THE CHOWANIAN, APRIL-MAY, 1960
/I S444fune^ ^iiU ta tliA ^olu JHand
This is the last of a series of
letters written by Mrs. F. Orion
Mixon during her visit last sum
mer to the Holy Land. Her last
stop before heading back to Mur
freesboro was Bethlehem, the
birthplace of Jesus Christ.
National Hotel
Jerusalem, Jordan
It is my last evening in Pales
tine. The night is cool. The
moon, almost full, hangs above
the Mount of Olives and the stars
seem so near.
Jerusalem lies
below us—the
massive walls,
the Damascus
Gate, the
Dome of the
Rock. I am
looking from
my hotel win
dow at the
Je ru s a 1 e m
with which I
Mrs. Mixon have become
familiar in these six weeks, in
whose streets I have walked, a
city I have come to love. To
leave brings a feeling of sadness.
Jerusalem, Israel, seems so
remote—yet, only a short dis
tance away. A barricade, some
barbed wire, a strip of waste
land, are all that separate us
frcm the other Jerusalem. Soon
after our arrival in Israel we ap
plied through the American Con
sulate for permission from the
Jordanian Government to cross
into old Jerusalem at the close
of summer school. We heard
nothing until the day before we
were scheduled to pass; we were
then told to report at 8:30 the
next mcrning at the Mandel-
baum Gate. Eight of our group—
“Christian pilgrims wishing to
visit the Holy Places”—were
permitted to cross. No Jew or
anyone with Jewish connections
is allowed to enter.
When one passes through the
Mar?delbaum Gate, he passes
frcm one world into another—
from the west to the east. Jor
dan lives in the tradition of her
past and that is of the East. It
is still a country of the camel
and desert-roaming Bedouin.
To Uphill Calvary
The city lies there in the
moonlit silence. The sounds of
the day are hushed. By day, in
the narrow streets, with wall
and buildings crowding a 11
about, one hardly notices that
the way to Calvary is uphill.
Now, with the city spread before
me, I can see the Via Dolorosa
(Way of Sorrow) passing un
der the Ecce Homo Arch, turn
ing sharply at the Third Station
of the Cross, then twisting, bend
ing, yet all the while climbing
slowly to the Church of the
Holy Sepulchre.
We walked the way that
Jesus walked from the time of
His arrest to His Crucifixion.
The streets were narrow and
crowded, and the people were in
Eastern dress. The men wear
the long cotton tunic, and over
it the “abayah,” which is a
kind of cloak hanging in loose
graceful folds. The women wear
black embroidered with colors
that are bright but never
gaudy. Donkeys blocked the
way, so laden that sometimes
only a head and ears were vis
ible. A porter in a tunic of
sacking was bent double under
sacks of potatoes. There was
the smell of garlic and cooking
and humanity. Open fronted
shops, reaching back like caves
displayed loaves and cakes;
pastry and boiled sweets; sacks
full of flour and sugar and
beans; baskets of peppers, rice
and tomatoes; live rabbits and
poultry and pigeons; carcasses
of calves and lambs.
From station to station we
went. Here is the Fortress
Antonio, the Praetorium of the
Gospels, where Pontius Pilate
took up residence during the
Passover. Here he questioned
Jesus, and having heard Him,
said to the Jews—“I find no
fault in this man.” Here He re
ceived His cross; here He fell—
onlookers watched from door
ways with the indifferent expres
sion of those to whom a sight is
very familiar—as familiar as
once was the sight of a prisoner
being led by Roman legionaries
to die on a cross. Here was
where Jesus was met by His
mother.
A woman sits on the pavement
weighirig peppers. Here is
where Simon Cyrene was com
pelled to carry the cross. A hen
clucks in a coop and an Arab
child is eating corn on the cob.
The way is very steep. A man
is leading a donkey laden with
sacks and we press ourselves
against the wall to make room
for him to pass. I take a picture
of an Arab smoking a pipe
through a long tube—called a
“Narghile.”
Ahead of us is Calvary and
the church of the Holy Sepul
chre. Flickering candles light
the darkness that goes up to
Calvary. Here Jesus was nailed
on a tree; here Mary and John
stood. No sound but the mur
mur of a Franciscan priest,
“Our Father, who art in
Heaven”—Here Christ’s body
had lain; from here He had
risen from the dead. A shabby
figure in a patched coat was
kneeling and kissing repeatedly
the slab on which His body
was anointed.
The Church of the Holy Sep
ulchre is dim and battered and
shabby. There are tawdry hang
ings, dusty chandeliers, glass
balls, artificial flowers. Some
refect the tradition that Jesus
was buried here and show you
another tomb—t he “Garden
Tomb” near Gordon’s Calvary.
One must look beyond the dust
and trappings to find a place of
love and sacrifice.
Cloud of CTucifixion
The cloud of Crucifixion still
hangs upon Jerusalem—the
darkness that was upon the face
of the earth. The sun shines, yet
the Via Dolorosa is always dark,
because walls and barred win
dows rise steep on both sides.
From the Holy Lane we pass
ed under Crusader arches to the
dazzling brilliance of the Temple
Court. In the center stood the
Dome of the Rock that is the
sanctuary of the Moslems and
the site of Soloman’s temple.
Inside the Mosque is the sacred
rock on which it is said Abra
ham was to have sacrificed his
son Isaac. A Moslem legend
claims that from the rock Mo
hammed ascended into heaven,
and in one corner there is
pointed out a footprint which is
said to have been left by the
sole of his feet.
