Judean desert, Jericho, and Nazareth

A very early morning. We left Jerusalem at 7:15 and made our way east toward the Jordan, about an hour's drive north and east. We disembarked in the middle of nowhere overlooking the Wadi Quelt, the usually dried-up river bed that served as the north-south road where people once dwelt in the canyons and caves of the mountainous desert. It was easy to imagine Jesus telling the parable of the Good Samaritan because before our eyes, as Joan read that parable, we could see it unfolding...it was that real.

From there we traveled east to Jericho, which is 10,000 years old! Incomprehensible to consider that fact, given its current size and modernity. A cable car took us to the top of a mountain, the Mount of the Temptation, to an Orthodox monastery where one monk remains. Again, the pieces fell into place. How is this the spot where the temptation occurred? Of course we don't know for certain, but given that a community of believers has been dwelling in this cliff (think Navajo) since the first century, and that they've maintained a community for 2,000 years, it's pretty easy to say, "yup, this marks the spot."

The sycamore tree in Jericho where Zacchaeus climbed
to see Jesus pass through town.

Once we were back in Jericho we stopped by Zaccheus's tree, the sycamore tree, which he supposedly climbed to see Jesus passing through.

A longer trip north, and turning west into Israel itself, and then north for over an hour, we arrived in Nazareth. En route the scenery was central California...field after field of vegetation, produce, and beauty. Then, almost out of nowhere, the city of Nazareth appears in the distance. It's much bigger than its first century predecessor, which likely had 200 people dwelling in cut-out caves on the hillside. Today, more than 100,000 people live here, and it's exceedingly modern. Our accommodations, the Sisters of Nazareth Guesthouse and Chapel, are straight out of late 19th century, and as one of us said, "don't you feel like you're at the Isabella Stewart Gardner?" Yes, as a matter of fact.

Surrounding the convent, on every side, are churches. One is Anglican (part of the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem), and the other three are some versions of Roman, Orthodox, and Armenian. And though each is distinct from the other (stand alone) they're almost integrated, together with shops for locals and pilgrims alike, into a story book of Gabriel's Annunciation to Mary, the God-bearer.

Tradition holds that this is the hometown spot
of our Lord's growing-up-Synagogue.

The grotto in the Basilica, carved out from the
nave's main floor, where the Angel Gabriel
announced to Mary that she would give
birth to Jesus, the Messiah.

We made it just in time to the "Synagogue Church" which of course never existed. It's a simple place dedicated to the time when the adolescent Jesus unrolled the scroll and read from the prophet Isaiah. We read the passage from St. Luke and sat quietly. Just steps away, as if it were some giant lighthouse, is the massive Basilica of the Annunciation, completed in 1969. Think modern ecclesiastical architecture taken to its zenith. Or, if you're not a fan, I guess you could say nadir. And yet, it retains several elements of its 5th century predecessor, including the apse, and even better, there is preserved right there in the middle of the church, the 1st century grotto where Gabriel announced to Mary that she would give birth to Jesus, the Messiah. We gave thanks for archeologists! Around the Basilica, so moving, are artistic representations of the Annunciation from every nation in the world (as the league of nations existed in 1968), most with mosaic, or ceramic tile, some with glass, but EACH conveys the essence of how Mary might be perceived or depicted in that particular culture/nation. "France's is SO French," said Pat Hitchcock (a pilgrim from the Parish of the Epiphany), and another pilgrim, Gayle Pershouse, said, "Look at Mexico's...it takes you there." I agree completely. Unfortunately our own country's rendition leaves something to be desired, even for me, one who adores 1960s-1970s "good" church architecture; I admitted to feeling a tad embarrassed to say it was from America. Another pilgrim, Don DeLollis, from Christ Church Andover, said, "Thomas, you'll just have to get over it!"

A few steps beyond the Basilica is an early 20th century Romanesque church (on the remains of an 11th century church) dedicated to St. Joseph. It's diminutive next to the Basilica, but it's no less embracing of his part, Joseph's, role in the story of salvation. First off, it's unpretentious and sturdy. There are three paintings in the apse: 1) the Holy Family, 2) The Dream of Joseph, and 3) the Death of Joseph in the Arms of Jesus and Mary. Don't miss these! A stairway descends to a crypt where caverns can be seen through a grille in the floor, yes, the very place where Joseph and Mary made their home.

Our supper was in a simple refectory with other pilgrims from around the world. A group of Italian priests, all collared-up (and cutting-up), a group of women and men from a French speaking island off Madgascar (Reunion, I think), and ourselves. After supper the 16 of us gathered in a circle in the convent chapel to say our prayers, and to say good-night.

Poor Nathaniel. Of course he said, "Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?" It's clear that very little existed here in the first century. Now, in 2013, it's a place one could spend a week, easily, and not scratch the surface of meaning, of history, or certainly, of beauty. Get here if you can. 2015 beckons!