The Penitent Man will Pass (7/7/2008)

One of the most popular New Testament stories is the wedding at Cana. When the hosts -- who obviously went bargain-hunting on their wedding planner -- ran out of wine, Jesus changed several jugs of plain water into wine ... not only that, it ended up being the best stuff of the day. The story is popular at (would you believe) Christian weddings, and naturally, is prime ammunition against arguments that drinking is unchristian. It is also, I have heard, indisputable proof that Jesus was Irish.

Despite this, it might be one of the world's great ironies that, for a city world renowned for its alcohol, Cana today is ... dry. The reason, of course, is that Cana is a predominantly Muslim suburb of predominantly Muslim Nazareth (wave that sentence in front of Pope Innocent III. Whoa, Nellie.) The churches -- one where the Catholics say the miracle happened, another where the Orthodox say it did (schism!) -- are pretty much the only tourist sites in town, dwarfed by the surrounding shops, souqs, and mosques. It is pretty much the same in Nazareth, next door over a couple of gear-busting hills -- the Christians administer their holy sites in bustling Arab towns who let them be, earn their keep from the tourists, but otherwise live their lives around them.

For Christian pilgrims or curious tourists, that is pretty much the norm in Northern Israel, where a young Jesus of Nazareth is said to have preached and performed his miracles. The New Testament sites are there -- usually marked by a church built over ruins of other churches, with nothing from the first century AD to mark a spot. (Or, in one case, where the Virgin Mary is said to have witnessed events that she had no role in.) The simplicity was the most fascinating, and frankly awe-inspiring, facet of the sites. Given their significance, they are strikingly small: most sites (Cana, Mt. Tabor, Mount of Beatitudes, Loaves and Fishes, etc.) are marked by a small church with a grotto over the original rock. Perhaps this is a function of being conquered and leveled so many times, or the fact that the Franciscans (a Catholic order sworn to poverty) run most of them, I dunno. But, compared to the grandiose European cathedrals, the Mormon temple in Bethesda, or, well, even the church I grew up with in West Roxbury, they are remarkably understated, even humbling. And maybe... that's the point.

Northern Israel reminded me a little bit of a dry, more populated New Hampshire (and, honestly, to picture Jesus running around New Hampshire is a little perplexing), with rolling hills and "mountains" marking the northern borders. After skirting the Sea of Galilee on our second day there, we headed up into the Golan Heights, which Israel gained from Syria in 1967. The landscape was stunning -- not lush, as my guidebooks said (though, after traveling through Moab, Edom, and the Negev, I suppose "lush" is relative), but rolling fields with dotted with rocks. A geopolitically hot Poolburn, New Zealand, if you will -- Rohan with land mines. As we climbed upward toward Mt. Bental above the disengagement zone between Israel and Syria, towns became more sparse and we saw more tanks, more UN peacekeepers. Atop Bental, we were said to have views of five countries (!), though I'm guessing the haze only allowed for Israel, Syria, and (maybe) Lebanon. Regardless, the site easily compensated us for the lack of view, since we were still able to watch over the UN-administered zone from perhaps the greatest-named restaurant ever, "Coffee Anan."

Having never been to Rome or Constantinople (we'll always have Byzantium...), I can't directly compare any of Israel's Christian pilgrimage sites to the places where the various churches found their homes -- ones with political power and (at least at one point) endless streams of money from war and real estate. Still, having been around Europe enough, I can tell you that the feeling in these sites is much different -- far less exalting, more subdued -- than anything those cathedrals offer; the churches of Europe are Walter Donovan's chalice, the churches in Galilee are Indiana Jones'. (The penitent man IS humble before God!) I never felt awestruck down by the sheer awesomeness of the place -- nothing threw at me that the head of the local church (Pope, patriarch, bishop, priest, whomever) is God's vicar on earth. In fact, the only "look at me!" monuments were built by Pope Paul VI to commemorate his own visits. (How humble.) The simplicity, though, was overwhelming -- deafening silence to let the beautiful settings and serenity speak for themselves. e.e. cummings -- who, if he didn't travel to Galilee, should have -- would grin.

Next up: three weeks, three countries, two languages, three religions (four if you count Ra), and two alphabets (three if you count hieroglyphics). What now?