These were the words our guide used to greet us as we entered Jerusalem.
Although my pockets were not picked, the greeting proved to be an apt metaphor. Were I not a Christian before I arrived in Jerusalem, much of what I saw would probably have put me off religion – any religion – for the foreseeable future.
It wasn’t just the heaving crowds (although more on that later) or the blistering heat or even the money changers, street merchants and beggars: it was the duplication.
There are two tombs of Christ along with their accompanying Golgothas and gardens of Gethsemane. The Catholic version was ornate and surrounded by the devout touching and kissing various parts of of the paraphernalia while kneeling or lying prostrate. The second version was situated at a cliff face that has the appearance of a skull – Golgotha. Our Jewish guide at this site was an evangelical Christian who made the most of his audience of tourists by preaching the Gospel to them – rather effectively. I asked him which site he thought was authentic; he replied that he thought his was but that it didn’t really matter since Christ was risen and was his Saviour: a good answer.
In order to get close enough to a popular artifact in order to touch, kiss or, in my case photograph it, one must engage in a good deal of Christian shoving and elbowing; “blessed are the meek” won’t disperse the seething mass of sweaty humanity between you and the sacred object. No amount of practice at Christian shrines, though, can prepare one for the trauma of attempting to travel against the flow of hundreds of Muslim men on a narrow street spewing forth from a mosque after midday prayers.
The street belonged to the released prayers who, in their haste to depart the mosque, knocked all aside. I was fortunate enough to come face to face with the imam; he showed no less enthusiasm for removing himself from the mosque as quickly as he could. “You should not be here” he shouted in my face; “perhaps you should go back and pray some more”, I replied. Regrettably he was swept away in the chaos, so our dialogue was prematurely cut short.
PBS did a documentary on the work of Oxford archaeologists, Martin and Birthe Biddle (old school scholars who were respectful of tradition) I would recommend. I recall being convinced the Church of the Holy Sepulchre had bragging rights. The city has grown, the Church therefore formerly was on the perimeter. Also, the Biddles thought Constantine’s emissaries probably had found the right place because of a combination of tradition of veneration that extends back to the time of the resurrection and the marking of the tomb by graffiti.
At our church after service we don’t spew out—
We dribble!
It was a confused place back in the seventies when I was there.
Seems as if it may be even busier, but you have to look through the lens of compassion and not be irritated by the players… Lest you be accused of ACoC bigotry.