Pilgrimage Part Two
Israel
The Allenby Bridge and Jericho
Heat. Heat. Heat.
An unaccustomed heat assaults us as we hit the Allenby Bridge. All our passports and travel into Israel goes uneventfully, and before long we are on the road with a new guide and a different bus to Jericho.
Israel presents itself as a very clean country, with a different look than Jordan and Cairo. Pristine little villages, stark empty spaces, little or no garbage strewn here or there. A country with an apparent plan, it seems.
We enter Jericho and have a quick break. Gary climbs the Jericho remains, and I stand at the spring of Elijah. We have lunch. We are off on the bus, with our new guide Dikko, who reminds me of a Peter-like gruff character. He knows how to lead, he doesn’t have much patience for dawdling, but he is a shepherd above all.
We drive through the barren wilderness that St. John the Baptist inhabited. Hills and crevasses bathed in sunshine. Little or no vegetation.
JERUSALEM
It is here, where I have my sister’s rosary. And it is from here, that I address my journal to my sister, in love and charity. She made this rosary for me, and I carry it, with all my love, to the sites where Jesus waked, and loved us, and taught us, and spent his agony, in love for us.
To Shelley
Shelley, your rosary reached Jerusalem. As I looked over the city, with your rosary laid on to the stone wall, I saw all that laid ahead, and at the same time, all that has passed in time. This is the city that changed our lives forever, whether Muslim, Christian or Jew. I said that Cairo has an energy like a tuning fork. This city Jerusalem, has a sense of the seen and the unseen. Our eyes see this city, so much of it holding the past right in front of our eyes, but at the same time, but at the same time, a sense of anticipation. Our Lord will return here.
GETHSEMANE:
The Grotto of the Betrayal. Tradition tells us this is where Judas betrayed Jesus. To step down the stairs into the darkness of this small space you have a sense of much more than history here…
The Grotto of Gethsemane is the place where Jesus, betrayed by Judas, was arrested. Located in the Garden Gethsemane this natural cave was used by farmers to store grains. From the sixth century on it served some Christian communities as a cenacle. It was renovated in the 1950s, but it still looks more or less like 2000 years ago. It is the holy places in Jerusalem which has conserved its original appearance best.
The cave contains three altars with murals above. The paintings over the high altar shows Jesus praying among the Apostles, the Assumption of the Virgin and the Kiss of Judas.
During the first 400 years the place of the betrayal was a stone on the left of the pathway which linked the city of Jerusalem to the Mount of Olives. The for nearly 1000 years this cave was said to be the place of betrayal. Then it was renamed Grotto of the Agony as it was thought to be the location of the Agony of Jesus.
Shelley, here, as I walked into this sacred space, I looked for Jesus. And he was here. The vigil light lit, with the sacred tabernacle. Oh, I fell to my knees. Imagine, if this is indeed the spot, where Judas did betray Jesus, and our Lord must spend time in here, at the site of his betrayal of his friend. Imagine reliving one of the most painful moments of your life, and having to stay in this space. I fell to my knees before him, in consolation, and in some despair. Oh my Lord, how you must be here? How we all betray you at times, and yet you perservere? I am so sorry, Lord.
I can only imagine your tears as well, my sister. They would have had to drag you from this space, in tears and in weeping. But this was only the beginning of our journey together, Jesus, our Lord, Gary, our fellow pilgrims and you, in my heart.
How do you even write about the most intimate relationship you ever will have? I realize that this journal will not be written nightly. That with the grace of God, I will be given time to remember, and have the Holy Spirit reveal to me this journey, not just today, but throughout my life. I pray that he gives me some time to write before the memories of this amazing journey pass away.
Gethsemane and Church of All Nations, Jerusalem
The garden of Gethsemane is one of the sacred places dearest to Christian tradition. The fact that it is still rich today in olive trees hundreds of years old, twisted and gnarled, has confirmed the belief that these may be the very same olive trees that witnessed Jesus' last night before his arrest.
Shelley, we celebrated the Mass here.
