Day Five: Loaves, Fishes, and Fishing for People 

Today we said goodbye to the Sea of Galilee, but not before several powerful stops along the shore and a memorable boat ride. Once again, pilgrim Joe McDermott provides his reflection on the day:

Five Loaves & Two Fish

One of my favorite books as a young child was about the Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes as told from the perspective of a young boy. As we read in Matthew 14:13-21, a crowd numbering 5,000, plus women and children, were gathered near the Sea of Galilee to hear Jesus preach. As evening grew, the disciples wanted to disperse everyone so they could go to the nearby villages to get something to eat as they had nothing to feed them. Jesus instructed them to feed the people. The young boy in my storybook offered what little he had – 5 loaves and 2 fish. Jesus prayed over the food and it was broken and shared. The entire crowd ate their fill and there were 12 large baskets when they collected the leftovers. The small amount the small boy shared, after Jesus’ blessing, miraculously fed the entire crowd. A supernatural miracle for sure as I understood it.

I will always remember how I was struck by an interpretation of this Gospel story when I heard it for the first time – years later as an adult. Perhaps it wasn’t a supernatural miracle that the 5 loaves and 2 fish fed 5,000 plus the women and children. Maybe the real miracle was that the crowd all had bits of food they were hoarding to themselves. The miracle was that one person’s small offering inspired others to share. The miracle was that people shared, both of their abundance and of their necessity, and together there amounted to 12 baskets of abundance. I recognize this understanding as the miracle – that when we all share generously everyone has their fill and there is an abundance.

Today, on the third full day of our being together on pilgrimage in the Holy Land of Israel and Palestine, we began our day at the Church of Heptapegon. On this site from 28-350 AD the Judeo-Christians of Capernaum venerated a large rock upon which Jesus is said to have laid the bread and fish before He fed the 5,000 plus women and children. By about 350 AD the rock was used as an altar at the very center of the church built on this site, built by a Jewish nobleman from Tiberius some venerate as Saint Josipos. In roughly 480 AD a Byzantine church with a rich mosaic floor was erected at the site with the venerated rock placed beneath the altar. During the Persian invasion this Heptapegon Church was destroyed and faded into oblivion. After the Muslim conquest (638 AD), Christian activity ceased around the Sea of Galilee for centuries. It was in 1932 that the ancient church ruins were excavated by Fr. Andreas Evarist Mader SDS and team. The mosaics were found surprisingly largely intact. In the early 1980s the ancient Byzantine basilica was reconstructed.

After visiting the church, our pilgrim group gathered down at the shores of the Sea of Galilee where Mother Sara celebrated a moving outdoor Mass. The setting was inspired, sun-drenched lakeshores Jesus walked. In his sermon, Fr Rob acknowledged the historical places we are visiting – where Jesus walked and lived and demonstrated his divinity. But he ever so warmly called us to not only take in the history we are so surrounded by, but also to be at least as mindful of the Living Christ who is with us on this journey. Jesus among us. Jesus within us. Jesus in one another. And so very much alive today.

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Worship 

There are many things that distinguish a pilgrimage from a holiday or other kinds of organized tours. We worship together. A lot. The first thing we did together (after sharing food, of course) was to share mass. 

Lynn Adams reflects on today’s worship:

Being crowded into the Elijah Chapel and praying in our familiar forms; being supremely tired and also extremely waked up by the feeling that a very big story happened right here to Jesus and his lovably clueless disciples; the stormy atmosphere—all this pulled me into a feeling that something even more extreme or extraordinary is present than I can quite catch. 

Our first mass together


Kierstin Brown offers this snippet of our time in that chapel: ​
​You can read more about our visit to the Church of the Transfiguration here

Time takes time

I’ve been inspired, the past few days, by the generous continuum of ways people think about, express, and adopt resolutions for the New Year. Or not. One friend posted: “This isn’t Lent, folks!” Which reminds me of a conversation in early Lent about giving up and taking on for Lent. Someone in that group said: “that sounds more like a bunch of New Year’s resolutions than penitence and renewal.” They’re both right, of course.

resolutionsI tend to either pass up the opportunity provided by the turning of the calendar, to make change, or I come up with a long list doomed to fail. Historically, I’ve an an all or nothing gal. Like most people, many of my resolutions tend to be around health and fitness. I’m not alone here, I know. I think two years ago I wanted bench press my body weight, learn to do handstand push-ups, and train for a Tough Mudder event. Like a lot of people, my New Year’s resolutions historically have a touch of wanting to turn myself into someone else; a younger, more serene version of myself, perhaps.

There’s no such thing as a clean slate. We bring all of who we are into each year and each endeavor. Sure, I have too many unfinished knitting projects I should bind off in 2016. I’d like to pack healthy snacks more often. I chronically want to lose five pounds. But I am who I am and I’m kind of done with failure.

This week, I was chatting with a wise person about my fitness goals for the coming year and he gave me some profound advice. (“Profound” may just be another way of saying he said exactly what I needed to hear.) He said: “Think about what you want to be really good at ten years from now, and work toward that.” I immediately knew what that longterm goal was. Not that I’ll never tell; I don’t want to jinx it.

timeAnd the point is not so much the goal as the long view, the nudge to remember that time takes time. Transformation takes forever. Whether it’s moving to a new city, embedding oneself in a new community, making new friends, doing a better job of loving one’s neighbor or sharing wealth or staying healthy and injury-free over a long period of time…all of these things take time. Sometimes, forever. And that’s good news.

Accepted wisdom is that most people have broken their resolutions by the third Monday in January. But imagine that it’s not about breaking or keeping, but being faithful to a larger vision. Bring it on.

