For each Sunday at St. Andrew someone donates the flowers for the altar, in memory of some person or some event, or for the purpose of some prayer intention. The flowers for the Mass this morning on the Sea of Galilee at the place the monks call “Dalmanutha” looked like they were picked right from the gardens of the grounds just an hour before Mass started. Refreshing and simply elegant they were. They remained on the altar after Mass.
Whenever I have slow and full breakfast I must be a “break” from the “fast” life. It must be vacation of some sort. A slow and leisurely Sunday breakfast is the best meal treat possible. This morning breakfast (without any preparations, cooking or clean-up) was at 7:00 a.m., and Mass ( with no preparations or responsibilities) was a mere 20 minutes walk down the path to outdoor altar on the sea. hurrah for Sunday breakfast.really like breakfast
In one of the psalms, but I can’t remember which one. My quick research suggests that he is a coney. A groundhog with a condo on the lake is what they look like. They seemed to be begging for a mention on my blog.
It is one of the seven fruits (I think there are seven) mentioned in the Old Testament: the pomegranate. It is interesting to look at but too much of a challenge to eat, I think. If I remember correctly, it is a symbol of hospitality and welcome, kind of like the pineapple is in Hawaii.
And sometimes your body just graves some sugar. I bought an orange drink, thinking that might do the trick. Then I gave in and bought an ice cream bar on a stick, my favorite: vanilla ice cream covered with white chocolate. They are not as good as they used to be, now that you can buy them back home at Kroger’s. But sitting here and resting, I was able to watch pilgrims from who knows where in the world scurrying into Capernaeum to catch a quick look at the remains of Peter’s ( and Andrew’s) house. The coming and going is not quite so international or steady, eating a Magnum bar in the parking lot of the grocery in Milford. But they still are mighty tasty in 45150 on Lila.
At Capernaeum I happened upon Father Jerome, the guardian of the property and of the small Franciscan community there. We have met on previous occasions. There is just himself and an 81-year old fear, who was one of the two original excavators of the ruins of Capernaeum and who hopes to be able to be allowed to die and be buried on the property. Father Jerome (on the left in the photo) is from Ghana, and has been at Capernaeum for nine years, and is at the end of his term, but hoping to be able to stay longer. That sounded familiar to me. He was visited for a few days by another priest from Ghana, of another religious order. There are three nuns living in their own convent on the grounds, serving the pilgrims in the church/sacristy and the priests in their house. Father Jerome invited me for lunch. There was good food and laughter and priestly companionship. When conversation went to our new Pope, we all smiled. The word we agreed best described Francis was “authentic,” like in genuine, real. In speaking about camaraderie among priests, I mentioned the bond that seems to exist among mothers of priests. Father Jerome remembered at that moment that it was that day, 15 June, that his mother died four years ago. The third priest was the only one at table who still had his mother. Jerome shook his finger at him, “Take care of her for as long as you have her.” It seems the mother-priest son thing is the same the world over. Father drove me home the two miles to my bed, I mean, my hotel. I am convinced that Jesus hid away from Noon until 4:00 p.m. every day, because it is plum too hot to do anything but find some shade and snooze a bit. Jerome also told me to call him, if I wanted a ride anywhere, anytime. I think my ride to the border crossing on Wednesday was just handed to me. I added Ghanaian Jerome to my Jordanian George of a previous post.
This is more of the water of the Sea of Galilee doing its laps over the rocks in Capernaeum, this time with some color of flowers and song of birds added.
Standing at these ruins in Capernaeum, every time I heard a guide explain that this is the “house of St. Peter,” I wanted to add, “. and Andrew.” We are actually looking at the ruins of a 5th century octagonal church over the spot believed to be the house of the Peter (and Andrew). The Christian community of Capernaeum paid special attention to a square room among the ancient rocks, and commemorated the spot by building worship spaces over it. Listen to what we read in Mark 1:39 — “On leaving the synagogue he entered the house of Peter AND ANDREW with James and John.”
May these thirty-three seconds of splashing of water of the Sea of Galilee against the rocks on the shore at Capernaeum wash over you for cleansing and refreshment.
There is some lovely real estate along the sea. All in the place where Jesus said that we must be ready to give up home, land and property, as necessary, in order to follow him who chose to “have no place to lay his head.”
With Open Doors 