The Israel Experience, Part 3: An Hour for Three Years

Mid morning, day three: In the first week of August, it’s hot in Israel. Everywhere we went, our little herd huddled under the shade of trees, buildings, even ruins. We used ruins for shade.

Today, we’re sitting on a collection of stone blocks under a smartly planted bundle of trees. To my left, a fence keeping the traveling entitled off of first century artifacts. I see the tops of columns and pieces of building archways. I scan back to Mickey. He’s holding his finger in his Bible, standing in front of us. His finger is in one of the gospels—I love Luke and have given much of my life to his gospel, so I’ll just choose to "remember" that Mickey was reading out of Luke.

In Luke 5, Jesus walks into a synagogue to teach, and a man possessed by a Demon begins to yell at him. With simple yet stern words, Jesus casts the demon out, and the people are amazed. I look to my right at a large wall. From the ground to about 3 feet up, it is black. Above that, the stones are white. My vision focuses as Mickey continues to speak. This is that synagogue. And the black stones at the base are the same stones that stood when Jesus sat in this place day in and day out to teach.

This is Capernaum.

It seems small to people like me, this town. The Roman Catholic Church owns half the land, the Orthodox Church owns the other half. The synagogue sits in the Roman Catholic side. It is a large synagogue; Luke 7 explains why.

Of course, our bus had pulled up alongside two other tour-buses. Despite the large number of people walking the streets of this town that covered no more than an acre or so, it was quiet. I saw many "holy sites" in Israel. Capernaum stirred my soul unlike any other.

Jesus was only in Jerusalem for a week. He stayed in or around Capernaum for nearly 3 years. I was in Jerusalem for 4 days. I stayed in Capernaum for an hour or less. The quiet of it, the reality of Jesus’ footprint on it… Somehow, though my mind has returned to the rhythms before me in Colorado, my heart is still lingering in Capernaum.

Mickey finished his brief lecture and we were released to explore. I felt I couldn’t walk quickly. I sauntered to the back wall, outside the synagogue. My spirit trembled within me. I turned my back to it and looked at the rolling hills just outside the town wall (cue the verses that say "Jesus went to a mountainside to pray."), this is what he saw every day. Everything in me wanted time to move slowly so that I could enjoy this spiritual meal. But it wouldn’t (thank God for blogs, where the passage of time is paint on my brush, eh?), so I rounded the synagogue and walked in.

There was much of this day that moved me. That moment in the synagogue, the place Jesus taught the men and women of Capernaum every day, has left a stretch mark on my soul. Its walls were tall and white, much larger than I imagined any 1st century synagogue. Perhaps the stones at the base could still remember his confident voice addressing the crowd, "The kingdom of God is like…" and the people go silent. "When this Rabbi speaks, things happen," they whisper to one another. "Did you hear he healed Peter’s mother with a word?" "Yes, right over there, where she was dying in his home!" More of the crowd gathers. "That’s nothing," a bold retort: "The Centurion who built this synagogue had a dying servant. Jesus healed him without ever stepping foot in that Gentile’s unclean home." And from multiple people at once: "Who is this?"

By now I’ve wandered to the place they say Peter’s home was. A chapel is built on top of it, with a glass floor to see the remains of Peter’s walls. Chapels and churches are on top of every potentially significant site. Like Peter himself, we want to build stone alters where organic life happened. I can’t take it in fast enough.

I lift my eyes and notice all the people slowly walking these streets, like me. None of them are in my group. Without another glance at the place Jesus spent more time than any other, I hurry back to the purple bus, frowning at this downside of tours.

The day to follow fed my soul, though breakfast was best. We never went far, but instead visited all the towns and significant areas that surround the Sea of Galilee. To finish, we climb in a wooden boat on one side of the large lake and sail across. I furrow my brow as the crew raises an American flag—not quite the view Jesus would have had, but nonetheless. I look out at the little towns in the haze, and then down at the smooth water. Thanks to Luke (and his three fellow Evangelists), and thanks to this trip, I’ve heard Jesus speak in Capernaum.

Now I squint across the waters he calmed with a word, the waters upon which he walked. Now they—and my soul within me—are quiet as the mid morning