Verily I Say Unto You

Holy books are given to catch phrases, like this one, “Verily I say unto you,” which appears in Christian Scriptures upwards of 75 times.  But does saying it make it so?  Another catch phrase, Russian in this case, comes to mind when hearing someone say, ‘verily.’

‘Trust, But Verify’

That’s what separates me from other pilgrims in Israel.  Just because someone says this is the place where (insert event) happened, does not prove it did.  Did I not mention the dubious origins of Plymouth Rock last time?

Pilgrim Life means to live by the Russian maxim not the biblical.

I am in Nazareth in late January of 2023, Jesus’ home town.  That is verily.  Knowing how unlikely it is I will return, I have given myself two days to explore.  That, too, is verily.

A Field of Dreams

As mentioned last time, modern Nazareth is nothing like the town back then.  Despite an abundance of Christian sites there is scant evidence of the ancient town.  This place is built on memory and dreams.

Last time, you may remember, I went to a ‘synagogue’ alongside a church, because it was claimed to be where Jesus spoke.  However, if such a thing happened, and this was the place, it would be beneath the place I stood.  Truth with two asterisks.  Not all that different from the footprint of the prophet Muhammad enshrined in the Topkapi palace.

What strikes me over and over is the emulsion of belief and fact, a swirling together of legend and history.  But back to my wandering:

Beneath It All

Just below the entry to the souk, sits the Franciscan Basilica of the Annunciation.  It is immense, and modern in many ways. Its conical dome is distinctive, and is attached to the older Franciscan complex with its own church of St. Joseph, making a compound very much more Italian than Middle Eastern in appearance.

Just as I am about to enter the great basilica, though, a large delegation of pilgrims arrives, so rather than follow them I turn left and score a pleasure unexpected.  Alongside the plaza is an archeological site revealing several ancient structures.  The claim that this place really is where Mary lived – доверяй, но проверяй! trust but verify! – is not totally crazy.  But as tall legends grow from modest facts, there is at least a possibility here.  Sometimes the possible is all one needs.

Just to remind me, though, that fancy can easily take flight, not far north of here is the “burial site” of Jethro, Moses’ father in law, which even if the bible story was totally true this could not be true because Jethro parted from Moses before they headed into the wilderness.  There must be another bit of lore that explains how Jethro got up here but I have not found it.

Hey Joe, Whaddaya Know?

Further uphill to the older Church of St. Joseph.  Here too is a grotto beneath but without any specific claim.  Again, there is a group of pilgrims here. I wait as their leader speaks in a tongue I do not recognize. Once gone I poke about.

It is well lit, with stone benches and stairs and even a lower level beneath this one, though locked.  Discreet signage suggests Jesus’ extended family lived here, but almost any spot could be where someone holy did something back then.

Working my way back toward the giant basilica, I pause in a garden dedicated to Joseph, whose statue reminds me of Michelangelo’s Moses.  Made of bronze, his knees have been rubbed so much they shine while the rest has that teal patina.  Latin quotations from the Bible are stationed around a circular walk surrounding the statue.  An Arab family, muslim judging from mom’s hijab, are taking pictures with Joseph, the unveiled teenage daughter urging mom and dad to smile.

Nazareth is where Jesus was from, was likely born, and went on from here to get into the trouble that did him in.  Verily, I am in his home town, and amid the legends and ruins lie facts.  And just as I cannot say exactly where he and his family lived, it was here somewhere, and thus there is the very real fact that I have tread over ground he trod.  That needs no further proof.