Hear in the Holy Land | Nazareth
The Holy Mother, Hikes in the Heat, and Arabic Hospitality
After Tel Aviv I jumped a train and headed north. After finding a seat, I pulled my Kindle out of my pack and began reading through Luke, thinking this particular Gospel might be a good way to ready myself for what lay ahead in Galilee; I had just gotten through to the Magnificat when a man about my age wearing a weather-worn baseball cap flopped down in the seat across from me and started scribbling down numbers into the sudoku puzzle of a Hebrew newspaper. I looked up to smile at him (innocent friendly gestures are probably my reflex arc when I feel mildly uncomfortable or find myself in foreign places), but he didn’t give me so much as a glance. So I kept reading.
About ten minutes later, however, the man in the cap folded his paper, looked me square in the eyes, and—in a subtle but rather shocking Southern drawl—said matter-of-factly, “No offence, but you don’t look very Jewish.”
(It’s true. I really don’t.)
I laughed, somewhat nervously, and replied, “No, I’m not!”
This kicked off a halting—but good—conversation with Romi, a Messianic Jew from the Galilean city of Kiryat Ata. Well, to be more precise, Romi was born in Maryland but grew up in Israel when his folks felt called by God to minister to the Messianic Fellowship there; he himself had just returned from seven years in Texas (which explains the faint drawl), where he had been plying his trade as a farrier.
We both had to get off the train at the same station in Haifa, and before parting ways he gave me some good directions on where to go from there to find a bus to Nazareth. This I managed to do with my usual ‘awkward foreigner’ flair, and within a couple hours I found myself in the old and wonderful town where Christ grew up.
As I reflect on my time in Nazareth, three things stand out to me:
- How spiritually and emotionally impacted I was by Marian contemplation;
- How much a Caucasian man can sweat when walking around under the Galilean sun; and,
- How much I like Arab people and their culture.
Mary | Holy Mother of God | Theotokos
If Christian commemorative efforts in Nazareth are about one thing, it’s about Mary. Mary, after all, was a Nazarene. It was here that Gabriel visited her with the gravely important news of Christ’s conception in her by the power of the Holy Spirit (the Annunciation); and it was here that she and Joseph raised their Son up to grow in stature and wisdom.
Much has been made of Mary in the Church, and much has been disagreed and bickered over amongst its various traditions. But we all agree that she is the first Theotokos—the first “God-bearer”. And this is exactly what every Christian is called to follow suit in—to indwell Christ, and by the power of the Holy Spirit to bear Him forth to the world. In Steve Bell’s words:
Mary, the prototypical Christian, who first received the seed of the Word of God in her womb and bore it for the sake of the world, beckons us all to realize our innate calling to be co-bearers of the seed of God. Even in our troubled humanity — within the drama of brokenness, redemption and salvation — we have been invited to take up our role as maternal-spouse of God: to receive, carry and bear-forth new life for the sake of the world. Anything less is beneath our dignity.
This is, of course, what Advent is about—the fasting season where we ‘make room’ to receive Christ into our lives so that we can bear Him out again. (It’s a pity the Protestant traditions have reduced the season to some weird sort of ‘Christmas-before-it’s-actually-Christmas’ season.)
And Nazareth is where this all first happened! There is an altar in the grotto of the Basilica of the Annunciation — the location where Catholics traditionally hold Mary’s home was—and on it is engraved a Latin inscription: Verbum Caro Hic Factum Est. In English it reads Here the Word Became Flesh. The Word may have been born in Bethlehem, but He was first made flesh in Nazareth when He was conceived in Mary’s womb at the Annunciation.
And so being in Nazareth, and visiting its various holy sites, brought these thoughts richly to the fore of my mind—particularly after having read through the Nativity Story in Luke, and after recalling Mary’s ready and submissive spirit, responding to the news simply with, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word” (Luke 1:38). Oh, for that kind of faith and trust!
Identifying with Mary—the First Theotokos for ALL Cultures…
And now, as a little parting shot to Westerners like me, I want to make short mention of a bunch of artwork that encircles the outer walls of the basilica. Each piece comes from a different region of the globe, and they all portray Mary using a visual art style that is traditional and local to their part of the world. As a result, you get a lot of different-looking Mary’s! Because not only are each of them made in varying styles, but every Mary looks like the people of the artist’s respective culture.
