RAMSHACKLE NAZARETH

“It’s a bit ramshackle,” I said.

“That’s a good word,” said Paul, repeating it, “Ramshackle.”

The truth of the matter is that Nazareth is, on the whole, very run down. We saw buildings that looked like they were about to collapse, loose telephone wires dangling from crumbled plaster, rubbish flowing in the streets, and tiny twisting roads, cratered with potholes, bordered by haphazardly parked cars. There were balconies that would send the Health and Safety Executive into paperwork paralysis, and walls that looked as though they could fall in at any moment.

But don’t let me be rude about someone’s city, especially when that someone is Jesus.

The second thing I didn’t appreciate about Jesus’ hometown, is that it’s very much on a hill. We’ll come to that (don’t worry), as ‘very much’ might be a record-breaking understatement, but as we drove in, it became apparent that this place is steep - and extremely built upon. It truly is in the hill country. Nazareth sprawls across the bowl of the hillside with barely room for anything but sunlit piles of houses, supervised by the glittering dome and minarets of the White Mosque, wedged into the very top of the hill.

“It’s hard to believe it’s even in the same country!” I exclaimed. Paul agreed: the difference between Tel Aviv and Nazareth is first world and third, with room to spare. It felt as though this town, as important as it was to the early life of Jesus, had been all but forgotten, neglected, and rejected.

In all other respects, that part of the countryside is wonderful. We drove alongside great fields, interspersed with rows and rows of olive trees and vines. There were tall cypresses and low bushy trees, all between the great green hills and valleys of the North. While it was tougher to imagine the Nazareth that Jesus knew under all the modern rubble, it was a lot easier to picture him and the disciples walking for miles across those very hills, laughing, resting, ministering together. 

Paul’s goal was to find the Church of the Annunciation - supposedly the place where the angel appeared to Mary. We parked the car and reverted to our old pal Google Maps. I spotted it first: right on the top of the hill by the mosque. That had to be it!

So we climbed. Through narrow streets, along winding, tiny roads, stopping only to drink water and breathlessly admire the view. We hadn’t had any lunch, and we’d somehow got the idea that we’d find something to eat in ‘upper Nazareth’, so we pushed on up the steep hill. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it: Pincent’s Lane was like a Sunday afternoon walk in the park compared to this 1:4 gradient. We joked about cardio, and then compared gym stories, and then stopped to pant at the view and swig water for a bit.

About half-way up, as if put there by miraculous means, we found a little shop selling loose dried fruit, spices, and nuts. I was dubious about scooping up piles of nuts like pick-n-mix, but we did anyway and quite easily filled two bags with cashews and sweet peanuts.

“These will give you energy, Matt!” said Paul, enthusiastically. I had been in the habit of lagging behind a bit during the first bit of the climb, you know, to tie my laces and take some scenic photos.

Well. it turned out that he wasn’t wrong! They were like nothing I’ve ever tasted. I have never eaten nuts that were so utterly delicious; I felt as though I would never go back to chocolate, ever again, and for the briefest moment, I wondered whether we’d accidentally wandered into Narnia. 

“Next time I’m tempted by the vending machine,” I said, stuffing a handful of gloriously sweet peanuts into my waiting mouth, “I’m thinking of this moment.”

We reached the top.

There, to the west, under brooding clouds, the view stretched out like a postcard. We sat on a rock and looked out over the hills - as magnificent as the Peak District, as wild as the Yorkshire Moors, but irrefutably the Hill Country of Northern Israel. Cloud and mist rolled in the distance; closer to us, the undulating, treeless land swept towards the edge of the town where eventually it met the pylons, the derelict blocks and the beaten-up cars of poor Nazareth. I wondered if this place had been both this beautiful and this sad when Jesus looked out over it.

“Let’s make a move,” said Paul, and so we did. The church was on the horizon and there wasn’t far to go. We were exhausted - and at least one of us was suffering from jaw-ache from eating too many nuts.

Moments later, we arrived.

“I’m sure it said it was opening at two!” exclaimed Paul, scratching his head. I looked for signs, other than the padlocked gates and the very closed doors. There appeared to be no Annunciation happening right now, at all. And even if there was, all the signs were mysteriously annunciating it... in Arabic.

Gradually of course, it dawned on us that we were in fact, at the wrong place and the wrong church. In my haste at spotting a church I had thought had to be it, I had led us up the steepest hill imaginable... to somewhere else.

Worse still, it dawned on Paul suddenly, that where we needed to be... was two minutes from the car park, and yes, right at the bottom. We had climbed the steepest-ever hill for absolutely nothing except a nice view and a handful of fancy nuts...