Mensa Christi

In 2002, on my first trip to Israel and during one of our first days in Galilee, we went on a boat ride on the Sea of Galilee.

We were not allowed to lean over and touch the water.

Oh, how I wanted to! I wanted to so badly. But there were safety issues.

Later on, as we neared our last day in Galilee, I said to Miriam, "If only I could dip my hands and feet into the water of the Sea of Galilee." Miriam said something in Hebrew to our driver and the next thing I knew, we were pulling off on the side of the road next to an arched gate which read: Mensa Christi.

Mensa Christi: the table of Christ. The church standing boldly against the water of the Sea of Galilee, is built over what some say is the rock where the resurrected Jesus served the disciples a meal of fish. The shoreline, that day in 2002, was lined with small seashells, many of which I brought home as a memento.

In 2007, it was a different site awaiting me at the shoreline upon arrival. This time, fish -- like those Peter caught after Jesus told him to throw the net to the right side of the boat -- were in a feeding frenzy. It was an amazing thing to watch.

In 2009, I was bringing my friends here. To the peace of Mensa Christi. Inside the church was humming with tourists. Outside, several people stood along the shoreline in silence as the water lapped at their feet.

While my comrades listened to the Holy Spirit speaking to their heart, I took a walk away from the rock-strewn shore, to the little prayer garden where a statue depicting the restoration of Peter to Jesus. Jesus, arm stretched out. Peter, broken. Down on one knee.

Closer than I've ever been to the statue -- I don't know why -- I snapped a photo. Then I zoomed in a little closer. Closer and closer until I was focused only on Peter's face. "I know how he feels," I thought. "I know exactly how he feels."

Sometimes, we just doubt. We deny the work of God in our lives. We think we can get along without him and we make silly statements like, "I'm going fishing." In other words, "Forget this. I'm going back to what I knew three-and-a-half-years ago."

For the first time, standing in the shade of the stone garden, I thought more on the words of John 21. Jesus called out the disciples in the boat. "Brothers, have you any fish?"

Of course they didn't.

"Then throw the net to the right side of the boat..."

That worked. Now they know who he is.

Then Jesus suggests that they bring their fish and add them to the flame of the coals where he was preparing other fish. And bread. For Peter, this moment must have been both exciting and terrifying. The Jesus he had denied is offering him something to eat. A warm fire to shake the night's work off. And now, I'm totally recognizing the moment for what it is to Peter. Without Jesus, Peter cannot catch any fish. It was his life, for crying out loud, and he can no longer do it successfully without Jesus! He drags the net to the shore -- this very shore I am looking upon -- and Jesus says, "Add some of yours to some of mine, why don't you?"

Peter sees now. Jesus can do it without him, but not the other way around. And, Peter realizes, he doesn't have to do it alone. It's not about his strength or even his know-how. It's just about trusting Jesus.

"Come and have breakfast," Jesus says. Almost like an afterthought. "Wanna have some breakfast?" And so they eat. I wonder how much Peter ate. Did he just nibble? Did he gobble it down nervously? And then, breakfast consumed and the fish bones tossed in the fire, Jesus casually (it seems) turns to Peter and says, "Peter, do you love me?"

Not "Simon." Not his given Hebrew name. Not to start this dialogue. No.

"Cephas." The name Jesus had given to him. "Rock. Petra. Peter."

What must the worn out fisherman have thought? Did it bring him relief? Or make him wonder all the more ... what matter of love is this? And who am I that he loves me so?

The camera zooms in one more time and I snap the shot. "Yes, Peter," I think. "I know exactly how you feel."

The Galilee, Day 1

It would be a full day. A day that proved to myself as well as to the team that pilgrims too often "run where Jesus walked."

If I had the time -- if we'd had the time -- we could have easily spent three to four days in this area. Easily. And still not done everything I'd like to do. For one, we missed going up Arbel ... but that was due to a race in the area (and on our 2nd day, so let's not go there yet).

I was excited that morning. Truly. We were going to the Bet Yigal Alon Museum at Ginosar to see the remains of a 1st Century wooden boat which had been found in a most remarkable place back in 1986. According to tradition, the Primacy of Peter (also known as Mensa Christi, or Table of Christ) is where the resurrected Jesus cooked breakfast for the disciples who had returned to fishing (at Peter's encouragement). After being reinstated by Jesus, Peter (who is now known by a variety of titles, such as the First Pope and Prince of the Apostles) went on to preach the first sermon. In other words, he left the boat behind. The Primacy of Peter Church rests on the spot where tradition says that happened. But what happened to the boat?

Perhaps it is the boat discovered in 1986 by Moshe and Yuval Lufan, two brothers who were -- of all things -- fishermen! (Can you say "Peter and James," boys and girls?) The true miracle of the find was not just the discovery but the double rainbow that appeared in the sky over the Sea of Galilee.

Excavation of the boat was no easy feat. Conservationists, archeologists, volunteers, and the Powers That Be worked side by side. They wrapped it in a polyurethane coat to avoid disintegration. It took twelve days and nights -- and then it was soaked in a chemical bath for seven years before it was placed on exhibition at the Bet Yigal Alon center at Ginnosar. Amazingly, the boat has tested to date back between 100 BC and 100 AD. Could this be the boat Peter left behind?

