I don’t even know where to start. Old City Jerusalem is just so beautiful and complex and overwhelming. I think that’s the best word to describe it all: overwhelming.
One of the things that really struck me was the incredible diversity of this city. Stacey, near the beginning of the trip, described Jerusalem as both an archeological tel (an excavation site with several layers from different eras and people groups on top of each other) and, in a sense, a “living tel.” So many different “layers” of people groups and religions are piled on top of each other in this city.
One of the most poignant images in my mind as I reflect back on this diversity is standing on the rooftops at the heart of the city looking at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher placed directly in between two Islamic minarets. Nearby, a hippie-looking man with dreadlocks and red, wide-rimmed glasses drummed repetitively as we watched Jewish boys running down the street below us with their caps and bouncing curls, listening to Stacey describe the Kidron Valley in the distance made mysterious by the bright streaks and shadows of the setting sun.
I don’t know why, but the hippie man really sticks out in my memory. What brought him here? What shaped him into the person he is? What is he seeking? When I made that remark to the girl next to me, she replied, “Maybe he’s seeking his inner peace.” Wow. I think so. Just like the Orthodox Jews below me and the Muslims heading their melodious, mournful calls to prayer.
So many people come here seeking: Muslims, Jews, and Christians of every kind. Old City Jerusalem is incredibly compact (much more than I expected) to attempt to accommodate all those who want to claim a piece of acreage here. The topography added to the complex layout of the city. The narrow, winding cobblestone streets lined with shops were almost always at a slope, leading you up and down with the contours of the land: hilly ground and a valley in the middle of the city. Especially in the Jewish Quarter (the other three were the Muslim, Christian, and Armenian Quarters), the buildings and streets also seemed to pile up haphazardly on top of each other. As Stacey shared, this was true in David’s time too: “Jerusalem is built like a city that is closely compacted together” (Ps. 122:3).
In David’s day, too, the people yearned for peace: “Pray for the peace of Jerusalem…For the sake of my brothers and friends, I will say, ‘Peace be within you.’” (Ps. 122:8).
How ironic…tragic, really…that this city to which so many travel in their searches for peace is itself so desperately in need of it.
The tensions between the many religious and ethnic groups that reside here is very tangible. It’s so different from the hyper-tolerant, casual approach to religion that we find in America. Each group is so adamant, willing to die for sacred sites (wars were fought over possession of the Holy Sepulcher). It’s hard for me to even comprehend it all as a Western Christian. I hope that I will gain insight and understanding into these different religions (and even the more Eastern, Orthodox churches) with their worldviews that are so different from my own. I want to know how to engage with these people in a loving, gracious, and effective way. If I had to do that right now, I would be mostly at a loss.
Beyond the city itself, my own emotional (spiritual? mental?) reactions to it were different than I expected. I think, coming to Old City Jerusalem, I almost expected some sort of golden aura of holiness that would move me with awe and wonder and that encountering these physical places would instantly make the Bible seem more real and believable.
It didn’t. Certain things were moving, and the city was very fascinating and beautiful, but I didn’t really feel that sense of awe and wonder that I was expecting. Instead of a golden aura, I found stray cats, garbage, and rows of smokey stalls cluttering these holy sites. And to be perfectly honest, it almost made it harder while I was standing at different sites, now so roughly real, to believe that God, the infinite, eternal, transcendent, Maker of the Universe, stood right here in a physical body like any of the men standing around me. I’m afraid that if I had run into him on one of these streets, I would have been just as skeptical as the people back then. It’s just so much easier sometimes to think of Christ’s birth, death, and resurrection as real and believable when they’re in a far away land which is still, in your mind, bathed in golden holy dust.
I believe, Abba, but would you help me with my unbelief?
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