When I first set foot in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre yesterday, I wasn't quite ready for what I was about to experience. Still, even now, I'm not quite sure I can properly portray to you what I saw, felt, and thought....it was undoubtedly one of the most remarkable ways to spend a Sunday, or any day for that matter.
As I walked into the church, my eyes took a minute to adjust from the rapid change in light. The sun had beaten down on my neck just moments before in the large stone courtyard. My feet were tired and dusty from walking throughout the tourist bazaar of the Old City and the soles of my flip-flops were becoming worn through. I was a bit uncertain as to the significance of the church, so I paused for a moment to glance at my trusty guidebook. I'd only just stumbled upon the place after being sorely disappointed with the endless commercialism of religion in the bazaar (like the mass-produced crosses, t-shirts that read "Be Happy. Be a Jew," and the mini-replicas of major religious sites). I'd also become worried that nothing in the Christian Quarter of Jerusalem would be open, since I'd just made a visit to the nearby Lutheran Church of the Redeemer and found it to be closed on Sundays. "Arghh. Lior," I thought to myself. "Why did you have to convince me to ditch work today and go into Jerusalem." When I'd arrived at work five hours earlier at 8:00am, Lior had persuaded me that the fact that I'd worked through the weekend (Friday and Saturday) had earned me a day-off. He had already planned to be heading into Jerusalem at 5:00 for a meeting and told me to get a head start by catching a bus there. He gave me thorough instructions both about how to get to the city and what areas to avoid, before patting me on my back and sending me on my way. I wasn't nervous, given my trust in Lior and his convictions that I would be safe, and was looking forward to exploring some of the Christian areas of the city. As all of my friends in Israel are either Jewish or not religious, I was eager to explore these areas in solitude and at my own leisure.
Peering through the dim light at the pages of my travel book, I read to myself: "The Church of the Holy Sepulchre," it said, "was built around what is believed to be the site of Christ's Crucifixion, burial, and Resurrection." Wow...I hadn't exactly been ready to hear that. Relaxing my arm and letting the book drop to my side, I stood in the center of the doorway peering straight ahead. Immediately in front of me, a group of people had eagerly gathered with their digital cameras, desperate to take home any image they could capture of this very holy place. I shuffled past a few people and made my way further into the cool damp church. As a herd of tourists parted ways I caught a brief glimpse of another group of believers kneeling around what appeared to be a large marble slab. Though I had to consult my guidebook first before realizing this was the Stone of Unction, the site where the body of Christ was anointed and wrapped after His death, for several minutes I felt my heartbeat quicken and my throat constrict as I gazed onward in amazement. I don't know whether it was the thought that Christ's body may have lain on that very stone or the site of all those worshipers gathered together and united for a single cause, or even a combination of both, but it was an extremely humbling and awe-inspiring thing to observe. I couldn't help but think how many thousands of people had visited this single marble slab, how many drops of sweat lay there as people bowed and prayed, how many tears had covered it, and, ultimately, how Christ's own body had been there. As I glanced around, I noticed the ornate and intricately tiled murals depicting Christ's crucifixion and felt a shiver run through my body—maybe just the chill air in the stone building, maybe not. I saw all sorts of people of all races quietly pronouncing their faith. As I noticed a lone Muslim woman tighten her headscarf round her neck and light a single candle, I couldn't help but feel some sort of spiritual kinship, realizing that religion or spirituality is something that lives both in an individual and on a larger scale through a society. Before heading off to the adjacent chamber, I knelt down at the Stone of Unction and softly rested my hand on the marble, feeling its cool smooth surface beneath my palm, running my index finger along a shallow crack. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
Just as I wasn't ready to see the Stone of Unction, I was even less prepared for what awaited me in the room directly to my left. I stared towards the sky, in awe at the massive dome ceiling which contained a small skylight at its center, and through which a ray of light descended upon what my guidebook told me, was the shrine encasing Jesus' tomb. Loud reverberating prayers from a line of singing monks lifted upwards towards the skylight and drifted harmoniously throughout the rotunda. I noticed a queue of people who were waiting their turn to enter the shrine and spend a moment at the side of Christ's tomb. Being content to just stand and observe everyone around me and feel the strange calm unity throughout the church, I reasoned that I would visit the tomb another day. I couldn't exactly see the point in waiting hours in a line that lead to a tomb, especially since this particular tomb didn't even contain a body! As the monks continued to sing and waft incense throughout the rotunda and its corridors, I moved on to a quiet area of the church lined with numerous glittering candles—some just regular tea candles and others as thin as spaghetti but defying gravity and standing upright. In one secluded area, I stopped and stood all alone. Here, I read, was the Rock of Golgotha where Christ was crucified and just through a small window, rested a deep crack in the stone. The crack was said to be caused by the earthquake which followed Christ's final breath. I couldn't understand why I was the only person in this area of the church, but savored the moment nonetheless. It's incredible how you can feel so incredibly united with humanity even when you're in a small room in the dark, completely alone, at least in a physical sense.
