Tourists in Jerusalem

by Susan Colten

We were tourists today.  And if I do say so myself, my feet appreciate it if they do not have to do anymore work for the rest of the evening.  I might be speaking for all of us.

Today was a ‘free’ day; that means we had nothing scheduled, planned or promised. We decided together that we would go to Jerusalem.  To catch the bus we first had to go through the Apartheid Wall.  It was sobering to see: the wall painted with signs of protest, the cement partition separating people from the land, the barbed wire, the queue line, armed guards with bullet-proof vests, showing ‘credentials’ through the glass, watching the checking and recording of each Palestinian who passed through while we merely had to show the front cover of our US passports.  Through the gate we caught the #21 bus to Jerusalem.  Our stop—Jaffa Gate, Old City.

Not far inside the old city we were shoulder to shoulder with others from around the world making their own pilgrimage.  The Dome of the Rock was closed, but we did see the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, walk Via Dolorosa, slip out the Lion’s Gate to see Mt of Olives and Basilica of Gethsemane, and contribute our prayers at the Wailing (Western) Wall.  And we did all that before lunch on a delightful rooftop restaurant in the center of it all.

In some way or another today we seemed to be struck with our humanity, or observations on what it means to be human.  For some of us that meant recognizing our different expressions of our faith and its traditions, like the Orthodox Church of the Holy Sepulcher and the Wailing Wall.  For some it meant hearing the familiar language of a dear land, Ethiopia (ok, yes, that was Caryl),  and overhearing them ask the familiar question “Do you know where <so and so> is?” not wanting their friends to get separated from the group. For some of us, our humanity was shown when we women each sat with a local woman on the return bus sharing food, aspirations, conversation (even if they were deaf), or directions. 

For all of us in one way or another it was an appreciation of humanity in reflecting on the physicality of Jesus in his life and death. It was so even as we asked if that was really the stone/rock/cave/tree/road of one commemoration or another.  It was so even as we wondered, “Do I kiss/genuflect/stand in line/cry/sit silently?” in these same places.  These were the desires for the reality to be made more real.  These were our desires that our response be worthy.  And so we joined in with the busload after busload of pilgrims—Asian, European, American, African—in our attempt to find, perhaps, the origin of our faith. 

This evening, however, I am reminded of the words of Luke’s Easter story not to look for the living among the dead.  Jesus Christ is indeed alive—in the life of our congregation, in the life of our sister church in Bethlehem, in the life of all to whom this grace has been given.  In the relationships we are establishing here we shall see signs of the resurrection. 

On our way back from the bus stop this evening, Dave and I were passed by a pre-wedding processional.  We reached the church just in time to see the bride alight from her car and enter the church.  She was indeed beautiful.  And for me she represented life and love and hope in the future. 

Tomorrow we worship with our sister church, Christmas Lutheran Church of Bethlehem.  I anticipate enjoying a fuller sense of what it means to be the body of Christ.