So this is where it happened? Day 2

And as I wait for the Maundy Thursday service:

Aha! Today, a guide! We meet Kasim, a Palestinian Christian, who is going to be our guide through Israel. After yesterday, we are quite sure we need one.
So, after being introduced to Eli, who will serve as driver (and, as it turns out,on local culture commentator par excellence) we start off, going first to the Mount of Olives.
This is, and will remain, one of my most enduring memories of Israel. As I stood there, looking across the Kidron Valley to Jerusalem, things began to fall into place. The valley was much steeper than I imagined; the Temple Mount more prominent; the oldest part, the city of David, more limited. And yet, despite the modern veneer, I could see how things must have happened, back then--they would have come from Bethany on Palm Sunday, this way. And then, Kasim points out the traditional location of the Upper Room--and the Garden of Gethsemane. And, frankly, that's when I lose the vision. It's a lot farther from one to the other than I imagined. I can envision Jesus leaving the city to pray; I can't envision the hike from the supposed Upper Room to the area identified as the Garden. Too far, I think. Too far. Why walk so far?
This is the reality that I deal with throughout the trip. Most, if not all, of the Christian "holy sites" were identified in the fourth century, or later. The Empress Helena, mother of Constantine, and to all appearances a more devout Christian than her son, visited the Holy Land, and more or less decided where certain events happened. She built three churches--the Church of the Nativity, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and the Church of the Ascension. At least I think it's those three. I know one is the Church of the Sepulcher, because she also set out the Via Dolorosa, the Stations of the Cross, with the last several Stations (ok, I'm not Catholic, so I don't know all the Stations that well!) inside the Church. At any rate, my rational mind keeps saying "yes, it probably happened somewhere around here--this general vicinity--but exactly here? Just because the Empress said so over three hundred years later?"
So, this is the Mount of Olives,and over there is Jerusalem, and down the path a ways is Gethsemane. We stop very briefly at Gethsemane--which is now a rather attractive formal garden, The olive trees there are clearly old, and Kasim tells us that they are considered to be third generation from those of Jesus' time. I feel at least a small stirring of spirit here, but it quickly disappears as we are told that we must hurry, because the Temple Mount closes admission at 10:00 a.m.(I still don't know why) My visit to Gethsemane seems to be of the "we've seen it, let's go" variety. No lingering.
After our visit to the Mount--more on that another time--we walk the Via Dolorosa, at least the route laid out by Empress H. It twists and winds and at least once makes what seems to me to be a u-turn that would be tough to make with a cross, but who am I to question Empress H.? I'm 1700 years further away from the event than she is.
And so, here we are, again, in the Church of the Sepulcher. This time with a guide. Kasim explains that the Church is shared by six denominations--and clearly, not all equally. For example, the Ethiopians seem to have huts on a flat part of the roof to live in, and a small chapel featuring, appropriately, the Queen of Sheba. We go into the main part of the Church, and up a small staircase to the area that is, purportedly, Golgotha. Though now well within the city walls (Crusader era walls, to be sure) we are told that at the time of the Crucifixion, it was indeed a hill outside the city. Okay by me, but today, it's part of a very ornate Church. The Roman Catholics have a small chapel area where "He was nailed to the cross". Next to it is an area, which my notes say is Greek Orthodox, where the cross stood. It is quite ornate, in the Eastern style, and a little disconcerting to my Presbyterian sensibilities.
There is an altar over the 'site of the cross". You must kneel, crawl under the altar, and then you can put your hand into a hole in the bedrock, to feel the place where the foot of the cross rested. I kneel. I crawl. I put my hand in the hole. I feel nothing. Not emotionally, not literally. There is just space. I wave my hand back and forth, conscious of other tourist/pilgrims behind me, waiting their turn. Nothing. Finally I feel the rock at the side of the opening. I back my way out (Holy Sites turn out to be like Royalty--you can't turn your back on them). The guide takes a photograph, which will never be seen by anyone, of my rear end backing out under the altar. We proceed downstairs, where the "tomb of Joseph of Arimathea" sits in an adjoining part of the church. The area is surrounded by ornate walls, and by a large, open church. It is explained that the original hill, in which the tomb sat, was leveled in order to build the church around it. I can see the need, but it does lose some authenticity of atmosphere.
There is a long line of tourist/pilgrims circling the tomb. Kasim says that since we are just two, he will speak to the monk guarding the entrance, his friend, and we can perhaps be allowed into line ahead of some of the large groups. This is strongly reminiscent, unfortunately, of our visit to Moscow in 1986, when we got to cut in line at Lenin's tomb. Lenin was, when viewed "in situ" more than somewhat waxy. This is not a good thought to entertain when visiting the tomb of Christ.
We are allowed in during a gap between groups. We walk into the inner chamber with another small group of three. Five at a time is the rule. We stand by the wall, and look at the small ledge. I take out the two Jerusalem crosses I have bought in one of the many Via Dolorosa shops. I am, I was told, supposed to put them on the ledge so they are blessed. I do. I say a small prayer. I look at the ledge. I think that, even given the differences in diet and health from 2000 years ago, Joseph of Arimathea and Jesus must have been VERY small people, because it is a very small ledge. I think that I am supposed to be thinking more spiritual thoughts. I want to. I am, after all, a Minister of Word and Sacrament in the Presbyterian Church (USA). I want to feel the emotion that I see evidenced in other pilgrim/tourists. I back out. I want to, in some way, share in the experience of what happened here 2000 years ago. But I didn't. And so, here at my first encounters, here at the sites--or at least in the general area--where Jesus walked, and suffered, and died, I'm thinking about Lenin, and about size, and about everything except the reality of what happened. Faith and Reason. Emotion and Intellect. Nowhere in my life have they been brought into such a clear separation as here, in the Holy Land. The thing is, I believe wholeheartedly in God, in Christ, in the Spirit. I believe that those things that happened here, so long ago, profoundly changed our lives and our world, and continue to do so. To see these places is, definitely, interesting. Educational. Informative. But I was expecting Awe. I want Awe. And at least so far, Awe hasn't shown up. God has not appeared, the Spirit has not spoken on schedule.
And then I think--the Holy Land is not a theme park. There's no pre-programmed voice of God, no motion sensor shining light, no inspiring music to set the mood and stir my emotions. God doesn't follow a schedule. God isn't always where you expect him to be. God, perhaps, is more about what you are than where you are.