To the east is the Mount of
Olives where Jesus prayed and
taught His disciples to pray. On
the slopes is the village of Beth-
phage, to which he sent the two
disciples to get the colt “on
which no man had yet ridden.”
On the top stands the little
church of the Ascension, which
at a distance, looks like a thim
ble. Bethany, the home of Mary
and Martha, is a white dusty
village, and a little old bent
man with a candle went ahead
of us down steep steps to show
us Lazarus’s tomb, with an in
scription—“I am the resurrec
tion and the Life”—Gethsemane,
lying on the lower slopes of ^
Olivet, is tended with love and
care by the Franciscans.
From among the beautiful
garden beds rise the twisted
olive trees, some with immense
trunks that have split through
the ages.
Are these the same olive trees
that were in the garden in the
time of Christ? It is reasonable
to suppose that they were born
of the shoots of the ones there in
His day. The olive is slow
growing and of long life; for
ten years it bears no fruit and
bears little until it is forty or
fifty years old.
Frcm Bethany the road drops
down to Jericho past the Inn of
the Good Samaritan, with above
it the ruins of the Crusader
Castle of Blood. The Mountain
of Temptation stands black a-
gainst a brassy sky. After a long
ride we came to the Qumran
Caves by the Dead Sea where
the Dead Sea Scrolls were found.
To Bethlehem
We have crowded much sight
seeing into these days in Jor
dan—south to Hebron, David’s
early capital and site of the
tcmbs of Abraham, Sarah, Issac
and Jacob, and north to the
ruins cf Ahab’s palace in Sa
maria. Our last place was Beth
lehem, which seems to breathe
peace in this war-ravaged land.
It is much like any other Pales
tinian town with an uneventful
history, with one exception.
When the Persians laid waste
the cities of the Roman Empire,
burned Jerusalem, they spared
the Church of the Nativity, for,
seeing a picture of the Magi
bringing their gifts to the Christ
child, they were filled with won
der and respect. Down a flight
cf worn steps to a cave is the
spot, marked by a silver star
and an inscription, which reads;
‘Here of the Virgin Mary Jesus
Christ was born.” It seems to
me a good place to visit last—
here where God’s love met hu
man need.
I leave tomorrow for Cairo
and by the time you receive this
I will be coming home by way
of Beirut, Istanbul, Amsterdam
to New York. It has been a rich
and exciting experience, but I
must confess to a homesickness
now for eastern North Carolina
and Chowan College.
New Honorary
Fraternity is
Inaugurated
Chowan College has inaugu
rated a new honorary fraternity
to give recognition to those stu
dents who have been especially
outstanding in their campus
service and citizenship, and
whose loyalty to the college has
been extremely noteworthy.
The organization, which is
purely Iccal in scope, will be
known as the “Order of the
Silver Feather,” the name being
selected in keeping with the
Chowan nickname of “Braves.”
New members of the organi
zation will be selected by the
faculty awards committee and
announced during the annual
Awards Day Program. The char
ter of the organization provid3s
FORMER PRESIDENT'S PASTOR - Dr. Edward H. Pruden (third
from left), pastor of the First Baptist Church, Washington, D. C,,
was a recent chapel speaker. He was the pastor of former Presi
dent Harry Truman during his administration. With Dr, Pruden
are three faculty members, long acquainted with the Washington
pastor: Dr. Bela Udvarnoki, Professor William I. Marable, and
Professor Eugene Williams.
Distinguished Chapel Speaker
“International relations, ra
cial relations are my relations,
the attitude of the individual.
Any improvement of these re
lations, therefore, must start
with the individual — with me.”
These statements, in a chapel
service April 20, came from Dr.
Edward H. Pruden, Pastor of
the First Baptist Church, Wash
ington, D. C.
For Dr. Pruden, who was ac
companied by Rev. Walter
Moose, Pastor of the Seaboard
Baptist Church, to come to Cho
wan was like a home-coming.
Dr. Pruden was born in Chase
City, Virginia, and was warmly
received by his friend. Profes
sor Marable, another Chase City
citizen. Professor Williams was
glad to see Dr, Pruden as his
fellow student at the University
of Richmond. Mr. and Mrs.
Cadle and Dr. Udvarnoki wel
comed him as a former school
mate in the Southern Baptist
Theological Seminary, Louis
ville, Ky,
After the chapel service Dr.
Pruden visited the campus in
the company of President Whit
aker and was deeply impressed
by the great progress Chowan
has made in the past years.
Dr. Pruden grew up in North
Carolina, near Seaboard, and he
maintains a keen interest in
Chowan, the college near to his
home of youthful years.
CONGRESSMAN VISITS — On a recent visit to northeastern
North Carolina, Congressman Herbert C. Bonner of Washington,
N. C., stopped by Chowan College to chat with three students
who are enrolled on scholarships made possible by the Congress
man, incumbent representative from the First Congressional Dis
trict. Left to right are Brenda Taylor, Gates; Congressman
Bonner; Morris Pritchett, Columbia; and Albert Bess, Moyock.
that no more than five students
may be selected each year.
Under the charter, the pri
mary qualification for member
ship is exemplary service to
Chowan College. In addition,
however, membershio is limited
to only those students who;
(1) have been at Chowan at
least three semesters; (2) have
maintained a grade average of
“C”; and (3) have never been
on probation or campus restric
tion of any kind.
The students selected each
year will receive a key symbo
lizing their membership in the
“Order” and their names are to
be placed on a permanent mem
bership roll which will be dis
played in a prominent place at
the college.
When the disk jockeys tell you
that they personally guarantee
the products they advertise, it
sounds like a child betting a
million dollars.