Nazareth: Basilica of the Annunciation

I admit that after reading about the Basilica of the Annunciation in Nazareth and learning that it was consecrated in 1969, I wasn't expecting to be blown away by the "sacredness" of the place. I don't know, something about "modern" construction in areas where there are places and things that are so old somehow makes them seem less desirable in my mind. I suppose I have a prejudice toward the modern and a preference for the ancient when I'm traveling in places with a history that goes back more than 2,000 years. And as I passed by the basilica on my walk to the hostel, it seemed a large, massive structure with a not-particularly-attractive dome towering above it. I thought visiting this place might be a case of what my religion professor at Furman called "ADC" -- "Another Damn Cathedral" -- as we visited church after church after church on our foreign study trip to Turkey, Greece, and Italy.

But my preconceptions were very wrong. The church was magnificent, gorgeous, a truly sacred and holy space. Just stepping inside the courtyard, it was amazing the sense of awe and peace that came over me as I made the transition from the hectic, busy streets of the market to this oasis of space and quiet. At least, it seemed quiet... I'm sure it wasn't actually that quiet -- the walls that surrounded the courtyard and basilica were not soundproof. But somehow there was a sense of quiet -- perhaps a spiritual quiet, an emotional quiet -- in that place.

The basilica's facade towered above me, massive and impressive in its stately white starkness. I watched as groups of people came and went from the entrance: tourists with their backpacks and cameras, pilgrims crossing themselves as they left the church, nuns in full habit with baseball caps to shade themselves from the sun. I stood in the courtyard for a while just taking it all in. I'd expected to sort of pop in and see the place and move right along to the next site, but I wound up spending the better part of an hour and a half or maybe two hours in this place, much longer than I'd expected.

Before I entered, I walked the length of the outer courtyard, looking at all the mosaics that adorn the walls -- representations of the Virgin Mary (and often Mary with the child Jesus) from different countries and cultures around the world. There were the traditional Roman and Eastern Orthodox style representations of Mary and Jesus, but mixed in with them were a Chinese Mary and Jesus, a Philipino Mary and Jesus, a Chilean Mary and Jesus, a Korean Mary and Jesus. I loved looking at all the different representations and the diversity of cultures represented here. This was certainly something that wouldn't have been there had these walls been decorated 1,500 or more years ago. Ok, ok, maybe "modern" isn't all bad.

Finally, I entered the church, on the ground level, where the "grotto" is that is believed to be the cave where Mary's house was 2,000 years ago and where the Angel Gabriel appeared to her. I was actually surprised by how well-done the arrangement was: the cave was central to the entire floor, which was mostly open space, with the cave in the center. In front of the cave was a courtyard area with an altar and space for celebration of Eucharist. Up on the main level, there was a fence-like barrier encircling the lowered courtyard and the cave, with kneelers all along it so the visitors could approach and watch and kneel as services were going on. The lowered area was closed off, with a sign that said "Closed for religious service." Down in the courtyard, there was a group of pilgrims with their priest in the midst of a service. The priest was sitting in the presider's chair and talking, presumably giving the sermon. It was in Italian, so I couldn't understand much of it, but I picked up a few words here and there: "Aqui," he kept saying, "aqui…!" (Here, here…) And I heard the word "familia" quite a bit. Presumbaly, he was talking about the fact that HERE, Mary received the message from the angel, HERE, the Holy Family lived, etc, etc.

I decided to hang around for the Eucharistic celebration, which I could not participate in since I wasn't one of the group and since I'm not Roman Catholic, I'm not supposed to receive communion in their services anyway. But remembering the time I attended a Catholic mass in Athens during my foreign study trip in 2003 and how powerful it was to realize that I could follow along with the service even though I couldn't speak Greek, because it was so similar to the structure of the liturgy of the Lutheran church of my upbringing, I decided to stick around.

That experience was repeated, but even more powerfully this time -- since I basically have the Eucharistic prayer memorized after attending Episcopal churches for eight years now, I was able to follow along even more closely than I was back in 2003, when I'd been attending a Baptist church and non-denominational churches, and it had been a while since I'd been in a more "high church," liturgical service. This time, I knew exactly what was going on -- from the sursum corda (the opening sentences, named for the "Lift up your hearts/We lift them up to the Lord" exchange that is part of it) to the sanctus ("Holy, holy, holy") to the elements of the Eucharistic prayer itself -- thanks to Jim Turrell's liturgics class that I just finished this spring, I could even recognize and name and elements of the prayer -- the anamnesis or remembering of Jesus's life, death, and resurrection, the epiclesis, or invocation of the Holy Spirit upon the bread and wine, the oblation, or offering of the gifts to God, and the institution narrative, or the recitation of the famous words from St. Paul about how "On the night in which he was betrayed, our Lord Jesus Christ took bread, and when he had given thanks…" etc). And I even recognized that the priest, being a Roman Catholic, did the epiclesis part of the prayer BEFORE the words of institution, which is the "Roman position" of that aspect of the prayer. (Most liturgies in the Episcopal Church follow the West Syrian pattern of putting the epiclesis AFTER the words of institution.)

I know, more than you probably wanted to know about Eucharistic liturgy, but it was really cool to be able to pick all those things out even when the prayer was in another language -- mostly through the order and through the "manual acts" (that is, the hand motions that accompany each step of the prayer, which were almost identical to the ones we do in the Episcopal Church).

As I was sitting (and standing) there watching the service, a priest in an alb and a purple stole who was standing around in the open area where I was came over to me and asked, "Where are you from?" I told him I was from the U.S. and was in seminary to become a priest. "Ah, bless you," he said, and stepped back to let me continue watching the service. After it was over, I noticed that another group had gathered and as the first group filed out one side of the courtyard area, another group was coming in from the other side and filing in to the seats. Someone in this group had a guitar they had brought with them for musical accompaniment.

I walked over to the priest, who was still standing in the upper courtyard area, and asked him, "So, do different groups reserve this space so they can have a Eucharist here when they come visit?" He nodded. "From all over the world," he said. "This is where it all started, you know. Who knows, maybe it was this spot here, maybe it was that spot there, but in Nazareth -- it is where it all started."

"Yes," I said, nodding. "It's amazing."

I spoke with him for a while and found out that he was from Italy but had been living and working as a missionary in Sierra Leone in Africa for many years.

Then I went upstairs, to the main church area (pictured above), which is where the local Arab Catholic community worships on Sunday mornings. It was a more "traditional" church layout, with the altar near the spot where the cave was below, and a glass window in the floor so that you could look down to the grotto below from the main church area. There were more mosaics in here of Mary and Jesus. I took my time in here, too, sitting for a while with my scarf wrapped around my head (I don't know, something just compelled me to do it) and reading some of the passages from the Bible about the Annunciation and about Jesus in Nazareth.

I felt deeply comfortable here, like I could spend a lot of time in this place. It felt like a spiritual home to me. If I lived in Nazareth, I thought, I would come here often just to sit and pray and meditate.

When I left Nazareth on Friday morning for Tiberias, I stopped by the basilica on my way out and slipped in to the grotto area, with my backpack on and everything, and made my way up to the railing. Another group was there, in the middle of a Eucharistic celebration. There was something very powerful and comforting about knowing that there is an almost perpetual celebration of the Eucharist in that place. Here, where the Word was made flesh 2,000 years ago, the Word is continually being made flesh in the bread and wine of the Eucharist. I bowed in reverence and slipped out the door to my next destination, carrying with me the sacredness of that space.