Monday comes early. Father Piotr and I woke up at 4:00 am to be packed and out the door by 5:00. Today we will make our pilgrimage from Nazareth to the top of Mount Tabor. And Father Roman will join us for this leg of the trip! It was nice to see him again. We left his car with the Sisters living at the Bishop’s house and made a quick stop at the Church of the Annunciation (where Mary met the angel Gabriel and learned of her assignment).
At least I thought it was a quick stop, and the church was pretty empty when we arrived. Fathers Piotr and Roman then disappeared and a Franciscan brother gave me a Mass lectionary book. What? I recognized the readings, but still had no idea what was happening. Then the Fathers reappeared in their worship clothes and I realized we were going to worship here—really just the three of us! I read the Isaiah passage and sang the Psalm. It was pretty surreal. I learned later that Father Piotr had arranged this as something special. I won’t forget it.
You learn a lot about someone when you travel with them (especially in the car), shop with them or wallpaper with them. Father Piotr has a way about him: he suspects that there’s always a shorter, better, and more efficient way to get there—phone map or no phone map. So we made a relatively straight line across the 13km to Mount Tabor, only digressing off the path a couple of times to tramp through the wild. And here I was introduced to much of Israel’s truly wild vegetation—thistle and thorn plants. Lots of them. Of every kind, shape, colour, and degree of prickle. Father Piotr had shoes but bare legs below the knees. I had pants but bare feet in my sandals. The win goes to Father Roman who had pants and shoes!
The final climb up the mountain starts at the town near its base, Daburiyya (the Biblical Deborah’s town from Judges 4–5), and works it way up a steep but doable path. Where I come from this is beginner-level stuff. I had the lungs and legs for it, but my footwear was less than optimal, making each footstep an exercise in precision. After lunch the Brothers opened up the gate, and we spent some time at the Church of the Transfiguration and its surrounding well-manicured gardens. This has to be one of the most beautiful spaces I’ve seen in my time here.
We drove Father Roman back to his car in Nazareth, visited with the Sisters a bit (there’s always coffee and a bit of fresh cake), then popped into Saint Joseph’s church, built on top of his historical home, where you could imagine Jesus in his hidden life before going public. A slightly smaller, but very cozy worship space, with exposed caves and cisterns below the main floor. This place was an important touchpoint for me; my dad died on Saint Joseph’s celebration day.
Father Piotr and I drove back to Mount Tabor, where we unpacked the car to set up our tents and arrange a simple supper and campfire—there was lots of old olive wood to harvest. The sunset over distant Nazareth was beautiful. We got up early, packed everything back in the car and started our descent down the mountain at 6:00am. This was going to be the monster day: 36km to Magdala.
What to say except that it was beautiful, long, difficult, more beautiful, and all the rest. The pace was high, as we were expected in Magdala for a 4:30 pm Independence Day barbeque with the Franciscans. Not a problem if one considers a smoothly groomed trail. But this was quite the mix: sections of asphalt, or dirt, or rocks; most parts marked, some less so, phone batteries getting low, a wicked thistle field that had nearly overtaken the trail (and us!), and always a smart (?) detour or two courtesy of Father Piotr.
After the barbeque we took the Palestinian road back to Jerusalem, and it was intriguing looking out the window at the lights down in the Jordan river valley, and the lights of Jordan (the country) in the hills beyond. I was very determined to wear my new sandals as some kind of great ancient adventure. The sandals were totally up for it, but my feet not so much, and when we finally got back home they received a long saltwater soak and a few band-aids.
Wednesday was a low mobility day, to say the least, with most of it spent working on the desk calendar design. I helped Father Benny with phase two of the rabbit hutch, which is nearly ready for move-in. There’s an interreligious bible study once a month (for the last 10 years) hosted by Father Benny where Catholics and Jews come together to read and discuss the scriptures. I was invited, so even though I only understood odd bits of the dialogue, I did have my interlinear Hebrew-English Psalms so I could follow some of the language used to discuss Psalm 126. This psalm has fascinated me for a long time, so it was great to be part of a group who also loved this material and wanted to meditate deeply with it.