My face was wet with tears. You do know how your throat is sore from crying, and your eyes are wet with salty tears, how they run down your face and neck. This is the agony of our Lord. This is where He asks us to stay with him for just one hour. This is where He accepts the will of the Father. I remember you surrendering your will to the Father. I remember that summer day you told me that. I recall how this surrender, for me, is a daily struggle, sometimes even a minute by minute struggle. But our Lord, He struggled, and then with Love, Surrendered. At that moment, when He accepted the cross, our lives began. Satan was starting to squirm.
Why did I not expect to cry? Because it has been years since I cried at a Mass? How, when I had just left Him in the betrayal, could I not cry?
Almost at the end of Mass, I could not restrain myself, I quickly walked, lunged even, towards the rock that Jesus prayed to the father. And I lay your rosary and mine on the rock, and kissed it. My emotions had gotten away from me, because Father had not completed the Mass. He bowed beside the rock and kissed it. The Mass was over.
I realized I should have shown much more decorum. I felt as the Magdalene, unable to control her feelings. There I was, in complete desolation over the moment.
After Mass, Lynda walked towards me, and we embraced and wept loudly. There was nothing more I could do but weep.
In Bethlehem we assemble. The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem is a major Christian holy site, as it marks the traditional place of Christ's birth. It is also one of the oldest surviving Christian churches. It was under renovations all over the place.
I closed my eyes. I heard so many different languages. I smelled the age of the place, at the same time, the construction noises. It was sincerely hard to put myself in the place of Christ’s birth. There was a Greek Orthodox Mass happening very near us. The crush of people, and then the stairs… And then.. the star, which tradition tells us is where Christ was born. On my way down the stairs, the hymn Emmanuel was in my head. And I thought to myself how Glenn would love to be here at this point.
I brought your rosary with me and laid it on the manger site. And then in the silence of my heart, tried to find Jesus there… Father said, “Each one of you has been called to this pilgrimage for a special reason, something the Lord wants to reveal to you.” I took peace in the face of this, that not every holy site is going to pull me into this feeling of communion with our Lord, but this particular holy site will touch someone else very deeply.
From the Church of the Nativity to the Milk Grotto. This was very different, and so beautiful. There was a quiet reverence in this place. A coolness and calmness swept over me, as we descended deep into a cavernous shrine to the site where our Lady nursed Jesus and the Holy Family spent time. This grotto, with a Franciscan chapel built above it, is considered sacred because tradition has it that the Holy Family took refuge here during the Slaughter of the Innocents, before their flight into Egypt. Tradition has it that while Mary was nursing Jesus here, a drop of milk fell to the ground, turning it white.
The Franciscan priest told of the many miracles at this site, because of the fervent prayers of the people who used some of the white powderish substance in the grotto. Many miracles of healing and of babies being born to infertile couples. I have some of this powder.
Walking the streets of Bethlehem and Jerusalem and seeing all of the different faiths, the little children coming from school, the men talking about the world, and their lives outside of their stores, people rushing here and there, Hebrew scholars and Hassidic Jewish men in their long coats and hats, Muslim women in the full burka, and Christians with their rosaries or crosses. This is a city where, for a change, the non-religious are the minority.
God speaks to his people in this city, albeit with different voices, perhaps, but He is speaking to us. I pray that one day, in truth and in love, we speak with one voice.
I was really looking forward to the Shepherd’s Field. This is where Lucy, Gary’s mom, felt the closest to the Lord. I felt it was important to get a picture of Gary here, especially for his mom.
Your rosary was here, in the Shepherd’s Field, and you were with me too, my sister. You would have seen Gary becoming more comfortable with this little community of believers, all of us becoming very close by this time. Yes, there are little petty differences. If you read in the Gospels, you will see that not all of the disciples, or apostles for that matter, were always charitable and loving towards each other. But nonetheless, I am enjoying watching Gary relax and be at peace. There hasn’t been a cell phone call, or a crisis to deal with in days. I’ve even forgotten about work for the most part.
Shepherd’s Field reminds me of angels. And surprisingly enough, the feathers on the ground remind me of my own guardian angel, and all of the guardian angels, accompanying us on this journey, Are they speaking and talking to one another, rejoicing in their charges, as they continue on this pilgrim journey towards Christ?
The beautiful Canadian built church of the Shepherd’s field is small, but so sweet. It is a church in the round, with the altar in the middle. How different is that? The acoustics are beautiful too. And as pilgrims, we sing Christmas Carols in this beautiful little church.