It's almost time for the Maundy Thursday service, when we re-enact and remember those last few days of Jesus of Nazareth, preparing for the glorious day of Easter Resurrrection. I was privileged to see where they might have occurred, long ago. I need to go now, and open myself to what they mean, tonight, March 20th, in the Year of Our Lord 2008.

So this is where it happened? Day 1

It's Thursday, March 20th--Maundy Thursday, and we will have our traditional service with communion and tenebrae in a few hours.

Just a month ago I was in Jerusalem. On our first full day there, my husband and I, recovering from jet lag, and with everything closed for Shabbos, had ventured from our hotel into the Old City on our own; it was apparent from our reception that we were representatives of a very rare species--tourists, without group or guide. We were constantly surrounded by offers of "help you find where going" or "look in my shop, two minutes, two minutes" we wandered helplessly through the-- streets? alleys? passages?--anyway, through the places of foot traffic. Once, finding ourselves in a dead end, residential courtyard, we did accept the offer of a boy of about 8 or 9 to "find where going?" "Church" we said, thinking if we could work our way back to the Christian quarter, Chuck could use his map to get us out the Jaffa gate. Our young guide led us through a maze of winding streets, all seemingly fronted by the same tourist shops, all seemingly offering the same goods.Moreover, the all seem to offer the same or similar goods as other places we've visited-chess sets, roughly carved statues, inexpensive brass, wood, tiles, local (?)--all those seem to abound in Istanbul, in Mexico, in Peru, in Hong Kong, in Equador, in the Carribean Islands..The globes I thought beautiful in France years ago now crowd the markets of Jerusalem. There has to be a tourist central somewhere (China, maybe?) that provides slightly customized goods to tourist markets everywhere.
Just as Jesus found moneylenders in the temple, we find tourist stalls throughout Jerusalem.
And so, we found ourselves at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. We venture in. Its big. it has lots of levels. Its dark. There are lots of people. There are no signs. There is no booklet. We have jet lag. We retreat to the hotel and nap, deferring our "experiencing" the site until we have a guide who can at least tell us what we are seeing.