A Hike with Satan

An excerpt from "Into the Soul of the World" by Brad Wetzler

In my recent essay “Keep Hope Alive,” I mentioned my friend Brad Wetzler’s new memoir, Into the Soul of the World, and his journey from over-prescribed zombie to soul seeker. Brad has graciously allowed us to excerpt my favorite chapter from his memoir — the one in which he seeks salvation in Jerusalem — here:

Excerpted from INTO THE SOUL OF THE WORLD: My Journey to Healing by Brad Wetzler. Copyright © 2023. Available from Hachette Go, an imprint of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

Weeks before my trip, I’d found my childhood Bible in my storage unit on a hot Saturday afternoon when I was organizing my things to sell at the Sunday flea market. Since then, I’d been poring over the passages I’d read as a teenager, marked with underlines and barely comprehensible margin notes about how I could live the spirit of the Scriptures in my life. I found a few wise remarks about how I needed to love the obnoxious people in my class, in addition to more than one admonition against masturbation. Jesus didn’t say anything about it, as far as I could find, but as I teenager I had a strong sense he wouldn’t have wanted me to. 

As I drove away from the river en route to Jerusalem, I wanted to stay clean of the drugs. And I knew I would need strength—maybe even Holy Spirit–levels of strength—to continue to reduce dosages once I returned home. I sensed my time in the Jordan wasn’t going to solve that one for me completely. As I drove, my thoughts fell back into a familiar groove, working and reworking my childhood, especially my difficult relationship with my father. I rarely experienced attunement or repair with him. Eventually, I stopped trusting him, and I think he responded with ambivalence toward me, sometimes outright dismissal. I've read in books about childhood trauma that a child learns how to trust his own instincts from having a trusting relationship with parents. A child who grows up with a parent who distorts reality through denial and lies will struggle to trust their own judgments of reality, the universe, and even themselves. They will be unable to develop healthy attachments with others. When I spoke up in frustration about how he couldn't see who I was, he accused me of being angry or told me that I was hurting him. And if I didn’t speak my mind, if I closed myself in my room and read the Bible to try to comfort myself, I felt the sick feeling of weakness, and right behind that was the equally terrible feeling of having betrayed myself. Either way, I went to bed feeling like everything was my fault. Fault stuck to me like dog shit on my shoe, tracking shame everywhere I went. I felt gutted. I began to distrust him and the rest of my family, too. Eventually, I lived with them, but as an outsider. And this feeling of being an outsider in my own family led me at times to feel so frustrated and alone that I said hurtful things, too. Did they push me out? Or did I slowly, day-by-day leave on my own accord? Could both be true? 

Jesus Christ! Life is so complicated, I thought as I rummaged around on the car floor for a bottle of water. At least, Jesus didn’t have to deal with psychological thinking. But man, his dad was demanding too. Far more than mine. 

There was no water to be found, so I opened my audio book app to listen to what came next after Jesus’s baptism. 

His journey now clear, Jesus departed the Jordan for the “wilderness”—the land around the nearby city of Jericho—where he meditated and fasted for forty days before encountering Satan, who presented him with three temptations. However, by this time, Jesus was on fire spiritually speaking; he was fully tested and ready to begin his ministry. He hightailed it back to Nazareth, where he began teaching in the synagogues before he was chased out of town by angry locals who accused him of committing blasphemy by suggesting that he was the Son of God. 

The air was heating up. I guessed it must be a hundred degrees. I really needed something to drink. I wondered whether there were 7-Elevens in Palestine when I saw a sign for Jericho and remembered the Old Testament story of the Wall of Jericho, about a prostitute who believed in God and was therefore saved from destruction when it fell. I pulled off the highway, looking for a store that might sell cold drinks, and found myself in a dirt parking lot featuring a camel and a lemonade stand. 

At the lemonade stand I ordered two lemonades from the Palestinian owner. 

“What’s with the camel?” I asked. The camel stood perfectly still except for its mouth; it made weird grimaces and stuck its tongue out. I watched the man squeeze the juice of two lemons into a jar, add water and sugar, and stir. 

“For tourists. I give camel rides. You want one?” 

“No, thank you. But it’s an impressive animal. Can they really go a long time without drinking water?” That was all I could think to ask. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s my brother’s camel. I run the lemonade stand and offer camel rides to kids.” 

We chatted about Jericho and the recent tensions between Israel, the United States, and Iran, and he told me about this life in Palestine, which sounded difficult and frightening. He told me about a recent harrowing experience. He was returning to the West Bank from Jordan, and as he came through the border crossing, he was taken to prison for two days and nights. “They treated me like I was a terrorist,” he said. “I told them I am not a terrorist. I sell lemonade in a parking lot in Jericho.” The man was furious as he retold the story. 

