Holy Land Pilgrimage Day 4: A Galilean Sojourn

After the day’s excursions in Galilee, I found myself coming to a rather obvious reflection—obvious to everyone but me, that is.  Namely, that Jesus must have spent the greatest part of His ministry outdoors.  Not in the conspiratorial confines of the Temple precincts, but out in the sweet fresh air, feeling the rush of wind and waves.  Sitting in the shade and listening to the leaves rustle while unknown and unseen birds made their presence and music known.  Watching the sun rise and set over the blue, clear waters of the Sea of Galilee.  Trekking in the hot sun on long, patient journeys from one village to another throughout the province.  And all along the way, while meeting and listening to people, at the same time feeling the press of the earth beneath His sandals and inhaling the redolent scent of fields and meadows.

Today we spent most of our time outside, too.  And everyone seemed to love it.  Right after breakfast, we boarded our bus and headed due north from Tiberius to the region of Capernaum.  We stopped first at the small chapel of the Church of the Primacy of Peter, one of the numerous shrines in the Holy Land administered by the Franciscan order.  We sat in a cool, shaded grove for Mass and read the post-Resurrection story of Peter’s encounter with the Lord on the shores of the Sea of Tiberius, aka the Sea of Galilee. (John 21:1-19): “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”…. “Lord, you know everything.  You know that I love you.”…. (Then), “feed my sheep.”…. (And, finally) “Follow me.”

The Primacy of Peter is the primacy of loving service.  Jesus offers Peter neither a crown or a throne, but rather—a broom!— the primacy of a life of humble service to others His Name.  The implications for us and for all leaders, both ecclesiastical and other, are evident. . . . After Eucharist, we took some time to go wading or just mill around the water’s edge, enjoying the mild breezes off the Sea.

Our next stop was only a couple of miles up the road in Capernaum.  Jesus’ adult hometown and the geographical  and cultural epicenter of His ministry of teaching, preaching, and healing.  We sat on low benches under the trees before the home of Peter.  From a Scriptural standpoint, the strategic importance of the village became immediately apparent.  To our left were the ruins of the town’s synagogue (not the same building in which Jesus preached, but rather a later replacement).  Behind the synagogue was the Via Maris, the Way of the Sea, a major Roman artery stretching from Damascus to Egypt.  Capernaum was an important point for the collection of tolls and taxes.  No wonder that Matthew (the Tax Collector!) should have been called to the Lord’s service here.

Directly in front of us lay a modern chapel literally suspended over the ruins of the house of Peter’s mother-in-law (Mark 1:  21-34).  And immediately to the right of the home lies the Sea of Galilee itself.  Again, no stretch of the imagination to see how convenient it would have been for Jesus to meet and invite the members of the fishing firms of Peter & Andrew and  James & John (Zebedee), Inc. to join him in His itinerant ministry.  Seeing certainly helps the believing process.

Not content just to “hear” the story of the call of the first disciples of Jesus, we needed to  understand for ourselves the importance of the sea in His ministry.  A few miles outside of Capernaum, we boarded our very own excursion boat for a brief “cruise” on the Sea of Galilee.  Our captain and crew hoisted the Stars & Stripes as we all stood to sing along with a recording of the national anthem (true).  Then, we settled down for a presentation by Amer, our tour guide, on the importance of this particular Sea in the live of Jesus, followed by a brief reflection on the miracle of Jesus’ calming of the storm at sea (Matthew 8:23-27).

A sit-down lunch at Tanureen, a restaurant in the town of Magdala (as in Mary Magdalene!) run by a Christian family.  Seated at long tables, we munched on olives, hummus, Greek salad, and blanched, marinated carrots while we waited for our entrée:  Peter’s Fish.  After a quick sip of complimentary coffee (laced with cardamom), we returned to our bus for a siesta ride through the orchard-studded countryside.

The final stop of a very long (but also very satisfying) day was a visit to yet another Caeserea—this time, Caeserea Philippi, perched against a rocky hillside in the Golan Heights.  On the way a,  our guide pointed out the border between Syria and Israel, as well as the frontier with Lebanon.  The low, rusting fencing along fields and wildflowers proved deceptively innocuous.  Small signs posted every few yards warned would-be trespassers of land mines in the area.

