A Brief Explanation

It's June 10, 2010. It's been two weeks and one day since the most difficult, easiest day of my life.

The day my mother passed on to Glory.

We were together near Black Mountain, NC when she had the first hemorrhage from a brain aneurysm. She had the second hemorrhage in the hospital.

Over the next couple of days, I'll tell you a little bit about all this. Then, we'll go back to talking about Israel.

But I'll tell you this: heaven is all the more lovely because of a little lady I know living there. I miss her more than words can say, but I know she is exactly where she has always wanted to be.

Thank you for your patience with my blog.

Eva Marie Everson

Nazareth's First Century Spring

I've sort of waited for this day. And, before I begin, I want you all to know what I am about to tell you, I say in all serious jest.

There's a mean old man sweeping the floors of the Church of St. Gabriel in Nazareth. I've encountered him not once, but twice. But before I warn you ... um, tell you ... about him, let me tell you about this marvelous place and what it is built over.

According to the Orthodox tradition, Mary -- the mother of Jesus, before she was his mother -- was drawing water from the first century well when she received the call on her life from none other than Gabriel. The spring leading to the well remains, as does the well, but several years ago, during renovation, the water supply was cut off to the well.

As a young girl and as a woman living in Nazareth, this is the only location Mary would have and could have gone to daily to fetch water for her family.

The Church of St. Gabriel was originally built circa 600-700 AD and was and is dedicated to the archangel, Gabriel. The chapel of the church we are able to see today is from the Middle Ages with the church itself built in 1750.

Inside the church one finds distinguished iconostasis, highly-polished pews, paintings honoring God and His story told beneath this location, deep golds and rich reds. It's quite dark, really. Warm by its nature but stand-offish in a way. Come but don't touch, it seems to say.

Or maybe that's the crotchety old man ...

At any rate, directly ahead of the front door from which light spills in from a courtyard where street vendors sell their good and several cafes offer culinary delights, are seven worn steps leading to the Chapel of the Spring.

And there, trickling below a low-burning lamp and surrounded by numerous depictions of Mary, is the source of the water.

Of course I have to share with you the funny part of this story. We wanted to take pictures (we managed to get a few) but the man yelled at us. Sharon and I sat in one of the pews, hoping to hear from God in the opulence and silence of the church. Eyes closed, we both managed to drink in a drop or two of Living Water.

But, the old man fussed at us and told us to get up. So we did. Feeling pretty rejected, our team of six journalists, one guide, and one IMOT rep, went out into the courtyard. It was then I found my courage. I wanted footage of the spring, by Golly. I tucked my video camera into my purse, left my other camera equipment and carrying case with my comrades, and headed back into the ancient building.

"What do you want now?" the man asked from just inside the door.

I hadn't expected a question. I answered, "I'm going back in" in the most firm tone I have.

The man stepped aside; I marched toward the barrel-vaulted chapel, descended the steps, slipped the camera out of my purse, prayed the man didn't hear the little bell that sounds when I turn the camera on (he didn't, I suppose) and ... voila! Film!

Enjoy!

And In Other News...

If you love singing praises to the King of kings, check out:

http://www.thefish.com/music/worship/11631011/

or

http://www.crosswalk.com/spirituallife/worship/11631011/

At the Church of the Beautitudes

This is truly one of the most beautiful landscapes in all of Israel and one I couldn't wait to see again. Not to mention that my friends would have the opportunity to see it for the first time. They were impressed, of course, but possibly none so much as Larry.

Maybe impressed isn't the right word.

Moved. (That's a good word...)

You see, unbeknownst to me, Larry had a dream before we came to Israel. I won't get into the details of it because it's not my place to do so. But it was here, at the Church of the Beatitudes, that Larry realized the dream as reality. It was, quite simply put, the "I am walking where Jesus walked" moment.

There's really nothing like that feeling, that sudden knowledge that you are where He was, where His Spirit continues to hover and wait. Where it inspires and excites.

It is said that here is the place where Jesus -- gathered by countless listeners -- gave the famous "blessed" sermon. Blessed are the peacemakers, blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are the meek ... Personally, I like walking around the gardens -- this time I went alone -- and imagining being one of those listening to Rabbi Y'eshua. A gentle sloping toward the shoreline of the Galilee makes a perfect spot for sitting ... listening ... pondering ... learning more about God and what he expects from me and what He desires to give to me.

There is peace in this location. landscapes, rolling hillsides, bold cliffs standing guard in the distance. reality, Jesus was being pretty gentle in many ways with his teaching here. These were the poor who listened, the ones who daily had to make peace with Rome, the ones who lived meekly ... teachable, as it were. The time had not yet come for some of Jesus' more difficult teachings ... He was just getting started.

And perhaps that is what spoke the loudest to Larry. The gentle Jesus. The rabbi ... teaching in ways beyond words to ears ... but lessons to hearts.

"I was here... this is my land ... these are my people ... my Israel ... "

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 Town of Jesus

I went to Israel in 2002, there was hardly anyone there. Oh, sure ... the people who live there were there. But no visitors. We kept bumping into another group of six journalists -- these being male -- but other than that ... no one.

