The Holy Sepulture

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  Jerusalem, Israel
Tuesday, March 7, 2006

The first thing I saw inside was a stone slab. It was polished, but it had not been carved and smoothed by a mason. The rock was uneven and pocked in places, and smoothed by human contact. It was about six feet long and two feet wide. Built around it was a wooden rim, and above it was a wooden frame that supported twenty incense burners, but none were lit.* I scratched my head, while a middle aged woman came up to it. She knelt before it, and bent her head down. She kissed it. A moment later, a couple of seniors did the same. And then a monk. Standing, gaping, no one paid me notice. I was standing in the Church of the Holy Sepulture. But how unlike a conventional church it seemed.

For starters, the church entrance was not that conventional either. Its entrance was from a stone-paved square, but from there all that was visible was a the main door. The rest of the church's structure is hidden by other structures built against its wall. A few Israeli soldiers, very young people, sat on the edge of the square, ostensibly standing guard. All manners of people, some in religious garb that I have only imagined in a historical context, walked in and out.

As more (but not all) entering visitors knelt down and kissed the stone, I looked around the church's foyer. It didn't lead to pews, and it wasn't constructed in the traditional western Cross shape, but rather it was circular, with a place of mass in the middle, a hall surrounding it, and side rooms and domes branching off in this way and that. Inside the church, directly behind the slab, was a long Greek Orthodox style mosaic displaying a scene from the cruxifiction.

Dead Sea

I had the option of going right or left around it. I followed the sinister path.

A group of black-robed men were chanting to the left and I wanted to see what it was about. They sang in a language I could not discern - perhaps it was Latin but it could have been Greek or Arabic for all I could tell. They stood in a circle while a fellow in the middle of it, wearing a purple outfit with oodles of gold trim and a puffy mitre hat, swang an incense burner. I wasn't able to see what it was about.

I walked a few meters further. This took me up to a queue of tourists. This part of the church had a dome roof three stories up, but it was completely undecorated, save the construction that the queue led to. It shaped like a very mini church, that was of a gaudy, metalic, post medieveal design, and once again I was left scratching my head about it. The people were queuing up to go inside of it; that is crouch down and shuffle inside of it to do something or other. I had no idea what.

To its right was the centre of the church, roped off but considerably closer to completion. It had a painted dome with the likeness of Jesus staring down at the nave. There was a large chandelier, and the double headed Byzantine bird was a prominent decoration. Apparently, it is hard to get work done in the building because so many sects have a say in its maintenance. In which style will X section be realised? Time to have a council of Bishops...

For the first time in my life, I wished I knew Polish. I could have listened in on the Polish tour guide, who was explaining everything to a group of Poles.

Mount of Olives

He was by an altar. Above it was a Latinesque painting of a saint. I imagine that this guide was explaining the significance of this in context to the church. I remained unenlightened throughout my visit. Dissappointinly there are no explainatory placards anywhere in the church.

I walked a ways further, half way around the church. There I found a serene little chapel, free of the chanting, the Polish chatter or the shuffling of feet of so many visitors. To get inside I descended a few steps and found the chapel was recessed into rock. It had no decoration, save a few candles. All of the structure was roughly hewn; one arch was completed by overhanging bedrock. It was a restful, contemplative place. I lit candles for my dearly departed, and all those who may yet see Jerusalem.

Another part of the church, this now 3/4 being of the way around, from the left, had a stair which led down to two levels. I had no idea of the significance of either of them, but both parts were completely carved from bedrock, there were tasteful Greek style mosaics on the floor, and pilgrims over the years had carved thousands of little Maltese style crosses into the stone of the walls. The tour followed me down there and I really wished that I understood some Polish.

My last stop was just near the entrance. I ascended some stairs (about 6 meters above ground level) to see two stations of the cross: where Jesus was stripped of his clothing and nailed to the cross. For the life of me, I could not figure out why these stations are so high up - before the church of the Sepulture was built, these stations would have been in midair.

Mount Zion

I suppose that I have one piece of advice for the would be visitor. Buy a guidebook about the church, or follow a guided tour. In this instance at least, faith alone will not bring you enlightenment.

I left the church only when security guards booted everyone out at a quater to six. The sparse literature I could find said that the church would be open for another hour and most everyone was reluctant to leave. I think we were mostly surprised to be told to get out so early in the day. The security were particularly pushy about it, and although I sympathise perhaps with their difficulty in getting people to leave, I thought it was a bit offensive. They made a lot of noise, and in the most literal sense they shooed everyone out of the building. Perhaps writing the closing times on the door would be a bit more civilized of them. But I had arrived with big expectations.

That morning, I had arrived in Jerusalem. Our bus drove from the Allenby bridge, across a highway through the West Bank, and we came into Jerusalem from the East. I saw the Golden lid of the Dome of the Rock even before I realised what it was. I sort of said to myself - that sure looks like the Dome of the Rock. But no it's too big, it's too close, wait, I can't be in Jerusalem yet, or am I - Similar confused and surprised waves of thoughts sailed through my head. Wow, I finally concluded, I actually was in Jerusalem.

My visit was destined to be quite short. Since I was geographically so close to Jerusalem, I felt that I could not forego a visit.

Pilgirms' Crosses

For a short time I parted ways from Dougal and Nick - I had a certain place in my head where I wanted to stay for a short time.

I didn't actually know where it was but I thought that with a bit of luck I could find it. I entered the old city through the Damascus gate. The streets were bustling with local traffic, local market stalls, and local carts being pushed this way and that. The narrow streets were crammed with people. I did have an idea of where the tourist information office was, so I started walking in that direction.