Admittedly, this is a bit jarring—for while we (European descended) Westerners can portray Mary as a white-skinned woman without batting an eye, we jump a little upon seeing an Asian Mary. But, if we’re listening, the jarring-ness can shake us out of our cultural predispositions and remind us that the Christian Faith is for all peoples in all places. It is good and right that all our various cultures identify with Mary in their own ways (we should also do this with Christ, and even with our understanding of the Gospel). These pieces are, then, a beautiful visual reminder that when the Word was made Flesh, God blessed the particularity of all our individual cultures; in a mind-spinning sort of way, the Incarnation universally affirmed all our localities. In Len Hjalmarson’s words,
In Christ God has redeemed all places, neither a universalization of place nor a relativization of place…
Finding Nazarene Panoramas | Sweaty but Rewarding
Warning: in this section, I will complain incessantly about hot weather.
SimSim Hostel is a wonderful place. Sami, the operator, was incredibly helpful to me, making my knowledge of Nazareth’s various amenities and sites so much more well-informed. The fellow guests I met there were also wonderful, and I had some great conversations with a few of them. And the location, like Adi & Ori’s AirBnB in Yafo, really couldn’t be better. Right in the Old City of Nazareth!
But: there was no A/C. The shared dorm-room I slept in had one rotating electrical fan. One fan for Eight beds in muggy weather that reached into the high 30’s and stayed in the high 20’s throughout the entire night. I honestly didn’t stop sweating throughout the duration of my stay in Nazareth.
Nevertheless, I would not be deterred: there were sacred sites to visit and views to be had! Late in the day, shortly after arriving in Nazareth, I saw a beautiful church, glistening in the evening light as it sat atop the hill on which the city was built. And so the next day I climbed 400 steps in the merciless sun, arriving with a gasp and a wheeze at its front steps. I reached the door and turned the handle…
But it was locked. The building was closed for the day. Lovely.
All was not lost, however—the view in the opposite direction was also quite something:
After spending several minutes admiring the view, I trudged back down those 400 steps, dried off at the hostel by sitting in front of an electrical fan, ate a sweet-roll, drank a cup of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and reapplied my sun-screen.
My afternoon walking session was in pursuit of a more Biblical view. In Luke 4, Jesus thoroughly offends the hometown crowd — so thoroughly, in fact, that they drive him out of the city and carry him to a cliff on the brow of the hill on which it was built, determined to toss Him off of it! Jesus, of course, eludes their rash action — though we don’t exactly know how; Luke 4:30 simply reads, “But he walked right through the crowd and went on his way.” (NIV)
According to tradition, this infamous cliff has been identified! Precariously named Mount Precipice, it stands just south of the current city itself — and I was determined to stand at its top. It was a much longer walk (about 4km’s away), but not nearly so steep. All the same, I was good and knackered by the time I got up there. This leaves me with a (very, very heretical) theory that the reason Jesus was able to ‘walk right through the crowd’ when they got to the top was because God used the Mediterranean sun to knock them all over in a collective swoon of heat-exhaustion…
That said, the view was very rewarding:
All of Jezreel Valley lay before me: Armageddon, Mount Tabor, Naboth’s vineyard, the summer palace of the Israelite kings—all of these locations and more were strewn about somewhere in the fertile valley below. Even the Carmel Ridge was (just barely) visible off in the distance (i.e., where God found favour on Elijah by blowing his water-logged altar to bits with fire from heaven). I stayed up there for quite a long time, staring out into the distance from the shade of a gnarled up olive tree, standing happily in the cooling consolation of a constant breeze.
The Kindly Arab People
Five minutes down from the top of Mount Precipice, there is a little fruit juice kiosk. I stopped off and bought a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and it was—well, it was literally what great reliefs often get compared to: “a cold drink on a hot day.” Better yet, Hani, the guy running the kiosk, invited me to sit down with him in the shade for a bit. This, it is becoming apparent to me, is second-nature hospitality for the Arab population around here.