Among the ruins of  Caeseara Philippi, we sat in the shade and reflected upon the Scriptural reading about Peter’s impassioned declaration of the identity of Jesus:  “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”  (Matthew 16:16).  Our guide termed the event as Peter’s Bingo Moment— a lucky and utterly fortuitous guess about the person and persona of Jeus that, against all odds,  proved to be exactly right.

Today was a day spent on the road, along the coast, in the shade, among the birds, bushes and wildflowers. Listening to the Word amid the signing of  birds.  It all  gave one such an odd and oddly affirming sense about the connections between Scripture, faith and verifiable reality:  It was all real; it all really happened.  And it continues to “happen” in our own lives.

Holy Land Pilgrimage Day 3 Caesarea Maritima & Nazareth

Location!  Location! Location! What’s true about the significance of place in terms of real estate rings doubly so when it comes to the Holy Land, both in historical and Scriptural terms.  Our first stop today was a visit to the storied Caesarea Maritima, the  palatial showplace playground of King Herod built in the first century AD. Positioned on the shores of the azure-blue Mediterranean less than an hour north of present-day Tel Aviv, Caesarea Maritima possesses an undeniable elegance even in its present, partially excavated condition.

After a too-early morning  (6:30 am) wake-up call and breakfast buffet, we piled our bags onto and under the bus and headed toward our destination, less than an hour north of  Tel Aviv, Israel’s largest city.  Today was Sunday, not a holiday, but a workday here.  I kept having to remind myself of that fact as I noticed the roads choked with traffic—all of it heading toward the center of this bustling city of 1.7 million inhabitants.  Along our way, we drove through thriving new neighborhoods with their upscale apartment complexes lining the waterfront.   As we passed several bus stops, I could not help but notice clusters of armed and uniformed Israeli young people doing their compulsory military service—a reminder that security concerns are never far beneath the surface here, even in the midst of evident prosperity.

As we drove northward along the coast, Amer, our guide, recited the story of the encounter between Peter and Cornelius in the Acts of the Apostles (chapter 10:1-31).  Once we arrived at the sprawling archeological site, it was not at all difficult to make the connection between the Scriptural account  and the physical reality before us.  Even in their present  condition, the amphitheater, hippodrome, coliseum, and palace all testified both to the glory of Rome and its hubris. A copy of a stone tablet bearing the name of Pontius Pilate provided an astounding non-Scriptural corroboration to the actual historically verifiable existence of the Roman official who condemned Jesus to death. Further, our own route from Joppa (Tel Aviv) to Caesear not only made the Scriptures come alive for us, it also made them plausible on the physical plane.  I found myself saying:  “It all really happened.  And it happened here.”

That sense of plausible presence became clear to us as well as we approached the inland city of Nazareth in Galilee, the traditional boyhood home of Jesus.  En route, we stopped at the shrine of Our Lady of Mount Carmel in the industrial port city of Haifa.  The shrine features a small chapel built over a cave where the Old Testament prophet Elijah allegedly lived.  Here, by tradition, childless couples have come for centuries to pray for help.  Large stone tablets grace the walls of the sanctuary in memory of Carmelite saints such as John of the Cross and Teresa of Avila.  And the throngs of visitors from all over the world attest to the continuing appeal of Carmel to pilgrims.  We passed groups from Indonesia, Brazil, and Italy, but there  were clutches of Arab Christians and Muslims as well who had come here to pray.

Our lunch stop was at a family-owned buffet featuring falafels (chick-pea ‘meatballs’) with an exotic array of condiments.  Fr. Larry provided dessert in the form of delicious boxes of Turkish Delight from Istanbul.  Continuing eastward along the inland route to Nazareth, we passed through the village of Cana (yes, as in ‘The Marriage Feast of….” ) It was uncanny to see road signs nonchalantly indicating the route toward this and other biblical place names that have persistently endured in the Holy Land over two full millennia.

Nazareth today, we were told, is a thriving hilltop city with a population of 85,000, nearly 40% of whom are Christians of various denominations.  At its center, with its signature lighthouse roof, stands the contemporary Basilica of the Annunciation, a Franciscan church and our guide’s own parish.  As we plugged in our headsets, we strolled the basilica’s courtyard to look at mosaic representations of the titles and apparitions attributed to the Virgin Mary around the world.