Day Three:
Actual date: Saturday: October 16.
I’ve actually lost track of time. I’m writing this in the quiet of our hotel room, on a day that I am sick. The night before my insides were being wrenched out of my body. I was in much pain and it threw me for a loop. Not much sleep at all. This is actually day 5 of our Jerusalem pilgrimage, and I’m here, and not at the Dead Sea where it is 106F. Yesterday’s heat really got me. I only had black clothes to wear, and I almost passed out a few times, from the heat. However. God is Good. Gary is there, and I’m resting right now. Today is Saturday a Holy Day for the Jewish People and it is quiet. So quiet outside you can’t even see hardly one car moving around. And all the stores, save a few are closed. You can’t imagine a city that shuts down for God. Isn’t that amazing? So, so get more Imodium would mean walking blocks and blocks. I’ve opted for complete fasting, a bit of water and the two Imodium I still have. And letting nature take it’s course, so to speak.
Anyway, I digress, dear sister.
Day Three is the Holy Sepulchur.
We begin our day very early. 5:30am. We want to get to the old city by the Jaffa Gate and walk through the streets of Old Jerusalem well before the stores open and the crowds appear. If you see my pictures you see Old Jerusalem still at sleep. There aren’t the thousands of people, only us and the breadmaker’s (which smell amazing) hard at work for the morning people.
We are not the first people at Holy Sepulchur Church however.
There is a Mass happening before us. We must try to be quiet and respectful. There are people from all nations stirring around us to be closer to the place where Jesus, on the cross, breathed His last.
I really can’t explain this to you, my sister. I am trying to write this with as much of the “smells, bells and senses” of the moment, but it is impossible.
How do you describe the senses of Love. How do you share with someone, the intimate details of your relationship with someone who loves you so deeply, that HE died for you. You know this already, but, honestly, sweetest sister, you have to be there to really feel it.
I thought my tears ended at Getsethmane. They did not. At the Stone of Annointing Golgotha, I wept, tears pouring down my face. Gary went to Mass with me. I knew in my heart, that this particular Mass was important for him to attend. God knows. I was so happy to have him there with me, and yet we weren’t together. He was at the back of the small area, and I was very near Father at the altar, and near near near to the place, … the foot of the cross. If I looked up, with the eyes of faith, from where I stood at Mass. I would have looked right up to Jesus’s face. His blood would have spilled right onto me. This was not on purpose, this was just where I stood. And cried. And it is only now, days later, that I understood the enormity of where I stood.
The lector, reading the first reading, broke into tears at the end of her reading. It brought more tears to everyone’s eyes. This was the moment.
Your rosary was there with me. And I laid it, along with the prayers in my heart for the healing, spiritual, emotional and family healing of all our sisters and brothers. May they all forgive and love one another, and find Jesus, as you and I have.
This was the foot of the cross.
Now, we walked solemnly, and not far… to the place where they laid Him. In your mind’s eye, when you think of the Passion, you think of miles away from the site of his death, to the site of his Resurrection, but in fact, it is just steps.
The Greek Orthodox church currently has the responsibility of maintaining this sacred space. There was a huge lineup waiting for the Sepulcur to be open. In fact, we were fortunate to be where we were. Gary had disappeared. I thought of Mary Magdalene saying “they have taken My Lord, and I do not know where they have put him.” I was thinking, Gary has been here, and now I do not know where he has gone.
I was worried that perhaps the enormity of the day perhaps made him angry or bitter. You have seen him when he was really on a rampage against God and faith.
But no, he was with one of our pilgrims, who with a gentle hand was shepherding him with kindness, and with sweetness, as I could never have.
And another wonderful pilgrim, suggested that when it was my time to go into the sepulcher, that I beckon Gary to come with me. Despite all the crowds behind us, she would make room for him.
I was afraid to do that. But I did. And he came. And I cried again.
And my sister, your rosary laid on the tomb of Christ, along with mine. Our pilgrim rosaries, now holding a relic of our love for Him and for each other.
Obviously I wish you were here, but I am so glad that it is Gary who is journeying with me.
