Chapter 17 – Advent’s Way to the House of Bread: Journey Through Samaria
- Beata
- Dec 28, 2025
- 5 min read
Updated: Jan 14
On Sunday, after the Sabbath, Miriam and Joseph continued their journey, carrying fresh bread and dried fruits along Advent’s Way to the House of Bread. They travelled through Samaria, exploring lush fields, olive groves, and the calm rhythm of village life, guided by trust in God.
Journey Through Samaria - Advent’s Way to the House of Bread
On Sunday, the day after the Sabbath, many travellers left the inn, so the owners kindly asked Miriam and Joseph to stay longer and move to a room prepared inside the house. However, they continued on their journey, carrying fresh bread and dried fruits.
They moved along the valley beside the mountains, slightly eastward. The route through the Decapolis and Perea was considered safer for Jews, but it required crossing the Jordan River twice. Joseph preferred to avoid that. So they chose the path through Samaria. He was not afraid of the Samaritans. As always, he trusted that God watched over each of their steps and would safely guide them through enemy territory.
Joseph pointed out Mount Ebal and Mount Gerizim rising on opposite sides of the valley. On the top of Gerizim, the stone remains of an old Samaritan temple could be seen — low walls and the outline of a platform shining in the sunlight with bright limestone. From a distance, the ruins looked like tiny marks etched into the rock, almost blending with the mountain itself.
When they descended into the plain of Sychar, the landscape slowly changed, revealing calm and fertile land. They walked through it for six hours, taking short breaks to rest.
Along the way, they passed fields of barley and wheat, interspersed with olive trees, fig trees, and grapevines, which, despite the winter cold, retained green shoots thanks to the moisture trapped between the mountains.
When they passed another field, Gabi stopped by the low, light-green shoots growing from the dark brown soil.
“What’s this? Grass?” she asked, twisting a green leaf between her fingers as if trying to squeeze out its juice.
“It’s barley,” Joseph smiled. “In Judea and Samaria, it is sown in autumn. It grows in winter, and we harvest it in spring. The Lord gives rain in His time so that the land can feed everyone.”
Marcel ran his hand over the soft leaves and noticed the cool moisture remaining on his fingers. The earth smelled like early spring rain in their world.
“And from this, when it’s ripe, you bake the bread and those flat cakes we eat every day, right?” he asked.
“Yes. That’s why this plain has been the region’s granary for centuries.”
Gabi looked at the endless rows of young crops and sighed: “It looks like a green sea.”
Miriam nodded, “That’s exactly how our fathers described it.”
Scattered among the fields were a few houses and small villages, sometimes by the road or a spring, and sometimes hidden in olive groves. Sheep, goats, and occasionally cattle grazed on the vast meadows. Every time they passed grazing goats, Gabi called to them, imitating “baaa…”, and they often ran to her for a green branch.
Despite the presence of people and animals, the plain still gave a sense of space and freedom, and the slow rhythm of village life harmonized with their own travelling pace.
At one point, a small flock of quails suddenly took flight, flapping their wings. Gabi jumped, and Marcel laughed: “Look! They run like our quails in the fields near our home. The same ones that always hide among the crops when I watch them from the balcony!”
“Do they always run away like that?” Gabi asked, as she had not observed life on her family’s fields before.
“Always, little one,” Miriam replied. “But their meat is light and healthy, so travellers sometimes try to catch them.”
The children’s eyes widened. Perhaps from disbelief, or simply because they could not imagine quai soup. They didn’t eat quail eggs either, preferring traditional chicken eggs, which were even available in the local store.
They stopped a little longer at a rural house standing alone by the roadside. Fields and gardens belonging to the Sychem area surrounded it. The caretaker welcomed them politely and offered hospitality, and Joseph blessed his children.
The road remained smooth and comfortable, so Miriam walked more often. Gabi held her hand and kept pace, excited by the beauty of the surroundings.
Over the fields, a small flock of rollers — colourful birds that hunt insects during the warmer winter days — flew past. Their wings shimmered with green and gold. Marcel even stopped to watch, and Joseph told him that these birds return to the same place almost every year.
Gabi was more talkative that day. She shared stories about her home, her parents, school, and the things she disliked. Miriam listened attentively, occasionally squeezing her hand and gently answering her questions.
When they paused briefly in the shade of an olive tree to eat barley bread and drink water with a little honey from small, brown bronze jars, Gabi liked the jars very much. She turned one around, trying to “catch a bunny” in its reflection like a mirror, but it only shimmered gently in the winter sun.
By the time they reached a roadside house, it was dark. The owner didn’t even want to speak to Joseph. He refused to open the doors.
“Leave me alone. Go away. I have no room,” he hissed angrily.
Desperate, Joseph pleaded, “We have been walking all day. My wife is near giving birth. Have mercy on her at least. I will pay. I don’t want it for free.”
“This is not an inn! I’ve told you many times. Leave me alone and stop knocking!”
They moved away from the house. Joseph lit a clay oil lamp and looked around. On the side stood an old shed. They all went inside. In one corner, Joseph spread straw and animal feed for the donkey, and in another, he prepared a bed for Miriam and the children. They survived that cold night.
Even in the humble shed, gratitude and care made the Advent’s Way to the House of Bread night safe and warm.
Joseph and Miriam made sure everyone was comfortable, and the children survived the cold with love and protection surrounding them. As the night passed, hope and readiness for the journey ahead filled their hearts. Joseph repeated quietly Psalm 46:
“The Lord is my refuge and my strength; He is always ready to help in times of trouble… God will help us at the break of dawn… The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.”
For centuries, the Psalms have accompanied people on their journeys - in flight, in return, and during nights spent ‘on the margins.’ They were the prayers of pilgrims, families, exiles, and those who had no temple - only the road.
Praying the Psalms on the way means allowing the Word of God to walk with us, exactly where we are.
Prefer to read in Polish? You can find the Polish version here:
Comments