Father Benny’s friend Devora attended the meeting, and afterward invited me to attend Jewish worship on Friday with ZION: A Land of Israel Community as they met outside during the summer months right before the Shabbat service proper. So Friday after work I walked about 30 minutes to the courtyard park that had a small speaker set up and lots of plastic blue chairs. Devora found me and swapped my Hebrew-only songbook for one that had transliteration as well (Hebrew words written in Roman alphabet), and that helped me a lot in following along. Their singing and prayers were so lovely, so free, so spiritual, so communal. Rabbi Tamar gave (what looked and sounded like) a quietly passionate address exorting her people to peace, love, acceptance and sharing. I loved my time there, and will try to connect with them at least once more before I leave the city at the end of the month.
I walked back mid-evening to my parish house where I knew there was a little birthday party going on after Mass for Sinead who just turned 50. Sinead (from Ireland) is part of a group of Sisters in this community, and Christina (from Italy), one of the other Sisters, led us in a series of trivia and pantomime games. Everyone brought food and Father Benny made pizzas—the sausage-potato was my favourite. Most people in the room were close to my age, and it was a real treat to spend fun time with them. I have a lot to learn about opening up and allowing myself to really belong anywhere.
The weekend was simple. Saturday evening a few of us went to the École Biblique’s Saint Stephen’s basilica to celebrate a pentecost vigil for peace in the holy land. The moment in the service when each person (many hundreds) prayed the Lord’s Prayer in their own native language simultaneously was one of the the most “pentecostal” experiences I’ve ever had. Afterward there were refreshments and sweet treats in the courtyard. “I want you to eat and drink like there is no tomorrow,” Father Benny instructed me.
After the vigil Father Benny took me with him to the Sisters of Saint Joseph convent just down the street from where we live. They were very hospitable and hosted us with plenty of cheese, chopped veggies with fresh dip, and wonderful spinach-stuffed buns. I got to learn a lot more about the complexities of ethnic life here, boots-on-the-ground style. These sisters are as wise as they are generous and lively.
After a beautiful morning stroll on Sunday I spent some time on my own in the chapel playing guitar and singing. One old song I knew from the 90’s suddenly came back to me and I was surprised to find myself remembering all the chords and words. During Mass that evening I realized that my efforts in the Hebrew language had hit a bit of a wall. Going forward I need to adjust my own personal expectations and find more ways that I can both learn gradually and be more present to the worship, not letting one or the other completely dominate my experience here in Israel. After Mass I was invited to have a beer with some of the others on a nearby patio. I’m getting to know the neighbourhood a little, and even walked back home without using my phone to find the way!
That pretty much marks the halfway point of my three-month trip to Israel. Some resetting and recalibration are needed as I take stock of my spiritual, mental and physical wellbeing. Sometimes I allow myself to get caught up in other people’s schedules and agendas, trying to keep up or maintain someone else’s bleeding edge of progress. But those things can’t last—they’re not my edges. I think the upcoming week will have a few changes to allow me to refocus on the things that really call out to me. I want to finish well, healthy and useful to the community, even if that means dialing back for a few days in order to find my own legs again.
Makes me laugh: living with two priests who both have killer humour is a daily treat. The other day we were finishing Mass and I was trying desperately to sing the final hymn correctly with the right tune and paying close attention and everything, then Father Piotr comes and stands beside me and starts singing it in this boisterous military voice, then firmly bumps my elbow as he swings around to make his exit. You stinker!
Pray for: I think about my issues back home in Canada, on pause now, but need to be resumed at some point in the future. There seems to be a place where one can be concerned about ordinary-life things while remaining care-free and focused on the most important things. I want to be somewhere in there.
Thankful for: the R2-D2 bird that sings outside many mornings. It chirps, squawks, burps, electrofarts, and squeaks its way through the day. Hilarious. The earth-sized jackhammer carving out a new high-rise on the other end of the block at 7:30 am… not so hilarious.
Photos: 1) approaching Mount Tabor with Daburiyya at its base; 2) worthy sandals, the top pair has the miles on it; 3) reception following the vigil at Saint Stephen’s basilica, where you could find nut-filled sweet pastries in nearly endless supply.