His words hurt my heart. I tried to imagine his longing, the longing to feel seen and heard and have a homeland. And, of course, I know that the same longing for home had driven people to Israel as well. Hurt people hurt people. My problems seemed petty in comparison to the complicated, thousand-year-old conflict in the Middle East. 

“I’m sorry you went through that,” I said. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine.” 

“Tell your American friends that we are not all terrorists,” he said.
I thanked him for the lemonade and drank it while sitting on the hood of my car.
“You should go to the park and see the famous Wall of Jericho,” he suggested. “Maybe. I’m just coming from Qasr al Yahud. I saw where Jesus was baptized.”
“Very nice,” he said. “Are you a Christian?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer, but I knew it wasn’t a simple yes or no. “Not really. I was when I was a kid. But I haven’t been one for a very long time.” I told him that I was writing an article about the Jesus Trail and that I wanted to see other sights associated with him. Thus, I went to Qasr al Yahud, and I planned to go to Bethlehem. 

“Not the Mount of Temptation?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s right there. That mountain. That’s the mountain where Satan tempted Jesus. The gondola takes you to the top. You should see it. There’s a monastery and a restaurant up there, too. Very nice.” 

“I guess I haven’t read about the Mount of Temptation yet. Can I just walk up there instead of taking the lift?” 

“Of course. But it’s hot. The gondola is very nice and fast, too.”

“I don’t want to take the gondola. But I do want to see where Jesus met Satan.”

The man pointed me down a street, explaining that the trail began where the street ended. 

I thanked him for the lemonade and advice, locked my car, and then I took off down the street until it turned into a trail, headed toward a red cliff face. The rock reminded me of the Organ Mountains in southern New Mexico near Las Cruces. The trail steepened, and I looked up at the tram cars swinging in the hot sun. My breathing grew faster and harder, but I didn’t regret taking the hard way. Between the steps at Nazareth and this place, Jesus must have been in good physical shape. 

Like so many popular natural places that would ideally be kept wild, the Mount of Temptation is topped off by a restaurant. I wasn’t interested. I gazed through the window and saw a waitress rolling silverware into napkins. I scampered down the trail, which followed the side of the steep wall like a goat path. Then I came to a cave with a hand-painted wooden sign leaning against the rock wall: “Meditation Cave.” Were we to presume that Jesus meditated in this cave? 

The opening was large and welcoming. Inside the smooth limestone walls were cool to the touch, a respite from the heat, almost womblike. No one else was there, so I sat and looked out across the desert, finally opening my Bible to read the temptation scene again. Satan’s first temptation was for Jesus to turn stones into bread to relieve his own hunger. The lesson of humility. For the second temptation, Satan whisked Jesus away to Jerusalem and the top of the Temple and told Jesus to throw himself off because surely angels would save him. Jesus wasn’t interested. The third temptation was back here on the mountain. Satan pointed to the entire world stretched out below. “It can all be yours if you bow down to me.” No luck. Jesus ordered Satan out of his life. 

I puzzled over what I could learn in this moment and felt a little silly; once again, my seeking self had taken me to an outlandish situation—reading the Bible on a ledge on a mountain in the desert of Palestine. The lower half of my shorts was still wet from the river. Who does this? I said to myself, and not in a nice way. All your friends are back home waking up to go to work so they can put their kids through college. You are ridiculous. But, hey, Brad, this weird, holy trip does feel right, even crucial? It does, Brad. Doesn’t it? Despite the self-abuse, I knew on a deep level that I was doing exactly what I needed to. I couldn’t just go with the flow. 

I imagined Jesus here, next to me, with Satan promising him everything. I don’t know what I would have done. I had less than $3,000 in my bank account. I was still taking a large cocktail of meds. I didn’t know how to love or be loved. I knew my relationship with Andrea wouldn’t last. I believed I didn’t have what it took to be in relationship: I am too much. Too emotionally needy. And, at the same time, too fearful and avoidant. I don’t know what “everything” would have been for Jesus, but for me, I would have settled for understanding who I was, how I ended up here. I would have loved to understand my story and to receive a glimpse of a path forward. And in that moment, I had none of those things. 

As it turned out, Satan was still very present on this mount, or that’s certainly how I felt. Had I brought him with me? The Satan residing in my own mind, my brutal inner critic. I had enough of temptation. 

My head hanging low, I walked back down the trail and got back into my hot car and headed to the highway. 

This trip of a lifetime was bringing more confusion than clarity. 

Brad Wetzler is an author, journalist, podcaster, memoir writing coach and instructor,  and yoga and mindfulness teacher. He writes books and articles and hosts a podcast about adventure, healing, emotional wellness, faith, and spirituality. His memoir, Into the Soul of the World, is out now.

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