I had promised Gary that if he went to Mass, he could rest for the rest of the afternoon if he chose. We were going to walk the Via Dolorosa, and I know that in the past, he has said negative things about this particular religious practice. In my heart I wanted him to come so much, but I didn’t want to push and shove him into faith, I wanted to love him into faith.
You know I love the Stations of the Cross. To walk the steps that Jesus took. And now, with three other lovely ladies, Lynda, Heather and Jill, we were going to carry the cross through the Sixth Station, Veronica wipes the face of Christ.
The heat was oppressive, and I was afraid. You would have relished the heat. I can see your face now, laughing, knowing what a wimp I am with heat, when you, my sister, love it so much. There would have been no hat for you, and no sunblock. You would have worn your long skirt that you would have pulled up and tanned your legs everytime we weren’t at a holy site and you could have caught some of those amazing rays.
I put your rosary in it’s little container on my heart (in my bra). You would walk the stations with me, in spirit.
The first and second station were in a quiet spot, near a church. Then we entered the streets of the Via Dolorosa. Only around 7 or eight feet across the streets are crowded with vendors, and buyers and people of faith, and people of no faith. There are onlookers who look at us with pity, distain, wonder, awe, and smile. Every kind of person you can imagine, are watching us as we walk these steps. Believe me again, my sister, this is impossible to describe. The sounds of the vendors, “hey lady, only $1 US” “Pashmina’s here,” Arabic, Hebrew, Italian, Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Tagalog, all the languages of the world.
All eyes are on us as we snake our way through the crowds, singing softly, “Jesus, remember me, as you come into your Kingdom”. The smells of spice, of sweat, of the dusty heat of the day, (it is still relatively morning, and yet it’s close to 35C) Shade is a temporary respite from the sun. There is no respite from the noise, from the movement of bodies through these narrow streets.
This is no Stations of the Cross as you’ve experienced it at any church. This is much closer to what Jesus experienced, but to a much gentler degree.
No one is hitting us. No one is spitting at us. There may be sly looks of bemusement on those not of our faith, but it still has some sense of respect.
Not so in the time of Christ. Not so for HIS walk.
The sixth station is called.
Let me tell you first of MY plan. MY PLAN was to be the last person holding the cross. I did not want to lead. Lynda and Heather and Jill, such beautiful women, were far more equipped to carry the front than I. Lynda , a schoolteacher and gifted with the most beautiful voice, and Heather, a writer and once-upon a time religious sister, now mother and wife, and Jill, who cried when I called her Veronica. This is her first pilgrimage, and sometimes I know it’s very difficult for her, but her joy, at being called Veronica, and when I hugged her after, gave her such peace. Anyway, in my pride, and my decision-making with God, I had decided, that I did not want to hold the crosspiece, and see the people looking at us head on. I felt strange even, being a woman, holding the cross. This was Jesus’ walk, not mine, I thought. I will walk beside him, as one of the women who loved him.
Not my walk, was my thought, as suddenly, the front of the cross landed squarely on my shoulders, heavy, touching your rosary. And, yes, you were walking with me, on this walk, my sister.
Heavy, because the others hadn’t quite caught or held it yet, I don’t know. My eyes closed tightly, thinking, not my plan, Lord, but yours. Here you go, God, teaching me, that yes. I do have a cross. And yes, if I love you I will show it, and I will live it.
Someone, perhaps just a person in the narrow streets shoved me, not hard, but it caught me off guard, and Lynda moved forward, catching my sandal and it almost came off. Right off the beginning, I was learning, as we snaked through the narrow streets, Up stairs, around corners. I could not sing. I just stepped, one step at a time, smelling the smells, feeling the cross heavy on my shoulders, looking at the curious eyes around us.
Jesus himself, our wonderful Priest, Father Craig told us, walked this walk at around the same time of day as we were walking. It was a marketplace, and it was busy, and there were people around, and our Lord was there to be made a spectacle of. To be ridiculed, to be sworn at. To be abused, his already broken body bleeding on every stone.
And then it ended. Our station had ended, and we relinquished the cross to the seventh station.
I touched your rosary as much as possible, to all of the places of this sacred walk.
It ended these stations, with an Allelulia, in a quiet courtyard. Jesus has risen. Indeed he has risen. And our journey, ended at the 3rd hour.
