Sunrise, a time the world does not often partake of. The peaceful awakening of creation, arising slowly from its nightly slumber to a bright new day of living and breathing. When the light begins to bleed into the skyline, saturating the atmosphere. When birds sing their songs of worship and we emerge to a dawn of new beginning. I knew from the very moment I arrive in the Land, I wanted to experience at least one of these here. What better day than our last morning by the Sea of Galilee. I walked out and sat down on the ledge near my room, utterly filled with awe and wonder at how arresting the view was before me. I opened the Word and began to breath in life as the world stirred around me.
Not too long after I finished my reading, a boat came flying by, with fishermen waving at me with what appeared to be a large load of fish. It was one of those moments where everything around me stood still. I felt a smile creep onto my face imagining the disciples returning home with a haul of fish, ready to receive the blessing of the Lord and step into the calling of the day.
What did Jesus have in store for them today? What miracle could they expect to witness? Whose life would be altered forever – theirs or a desperate soul who needs rescue, maybe both? Who would they feed today? While these thoughts swirled through my mind, I felt a divine certainty in my heart that my eyes would see such rich goodness for myself. I was a little sad to be leaving the Sea but my heart full looking forward to the last two days remaining on this groundbreaking trip.
After a half an hour drive from Tiberias, we got a quick glimpse of Cana on our way into the Arab Capital of Israel, the hometown of Jesus, Nazareth. Our tour guide spontaneously recommended a quick stop to pick up what he dubbed the best baklava in all of Israel. It was like getting a glimpse into heaven stepping into that sweets shop. The window was lined with all kinds of different small pastries and I helped explain what each was to those with me. A little kid in a candy store could not compare to how I felt in that moment, enthralled by every sugar-filled item around.
Baklava holds a special place in my heart as I have joyfully labored over it for many hours for Christmas for the last 8 years. It was extra special to see it done to such array and grandeur, unlike I had seen or partaken of since I was 11 years old. While this might seem insignificant to most, something about that small bite into the syrupy, crunchy delight transported me into the rose-colored nostalgia of standing in the midst of a confectionery in the streets of Latakia, my hometown. I knew in that moment; something was special about Nazareth.
Our main stop in town was at the Nazareth Village, a living history museum of Jesus’ time, with period actors in costume, reenacting different types of characters. This quickly became one of my favorite spots in the whole Land. In this museum, we explored under the guidance of a local Arab Christian tour guide, who spoke the Bible off the pages with every word that came from his lips. To help set the scene, we saw a shepherd, a carpenter, a weaver, and a farmer. The backdrop featured a vineyard, a threshing floor, an olive press, a synagogue, a wine press, terraced fields, and a couple of sheep.
He connected many scriptures to each stop along the way, but I was deeply touched by what he said at the olive press. He correlated the process of creating the olive oil to the Garden of Gethsemane, an olive grove with a press at its heart. When you make oil, you start by placing the olives into a round stone, where it gets crushed under an upright stone with a hole in the middle to create a pulp. Here’s when it gets interesting. Producers of oil than place the paste into baskets and stack them up under weights held up by a rod to release the oil.
It then gets pressed 3 times, each one lasting an hour. The first press, the holiest, purest oil, would be used in the Temple for cleansing and anointing. In that olive grove the night of His death, Jesus spent time praying over a period of 3 hours. In that first hour, He realized and willingly admit what He had to do. Pressed to the point of sweating blood, He knew He would fulfill the Law, the perfect sacrifice needed for sin, becoming that Temple offering burned for me and you.
The second pressing is used for cooking. It is not as pure as the first but it still has nutrition and substance to it. In that Garden, the second hour of prayer, Jesus admitted that the flesh was weak, though His Spirit was willing. He knew His body would have to be broken, as bread would be every time we partook of a meal or communion. He truly became the DAILY Bread of Life in this moment.
The 3rd and final pressing would be used in lighting lamps because this would be the dirtiest oil. It had functionality, but was filled with the remnant of the olives. Jesus tells us that He would be the Light of the World, a city set on a hill, as we ought to be too. In that Garden, knowing His light would fade out soon, He came to terms with the reality of His impending death and what He had to do. In that final hour, He poured out all that remained of His earthly will and became intertwined with His Heavenly Calling.
Tears streamed down my face, chills running up my back as I felt the Holy Spirit so profoundly in that moment. While my time in Gethsemane was short, I could picture this as reality unlike ever before. He did this all for me. For love. I honestly could never look at oil the same way ever again. The parallels were undeniable, the connection so profound.
He went on and pointed out that in the distance, you could see Mt. Carmel, our next stop of the day. Jesus speaks out of Isaiah saying, “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” He said this would be fulfilled today and he was ridiculed for it. He talks about the miracles Elijah walked out in and how they got him killed, because a prophet was not welcome in their own home. This preaching in the synagogue nearly got him stone out of town because they were very aware of the miracles of Elijah and to them it sounded like an insult for, he was the carpenter’s son, right?
Listening to the Word like this set my heart on fire afresh. A hunger for more arose within me once again. My eyes widen in astonishment and adoration at who He was. Nazareth created in me a yearning and desire to press in unlike ever before, to consume of physical and spiritual bread wholeheartedly.