Yes, Arab—not Jewish. It may come as a surprise to some, but Nazareth is a completely Arab city, and one that is about 70% Muslim (a low percentage, if I remember aright). Israel—and particularly Galilee, from what I’ve understood—is dotted with Arab towns here and there; these are comprised of Palestinian people who have managed to hang on to their homes when the Jewish people moved into the land and the Israeli State took shape.
That in mind, I discovered in Nazareth that I truly love Palestinian culture. Their food is fantastic, and their hospitality even better! In less than two days in Nazareth, I was greeted and smiled at by more Palestinians in the streets than I was in twice that amount in Tel Aviv. On more than one occasion I was asked if I was lost or needed help—probably because I was toting around a map wherever I went and often stood looking about me with a stupid confused expression on my face. Palestinians seem to like gathering informally in the streets with cultural music, barbecues, and general merrymaking. They evidently revel in the impromptu, ordinary get-togethers.
This happened constantly at Liwan—the ‘cultural cafe’ run by SimSim Hostel—which was clearly an informal gathering place for the local community. I also saw it a Mama’s Salt Room and Cafe, where I went for breakfast a couple times (don’t be fooled: it’s not run by a ‘Mama’, but by a very big, muscular Arab who was very intimidating—but also a great cook and quite friendly in his own way once you get past the bulging triceps). But Abu Ashraf and Nasir were the prime examples during my stay.
Abu Ashraf Diwan Al Saraya runs a super quirky little restaurant just around the corner from the hostel; it’s full (and I mean full) of old antiques, knick-knacks, and cultural memorabilia. I’ve heard it referred to as a museum. Abu Ashraf himself is extremely friendly, and almost as quirkly as the venue he runs. His food is absolutely stellar, and so after a fantastic dish of shawarma for dinner on my first evening in Nazareth, I went back again the next.
But even more alluring than the food or the venue was Abu Ashraf’s hospitality; he seemed eager to serve me food that he was proud of and that showcased his culture. All the while, a good number of locals would come in just to talk with him. One man in particular, Nasir, came into the ‘museum’ both evenings and sat down with Abu Ashraf to drink coffee and chat for a while. Both times they invited me over to join them at their table, and they served me some excellent, rich coffee on the house. They talked to me of their culture, of their love for their language, for their city, for their families, their religion, their Korran. Nasir’s daughter, I discovered, is currently vacationing in Slovakia—he showed me pictures on his phone; Abu Ashraf showed me his latest antique—an ancient pot from Iraq; Nasir, I discovered, works in Tel Aviv, leaving Nazareth every morning at 5am; Abu Ashraf is using an exercise bike for an hour every morning and every evening, trying to shed some pounds…
Wait, what? How did I get enveloped into this ridiculous, beautiful conversation with these two 60-something Muslims?!? It was weirdly automatic—and it was all because of their genuine and hospitable natures. They knew I was a Christian, and understood that it set us apart in some important ways, but they respected my worldview and treated me no less than an equal. They were also eager to reveal the bridges between our two faiths—the things we share in common (something I also personally believe is incredibly important).
This is how we need to picture the vast majority of Arab people. As hospitable and gracious people with a zest for life.
Not as terrorists.
Not as Western- or Christian-haters.
Not as legalistic, stuck-up, or fundamentalist religious fanatics.
It is so easy for us to be driven into fearful and negative stereo-typing of people who are different than us—especially when a select few of them misrepresent and act out hatefully toward us. Of course, it goes vice versa—organizations from both the Secular West and the Christian Church have committed countless atrocities against the Muslim world. I don’t want them to identify me with that sort of treatment! Similarly, for me to identify the vast Muslim population with ISIS is akin to the Muslim people identifying the vast Christian population with people like Donald Trump or James Dobson. It’s just so far from the truth.
People like Nasir and Abu Ashraf, the big muscular ‘Mama’ man, Sami and his staff from SimSim, Hani from the Mount Precipice fruit-stand, and the countless others I spoke with in Nazareth—they are leaching the stereotyping fear out of me and replacing it with a sense of our shared humanity, however different we may be.
I love it!
PS: Here’s an amazing song that addresses our irrational fear of other cultures from one of my favourite singer-songwriters, Anaïs Mitchell; the second verse is written in Iraqi-dialect Arabic by a Syrian poet.