After leaving the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, I decided to pass out of the Old City, through its massive stone gates, and make my way towards the Mt. of Olives. By this hour, it was nearing 4:00pm so I knew I'd be pressed for time. I also knew that I wanted to spend my last solitary moments in Jerusalem at the place where Jesus prayed before his betrayal and the area where he later ascended into Heaven. As I made my way up the steep hill to the entrance of the Garden of Gethsemane and the Church of All Nations, I was handed two small twigs of an olive tree by a boy a couple years my junior, asking for a donation. Though not quite convinced that the twigs actually came from a tree on the Mt. of Olives, I was in a fairly optimistic and spiritual mood, and so handed him 15 shekels in change. As I rounded the corner of a brick wall, I caught site of the garden. Not much bigger than my backyard in Gilbert, the Garden of Gethsemane housed no more than a dozen or so olive trees and a few patches of pink flowers. I wasn't extremely impressed but did have to pause for a moment to take in the fact that some of these trees were thousands of years old—at least one had been scientifically determined to be more than 2000 years old, possible one which Christ walked near. I quietly entered the Church of All Nations, which is said to be built over the rock on which Christ prayed the night of his betrayal. I marveled at the blue mosaic tiles which adorned each of twelve domes that form the roof and then sat down in a wooden folding chair to listen to the priest. Though the priest spoke in some foreign language, probably Latin I guess, I once again felt very humble to be in such a place that is revered by so many people.
At 5:00pm, I knew I'd be expecting a call from Lior. I realized from my guide book that the Mosque of the Ascension (where Jesus ascended into Heaven) as well as the other sites on the Mt of Olives like the Church of the Paternoster (where Jesus taught the Lord's Prayer) were already closing down. Nonetheless, I decided to climb the steep mountain to the top, and take a rest in the nearby Jewish cemetery. Once in the cemetery, I removed my sandals and walked through the dirt to a short ledge. I sat down, hung my feet below me, and stared out onto the distant sites of the Old City. For the first time I saw the Dome of the Rock; I watched the light glitter off its golden surface as the sun drifted through the sky in front of me. Wind blustered round about me rustling the nearby Cypress and olive trees, feeling cool in my hair and spreading goosebumps over my skin as I contemplated my day. "How on earth did I end up here," I thought to myself. "How lucky I am."
At 5:40, Lior drove up and we headed down into the modern area of Jerusalem. For those of you who were worried about me spending part of the day alone in the Old City and the Mt. of Olives, the most nervous I felt was actually when Lior accompanied me in the new city! He decided that we would go to this very tasty restaurant but to get there, we had to pass through an ultra-orthodox Jewish neighborhood. It was bizarre to walk through the streets and see all the men and boys wearing black, having buzzed haircuts except for their outrageously long and curly sideburns. All of the women wore long skirts and collared long-sleeved shirts. It was very much like going to an outdoor historical museum like the Renaissance Fair except that here, the people weren't actors and it wasn't polite to stare (at least on my part). For the first time ever, I felt like an outsider. The Ultra-Orthodox Jews stared at me as if I were a monkey in a zoo, a monkey dressed inappropriately by wearing shorts and no hat or kippa. As we emerged from the Jewish neighborhood, I relaxed my shoulders with relief, but only for a moment. Casually, Lior told me that we were now at the cross-roads of the number one area in Israel known for suicide bombings... gulp. He reassured me that the place hadn't been bombed in years, but I convinced him that we need not dilly-dally too long.
After a delicious dinner of hummus (yes, it seems as though that's all I ever eat now), pita bread, some vegetable soup with dumplings, rice wrapped in grape leaves, and beef stew, Lior taught me how Jewish people bless their food. I was happy to hear that of all the food groups, the bread group is considered supreme, and that if you bless the bread there's no need to bless any other part of the meal! With the remainder of the evening, I accompanied Lior to his friend's house where the two of them studied the Torah and the Mishnah for a bit, with Lior translating to me occasionally. It was an interesting conversation that I still need time to think about. Jewish philosophy is a lot of work!
As Lior drove us the hour-long trip back to Rehovot, we watched the city lights glimmer in the distance. It was an excellent way to end my first excursion to Jerusalem.
