Snow in Jerusalem.
When I wrote the letter I always include with my Christmas cards, I was sure this happened in the second day of our arrival. Looking at my notes, though, I find realize that it was, in fact, the third day. This probably has no real significance, except that either my jet lag was worse than I thought, or that the snow made a huge impression on me. In either event, it's clear that events are filtered through both mind and memory, so what I write here is subject to the vagaries of memory, the influence of emotions, and a relatively reliable but not guaranteed practice of note taking. Hey, its a blog, not a dissertation!
And so now, remembered and reconstructed, Day Three.
In the night, the snow fell. By five a.m., there's probably 2" of snow covering Jerusalem. My husband, Chuck, in full Photographer mode, thinks that there will be a great location on the Mount of Olives, looking back towards the city.
We ask the hotel doorman to get us a cab. The doorman clearly believes that we are insane, but calls the cab.
The cab driver clearly agrees with the doorman, but agrees to take us. We start off; the snow worsens; the driver's cell phone rings; it is his wife, asking why he is out, when he is coming home; he translates for us. What I
suspect he is not translating is "why are you out with those crazy tourists". He tells her not to worry, and go back to bed. She does not take his advice. I know, because she calls again. And again. And again. His decision to stay out in the snow with crazy tourists becomes more understandable. When we reach a lookout spot on the Mount of Olives, the Photographer sets up his equipment but the snow and wind increase. Visibility is dreadful. The photographic expedition is a failure. We return to a very welcome hotel breakfast.
After breakfast, we meet Kassim, our guide, and Eli, the driver, and venture out, though snow and sleet continue unabated. First, we go to the Church of St. Anne, which is located by the pool at Bethesda. This is not on our original plan, but I really wanted to see the pool. The church is a lovely old stone crusader church, probably the best preserved crusader church in Jerusalem. There is a small Asian tour group inside, singing. Its about 15 or 20 people, but the sound like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. What a lovely moment of worship. What a lovely church.
Our next stop is at the purported "Upper Chamber", which is, for reasons I never determined in my entire visit, located on top of the Tomb of David, which is also conveniently located directly next to the Church of St. Peter Gallicanta, which may be where the cock crowed, but also is built over the "dungeon" where Christ was imprisoned. It's certainly convenient for single stop tourism, but . . .(there's that pesky "reason" part of my mind again) And, as if to confirm my thoughts there are multitudes of tour buses crowded into the parking lot. They jostle each other, blocking one way, threading through another, looking for places to park, each with a little sign in front identifying their group. The Tarrytown Synagogue squeezes in next to the Sacramento Bible Church, while the Ethiopian Pilgrimage continues to circle. Brother John's (location not divulged) Pilgrimage tries to edge into the fray, but is met with resistance from a bus merely labelled "Atlanta". All of the "sites", one on top of each other, are like children shouting for attention. In fact, it seems to me that most of the "sites" we have seen, at this location or elsewhere in the city, could be equated with children, all saying "Look at me, Father", or "Love me best, Father", "Pay attention to me, make me more successful," each of them polishing, if not outright embellishing their legends, making themselves, more and more ornate . . .which is why, perhaps, I loved that little, out of the way, not on the tour route, plain stone crusader Church of St. Anne.
Chuck remarks that wherever ANYTHING happened, or may have happened, or might have happened, there's a church, or a Jewish site, or a mosque. Pretty much true. How to find the faith, the sanctity, the spirit in all of this? Why can't I feel that yes, this is Holy Ground?
We walk the "Holy Steps", dating from the 1st century, connecting the City of David with the Kidron Valley. . .which would make it the route to and from this Upper Room to Gethsemane. If the locations were correct, if the route was right, this could be, could be, a place where indeed Jesus walked during that dark night. The steps were covered in slush. There was freezing rain falling. And out of all those buses, all those people, we were the only ones on the steps. There were no other footprints in the snow.
At the lower entrance to the Upper Room, the sign said "never closed". But there was snow in Jerusalem. When we got up the steps to the Upper Room, the door was locked. There was no one there. Closed.