DAY FOUR
The days are rushing past. I know that I have not mentioned all of the places that we have seen. I have not mentioned every church. If God is willing, he will remind me at Mass at some future time, this thing or that..
As an aside, I have to tell you of the wonderful fruit, and the wonderful bread and food, of this area. The fruit and vegetables especially are so good. I don’t like to say better than ours, but yes, they are better. The sweetest, crunchiest apples, wonderful oranges, and pears, and grapes. The fruit is amazing. Everything grows here, bananas, oranges, lemons, pomegranite, pears, apples, pomelos, cherries, peaches, olives, and more and more. All kinds of vegetables, the best tomatoes, peppers… And the fresh bread. But today, as I am sick, I have no desire for any of these things. I pray I feel way better tomorrow. I rest, and then type. I will sleep more, but not too much, as we get up most mornings at 6 or 6:30 in the morning.
And so, sweet sister, I will rest, and remember to tell you of Day Four and…
The Church of Saint John the Baptist, where he was born
The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Essenes…
The Marketplaces (I can only imagine you here. You’d be out every night, making deals with every vendor… You would want to live here, my sister, close to Jesus, …. AND the great deals)
In Love and in Christ,
Marla
St. John the Baptist.
Where he was born. Your rosary laid on the spot of his birth. A beautiful church, full of peace. This is where St. Elizabeth bore St. John and kept him from death, during the massacre of the innocents.
October 22 NOW AT HOME.....
With the gracious assistance of the Holy Spirit, and the promise of Father Scott that the memories of this pilgrimage will always be with me, I finish this journal…
Friday October 15
It was a week ago that we had Mass at the Upper Room (Room of the Last Supper). I had received an email from Tara, asking for prayers for Mrs. Coen. What better place to offer prayers. Father Scott asked us to write down a simple prayer intention. Up to that point, all my intentions were carried in my heart. This particular intention seemed to be very important to place in his hand. And so we prayed for many people that day, in that little church. I was dressed in black that day. I had no other clothes to wear. It was an extremely hot day, so I offered up this uncomfortable clothing for the day as well.
Mary visisted Elizabeth and the instruction of the angel Gabriel, during the annunciation. And we went to the old village where we visisted the Church of Visitation. Now, dear sister, a strange thing happened. I could not walk those steps to visit Elizabeth as Mary did. The heat, so oppressive, made walking difficult for me at that time. I stopped at the foot of the stairs to the Church (there are around 100 stairs or so, winding up the mountain. To the right of me, is a beautiful trail overlooking the valley, forested and rich with beautiful vegetation, flowers, houses dotted here and there on the sides of the valley. I stayed there with Sheelagh, a fellow pilgrimer. We talked of life, of family. In a way it was another visitation of a sort. God is good. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a beautiful bride and her groom walk down the trail/road. And I caught them on my camera, looking at each other, with the beautiful village behind them.
The Western Wall, (the Wailing Wall).
It was Friday afternoon, just an hour or so, before Shabbat. Scriptural Sabbath is celebrated from Friday sunset to Saturday sunset. The word Shabbat derives from the Hebrew verb shavat.
Many Jews attend synagogue services on Shabbat even if they do not do so during the week. Services are held on Shabbat eve (Friday night), Shabbat morning (Saturday morning), and late Shabbat afternoon (Saturday afternoon).
We saw many religious (Hassidic) jewish men, with the sons in tow, heading along with us towards the Western Wall, to offer prayers prior to Shabbat.
Marcia had asked me to compose a prayer for her family. I did, including Craig and Marcia, and their children and their descendants, for God’s will to be primary in their lifes, for a blessing of faith on all of their children.
I gave the prayer to Gary to honor his brother and sister in law. He walked down the stairs onto the square reserved for men only, and indeed, put the prayer into a crevice into the wall. A rabbi then approached Gary and prayed over him, for the intensions.
I stood on the hill, as all of this happened. The heat had hit me full on, and I had some heatstroke at this point. But my soul rejoiced in Gary, as he carried our prayers with him.
Saturday October 16
The day I was sick, and rested. The night before, well, let us say simply, was a cleansing. Gary and most of the pilgrims visisted the Dead Sea, Massada, Qumran.
