Perhaps one of the most difficult things about a pilgrimage through the Holy City is trying to understand the intricate details that lay beneath every curve and crevice that make up what we see as we travel through Jerusalem's streets. It beckons the question on every step, "could my Lord have stepped where I am now standing," or "did he touch this column, this rock, that olive tree?" The difficulty is in absorbing not only the historical data that surrounds us like a mathematical riddle, but also harnessing an imagination large enough to fit it all in. Try as we may, if anyone were to ask us to paint a picture of what we came up with, it would look a lot like an insult.
There is a form of humility only discoverable by a mind that has limited imagination. Or so we hope. Truth is, the field of mental architecture is often lacking in building material, yet we proceed to look further into the stories to make a firm foundation, a bedrock - a place to start. The stories are where beauty lays hidden - and even if we were to catch a glimpse of history behind the crevices, or the rocks, or the walls, alone it would not suffice to satisfy the craving we have for touching eternity. So we proceed down the steps and into the Old City through the Damascus Gate.
The Main Northern Entrance into the Old City of Jerusalem, Damascus Gate
We put on our hats, hoods, or complimentary kippahs as we entered the vicinity of the Kotel, or the "Western Wall" - the remnant of a massive Herodian retaining wall surrounding the western side of Mount Moriah. Just above is the site where the Temple once stood and where the octagonal-shaped Dome of the Rock now sits. The actual wall that is visible, now a synagogue plummets over one thousand and some change or more feet below the visible ground we stood on. Most of the ground that we tread throughout the Old City is the result of centuries of deep accumulations of rubble, debris and dirt. So, what once was a valley rift is now "ground-level." It is from this platform that we view the facade of a most noble site, the Western Wall.
Written prayers are squeezed between the massive bricks of the Western Wall
Because it's difficult to remember (due to the rise of ground level) that the original Temple once stood on a mountain top (Mt. Moriah), walking up a long platform to enter into the vicinity of the Temple Mount gives one a true sense of escalation. Just above is an open view of the golden dome and the two other mountain ranges that sandwich it - the Mount of Olives to its east across the Kidron Valley, and on the other side, Mount Zion. Get the picture? It's easy to get lost in the mental tour. It's even easier to get lost there physically. Here's a better picture:
"As mountains surround Jerusalem, the Lord surrounds his people both now and forever" (Psalm 125:2). That is what is important.
We journeyed next through the excavation site of the old City of David. We followed the path down toward the Kidron Valley, from David's palace and down through site of the city built on a slope. From the top, our guide mentioned how easy it would have actually been for David to notice the beautiful Bethsheba from his imperial window. "Tom" was not the first peeper.
Shortly after, our journey through the walled city of Jerusalem and out through the slopes running south of the Temple Mount (or Dome of the Rock), down through the old City of David, and a tight squeeze through Hezekiah's tunnel ended out toward the steps of the pool of Siloam, where Jesus sent the man born blind, whose eyes he covered with spittle and mud to wash his face. It's a mouthful, I know. It's worse on foot.
Here, on the ancient steps of the pool of Siloam, one of our brothers gave his reflection on the curing of the blind man as found in the Gospel of John, "...he spat on the ground and made clay with the saliva, and smeared the clay on his eyes, and said to him, "Go wash in the Pool of Siloam" (Jn 9:6-7).
"But the blind man never asked for this," our speaker proceeded. True, in fact. The situation itself beckoned for a healing. Asked for or not, our reflection continued, the blind man's cure led him to bring the good news to his neighbors. We are asked, is this not a parallel to our own vocation? Are we too not going to be dispersed from this place outwards to bring the light to our own neighbors? Dioceses?
Looking down at the ancient stones beneath our feet, we stop to think, if the rocks could indeed speak, their involuntary silence would reveal to us the mystery that struck them mute 2000 years ago.
Ring a bell?
Fr. Martis, one of our professors at Mundelein, once said that the priest, at the moment of consecration, is struck dumb at the mystery that lays before him. Here, we come to realize, it's actually our job to do all the talking. We do the Memorial Acclamation, we spread the Good News throughout the nations, by starting in our own homeland.