As I walked into the church, my eyes took a minute to adjust from the rapid change in light. The sun had beaten down on my neck just moments before in the large stone courtyard. My feet were tired and dusty from walking throughout the tourist bazaar of the Old City and the soles of my flip-flops were becoming worn through. I was a bit uncertain as to the significance of the church, so I paused for a moment to glance at my trusty guidebook. I'd only just stumbled upon the place after being sorely disappointed with the endless commercialism of religion in the bazaar (like the mass-produced crosses, t-shirts that read "Be Happy. Be a Jew," and the mini-replicas of major religious sites). I'd also become worried that nothing in the Christian Quarter of Jerusalem would be open, since I'd just made a visit to the nearby Lutheran Church of the Redeemer and found it to be closed on Sundays. "Arghh. Lior," I thought to myself. "Why did you have to convince me to ditch work today and go into Jerusalem." When I'd arrived at work five hours earlier at 8:00am, Lior had persuaded me that the fact that I'd worked through the weekend (Friday and Saturday) had earned me a day-off. He had already planned to be heading into Jerusalem at 5:00 for a meeting and told me to get a head start by catching a bus there. He gave me thorough instructions both about how to get to the city and what areas to avoid, before patting me on my back and sending me on my way. I wasn't nervous, given my trust in Lior and his convictions that I would be safe, and was looking forward to exploring some of the Christian areas of the city. As all of my friends in Israel are either Jewish or not religious, I was eager to explore these areas in solitude and at my own leisure.
Peering through the dim light at the pages of my travel book, I read to myself: "The Church of the Holy Sepulchre," it said, "was built around what is believed to be the site of Christ's Crucifixion, burial, and Resurrection." Wow...I hadn't exactly been ready to hear that. Relaxing my arm and letting the book drop to my side, I stood in the center of the doorway peering straight ahead. Immediately in front of me, a group of people had eagerly gathered with their digital cameras, desperate to take home any image they could capture of this very holy place. I shuffled past a few people and made my way further into the cool damp church. As a herd of tourists parted ways I caught a brief glimpse of another group of believers kneeling around what appeared to be a large marble slab. Though I had to consult my guidebook first before realizing this was the Stone of Unction, the site where the body of Christ was anointed and wrapped after His death, for several minutes I felt my heartbeat quicken and my throat constrict as I gazed onward in amazement. I don't know whether it was the thought that Christ's body may have lain on that very stone or the site of all those worshipers gathered together and united for a single cause, or even a combination of both, but it was an extremely humbling and awe-inspiring thing to observe. I couldn't help but think how many thousands of people had visited this single marble slab, how many drops of sweat lay there as people bowed and prayed, how many tears had covered it, and, ultimately, how Christ's own body had been there. As I glanced around, I noticed the ornate and intricately tiled murals depicting Christ's crucifixion and felt a shiver run through my body—maybe just the chill air in the stone building, maybe not. I saw all sorts of people of all races quietly pronouncing their faith. As I noticed a lone Muslim woman tighten her headscarf round her neck and light a single candle, I couldn't help but feel some sort of spiritual kinship, realizing that religion or spirituality is something that lives both in an individual and on a larger scale through a society. Before heading off to the adjacent chamber, I knelt down at the Stone of Unction and softly rested my hand on the marble, feeling its cool smooth surface beneath my palm, running my index finger along a shallow crack. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
Just as I wasn't ready to see the Stone of Unction, I was even less prepared for what awaited me in the room directly to my left. I stared towards the sky, in awe at the massive dome ceiling which contained a small skylight at its center, and through which a ray of light descended upon what my guidebook told me, was the shrine encasing Jesus' tomb. Loud reverberating prayers from a line of singing monks lifted upwards towards the skylight and drifted harmoniously throughout the rotunda. I noticed a queue of people who were waiting their turn to enter the shrine and spend a moment at the side of Christ's tomb. Being content to just stand and observe everyone around me and feel the strange calm unity throughout the church, I reasoned that I would visit the tomb another day. I couldn't exactly see the point in waiting hours in a line that lead to a tomb, especially since this particular tomb didn't even contain a body! As the monks continued to sing and waft incense throughout the rotunda and its corridors, I moved on to a quiet area of the church lined with numerous glittering candles—some just regular tea candles and others as thin as spaghetti but defying gravity and standing upright. In one secluded area, I stopped and stood all alone. Here, I read, was the Rock of Golgotha where Christ was crucified and just through a small window, rested a deep crack in the stone. The crack was said to be caused by the earthquake which followed Christ's final breath. I couldn't understand why I was the only person in this area of the church, but savored the moment nonetheless. It's incredible how you can feel so incredibly united with humanity even when you're in a small room in the dark, completely alone, at least in a physical sense.