I was thrilled that we were going to the centerfor two reasons. 1) I wanted my teammates to see the boat. 2) I wanted my teammates to meet my dear DEAR friends who manage the gift shop.

We were met by a young woman named Marina (who I'd met previously). She talked to our team about the center, then escorted them to a a wall of glass which opens upon sensing someone standing before it. The team was ahead of me. The door opened. I hear the ooh's and aah's. Just as I was about to follow, I turned toward the store and saw Tova, my friend. "Tova!" I said.

"EVA!" she said. Her arms spread wide in greeting. We hugged. She called out, "Naamah, it's Eva!" Naamah and her husband Ohad walked over. Lots of hugs were shared. I told them I'd be back shortly, then joined my team.

I couldn't wait to introduce everyone to my friends (minus Tova's husband, Alex, who had gone out on an errand). I left Tova and went behind the sliding glass doors to the place where the boat is housed. I took some photos. Talked to my friends in hushed tones. Then told everyone that my friends from the gift shop were looking forward to meeting them.

The next hour (at least!) was spent shopping. Robi outdid everyone! I was surprised to see the book Miriam and I had written on a shelf. "You have the book!" I declared to Tova.

"Of course!" she said (a common Israeli saying ... in Hebrew "Betach!") Tova took the books off the shelves and had Miriam and me sign the copies. It was the first time she and I had ever done that together! What a thrill!! A lot of pictures were taken amongst much laughter. But then it was time to go ... With sadness and kisses, we said "shalom" and "goodbye."

But not forever. They know I'll be back as soon as I can. And, until then, I hold the good people at Bet Yigal Alon in my heart. Now and always.

To the Sea

(Day 2 continues)

After our trip to Masada, but before we dipped our feet into the Jordan in the wilderness, we stopped at what is known as Cave #4 in Qumran. The most significant find of all the Dead Sea Scrolls was done here. And, if you are watching videos or looking at photographs about the Dead Sea Scrolls, this cave is the one most photographed.

After Qumran and our Jordan River experience, we headed up to the Galilee region. We rambled along for some time ... a few of us chattered ... a few of us slept. Cheri was sleeping so hard, she actually missed the excitement of coming out of the West Bank via checkpoint.

One of the places Miriam has always wanted to take a group of writers was to the grave of Israel's beloved "Rachel the poetess." So loved are her works, her headstone has a special place to sit, retrieve some of her works, and read them by her final resting place -- which is next to the Sea of Galilee.

Miriam was getting her wish. We were heading toward the Sea and the grave.

As soon as I saw the blue water sparkling in the late afternoon sun, I reached over the back of the front seat, placed my hand on Larry's shoulder and said, "Hey, Larry! You're at the Sea of Galilee." (This would end up being something I did a lot to Larry ... "Hey, Larry ... you're at the Dead Sea ... Hey Larry, you're in Jerusalem ... Hey, Larry ... you're in Israel."

Before walking into the cemetery in Kinneret, we jaunted across the street to watch Christian pilgrims decked out in flowing white robes as they were baptized in at Yardenit (the part of the Jordan at the mouth of the Sea of Galilee).

I'm not sure what everyone else was thinking, but I couldn't help but compare our very private moments at the water in southern Israel to what seemed almost commercialized. Then again, not everyone -- I thought -- gets a private IDF escort through mine fields to the water's edge and not everyone can understand the spiritual implications of what I just wrote.

We left our places at the bridge overlooking the baptisms and into the cemetery. It had been raining before we'd arrived. The ground was spongy. The air cool. The sky darkening. The Sea of Galilee lapped at the shoreline nearby as we, canopied under thick trees, made our way to the grave, walking behind Miriam -- our mother (Ema) duck. A breeze rustled the palm fronds as Miriam sat by the grave honored with small stones. We, her students (ducklings), sat across from the grave and watched as she opened the small compartment holding texts, then listened intently as she read to us.

I watched Miriam's face intently. This was a moment for her. Miriam, as gifted a writer as anyone I know, reading words that stirred not only her heart, but the heart of a nation ... not only a nation's heart, but our hearts as well.

Earlier in the day -- having left Ein Gedi -- we each penned our own thoughts, moved as David must have been moved to write some of his great psalms of praise to God. When Miriam had finished reading, I said, "Now it is time to take out what you wrote today and read."

Each of us read ... words so beautiful! Mine went thusly:

I look back at where I've been.

The heights. The valleys.

And I think that you knew all along.

You see where I am. And you see where I am going;

it is no mystery to you.

So why then do I fear?

Do the conies shudder?

Do the ibex stand on unsteady feet?

Do they run along well-worn paths with care?

No.

They seek the safety of the rock with confidence and there they find God.

When everyone had read (Ellie had written a special song to Robi, which nearly ripped my heart out), and had cried enough to fill the sea beside us to overflowing, we stood. We took a few photographs as best we could in the near-darkness. Then we returned to the van where Tzvika awaited to take us to our next destination.