Day One

Bethlehem. My heart is heavy tonight as it is actually Day Three and we have seen many terrible things today, but I am going to do these in order, so back in time we go to a happier day.

Grace Hotel, Old City Jerusalem. The first thing that really reaches out and grabs you in this ancient city of stone are the sounds. First there are the church bells, then the Muslim call to prayer, add to that the sound of footsteps click clacking down stone corridors as Orthodox Jews hurriedly rush off to Temple, mix in the chirping of birds, the low murmur of the marketplace, and finally the pièce de résistance; the sound of pilgrim's from all over the world breaking into song (both spontaneous and planned) in their own languages as they walk down the narrow streets or sit in one of the many chapels celebrating events in Jesus' life. There is music e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e and it is wonderful! The highlight of the entire day was walking into the chapel at the Pool of Bethesda and there was a group of elderly black women from New York up at the altar singing like the angels in Latin with outstretched arms and faces pointed skyward. It was beautiful. Shortly after they finished, a pigeon tucked away in the massive ceiling somewhere signalled his approval with a hearty cooing that echoed and re-echoed in the perfect acoustics of the massive stone building.

The lowlight of the day was visiting the Church of the Holy Sepulchre which is actually a series of competing and very divided churches parked under one roof on the site where Jesus was crucified. One minute, you are walking through a crowded market and then you turn the corner and across a small plaza there it sits - one of the most depressing places on earth. I felt a bit like Larry Mullen Jr. in Rattle and Hum as he reflected on visiting Elvis' grave at Graceland, (Irish accent please) ''I really wish he hadn't been [crucified] there, I wish it would have been somewhere I couldn't have gone.''

There was so much bowing and kneeling, the kissing of objects, lighting of candles, rituals and recitations, etc... by so many people in so many different religious outfits that it all just became too much. I can't judge any pilgrim or even any act that I saw; and taken one by one they would have all been quite moving, but I think it was seeing all of them together, competing and jostling for space and knowing all the arguing and separation that occurs and has occurred in history over rituals and traditions that pushed me over the edge. I felt absolutely nothing emotionally in that place except sadness. Galatians 5:6 kept running through my head over and over:

For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision has any value. The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.

I was so disturbed by my lack of emotion during the initial visit that I decided to give it one more try and went back to the church later in the afternoon right before closing. It was mostly deserted as I watched from a distance as a young mother from Africa knelt and kissed the slab of rock that Jesus was supposedly laid upon in the tomb. Her young son was kneeling beside her but kept acting up and she repeatedly had to stop to correct him, Finally she had had enough and got up to go. She motioned for the boy to get up and join her. Much to her horror and my delight, he got up and ran across the slab nearly knocking his head on one of the low hanging lamps. She hurriedly ran back to the slab and began reverently brushing with her hand every place her son's feet had touched the stone. Her devotion and his exuberance were both so real and beautiful, I knew that this was a scene I was meant to see. (I imagine this next line being spoken by my British roommate, Nick, so you must read it with a cheery British accent) Ahhh... a bit of redemption in the end, it's quite nice really, isn't it?