Inside the cavernous  contemporary space (capacity 3500), we literally descended into the grotto chapel where tradition holds that Mary was visited by the Angel Gabriel and gave her definitive ‘yes” to God’s request that she become the mother of Jesus.  On the top level of the church, we celebrated Eucharist with the readings of the feast of the Annunciation, and hurried out the doors as families prepared the sanctuary for the wedding to take place immediately afterwards.

After a brief visit to the church and shrine of the workshop of St. Joseph (“He was a workman, more likely a stonemason, but not a carpenter!” our guide insisted, pointing to the corruption of the Koine Greek term “tekton” which, for centuries,  has led artists in the West to depict Joseph sawing away at his workbench. “Jesus worked hard alongside Joseph,” Amer continued.  “ He was an accomplished laborer and craftsman who needed his physical strength as well to endure the rigors of His ministry.”  That made perfect sense to me.

After posing for a group photo, we boarded our bus toward our hotel at the seaside town of Tiberius along the shores of Galilee, listening for a second time to the reading from Luke (chapter 1: 26-38) recounting the Annunciation.  Once again, connecting the story with historical/ archaeological artifacts we had seen today,  we as believers could say “It really happened and it happened here.”  Not unlike the words inscribed in the Basilica of the Annunciation itself:  “Here the Word was made Flesh.”//

Holy Land Pilgrimage Day 2 Arrival in Tel Aviv

Metaphorically speaking, we just got off the boat.  By which I mean, the plane.  Turkish Airlines, to be exact.  26 of our 42 members flew together from Los Angeles (LAX) to Tel Aviv yesterday and today, May 16 & 17.  From LAX to Istanbul, from Istanbul to Tel Aviv.  Fifteen hours' flying time and ten time zones east of California.  Yes, a lot of things are a blur.

Left Santa Barbara after celebrating Eucharist in the Serra Chapel.  A time to gather, get centered in the Lord, and calm down in the midst of all the activity and excitement.  It really did help, I believe.  Laura Ardry from our parish staff and others gave us a nice send-off  (including a much-appreciated case of cool, bottled water for the journey) as we piled into our waiting charter bus, bag, baggage, and all.

Serge was our driver and was quite wonderful.  Calmly and quietly, he negotiated the tangled freeway traffic (think:  LA, Friday afternoon, hot and muggy day, forest fires in the air and on the horizon) and got us to the airport safe and sound.

Once we entered the terminal, it became apparent to us from the get-go that we would just have to get into the very end of a very long line and be very, very patient as we got checked in and received our boarding passes.  Actually, that went quite well, except that one of our pilgrims received a transfer boarding card with someone else's name on it. Net result:  an unwelcome layover for him on the Istanbul-Tel Aviv link of our trip.  We are hoping he will catch up with us at the hotel momentarily.  Welcome to group travel.

Life on board Turkish Airlines was an admixture: cramped economy seats (initially some couples were split), a full flight, and a gaggle of giggling and sometimes growling toddlers.  The kids were adorable, as they say, but kept many of us awake for at least a part of the flight.  That said, what else is new, besides the fact that the service was good and the food, excellent-- even in economy.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, it seemed, we made our way across the North American continent,  and then, over Scandinavia, the Baltics and the Balkans to our destination.  Plenty of time to read, play Sudoko, chat with seat mates, and nod off.

And pray.  Yes, pray.  Time to step back and reflect:  hey, wait a minute, I'm on this plane with business people, ambitious dot.com people, and extended families visiting or returning from visits with, well, extended family in the States. And yet, I am, we are different. Something else has brought us here, both individually and collectively.

How to describe it, it's so individual.  But, perhaps in the aggregate it can be best described as a desire and a longing.  To reach up and in more deeply, as one of our Franciscan leaders used to say.   Reaching up and more deeply into our identity and spirituality.  Up and more deeply into our sense of personal calling as Christian women and men.  Each and all of us asking for, longing for one thing mostly:  to have more of the Lord.  More of the Presence of the Lord in our hearts and lives. More of a sense of who we are as followers of Jesus.  More of a sense of the witness which is expected and required of us as Christian people.