Along the way, I was accosted by Tomy. He's a Palestinian hair dresser who lives with his mom. He has a gentle voice and had a camp manner. He looked to be about fourty and he asked me if he could help me out. I told him that I was looking for the Lutheran guest house and I asked him if he knew where it was. Sure he did, and he guided me toward it.

As we were walking, he told me about himself. He's originally from the city of Bethlehem. He said that I should go with him to visit. He also cordially invited me to stay at his house. As we came nearer and nearer to the guest house, he invited me more and more enthusiastically to stay at his house. Oh, he's had Canadian guests stay with him before. Yup, we Canadians do get around. Even as we entered the guest house, he said, stay one night here, and then come and stay with me after that. He wrote his phone number out for me. These Palestinians are so friendly! I never called him though. I was too busy washing my hair.

After arriving I strolled around the old city of Jerusalem.

Via Dolorosa

The streets are made of stone and they are all narrow, and made even more so because most streets are lined with vendor's stalls that spill wares well out into the street. Some of the merchandise is made for locals, and naturally some is made for tourists. David street, for example, is lined with souvenirs, as is the last part of the Via Dolorosa and the plaza by the church of the Holy Sepulture. Crosses, statues, books, postcards, candles, film, yamukas, knives, Israeli paraphenalia, you can purchase it all, even suitcases (for the crap you can bring home). I scorned these items but a couple days after leaving I regretted my attitude because I realised that don't have a single souvenir from Israel.

On my walk, I found a Franciscan monastery with two churches inside. I poked my head in and discovered that I had found the first two stations of the Cross on the Via Dolorosa (the way of the cross: the path Jesus walked before he was crucified).

It starts at this Franciscan monastery where Jesus was judged and then flogged. The two chuches stand on the spots these events occurred - but it would take a huge, unbounded imagination to turn this tranquil garden into the Roman court of twenty centuries ago. By the entry, a few plaques explain what happened in the area, and both churches are quite modern in appearance: one is in an Italian baroque style; tall but with a small footprint, and the other is a more simple hall, with stained glass windows.

I decided to walk the way of the cross. The road is well marked, and easy to follow. These days, it's all paved with wide stones and lined with beige stone buildings. All the foot traffic has really polished up the road. Yet, apart from being marked as the Via Dolorosa, the path doesn't stand out with any special features. It is not a direct street, but it turns a few times and local traffic crosses it at many points. Some streets are lined with shops. You can buy baked goods by the first right turn.

It all ends at the Church of the Holy Sepulture, where I began this entry. I was surprised to discover that this church lies right in the middle of the old city of Jerusalem. Quite a while ago, the city of Jesus' time was expanded to the North West, and a new wall was built which included the place of Golgotha and a wide area outside of the Jerusalem of Jesus' time. The Church is home to the last stations of the cross: those which happened once Jesus put down his cross, got nailed to it, hoisted up on it, and died hanging in mid air.

The site of my imagination and what faced me in the church were completely different. But this is my fault. It would have been naieve of me to think that the Jerusalem of Jesus' day would have been spared the ravages of time which have transformed every other ancient city into either ruined blocks or a modern city. Considering this, I don't really see the point of making a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Had it been preserved in its first century state, perhaps there would be a reason to go. Now, it's just a city with interesting history, and if I were cajoled into admitting it was indeed a holy city, I would add a lot of qualifications to the statement.

Overall, my stay in Israel was quite short. One day I spent walking around Jerusalem. I was surprised to find out how near Mt. Zion was to the Mt. of Olives, or the Garden of Gethsemane was to the temple mount (also, all of these Mts. are hills), or that a decent golfer could probably drive a golf ball from the temple mount to Gethesemane on one side, and then Mt. Zion to the other, and (were it not for all the buildings) Golgotha on yet another side. The golfer could putt the ball down onto the Wailing Wall. All of these New Testament places are so close together!

Beyond walking around Jerusalem, Dougal and I visited Masada and the Dead Sea. Masada is of historial importance to the state of Israel. It was the site of the last stand of Jewish nationalists against the Roman army in the first century AD. Afterwards, Jews were banished from ever holding power in the holy land, and they only started coming back at the end of the 19th century. Today members of the Israeli army swear their allegiance to the state at Masada.

About 70 AD saw a Jewish revolt against Roman rule. The Romans thrashed them and killed thousands. Masada was one of the last hold-outs of Zealot leaders ("Zealot" was the name of the rebels). These Zealots were besieged in 73 AD by a Roman Army that outnumbered them 8 to 1. They surived for a while, until time and Roman numerical superiority were too much to resist. The Masada plateau has cliffs on all sides, but one side was shorter than the rest, so the Romans built the biggest siege ramp out of rocks I have ever seen (It was so big that it's still there). But instead of surrendering, the Zealots killed each other as a matter of pride (they didn't want the Romans to enslave them).

I did not visit the Dead Sea, on the other hand, for its historical importance. It was just really cool to float in it. The water has a syrupy consistency. There was a breeze blowing when I got out of the water, but I didn't get that chilly, unpleasant sensation like when I normally get out of the water. The stuff in the Dead Sea is almost like an oil, but it washes off easily.

Oh yeah, almost forgot. One of the hilights of Israel is watching the troops (ie. 18 year old conscripts) march around Jerusalem with their M-16s. Why is this a highlight? Because half of them are girls!


*For the life of me I could not figure out what this bizarre expression of affection could be. Later I found out that this stone was either the stone on which Jesus' body was anointed,
or the one on which he was laid in the tomb. The source was not entirely sure of which it was.

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