 

Stage directions from the Bible

I am a huge fan of the works of William Shakespeare. Like a lot of people in strange lines of work, I was an English major, and so I was exposed to a lot of Shakespeare, not just the obligatory eighth-grade reading of MacBeth and tenth-grade reading of Romeo and Juliet, but throughout college. Last fall I had an ongoing discussion with my son about why it would behoove him, as a possible college English major himself, to take a Shakespeare elective in his last semester of high school. (He is having none of it.)

randjAs I’ve reflected these past few weeks on the Gospel of Mark, the thing that has me thinking about Shakespeare is not any particular play, but stage directions. Shakespeare’s stage directions were always very spare, essential three- or four-word instructions that Shakespeare left, instructions that always included a verb and only more if absolutely necessary. The most famous of these comes from “The Winter’s Tale”: Exit, pursued by a bear. Somewhere in the development of playwriting—and if your studies took you out of the 17th century you will know more than I do about this—stage directions became far more than the bare essentials. Some playwrights seem to need to spell out every minute detail of a scene, leaving nothing to individual directors, producers or, heaven forbid, the actors.

Mark’s gospel is like Shakespeare’s stage directions. Especially this Epiphany season. Our gospels resound with Epiphany verbs. These are the verbs that reflect what Jesus did. They also are our one-word stage directions for being followers: Come, proclaim, repent, believe, call, leave, go, follow, teach, heal. 

Much is left to the imagination. And, we hope, to the Spirit. As we strive to follow, believe, go, or teach, no one is going to tell us where to stand or what to wear or what to do with our hands. That’s up to us. Gloriously challenging and freeing. What Epiphany verbs are going to direct you in the coming weeks?

The fourth day of Christmas: no cats, not sorry

IMG_3371The first Christmas we lived in our house we had cats. Well, we had cats for lots of Christmases, but the first year, they were new, rambunctious kittens. So we got a live, potted tree instead of a dead, cut one. That was in 1993; a guy would drive around in his big pick-up delivering the trees with copious instruction on how to care for them. Then he’d pick them up again a week or so later—any longer and it would hurt the tree to stay indoors. Then he’d sell the tree, along with a hundred others, so some tree farm out in the country. His customers were basically renting the trees from him on their way to being delivered to their permanent home. In 1993 this rental cost about $35, back then the same price as a medium-gorgeous noble fir. After transitioning, once our cats simmered down, back to traditional trees, I looked the guy up a few years ago and he was still doing his thing, but asking $150. I continue to opt for a cut, dead tree.

We bought our cats Christmas presents every year: catnip toys or special treats. One year, I got them these ornaments that we hung each year at the bottom of the tree for them to bat around. We still hang them there even now that the cats have both been gone for several years.

IMG_3371Before we became parents, we had friends over for dinner and we spent the evening talking about our cats the way others talk about their children. A year or two later we had all had kids, and our cats were demoted from being family members to pets. As they got older, I realized I really wasn’t that kind of a cat person. I liked them young or middle-aged, didn’t mind if they were cuddly or indifferent, but wasn’t going to be a good care-for-them-by-any-means-necessary cat owner. I was grateful when they both passed on, and am grateful for the past few years of being pet-free. These little guys hanging from the tree are all the cats we need.

The third day of Christmas: what does this bug have to do with the Northwest Industrial area?

IMG_3372This bug is one of a collection of bug ornaments given to us by my mother one year. I think everyone got bugs from her that year. We have a grasshopper, a ladybug, this fellow, and a multitude of beetles. (Because, as we know from J.B.S. Haldane, “If one could conclude as to the nature of the Creator from a study of creation, it would appear that God has an inordinate fondness for beetles.”)

This ornament reminds me, every time I see it, of my mother’s far-reaching creativity and aesthetic. She is a woman of many talents, and brings an artistic flair to everything: sewing, cooking, home decor, gift-wrapping, horticulture. I have none of these talents but I like to think that what I have gotten for her is an equally wide-ranging aesthetic appreciation. Only with my mother can I laugh and giggle about the collection of bugs she gave us for Christmas. Only with her can I drive through Portland’s Northwest Industrial area and say: Isn’t this gorgeous? For that, as for so many things, I give thanks.industrial-area

The second day of Christmas: What do you collect?

IMG_3373Every year I think I’m going to have a smaller, simpler tree. Or a themed tree; do you ever do that? Restrict the tree to ornaments that are white, or hand-made or given to us as gifts, or angels, or birds?  Each year, no matter what, my handful of Margaret Furlong ornaments, which I miraculously store in their original boxes year after year, are always the first ornaments on the tree.

Each year when I re-encounter these white porcelain ornaments with their satisfying weight my mind goes to phenomenon of collecting things. Some people do, and some don’t. I’m in the “some don’t” category, but I always want to jump ship into the sea of collectors.

I get oddly envious when I encounter others’ collections: pie birds, vintage bottles, conch shells, antique tape measures, or anything else that it would never occur to me to collect until I see it on someone else’s shelves. Years ago I worked with someone who had a snow-globe collection. She was being interviewed by someone from the New York Times and she didn’t want to have the person come to her apartment, so she brought all her snow-globes into the office. They lined all the shelves on three walls; probably about 300 snow-globes (she really didn’t want that photographer in her apartment!). They chronicled every trip she’d ever taken, as well as every friendship with anyone who cared enough about her or her collection to contribute.

What make some people collectors?

To a non-collector, it looks like it’s about loyalty and discipline. These are not qualities I lack, so there must be something else. It’s not like I have trouble holding onto things. But my things are more accumulations than collections. Yarn. Greeting cards. Knick-knacks. Perhaps the loyalty and discipline that sets collecting apart from accumulating is wed to particularity, a singularity of focus that sets collections apart from accumulation.

I’m left with more questions than answers. If I’m lucky, you who are collectors will comment: what do you collect? Why? What does it mean to you? What are your plans?