Once we disembarked/ off-loaded at Tel Aviv's impressively monumental Terminal 3 and wended our way through customs and baggage, we regrouped at our bus and made our way to a welcome bed and bath (and late night supper for some of us!) at the Hotel Metropolitan.  Curbside, we were greeted by none other than our own Father Larry Gosselin ofm, as well as three other pilgrims from our group.  Great!

"Welcome to the Holy Land," greeted our guide Amer (in perfect,  accent-free American English.  "And because you are Christians as well:  welcome home!//

Holy Land Pilgrimage: Day 1: Departure

It is said that in medieval times, men, on the eve before their knighthood, would keep vigil.  Kneeling in a dark, cold chapel before God’s candlelit Presence, they would ask for grace and courage, strength and fortitude.  In the face of their struggles and trials and journey.

Today, we are leaving on pilgrimage to the Holy Land, forty of us from our Parish Family at St. Barbara Church at Old Mission Santa Barbara in California.  At noon, we will celebrate Eucharist, asking for grace, courage, strength, and fortitude as well. Then, we'll  load our bags and baggage onto a chartered bus for LAX, Los Angeles County International Airport.  Boarding Flight 010,  Turkish Airlines, bound for Istanbul.  Transferring to Tel Aviv, arriving at our first night’s lodging at the Hotel Metropolitan, at the close of Shabbat. A full day later on earth; fifteen hours in the air.

So, here we are, in a metaphorical sense if not a literal one, at the vigil, on the cusp of our spiritual journey.  I have checked the Gospel for the day.  It is from John, chapter 14 (“Do not let your hearts be troubled”).  It is one of the most popular Gospel readings chosen for--- funerals!  But today, we can look at in a totally different , more celebratory light.  Thomas goes on to complain to Jesus that “where You are going, we do not know the way.”  To which Jesus responds, “I am the Way.  And the Truth.  And the Life….”

Jesus the Way.  Jesus, our Destination.  . . . And our Transportation!

I had to stop and reflect for a moment.  Someone once told me that the oldest and most enduring artifacts of human construction are not buildings but—roads!  It stands to reason, doesn’t it.  Can we consider the top of the Great Wall of China to be in itself a road?  What about the Appian Way in Rome, or the Via Maria from Damascus to Cairo on ancient times?  Or, closer to home, Highway 101 in California, the El Camino Real, or the King’s Highway, built on the pathway connecting each of the 21 Franciscan Missions erected in the 18-19^th centuries under the Spanish Empire? The horse-, chariot- and footprint of these great avenues are with us today, having survived every manner of man and mayhem.

At their very  best, roads connect.  Relate.  Expedite communication.  The movement of goods and people; materiel for wars and intellectual property.  And Faith. Paths, roads, freeways  (and now, even  the Internet “highway”) enable us to break free of our isolation and can liberate us from the burdens of inertia and hopelessness.

Christ is our Destination.  And our Transportation.  The Way to the Father in the Spirit.  The Path of our salvation.  He makes of Himself, for us, the means to reach Him, guiding us, holding us, moving us along, from love to Love on our journey homeward.

So, we travel.  As pilgrims toward our hope-filled Destination, which is Christ.  And Christ Himself is the means of our spiritual movement and design.

A prayer attributed to St. Patrick  comes to mind:

Christ with me

Christ before me

Christ behind me

Christ beneath me

Christ above me.

Christ on my right

Christ on my left.

Christ where I lie

Christ where I sit

Christ where I arise.

Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me.

Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me.

Christ in the eye that sees me

Christ in the ear that hears me.

Salvation is of the Lord, the Christ.

May your Salvation, Lord, be ever with us.

(As we travel).  Amen.//

"You are the salt of the earth. . . ."

Jesus tells us in today’s Gospel from Matthew (Chapter 5, v.13) : " You are the salt of the earth."  And then He says, " But if salt loses its taste, with what can it be seasoned?  It is no longer good for anything but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot."  What in the world does He mean by that? I’m not at all sure, are you?  First of all, let’s talk about salt.  That most  essential and common condiment in almost all of our lives.

Salt is not just part of our vocabulary, it’s part of our menu.

