Capernaum, a memory

Pausing after closing a document on the laptop, I look at the background picture. At the hammered-metal Tau (Franciscan cross). At the rope before the chancel. The simplicity of the chancel furniture. The shape of the altar and the parament hangings there. I study the shepherd’s hooks that comprise much of the fence around the central floor area and the pieces of glass within, laid like stained glass. The hazy sky through the windows. I wonder if the faithful collect missals before taking their seats on the plain, wood benches. Are the plants real? I remember the brightness of that afternoon and how my eyes had to adjust when we entered. And the coolness on stepping out of the October sun.

If I recall correctly this church, build amid the ruins of the ancient city of Capernaum, is named after the apostle Peter. (Quick check. Yes, it is.) The house of Peter’s mother-in-law is said to lie below the glass floor.

After leaving the synagogue, Jesus, James, and John went home with Simon and Andrew. Simon’s mother-in-law was in bed, sick with a fever, and they told Jesus about her at once. He went to her, took her by the hand, and raised her up. The fever left her… Mark 1:29-34 CEB

After exploring the ruins of the synagogue and some of the now-open-air shops and homes of this long-ago town, a fellow pilgrim and I had entered this glass-walled sanctuary. While he wandered around the space eventually stopping at the glass floor at its center, I remained near the doors, transfixed. To the south is a good view of the Sea of Galilee, though I had to take someone else’s word for it; my attention was almost entirely on the ruins and this church.

It’s been three and a half years since the twenty of us who had joined that Living Stones Pilgrimage to Israel Palestine reentered our lives in the states. On returning to Wisconsin, I hit the ground running, feeling the weight of expectation that I would do and be all that seemed to be expected of me as the pastor of a mid-sized church. Two days before flying out, I had endured an aggressive tirade from a church leader who, speaking for themselves and a few others, let me know that I wasn’t doing my job. I was, but not as they wanted me to do it. For the nearly two weeks I'd been on pilgrimage, I had succeeded in setting aside the episode. As we landed in Detroit, I returned to thinking about how I might draw them into the vision.

I recall my surprise on reentering the life of the local church to find that the folks there seemed indifferent to hearing about this pilgrimage experience. (For clergy, a pilgrimage is undertaken largely for the benefit of the people with whom we minister. Yes, it's travel but it's not a vacation!) After the Wesley Pilgrimage in England – home of early Methodism – three years earlier, so many people wanted to attend my Wednesday evening presentation that I had to offer another one the following month. Folks stopped me in the halls of the church to ask how the experience had changed me. I reminded myself that I was at a different church now. Still, I expected them to be interested in hearing about what I had seen and learned while in the land of Jesus’ birth.

If they were, they kept their curiosity well contained.

Much has happened since 2018, in the world and in my life. I regret now – especially since I found it necessary to step away from pastoral ministry – all that I gave up in choosing to try to be what others expected of me as pastor. Regret it in part because I believe strongly that everyone is best served when each person – even pastors – lives our own truth as the unique creature that God intends for us to be. I regret it also because of all the memories I lost by not having taken time to catalog and savor them and by not having people with whom to share them.

Until I left my role at the church to focus on healing, I used my laptop only on Saturdays to finish Sunday’s sermons. I seldom had energy for more. But one weekend about a year after the trip, when finally sorting pictures, I found the one above and made it the screen's background. Much of this pilgrimage experience is lost in a haze but because I saw this photograph regularly the memory of that space stays with me.

Before I wrap up I’ll ask you three disparate questions:

1. Is there a part of your life where you’re still struggling to be yourself just as you are? Can you think of something you might do differently to make it easier for the real you to show through?
2. Do you have a plan for how to respond to bullying when it occurs? I was not prepared that day. Preparation would have helped me.
3. When was the last time you looked at keepsakes of a special experience? Maybe it’s time to dig them out and remind yourself why that day or week was so important to you.

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