From Essene Spirit.:
Since the archaeological discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls in 1946, the word "Essene" has made its way around the world--often raising a lot of questions. Many people were astonished to discover that, two thousand years ago, a brotherhood of holy men and women, living together in a community, carried within themselves all of the seeds of Christianity and of future western civilization. This brotherhood--more or less persecuted and ostracized--would bring forth people who would change the face of the world and the course of history. Indeed, almost all of the principal founders of what would later be called Christianity were Essenes--St. Ann, Joseph and Mary, John the Baptist, Jesus, John the Evangelist, etc.
Let’s just say, I loved the Essenes. Seeing and reading some of the Dead Sea Scrolls, their poetry, songs, and spirit was amazing. I’m not finished learning about their rules of life…. It might take a lifetime.
Bethany. How strange, that the Lord keep me away from Martha Mary and Lazarus. However, maybe another time, sister. Maybe it’s meant for you and I to visit them. Father has some close friends who live in Bethany. Other pilgrims told me that this was a very poor section that they visisted. The Christians who live here live in serious poverty. We should pray for them and keep their plight in our hearts.
The little village of Bethany with the adjoining village of Bethpage rest on the Eastern slope of the Mount of Olives. It was and is the area from which the Palm Sunday procession began. A beautiful little church commemorates three events in the life of the Lord. 1. Here he stayed at the home of Martha and Mary. 2. Here he raised Lazarus from the dead. 3. Here he was anointed for his burial. A large monastery stood here in Crusader times.
We are leaving Jerusalem for Tiberias.
I have sorrow about leaving Jerusalem. I had felt the presence of our Lord everywhere, walking in His footsteps. I just had to close my eyes, and with the help of the Holy Spirit, I felt him everywhere.
We drove through the ancient caravan route into the Valley of Jazreel to Gailiee. We saw the village of Naam where Jesus raised the widow’s only son from the Dead.
From the dry hills and rocks of Jerusalem to Galilee, I started to notice small patches of green, to larger patches, farms becoming more lush and green, fields of banana trees, pomegranate, every type of fruit and vegetable.
The River Jordan. Such a beautiful place. So many Christians, both Catholic and Protestant gather here. I see some protestants being baptized, their white robes in the green water. Your rosary and mine were immersed in the water, with a prayer. There is where I purchased some bottles of Holy Water for future baptisms in our family.
The Church of the Primacy of Peter. This was our first glance and where our feet first touched the shores of the Galilee. I could not wait to place my feet into the waters where Jesus called His disciples. Where Jesus told Peter, You are the Rock, and on this Rock I will build my church. It was there that I found my own rock. Your rosary bathed in the shores of the Galilee. Your rosary laid on the Rock in the church of the Primacy of Peter.
So many Masses were being held outdoors. By people of all nations. This is our Church, where African hymns are heard on the wind. This is our Church, where Russian, Italian, Chinese, people of all nations join together to rush to the shores. To hear the wind, the birdsong, to feel the green grass underfoot. This was Jesus’ home – Galilee – for three years. There was joy in the air.
We weren’t finished. We walked through the ancient excavation of Capernaum, where Jesus taught in the synagogue. Your rosary laid on a pillar. We stood before the house of Peter, where Jesus stayed, and healed Peter’s mother in law.
THE MASS AT THE MOUNT OF BEAUTITUDES
I can say, that this period of grace was the most beautiful Mass for me. Father stood, his back to the Sea of Galilee, our voices raised in praise, adoration and joy. I was so blessed to be able to proclaim the first reading and the responsorial psalm. How blessed. The birds dancing around our little community, the flowers, the fields of fruit, and then beyond the fields, the beautiful sea of Galilee. Jesus was here in body, soul and divinity, He was here in our Hearts. He was here in the Homily. He was here.
Just as Father was consecrating the bread into the Body and Blood of Christ, I looked up to the sky and saw fingers of light spreading down to the ground through the clouds. God’s light. God’s finger’s. God’s body and blood before me. It was too much. My heart soared. I did not cry. My heart soared. I thought if there is anywhere I ever want to go when I want to experience God, it will be this memory. This place.