Do you like the taste of salt?  Well, let me put it another way.  Do you like potato chips?  Then you like salt.  How about pretzels?  Or a slice of Italian salami?  Or a sliver of  Swiss cheese or Camembert?  Or how about some bacon with your eggs? Or a crunchy  Kosher dill pickle cured in a brine of spices and -- that’s right-- salt?  If you like any of these foods or most any food for that matter, then you like salt.

Imagine a completely salt-free diet.  Or better yet, ask someone who is on a low-sodium regimen and ask them how much they enjoy it.  They will tell you straight out:  it’s awful! Your food is so bland and uninteresting it’s almost not worth eating.  It doesn’t taste like anything! When we think of salt,  then, we don’t think of its own flavor, but rather the taste of things whose flavor it is meant to enhance.

Finally, in our own time, salt is, well, pretty much a free commodity, or almost.  When we go to a restaurant or a fast-food outlet, salt is right there alongside all the other things that we aren’t directly charged for, like napkins, straws, toothpicks, ice water, and, of course, pepper.  At McDonalds or In and Out Burgers, or  Paneras, or almost any fast-food outlet.

Salt, then,  is cheap, readily accessible, and, as I’ve mentioned, practically free.  And by the way, I’ve never seen anyone throw out a box of salt.  Look carefully.  There is no expiration date!  Salt has been around a long time, and it’s not going away any time soon.

But let’s listen again to Scripture:   Jesus says: " You are the salt of the earth."  And then He says, " But if salt loses its taste, with what can it be seasoned?  It is no longer good for anything but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot."

Again, doesn’t that still strike you as a little bit odd? What is He saying to us?  Well, let’s consider some other information. 

Salt, in the time of Jesus, was used both as a flavoring, but even more importantly, as a food preservative.  In fact, it was the food preservative for many, many centuries.  In the absence of refrigeration,  the use of salt was crucial in preserving foods:  especially meat and fish.

Salt was expensive, too. It could only be obtained by evaporation or extraction:  either by the slow process of drying out in the sun in designated salt beds, or through the crude and perilous process of mining.  In fact, in the time of Jesus, salt was so rare and expensive that it was used as currency.  Worthy soldiers in the Roman army were given salt—or salario—as their compensation.  A word that, for us, has become the term salary.  Speaking of the Romans, they  even built several special roads, like the Via Salaria, to transport salt to urban centers.

The rock salt  they mined wasn’t wonderful, by the way; it had to be cleansed of impurities first. So that in cooking, salt was always placed in a cloth bag and suspended into a broth or soup, and retrieved once its work was done.  Then, the bag was thrown away.

Then, as now, salt was rare, expensive, and necessary. And its use was nearly universal.   Nomads lived by slaughtering and eating their herds.  The flesh of animals already contains an adequate level of salt for human consumption.  But everyone else—anyone who wasn’t a nomad, but who lived off the earth directly or indirectly—had to find salt another way most of the time. And they had to pay through the nose for it.

So let’s return to the Scriptures once more.  Jesus is not telling us to use salt. He is telling us to be salt.  The salt of the entire earth, as a matter of fact. Well, now he meaning is becoming somewhat more accessible. He is telling us that we are rare, precious, and necessary.

That we are meant to add flavor and zest to all of life as part of the realization of the Kingdom He proclaims and promises.

We are not the main dish.  That’s clear.  The Lord is.  But we are meant to  add ‘flavor’ to our world by our presence and commitment, not by trying to dominate it. 

He doesn’t say anything about how many of us there need to be, by the way.   Or how rich,  powerful, or imposing.  After all, it is estimated that the first Christian community in Rome initially numbered just about 200 people out of a population of 2 million!  And the vast majority of them were poor and struggling people.

Nevertheless, they were called in their time—just as we are in ours-- to add to the flavor of our world by being  the presence of Christ and of Christ’s witness to justice, peace, love and mercy in every situation in which we find ourselves.

We do this when we help to  heal, unite, and to bring home other human beings who are suffering.  And when we do so consistently over time,  it shows.  Both in us and  through us.  And in  the Kingdom we are called to proclaim with our lives.

Not only that—and this is an important caveat-- we need to renew and replenish our resources and reserves through prayer, meditation, sacraments (especially the Eucharist), and rest.

Jesus says:   “You are the salt of the earth.  But if salt loses its taste, with what can it be seasoned?  It is no longer good for anything but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.”