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.
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.”
On my two mile walk to Capernaeum I remembered something the doctor told me in Jerusalem: take pain medication only if you really need it. Use the pain as an indicator. I think he meant that the pain will tell me what to do and what to avoid doing. Feeling the pain is actually part of the healing process. That is interesting for other moments in life, isn’t it? And besides, a slower walk allowed me to see more along the way. Today there was no cane, no pain (to speak of, that is). It was a good walk.
Father James Martin, S.J., in his book, “My Life with the Saints,” suggests that maybe we are attracted to a particular saint or fascinated by a particular saint because that saint has been praying for us all along. I took the name “George” as my Confirmation name not for any spiritual or thought-out reason, but only because it was my sponsor’s middle name, and I didn’t like the sound of his first name: Harold. St. George is real big here in the Holy Land among the Christians, which makes him big in my book. St. George is the protector of the Christians in the Holy Land. Many have his image carved in stone outside their house over the front door. Well, there is a little fellow staying here at the same pilgrim house on the Sea of Galilee, visiting with his mother and grandmother. He is Jordanian by birth and by way of his father. His mom is Bolivian. His eyes are beautiful. You see his eyes in the photo above. If you look closely you will see me (taking the photo) and his mother and grandmother reflected in his eyes. Finding out that the family is living in Jordan, I asked mom, as we happened, by accident, to be walking together on the path to the Church of the Multiplication of Loaves and Fish how the “crossing” works on the northern bridge from Israel to Jordan. I am used to crossing by the southern bridge, and have never crossed up north. My last question was about how easy it might be to find transportation from the border to Fuheis, the town where I am going for the ordination. Her response was, “We’ll send a driver from Amman to pick you up and take you the two hours to Fuheis, and if the driver is not available, we will book a taxi for you. Someone will be waiting for you when get across the border. Don’t worry. Here is my cell phone number, here is my husband’s cell phone number. If anything changes in your plans, or if you have difficulty of any kind, call one of us and we will sort things out for you. It will be a pleasure for us to do this for you. And if you get bored in Fuheis, give us a call and we will introduce you to the family. They are quite a bunch! You will have lunch with us.” What a surprise and huge blessing for me! Oh, by the way, the little guy’s name is … George. He is now my Jordanian George. My intercessor. My protector. God is so good to me.
Warm chocolate cake, ice cream and black, really black, coffee after supper.
With Open Doors 