Jerusalem — Any day of the week here, the 4:30 a.m. Muslim call to prayer may wake you up. As a Christian in the Holy Land, it calls me, too. And, sure enough: If you head out the door to the Old City, you will be joining Muslims, Jews, and Christians headed to their houses of worship. I remember this from the last time I was here, at the beginning of Lent seven years ago: how completely safe I felt walking to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre before the sun rose. Everyone in the streets is about worshipping God — or is security making sure that nothing goes violently wrong.
I think I would find it hard to be an atheist in this city. (Well, except for the bad witness of believers not getting along, as happens.) So much points to God. For a Catholic Christian, being at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is mind-blowing. You climb up the short, deep staircase to Golgotha and join pilgrims in their Mass. During the Holy Sacrifice, we believe, Jesus truly becomes present, in union with that first sacrifice on Calvary. Here He is again. Here He gives Himself again. What wondrous love is this!
Pilgrims wait in line to touch stone upon which the blood of Jesus may have fallen. Whether or not that spot is exactly it, this is holy ground.
At my first Mass back in Jerusalem, I joined some Spanish pilgrims — the Mass is the same in all the languages of the pilgrims who cycle in here. I received the Eucharist and I unexpectedly wept. (An ugly cry of joy!) One of the pilgrims offered me tissues. She looked so much like a woman in New York City who counsels women suffering from their abortions (postabortionhelp.org). She embraced me as a sister would, and after Mass, when I thanked her, she assured me in English, “God loves you so very much.” She may have thought I was in distress. It was more like wonder. And the reality that the Christian story of redemption is not something I deserve or could ever earn.
I’m here on a fact-finding trip sponsored by the Philos Project, focused on tradition. In the face of all the challenges of modernity, how do different Jewish and Christian communities keep what is most precious to them? Here, existential threats are not unknown, including in recent history. Whatever your opinions about the State of Israel, its founding in 1948, and its course since then, Zionism was in many ways born of the Holocaust. It was founded out of gratitude, not fear. And every Zionist we hear from embodies that. Israel, flaws and all, is a miracle in that way.
The most striking difference between the culture back home and here is Shabbat. My plane landed as sundown neared on a Friday night. Good luck finding a seat in the restaurants recommended. Some of us have a newfound affinity for the Yellow chain of gas-station convenience stores in Israel, because they help with travel staples during the down time. With our Coke Zero and such items, we were probably missing the point. Turn your phone off. Forget the necessities that aren’t really needed at all. Look at the person in front of you for once and listen. Enjoy a walk. God’s creation surrounds us, and yet we can miss its beauty as we run to the next thing. How many American families are way too used to Mom or Dad traveling for work and not being there? How can we be there more? How can we slow down, even as we make our contributions to our part of the world?
The Holy Land is a place to stop and reconsider priorities. We were just in Nazareth, and the Annunciation of Mary reminds us that God makes requests of us. At the Western Wall back in Jerusalem, I was moved by the Jews gathered in prayer. While I did not disturb anyone to ask, I imagine they know this, or they wouldn’t be there. Both times I’ve come to the Holy Land, it’s been in the beginning days of Lent. It’s an ideal time to come.
Not everyone can travel here, but everyone can turn his eyes to this part of the world and pray. For peace — there have been flare-ups of conflict while we’ve been here. Everyone seems to anticipate more to come. And for inspiration: For all the violence, people also live together. Even as Palestinian Christians feel like second-class citizens, they make lives for themselves, even in Israel. Every community here has a story: The ultra-Orthodox try to make their way amid resentment. We met with a Druze family who live differently, even as the man of the household serves in the Israeli Defense Force. Israel seems almost the opposite of the melting pot of my New York. Here the distinctions are preserved and also celebrated, if only within one’s own community. Identity is life-giving, when it isn’t used as a bludgeon or a claim to victimhood.
What can we preserve of our own traditions? How can we make better decisions for those we love? What is God asking from us? (It’s often different from what we have planned.) You don’t have to travel to Jerusalem to walk a little in the footsteps of the prayerful and remember the great faith that has come before and that can be our story, too, if we are willing to take a leap — and some quiet days of recollection and reconciliation.
This column is based on one available through Andrews McMeel Universal’s Newspaper Enterprise Association.