Jerusalem

As we woke up, our ship pulled into the port of Ashdod, a former Philistine city in the Gaza area. The city today is clearly a port city, mostly commercial it seems, as there were new autos lined up on the docks (coming or going we weren’t sure). Our first stop after breakfast: immigration. No, we’re not moving here, but for security reasons, Israel does not stamp our passports. Rather, they gave us a card to permits our entry and travel within the country. They will collect the cards at the end of our time here. Many in our group were rather disappointed that they will not be taking home an Israel passport stamp. This is something new, as before I’ve always had my passport stamped, but we were told it’s because of heightened tensions within the Middle East, and the attitude of some countries toward Israel.

After passing through security, we were on our way this find Sunday morning to the holy city, about a hour’s bus ride from Ashdod. First thing this morning, we stood on the top of the Mount of Olives and looked over the current and old cities of Jerusalem. It’s always a beautiful and breathtaking sight, no matter how many times I have stood there (and this is my fourth time to this land). Our guide talked quite a bit about the history of the city, a history full of conflict and conquering. The current Dome of the Rock (sitting on the former Temple mount) is only one example of the conflict and difficulty that surrounds this city.

From the top of the Mount of Olives, we took the traditional Palm Sunday route down the mount, which was complicated by the number of cars that kept blowing their horns, wanting past us. I don’t think Jesus had to contend with that sort of thing on the first Palm Sunday! We stopped at one of my favorite little chapels, Dominus Flevit, marking the spot where Jesus wept over the city of Jerusalem.

Our guide kept reminding us that, for many if not all of these events, we don’t know where exactly they took place. But, he said, “If not here, then near.” Somewhere near here, in this place or another, God changed history. From this place, God changed my history.

At the foot of the Mount of Olives is Gethsemane, the place where Jesus prayed on his last night before the cross. We, too, took time to kneel and to pray and to ask that God’s will be done in and through each of us. The Church of All Nations is beautiful and peaceful.

Our next stop? Lunch! We ate at the Olive Tree Hotel, where I have stayed on a couple of other occasions. Lunch was traditional Israeli food, and very tasty. Sometimes a bit too tasty—by that I mean, spicy!

Our afternoon adventure took us back to the Old City, where we followed the trail of the Via Dolorosa, the “way of sorrows,” the final walk Jesus took from Pilate’s house to the cross and the empty tomb. While obviously no one knows exactly the route Jesus took, it always feels to me like we’re there, with crowds of people pushing and sometimes shouting, an uphill climb in many places, and people walking on holy ground without realizing it. We did not go into the tomb…because there’s nothing to see there, is there? He is risen, he is risen indeed!

Our final stop for the day was the Western Wall or Wailing Wall. We took time here to pray as well, touching this ancient wall and praying for the peace of Jerusalem and for all of the world. As we boarded the bus to go back to our ship, those prayers still echoed in our hearts and minds. Today was a lot of walking and movement, but it is always profound and sacred to walk where Jesus walked. This was and his city, his land, and that’s what makes it holy.