On the first Sunday, it was real parish Arabic. On the second Sunday, monastery German. Talk about different styles of worshipping and being at worship. There is room in our church for much diversity, thanks God. I felt quite comfortable at both, thanks God.
On my last full day at the Sea of Galilee I treated myself to a ham, cheese and onion omelette at the pilgrim house restaurant, with some salad and bread, as always – and a draft Taybeh beer, for a real treat. The omelette cost 28 NIS (new Israeli shekels), and the beer cost 25 NIS, the bill coming to 53 NIS, about $15 US. Taybeh is the only Palestinian-produced beer, made in a brewery in the town of, you guessed it, Taybeh, in the West Bank. Taybeh is one of the few totally Christian villages left in the Holy Land. The brewery is operated by, you guessed it, a Christian family, remember: the only kind in Taybeh. Maybe in my retirement I will open up a Taybeh beer market in the United States. With Guinness from Ireland and Taybeh from Palestinian, my Irish heart and my Palestinian soul will be internationally satisfied.
I thought that, if I told the Filipino nun that I was a priest, that I was pastor of St. Andrew parish back home, that the loaves and fishes are vey important to us because, in the Gospel of John, it was Andrew who came to Jesus with the lad with the five and two, and that I would like for her to take a photo of the 5th century mosaic for me, she would raise the rope that keeps pilgrim from entering the sanctuary of the Church of the Multiplication of the Loaves and Fish and let me take the picture. No way. She took my iPad and went under the rope herself. This is her photo, cropped by me.
Actually, it is. It was not until I got away from home and into college that I found out what a real mango was. What we called a mango in my house, much of the rest of the world, I found, called a green pepper. That’s why I couldn’t figure out why anyone would have a mango for dessert. Anyway, this is a real mango, and yes, they do grow on trees around these parts.
Have you? No. Cast your net, and you will. Have breakfast. Do you love me?
At the Church of Peter Primacy – “Do you love me? Tend/feed my lambs/sheep” – by chance I met Annalisa, as she sat on the porch at the convent (where the two Franciscans on site live). She is an Italian archeologist working at the ruins of Magdala (of Mary of Magdala fame), but at this moment was studying some materials for her PhD pursuit. She offered me the hospitality of a chair to sit by the edge of the lake. I asked her how she liked her new Pope. She smiled a great big smile, “I love him. He loves to be with the people. He is so simple.” Then she asked, “It seems that it would be possible to meet him, do you think?” I suggested that she write him and ask him to visit her and the Friars at Peter Primacy. He should like the spot anyway. Who knows, he may skip Jerusalem and come right to see her. I did not tell her, but I thought of the scroll-invitation that we will be sending to Pope Francis, asking him to visit us in Milford, at least in his thoughts and prayers.
I’ve seen it often at home. It must be one of those “the world over” things: when things get too emotional and a tear rolls down, a father cleans his glasses. A great technique to distract yourself and to remove yourself from the moment for a moment so that you do not totally lose it and begin to cry. It was at Ranim’s engagement party last evening. This photo will not be the best of all those taken at the engagement, but it captures something of what many of the others will miss: the love and emotion of a father as his daughter becomes formally engaged. There is suddenly another man in your little girl’s life, and she is no longer your little girl, although she will always be your little girl. Sometimes the only thing that a father can do and the best that he can do with the moment is to clean his glasses.
Miraculous Catch of Fish
When he had finished speaking, Jesus said to Simon, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.”
Simon answered, “Master, if you say so, I will let down the nets.”
Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.”
Mass with the German Benedictines at their outdoor altar at their Church of the Multiplication of the Loaves and Fish was, week, so German and so Benedictine. Exactly at 9:00 a.m., exactly, exactly, the twos servers and the priest presider appeared at the back of the people gathered, and we all stood. Mass was all in German. Arabic last week, German this week, and next week, back home, chances are good that it will be English. Same Mass, same cadence of of the spoken word, just different languages. Even though outside the monastery church, summers it is too hot in the church itself, everything was elegant and Mass-worthy, crisp and ironed, classy and honorable, that is,so Benedictine and monkish. One thing I noticed about the presider. The chasuable that he wore, the way he used his arms and hands, the tone of his voice, his inflection and the deliberate pace of his speech, drew no attention to himself and sort of deflected everything toward God through the ritual of the Mass. That was so Catholic and was so right.
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.
With Open Doors 