The Spanish sun had been burning in the sky for months with no rain to replenish the dry ground. Dressed in T-shirts and shorts, we packed two vans full of video equipment, props, and actors, and drove our small caravan of vehicles up the road for a couple of hours to the shoot location, the broken-down ruins of a fortress, perfect for the last scene in Rahab, where she, her family, and the Israeli spies pick their way through the ruins of Jericho.
We arrived in good time, set up the portable tables for makeup, snacks and water bottles, the white canvas shelter to shade the talent and crew during breaks, and we began the process of mounting the equipment and prepping the site so we could roll the cameras when the sun was high. It was a fine day for shooting, and we were quietly going about our tasks with pleasure.
Days beforehand I had been gathering props to enhance the ruins, with the hopes of making the ancient stone feature look as if it had suffered an earthquake and a bloody military invasion just hours before Rahab and family emerged from the broken walls. I had spears. I had fistfuls of arrows, broken shields and pottery, shreds of cloth, ripped baskets, warm bodies, and plenty of stage blood.
On closer inspection that morning we noticed that a heavy growth of vegetation amongst the fortress stones would betray the illusion of a recent cataclysmic event. So I put on thick leather gloves and began to hack, pull, and saw at the stubborn weeds with the tools I had brought just in case. Sweat soon rolled down my face and into my eyes, but ever conscience of our time-table, I began to steadily uncover and expose these tumbled stones and walls to the day. The actors were being prepped having donned their Old Testament costumes and makeup, the camera crew was making last-minute adjustments to the equipment, and Denise, our director was glancing over the shot sheet one last time.
Ancient ruins newly uncovered, I began to slowly push the spears I had brought into the hard ground. I carefully jabbed bunches of arrows into the dirt and cracks of the wall. The Children of Israel would have been proud. I had great fun hurling clay pots and baskets overhead into the stones, draping bloodied and shredded cloth across the lot.
A sudden comment from the cameraman, Joel, pulled my attention away from my enthusiastic work and I looked to where he was pointing. Dark clouds had appeared on the Northwest horizon. It was hard to tell at first where these clouds were headed, but it soon became obvious that they were headed in our direction. It had not rained for months, literally. Incredulous, we grabbed cables, cameras, and light stands and shoved them into the cargo van, piling the racks of remaining costumes into the trunks of cars, and moved hastily to the simple, white canvas shelter we had set-up next to the ruins.
Twenty minutes later we were being hit with sporadic drops of rain, heavy and thick with summer dust. Heavier and faster the driving rain began to fall. Then came the ice and the wind. The sun vanished. I remember clutching to one leg of the simple shelter, trying to keep it on the ground as it kept lurching towards the sky. I squinted to my right and saw one of our young volunteers, dressed in an Israeli costume and fake beard, face turned to the sky, screaming in astonishment, eyes tightly shut against the ice pellets that filled the creases in his garment. Huddled in the center of the bucking shelter were the actors, none of whom were believers in Christ. The young woman, our Rahab, was sobbing and crying uncontrollably. Denise began to pray quite loudly above the howling wind for their safety. Arms still wrapped around the shelter leg, I stole a glance to my left only to see my prop work being pummeled and shredded as they danced in the ruins. My heart fell, and I held on.
After a short period, the swift black clouds turned back to gray, the ice stopped, and the wind only whipped in short, sharp gusts. We let go of the shelter and one another and counted the cost. We were all sodden and chilled to the bone. Our actors were in shock. Our rattled crew began to slowly salvage the aftermath.
Reluctantly, I walked into fortress ruins. My props were plastered and blasted across the dark stones. Some spears still stood firm in the ground. I picked up a few loose arrows and evaluated the situation. Angry havoc had visited the site and now it looked… perfect.
We collected ourselves and proceeded to shoot this final scene under gray clouds, wearing the remainder of the dry costumes to keep warm. The camera was mounted just inside the door of the cargo van to protect it from another unexpected outburst. Rahab and her shivering family, visible trauma in their eyes, stepped slowly amongst the tumbled walls and stones of Jericho.
After capturing the scene, our cold and exhausted team, all wearing dry Old Testament robes, vests, and cowls, drove our caravan to the nearest KFC, piled out of the vehicles, and made camp in the booths. Our presence caused more than a few heads to turn. “What roving band of nomads is this?” people must have thought as we casually invaded their normal space. We ate a bit too ravenously perhaps, and the shivers subsided before we got back into our vehicles and returned to IMM.
The next day my eyes swelled completely shut. It seems that I had an allergic reaction from wiping the sweat away from my cheeks with the same rough leather gloves I had been using to pull the stubborn weeds from the stones.
Much later in the week, I kept reliving and considering the spiritual implications of this event. Our IMM team was not unfamiliar with spiritual pushback in our media missions work, but that Saturday morning had been terrifying. After some investigation, I discovered that the ancient ruined fortress we chose as the perfect spot for the Fall of Jericho was the ruins of a Moorish citadel constructed as a defense along the frontier between the Muslim and Christian Kingdoms which, at that time in history, were battling for dominance.
How naively we stumbled into that hot confrontation. What had we uncovered and exposed to the light that day?
This week we have learned that this particular story of Rahab, the final scene having been shot on those Muslim ruins, will be translated into Farsi and broadcast into Iran and surrounding areas, via our satellite broadcast partner Pars7. It has already been translated into Arabic and broadcast in a similar way. It is the story of Rahab. A woman in the line of Jesus Christ.
Be strong and courageous, for you shall cause this people to inherit the land that I swore to their fathers to give them. Joshua 1:6