A Ride on the Lake, and a Storm

       Now, on Monday morning, I am in a boat on Lake Galilee. One sail up and four oars plying. It has been raining in the night and a fog hangs over the waters, but the fine lace veil of the morning mist is lifted and the Gadarene shore on one side and the Tiberias Hills on the other are coming to revelation and look like the banks of the Hudson in late September, after the frosts have put their diligent and skillful pencil upon the foliage. Yes, on the right hand side are the very hills down which the swine ran when possessed of the devil. You see that Satan is a spirit of bad taste. Why did he not say, "Let me go into these birds," whole flocks of which fly over Galilee? No, that would have been too high "Why not let me go into the sheep which wander over these hills?" No, that would have been too gentle. "Rather let me go into these swine. I want to be with the denizens of the mire. I want to associate with the inhabitants of the filth. Great is mud. I prefer bristles to wings. I would rather root than fly. I like snout better than wing."

       But the most of the memories of this sheet of water and its surroundings are elevating. What a sedative to Christ must have been a look at this lake after the hard religious work of the day. The air off the waters cooled His hot brow. Up and down these banks our Lord walked, and the best society He ever had was when He was alone with the mountains and the sea. But suddenly, this Monday morning, the winds rise, and our boat begins to rock. Never before in any waters have I seen such a change in five minutes. The oarsmen toil hard at their places. Fortunately we are near our landing at Capernaum. If the winds and the waves increase for the next half hour as they have in the last ten minutes, and we were still out, our craft would be unmanageable and we would have to cry as did the disciples on the same lake, "Lord, save, or we perish." While our boat is thumping on the rocks, some of our oarsmen plunge waist deep in the water and carry ashore those of our party who do not wish to wade. All is well. Peace, be still.

       Few people see the ruins of Capernaum to advantage, for in spring and summer tall weeds cover the entire place, and snakes, undisturbed, crawl over the beautiful sculpturing of the fallen architecture. But now the old city has its gloves off and gives us its bare hand as we approach it. We climb over the stones of the synagogue where Christ preached oftener than in any other building and which might have been called the scene of His pastorate. There, on one of the fallen walls, I saw the ancient sculpturing, representing a pot of manna, to which the people may have pointed when they said to Christ, "Our fathers did eat manna in the desert," and Christ replied, "My Father giveth you the true bread from heaven."

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