We continued north toward the Sea of where we took a short boat ride. The owner and captain of the boat was a Christian who had written and recorded a number of hymns in Hebrew. When we arrived at our destination, we had a meal and one of the options on the menu was St. Peter’s fish. In Matthew 17 we are told the story of a conversation between Jesus and Peter. Peter had asked Jesus if they were obligated to pay a temple tax. Jesus sent Peter fishing and when a fish had been caught, a coin was found in its mouth that could be used to pay the temple tax. We were told that this was the kind of fish that Peter had caught. It was a Tilapia. Can’t say one way or another whether it really was a Tilapia that Peter caught, but that is what we were offered.
At a hotel in Herodias, we had a near disaster. Iona and I were walking in the hotel and taking the stairs rather than using the elevator. There was a sticky edge on each of the stairs to keep us from slipping and falling. It worked too well. Iona’s heel stuck a bit on one of the stairs and she took a tumble. By the grace of God, she landed on her thigh rather than hitting her head. A bruised thigh was a lot less a problem than if she had struck her head on those stairs. Because it was the Sabbath, no work could be done. Using the elevator, you would have to push your floor number, which was considered to be work. Solution – every floor button was automatically pushed when you got on the elevator. A little annoying but we managed to avoid doing any prohibited work.
We finally arrived in Jerusalem early one evening. Tradition suggested that we get out of our bus and walk the remaining few meters to the top of the Mount of Olives. From the Mount of Olives, we looked across the Kidron Valley to the Temple Mount. From there we could see the meandering path that Jesus and His disciples took on Palm Sunday. We saw the Garden of Gethsemane where Jesus asked His disciples to wait and pray with Him. We saw ancient olive trees that may have stood there in Jesus’ time. It was awe-inspiring to stand there and seeing the ancient city. Just below the crown on the Mount of Olives is a small cemetery. There bodies are buried with the feet pointing toward the city wall. It is believed that when the Messiah comes, He will come through the eastern gate and all the dead will rise. How would they want to rise? Looking at the city gate where Messiah had come, of course. Bodies are kept in these graves until all the flesh is eaten away and then the bones are placed in a sarcophagus, a small stone box, and the grave is ready for a new temporary occupant.
That evening, after checking into our hotel and eating dinner, our host took us on an informal walk through old Jerusalem. We walked through the Jewish quarter, the Muslim quarter, the Armenian quarter and finally the Christian quarter. Each was different. I will never forget coming to the wailing wall, the last remaining wall of the Herodian temple. I turned a corner and there it was. There is a sacredness to that spot that I have never encountered before. We call our worship spaces sanctuaries, but I have never had that same experience of sacred space as I had at the wailing wall. We were given yarmulkas so that we wouldn’t approach the wall with heads uncovered. As tradition dictated, I wrote my prayers on a small piece of paper and stuck into one of the many cracks in the wall. I simply wrote the names of my children and grandchildren. After silently praying for my family, I slowly and silently backed away from the wall. We were told not to turn on backs on the wall as we withdrew.
One of the most interesting and at the same time distressing stops on our journey was Yad Vashem, the holocaust memorial in Jerusalem. Our guide didn’t accompany us. We were left to walk through and to read the stories that had been recorded. There was one exhibit that was a large map with the names of the Nazi death camps. I looked specifically for Mauthausen. I had read Simon Wiesenthal’s book called The Sunflowers. That book had touched me deeply and somehow just seeing the name of the camp he had survived, brought a tremor to my heart.
We were taken through the Avenue of the Righteous that had memorials to people who had saved the lives of Jewish people during the war. At each memorial was a tree and often people brought small stones to leave behind. One of the memorials was to Oscar Schindler (his story was told in the movie Schindler’s list). We were given a brief story of the memorial to Corrie ten Boom, the courageous Dutch girl, who helped hide and protect many Jews fleeing from the Nazis. Her story is contained in the book and movie by the name of The Hiding Place. The story was that the tree that had been planted in her memory, died on the same day that she did.
My preaching and my reading of the gospels has been greatly enhanced by my journey to Israel, as I practiced keeping the Son in my eyes.