Jesus Read Online Free PDF

correct number of shekels and helped him unload my bags.
    â€œHeavy!” he said, laughing. “How long are you staying?”
    Prior to departure I had read the Gospel passages in which Jesus counsels his disciples to “take nothing for your journey” and felt a pang of guilt. 4 My practice is to take everything with me on the journey, having endured too many trips when I’ve been forced to spend money for a sweater that I should have brought along. Traveling heavy saves money, even if it makes me appear extravagant. Still, I wondered if Jesus would have approved.
    Next to a small sign that said “Pontifical Biblical Institute” was a bell. A cheerful workman opened the door, and I was shocked by what I had predicted would prove to be a poky Jesuit residence. Instead, a three-story, sand-colored edifice that looked like a Crusader castle (complete with crenellated towers) was fronted by a gravel courtyard that boasted three tall palm trees. At the main building I rang another doorbell.
    A smiling, dark-haired Indian Jesuit opened the door. Brother Tony introduced himself. “You are very welcome!” he said. “Would you like something to drink?” He led me through a high-ceilinged foyer paved with terrazzo stone. On the right was a spacious, airy chapel with simple chairs and an impressive crucifixion scene on the wall. On the left, behind glass doors, was a small archaeological museum featuring long vitrines that housed antiquities: statues, pieces of pottery, scrolls. And a mummy—not the most common addition to a Jesuit community. Tucked under the main staircase was a miniature elevator; to the right was a dining room and a living room, both lit by copious sunshine that poured through the frosted windows.
    But our destination was the large metal container outside the dining room. “This is very good ,” Tony said, as he poured a cup of pale yellow liquid from a plastic spigot on the front. “You can fill your bottles when you go around town.” I took a sip: lemonade! During the next two weeks, the lemonade machine would be as eagerly sought a destination as any holy site.
    As Tony prepared a plate of lunch, Joseph Doan Công Nguyên entered the room. Father Doan, the head of the Jesuit community at the PBI, was a Vietnamese Jesuit who had spent several years working in the Jesuit headquarters in Rome. He had also spent eleven years in a Vietnamese prison after the Communist takeover there. Father Doan offered to help me plan my itinerary for the next few days, a service he offered frequently to pilgrims.
    After lunch Tony said, “You look tired, James. Why don’t you have a lie down?”
    Though I wanted to start touring immediately (even sans George), I couldn’t resist the invitation. Tony accompanied me in the elevator to the second floor and escorted me to a large, spotless room with two immense desks, a narrow bed, a sink, and a tall window looking out onto the spacious courtyard.
    â€œRest now, and see Father Doan later.”
    But once I lay down, the sleeping pill kicked in. Four hours later, I awoke with a start and peered out my window—I was in Jerusalem! Groggily, I found my way to Doan’s neatly organized office. In the hallway, I ran into George, who had just arrived. “ Shalom! ” he said.
    A taciturn, scholarly man, Doan asked which sites we most hoped to see. After we ran through our lists, he went over to his bookcase and pulled out a large, creased map of Israel, which he carefully spread out on his desk. For the next hour, we planned the next two weeks. He suggested we start in Jerusalem and visit the most important sites; next, rent a car for the trip to Galilee; and then, upon our return, see whatever we had missed in Jerusalem. His use of so many names that I had heard only in Scripture classes delighted me: Jericho, Gethsemane, Bethpage, Bethany, the Mount of Olives.
    A stone’s throw from our