After leaving the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, I decided to pass out of the Old City, through its massive stone gates, and make my way towards the Mt. of Olives. By this hour, it was nearing 4:00pm so I knew I'd be pressed for time. I also knew that I wanted to spend my last solitary moments in Jerusalem at the place where Jesus prayed before his betrayal and the area where he later ascended into Heaven. As I made my way up the steep hill to the entrance of the Garden of Gethsemane and the Church of All Nations, I was handed two small twigs of an olive tree by a boy a couple years my junior, asking for a donation. Though not quite convinced that the twigs actually came from a tree on the Mt. of Olives, I was in a fairly optimistic and spiritual mood, and so handed him 15 shekels in change. As I rounded the corner of a brick wall, I caught site of the garden. Not much bigger than my backyard in Gilbert, the Garden of Gethsemane housed no more than a dozen or so olive trees and a few patches of pink flowers. I wasn't extremely impressed but did have to pause for a moment to take in the fact that some of these trees were thousands of years old—at least one had been scientifically determined to be more than 2000 years old, possible one which Christ walked near. I quietly entered the Church of All Nations, which is said to be built over the rock on which Christ prayed the night of his betrayal. I marveled at the blue mosaic tiles which adorned each of twelve domes that form the roof and then sat down in a wooden folding chair to listen to the priest. Though the priest spoke in some foreign language, probably Latin I guess, I once again felt very humble to be in such a place that is revered by so many people.
At 5:00pm, I knew I'd be expecting a call from Lior. I realized from my guide book that the Mosque of the Ascension (where Jesus ascended into Heaven) as well as the other sites on the Mt of Olives like the Church of the Paternoster (where Jesus taught the Lord's Prayer) were already closing down. Nonetheless, I decided to climb the steep mountain to the top, and take a rest in the nearby Jewish cemetery. Once in the cemetery, I removed my sandals and walked through the dirt to a short ledge. I sat down, hung my feet below me, and stared out onto the distant sites of the Old City. For the first time I saw the Dome of the Rock; I watched the light glitter off its golden surface as the sun drifted through the sky in front of me. Wind blustered round about me rustling the nearby Cypress and olive trees, feeling cool in my hair and spreading goosebumps over my skin as I contemplated my day. "How on earth did I end up here," I thought to myself. "How lucky I am."
At 5:40, Lior drove up and we headed down into the modern area of Jerusalem. For those of you who were worried about me spending part of the day alone in the Old City and the Mt. of Olives, the most nervous I felt was actually when Lior accompanied me in the new city! He decided that we would go to this very tasty restaurant but to get there, we had to pass through an ultra-orthodox Jewish neighborhood. It was bizarre to walk through the streets and see all the men and boys wearing black, having buzzed haircuts except for their outrageously long and curly sideburns. All of the women wore long skirts and collared long-sleeved shirts. It was very much like going to an outdoor historical museum like the Renaissance Fair except that here, the people weren't actors and it wasn't polite to stare (at least on my part). For the first time ever, I felt like an outsider. The Ultra-Orthodox Jews stared at me as if I were a monkey in a zoo, a monkey dressed inappropriately by wearing shorts and no hat or kippa. As we emerged from the Jewish neighborhood, I relaxed my shoulders with relief, but only for a moment. Casually, Lior told me that we were now at the cross-roads of the number one area in Israel known for suicide bombings... gulp. He reassured me that the place hadn't been bombed in years, but I convinced him that we need not dilly-dally too long.
After a delicious dinner of hummus (yes, it seems as though that's all I ever eat now), pita bread, some vegetable soup with dumplings, rice wrapped in grape leaves, and beef stew, Lior taught me how Jewish people bless their food. I was happy to hear that of all the food groups, the bread group is considered supreme, and that if you bless the bread there's no need to bless any other part of the meal! With the remainder of the evening, I accompanied Lior to his friend's house where the two of them studied the Torah and the Mishnah for a bit, with Lior translating to me occasionally. It was an interesting conversation that I still need time to think about. Jewish philosophy is a lot of work!
As Lior drove us the hour-long trip back to Rehovot, we watched the city lights glimmer in the distance. It was an excellent way to end my first excursion to Jerusalem.
Mural behind the Stone of Unction
Muslim woman at Stone of Unction
Girl praying nearby Stone of Unction (my camera was kinda blurry-sorry!)
The Rotunda above the Shrine containing Christ's Tomb
A Ceiling in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre
Candles
Candles
Through the window--crack from earthquake after Christ's death
Some nuns outside Church of the Holy Sepulchre
Ethiopian Monastery
Tombs in the Valley of Jehoshaphat
Church of Twelve Nations
Ceilings inside Church of Twelve Nations
Mosaic of Christ in Garden of Gethsemane
Garden of Gethsemane
Lior at dinner
1 comment:
Wow Clayton your day sounded incredible. I bet everything you ever learned in church and from the bible can now be imagined in your mind which is crazy to think. It looks absolutely gorgeous!
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