I returned last night from my pilgrimage to the Holy Land. It will take some time to absorb it all. Surprisingly, it is not the individual shrines I remember as much as the landscape. Maybe it is because the shrines were built centuries after the life of Jesus on earth, maybe it is because contemporary archeology gives us vague answers like, “This may have been the site, or, if not, somewhere in this vicinity;” the shrines themselves didn’t move me as much as the land. I was particularly moved in the Judean Desert, where St. John the Baptist preached and where Jesus was tempted, where He was baptized, where He went for solitude. It is not a sandy desert. It’s hardpan soil with mounds of rocks. It is a harsh and brooding place, with an endless horizon, unmerciful sun, and no shade. Also, I was deeply moved sailing on the Sea of Galilee in a replica of the type of boat the fishermen of the first century used. We got to the middle of the lake (it’s not that big – maybe the size of the Wachusett Reservoir), and the sailors cut the engines and with the silence of the sea broken only by the lapping of the waves against the boat and the gentle rippling effect of the wind in the sails, we prayed.
It’s good to be home and it was very good indeed to be blessed by this pilgrimage. I’m sure I will be referring to it one way or another for years to come in my homilies.
Father Bob
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