These pilgrims come in such haste and confusion that frequently
some of their number are drowned. And yet so great is the fanatical
enthusiasm of the crowd that little or no concern is awakened by the
ill-timed death of the unfortunates. The usual bathing-dress is a long,
loose-flowing, white gown. After bathing, the pilgrims carefully fold
up these robes, thus consecrated, and carry them home with them to
far-distant lands, in different parts of the world, and use them as
burial-shrouds.
I have never seen a better place for bathing and swimming. From the
west side one wades down into the river, getting deeper and deeper the
farther he goes from the bank. When about half way across, the water
becomes too deep for wading, and close to the eastern bank it is so
deep that one can hardly dive to the bottom. One finds water any depth
from two to twelve feet. The bottom, being composed of sand and smooth
rock, is all that could be desired. We are so delighted to be here
that we hardly know how to leave. We remain, day after day, reading,
fishing, swimming. We catch several messes of sweet, fresh fish, and
fry and eat them on the banks of the stream.
Having spoken somewhat at length about that place in the Jordan where
it is supposed, with reasonable certainty, the Savior was baptized,
and which is also the bathing-place of the pilgrims, I now proceed to
describe the river from one end to the other. But, before speaking of
the river proper, I desire to say something concerning the Ghor, or
_valley_, of the Jordan.
Beginning at the upper end of the Dead Sea, the Jordan valley extends
one hundred and ten miles directly northward. It varies from three
to ten miles in width, and has an average width of six miles. Now
this valley, one hundred and ten miles long and six miles wide, is
shut in on the east and west by great walls of rock. The eastern
bluff is bolder than the one on the west—that is, it is more nearly
perpendicular. It is also more regular as to altitude, the height
ranging probably from 1,800 to 2,000 feet. The western wall, though
less regular than the other, is sometimes as precipitous, and has some
peaks that are as high, if not higher.
The entire valley is very deep, its northern end being 700 feet lower
than the Mediterranean, while its southern end is 600 feet lower still.
The whole valley is therefore one vast inclined plane, sloping from
north to south. Through this valley, somewhat nearer to the eastern
than to the western side, the Jordan winds its serpentine path.
The river has its source in three bold springs near the upper end of
the valley. One of these springs bursts forth from the side of Mt.
Hermon, 2,200 feet _above_ the Mediterranean. A second strong spring
gushes out from under a bold rock-cliff at Caesarea Philippi. These two
springs are on the eastern side of the valley, while the third, which
is of itself a small river, issues from the foot of the western hills,
near the city of Dan. All of these fountains are large and beautiful.
All of them send forth copious streams of fresh and sparkling water.
Any one of them could run a half dozen mills, or factories, or irrigate
the whole valley. These crystal waters, after flowing gently, and
sometimes rushing madly, along their separate courses, unite for the
first time in the little Lake of Huleh, or the waters of Merom, as it
is often called.
Huleh, about two by four miles square, is in the southern end of an
exceedingly rich and fertile plain. In this plain, and around these
waters, Joshua had some of his hardest-fought battles. Leaving this
lake, the waters flow rapidly through a narrow, rocky gorge for eleven
miles, and then empty into the Sea of Galilee, which is, in round
numbers, 700 feet _lower_ than the surface of the Mediterranean.
Remember, one spring came out from Hermon’s side 2,200 feet above the
Mediterranean. In the short distance of thirty-six miles, therefore,
the waters have fallen 2,900 feet!
[Illustration: A FORD OF THE JORDAN.]
The Jordan proper is the stream connecting the Sea of Galilee and the
Dead Sea. These seas are only sixty-five miles apart; but the river,
as if reluctant to enter that bitter Sea of Death, winds and twists
so like a serpent that the water, in going from one sea to the other,
flows two hundred miles, and empties at last into the Dead Sea, 1,300
feet below the Mediterranean!