When I returned in 2007, there were significantly more visitors. Tourism had returned to Israel, praise God!

But 2009 showed a completely different level of tourism altogether! People people everywhere! Not just one tour group, but many at most sites.

Capernaum -- the town of Jesus -- was no different.

Wait, I hear you say. Wasn't Nazareth the town of Jesus? Yes, it was ... until he began his ministry. Then, to fulfill Scripture's prophesy, he moved (See Matthew 4).

Capernaum of today is beautiful to behold. Tour groups have the option of sitting in shady gardens while hearing of Jesus' ministry and the miracles performed here. Or, they can stand along the border walls and stare out to the Sea of Galilee dancing in the day's sunlight. They can enter the church (I call it the giant spaceship that came to earth and managed to land on top of Peter's house) and worship quietly or partake of a service. Or, for a taste of what it would have been like to worship in a synagogue in Jesus' day, they can walk through the ancient White Synagogue, a fourth century structure built over the 1st century place of worship where Jesus drove out the demons plaguing a demoniac.

Okay, let me just tell it like it is. You could spend ALL DAY here. Few do, but you could. It is a worshiper's holiday. An archeologist's dream. A photographer's delight. A historian's mecca. Capernaum draws the person as a whole -- spiritually, emotionally, aesthetically. Flowers that grow in Capernaum are vivid in color, full of bloom.

If you read that line one more time, you'll get a sermon.

In 2002, after visiting Capernaum for the first time, I read in the Bible that here, when the demoniac approached him, the evil spirit cried out, "What do you want from us, Jesus of Nazareth?" (see Mark 1). I wrote in my journal, "Yes, Jesus. What do you want from me?"

The answer to the demonic was "Be quiet." (Although, according to Scripture, Jesus didn't say it very kindly ... to me, he whispered, "I want you to hush now ...")

I can be quiet in Capernaum.

But there's another story about Capernaum that ministered to me in 2007. Jesus and the disciples were in his town and he was asked, "What must we do to do this work of God?"

Jesus replied, "...believe ..."

I wrote in my journal. "I am asking you to believe."

In 2007, my husband and I were in a legal battle for the rights to raise a little girl. She is not a blood relative, but she'd been "ours" for a long time. We fought and fought hard -- against all odds, against what the legal eagles said was possible -- to make her "ours" legally and not just ours in our hearts. My battle in the States was near the forefront of my mind every moment of my time in Israel and so, in Capernaum, I asked, "What must we do to do the work we believe you have given us, Lord?"

Jesus whispered, "Believe."

In Capernaum, believing is easy.

In 2009 I was overwhelmed by the groups who'd made their way there. To worship. To hush. To believe.

So, Capernaum was his town. I keep trying to picture him visiting the local real estate office, shopping for just the right house ... and I wonder why we've identified the place under the Great Spaceship as Peter's house but no one has ever pointed to a cluster of stones and said, "Jesus' house." Then I remember. Jesus said if I should invite him into my heart, he would dwell there.

In Capernaum, finding Jesus' house is easy.

It stands right inside of me.

Coming Back to Where It All Began

I was excited to return to Tel Hazor, the place of the archeological dig in ancient Hazor. The city Joshua burned to the ground. The city Deborah and Barak later conquered. And later still, one of Solomon's cities, complete with a gate attributed to him.

Not to mention, the place where I first "fell into the Bible."

I wrote about it in my book Reflections of God's Holy Land; A Personal Journey Through Israel. This monumental event in my life was the starting point for my article "Falling Into The Bible" written for Crosswalk.com in 2002. This is the place where a Hebrew speaking man named Hsein el Heib whispered to me in perfect English, "You are touching the Bible." This is the place where my life changed.

Now, I get to share it with my friends.

We arrived shortly after a picnic lunch eaten in the courtyard of a small shopping strip. Most of us had falafels. I say "most of us." Robi managed to find a McDonalds, of all things. Then we piled back into the van and headed to Tel Hazor. Mr. el Heib -- who knew of our coming -- stood just outside the visitor's entrance/his office. I couldn't wait to see him again (this being our third meeting). I opened the side panel door and stepped out. "Shalom!" I said.

"Shalom, Eva!" he said back.

Photos of the reunion were snapped, and then I asked him to show my friends what he'd shown me in 2002; the wall which holds the remains of (what is believed to be) Joshua's fire.

But he was unable to walk with us. He had been in a fight with a bull, he explained, and the bull won. His foot and leg were still beat up but he would wait for us to return and speak to us more then.

We walked on. Past the old entry into the city and toward the gate near what is the old "palace."

To the wall.

Robi said, "Wait! I have to get a photo of myself with Miriam and Eva here; I've heard so much about this one spot in Israel!" And so someone took our picture. Then, each of my friends approached the wall, touched its sooty surface, and poised while I snapped their image.

I hated saying goodbye. We were so rushed; we had to move on quickly. But we said our goodbyes to Mr. el Heib (Robi made friends with his dog.), then piled back into the van so we could head to the Sea of Galilee.

We were about to run where Jesus walked!

(For the full story of what happened to me at the wall in Tel Hazor, go to: AMAZON BLOG )