They had to send someone down to tell Lynda and I that the bus was leaving. It felt like minutes, but I guess it wasn’t. Time stopped. It was time to say goodbye to this place. I wanted to place this beautiful place in my heart forever.
We then were blessed to stay in the Caesar’s hotel, right on the beach. Our view from our room was the Sea of Galilee.
That night, at the end of day, just as the sun was setting, we took a boat on the Sea of Galilee. As we approached the centre of the lake. The captain cut the engines. There we were, bobbing on the gentle waves, hearing only the sounds of birds, wind, the lap lap against the ship’s wooden sides. Here we rested, and meditated in this silence, of the apostles, in their fishing boat, with Jesus, resting. It was here that Peter asked Jesus to command him to walk on water. It was here that each one of us, our hearts bursting, cried out to Jesus. It was so beautiful, so joyful. Here was not the way of the cross, or Golgotha, but a gentle, loving reminder, of how Jesus leads us… I was thankful, joyful, and at peace.
After an amazing rest, we were in for an extremely busy day. There was almost no time left. I was now realizing that this beautiful time with Jesus was ending soon, so I was torn between feelings of anticipation and feelings of sadness. Would this be the last time I was here?
Nazareth: The cave of the Annunication. Here is where Mary, a young woman, heard the words of the Angel Gabriel. Here is where Mary and Joseph raised the young boy Jesus. Here is where the steps to Mary and Joseph’s home is still there. It was the young boy’s steps to his Mother that we looked at. The beautiful church of the Annunciation, where hundreds of countries offer their beautiful images of the Virgin.
Every day, every Mass has been beautiful. Our group of pilgrims have become church, have become disciples, have become friends and family to each other. Every Mass brings us even closer together and closer to Jesus. As we gathered in the lower area of the beautiful church of the Annunciation, we see above us, people of all nations, praying with us, and joining with us, as Church. Franciscan priests, a community of Africans, in beautiful colorful dress, an American looking young man, whispering the prayers along with us. Our community grows and envelops all those around us as Church.
MOUNT TABOR: First thing in the morning. 5:15am
Dearest sister, you know my fear of curvy mountain roads. Well, you have never ever seen Mount Tabor. I had to let my fear go. Close my eyes, and trust the driver and pray. It was quite a hill!
I heard the whoa’s and whoo’s and oooooh’s of the people around me as we whipped around hairpin turns and zig zagged up the mountain. The van was driving reasonably fast, and my body was thrown back and forth for seven minutes until we reached the peak of the beautiful mountain. I opened my eyes and saw all of Galilee stretched out before us.
The Transfiguration of Jesus is an event reported by the Synoptic Gospels in which Jesus is transfigured upon a mountain (the Mount of Transfiguration) (Matthew 17:1-9, Mark 9:2-8, Luke 9:28-36). Jesus became radiant, spoke with Moses and Elijah, and was called "Son" by God. It is one of the miracles of Jesus mentioned in the Gospels.[1][2][3]
This miracle is unique among others that appear in the Gospels, in that the miracle happens to Jesus himself.[4] Thomas Aquinas considered the Transfiguration "the greatest miracle" in that it complemented baptism and showed the perfection of life in Heaven.[5]
There is peace here. No crowds as of yet. Our guide has been so helpful in making sure difficult places such as the Mount of Tabor are visited first. When we return to the foot of Mount Tabor, there are thousands of people waiting to take vans up to the mountain.
We traveled on to the ancient city of Sepphoris where the explored the excavations of the ancient capital city of Galilee. Tradition tells us that this is where the young child Mary was brought up.
We drove to the sparkling port city of Haifa and Mass was at Mt. Carmel, home of the two prophets, Elijah and Elisha. Our last mass together,. Sadness and happiness.
We made it to Tel-Aviv and the airport to Frankfurt. Our hotel at Frankfurt was beautiful, spotless, very modern.
The pilgrimage is over, but in so many ways, it lives in my heart.
My soul lives in Galilee. My soul prays beside Jesus in the Garden. My soul dances on the sea, with Jesus. My soul rests on the Mount of Beautitudes. My soul suffers in the streets of old Jerusalem. My soul yearns for the peace of Mount Tabor.
My soul is restless until it walks in the footsteps of Jesus, again, someday.
In Love and in Christ
Marla
