Nazareth 21 centuries ago, on the wall of the house of Jesus. To see how He lived his day by day life all those years quietly as a carpenter before going to preach publicly. It’s something always intrigued me and occupied often my imagination. And we don’t have any notice in the Gospel about it.
I would be a very sticky and old aged fly to stay there for a long time and maybe have several lives to come back during the public life of Christ to hear him preach at the lake, at the mountain, at the Temple in Jerusalem. And stay with him all the way until his death in the Cross and then with Peter in the upper room awaiting his resurrection.
But if you only give me one chance I’ll choose Nazareth, the humble house of the carpenter, watching his daily life listening his everyday conversations with his Mother Mary and his friends and neighbors, laughing with his laughs, crying with his sorrows, trying to don’t bother him when tired and thirsty, being with him, me the silent and hidden on the wall little fly.
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