The Jordan has three sets of banks, which are marked with more or
less distinctness according as the hills approach near to, or recede
from, the river. Ordinarily, of course, the stream is confined within
the lower banks. But during the annual rise the water over-flows
these lower banks, and spreads out over the valley between the second
terraces, or banks. No important tributaries are received from the
west; but the Hieromax and the Jabbok, each a small river, empty into
the Jordan from the east. The river is crossed by four well-known
fords; one just below the Sea of Galilee, another just above the mouth
of the Jabbok. The third and fourth are respectively above and below
the pilgrim’s bathing-place, which is about two and a half miles north
of the Dead Sea. No bridge spans the river at present, but the remains
of old Roman bridges may still be seen at some of the fords.
In some places, the channel of the river is shut in by rock banks,
steep and precipitous. At others, the banks are of sand, or rich
earth, and rise only a few feet above the surface of the water.
Sometimes one bank is a bold rock cliff, rising abruptly, while the
other slopes gently up from the river, and stretches out to join the
fertile plain.
Since the Jordan has its source in a fountain bursting out of a
mountain side 2,200 feet above the Mediterranean, and since it empties
into the Dead Sea 1,300 feet below the Mediterranean, a great many
people falsely conclude that the river must, of necessity, be very
swift. I grant that this seems a strong argument. Think of a river 136
miles long having a fall of 3,500 feet! The natural supposition is that
such a stream would be exceedingly swift. But not so. The facts will
not bear out the supposition. To be swift, a stream must have not only
a great fall, but it must have, also, a comparatively straight channel.
The Jordan is probably the most crooked river on earth. In a space of
sixty-five miles of latitude, and five or six miles of longitude, it
traverses at least two hundred miles. In some places, to be sure, the
current is swift, as there are thirty or more falls, or rapids, in the
Jordan. Some of these are quite marked, while others are less so. While
near these falls, the stream is swift. In other places the water is
deep, and moves sluggishly.
In speaking of the velocity of the water, it might be well to mention
that a few years ago Lieut. Lynch, under appointment of the United
States government, navigated the river from one end to the other. He
met with many difficulties and some dangers. Shooting the rapids was
perilous work. One of his boats was dashed against the rocks and went
to pieces. Lieut. Lynch’s official report to the United States Navy
department is the fullest, most accurate, and reliable description of
the Jordan that has ever been published in this country.
Again. Inasmuch as the Jordan rises in the mountains, and is constantly
fed by the melting snows of Hermon, some philosophical students have
argued that the water must necessarily be very cold at all times. But a
few facts are worth a cartload of theories. And, as a matter of fact,
the water of the Jordan is not cold, except during the winter season;
and even then the temperature is by no means low. I bathed in the
Jordan repeatedly; once as late as the Fifteenth of December, and the
water was even then of a delightful temperature for bathing.
The river valley is so deeply depressed that scarcely a breath of air
is felt during the hot season. On this point, Dr. Geikie says: “The
heat of the Jordan plains is very great in summer, and oppressive even
in spring; while in autumn it becomes very unhealthy for strangers. In
May, the thermometer ranges from about 86 degrees in the early forenoon
to over 100 degrees in the beginning of the afternoon, standing, even
in the shade, at over 90 degrees.” The annual mean temperature of the
lower Jordan valley is between 70 and 75 degrees Fahrenheit. From the
above facts, the reader will readily see that it is quite impossible
for a stream flowing through this valley ever to reach a very low
temperature.
[Illustration: VIEW IN THE VALLEY OF THE JORDAN.]
The stream is from seventy-five to three hundred feet wide, and
probably has an average depth of six and a half feet, or more, even
during the dry season. At some places, however, the depth is much
greater than this. Here and there, islands, robed in garments of living
green, and decked with flowers of every hue, float, fairy-like, upon
the bosom of the river.
The terraces along the river are frequently one mass of vegetation.
The weeping-willow grows on the banks, and dips her flowing tresses in
the sacred stream. As one follows the windings of the historic river,
his way is continually cheered by the gushing sound of some crystal
rivulet, by the beauty and fragrance of the flowers, by the sight and
song of birds. The tangled vine, the matted cane, the thick-growing
forest trees of considerable size, and a great variety of undergrowth,
form a general rendezvous for wild animals, and a perfect paradise for
birds. Hyenas, tigers, wild boars, and bears abound here, especially
on the eastern side of the river. Here hawks, herons, pigeons, ducks,
doves, and swallows build their nest and raise their young. Here also
the bulbul and the nightingale sing their songs of praise.