At Mary's House a Franciscan Annoints Me as Mother

Wearing my blue sundress, I had felt that I was paying appropriate homage to Mary. We took a few pictures once we emerged from the darkness and into the bright sun. Looking back at the photographs (see previous entry) I look so exhausted. But in the moment I had experienced such intensity...the power ofknowing that in every part of me that I was standing on holy ground. And that ground could hold any feeling, thought or prayer that I brought to it.

A thin Fransican priest walked by. He looked Indian. At least I assumed he was Franciscan because he wore the telling brown robes corded at the waist with white rope. I smiled and he returned the gesture. He walked by again this time Bob was the one to engage him, "Hello Father." He nodded "hello". I went to the souvenir shop to buy a few medals. A proper Catholic can't leave a holy site without holy water or some chachka. I bought three medals...one for Grandma, one for a nun friend of mine, and one for myself. I felt it would help to reconnect me back to this moment whenever I felt far away from the holy ground of life itself. Turning around to begin our descent back to the car, the old Franciscan walked by again and again I smiled. This time he stopped and hesitated.
"Where are you from?" he inquired.
"New York City" I said.
"I'm just so pleased to meet you. Are you on a tour?" His proper British/Indian accent gave everything he said an air of dignity and respect.
"No" we both responded in unison.
"If you have the time I would love to speak with you about this place," he said"I felt so drawn to you two. There was something about you...some special quality. It was as if I was being called to talk to you. That's why I came back a second time and then a third. I am so glad to talk with you." He actually clasped his hands in front of him rather gleefully...like a little kid so excited he can't quite contain it and it spills forth in the smacking of his hands.

So we commenced listening to the story of Mary's House and how it came to be discovered. He told us he was a Cappuchin priest from India and this was his new assignment - Mary's House. His transparency made his spiritual energy emanate so freely from him. He was so thin reminding me of the Buddha and St. Francis. It was as if his body received nourishment from the air itself. Perhaps he didn't need the peaches and tomatoes that the rest of us devoured in this fertile country. In him I saw the spiritual body that St. Paul writes about made manifest. I was in the presence of one who had already begun to take that form. Fr. Tarvey lived somewhere between the mundane mortal body and the glorified one. His other worldliness seemed perfect.

As he told the story of Mary's House, every few minutes he would repeat one refrain "But it is more than the historical evidence, the archeological findings, even the human story...At some point you have to come to a point where you must take a leap of trust and faith."

In his storytelling I was led back into the darkness of the hearth in Mary's house. The candle flames dancing and swaying to a spiritual movement I could not see, but which reverberated through every part of my being - body and soul. The flames themselves danced up and down my spine.

At this moment Fr. Tarvey looked deeply into my eyes and smiled, "She knows more about this" and laughed. I was drawn to him and my skepticism was gradually subsiding. His attention made me feel called into some special place.

"This is Mary's House where she lived and mothered the early church. But it is much bigger than Christianity. The holiness here transcends all religions. This place is really about the love of the mother. And that's why you Jennifer may understand more of this leap than Bob...precisely because you are a woman. There are things about women - mystery- that men will never understand. Are you a mother?"

Smiling, "No, not yet Father." This was the second time I had been asked this question. What was it about Turkey that was making me interact with mother on so many levels. Calling out in a dream...standing inside Mary's house and here speaking with Fr. Tarvey. What was happening to me?

We prepared to go back to Ali Baba's car. I wanted to hug Fr. Tarvey but restrained myself. We thanked him profusely for his time with us. He gave us a handwritten card with his address and name on a piece of bluelined notebook paper. "What I need most are your prayers. I am very poor, but you my friends are very rich."

Fr. Tarvey's words had connected with a deep inner urging of mine to be a mother and to experience the greater love of the Mother that is ground of our being. This time at Mary's House had not come to an end. It appeared to be an opening and far from finished.