Mass at Calvary
Holy Sepulchre
"We're leaving at 4:45 AM tomorrow." Ugh. After a long day, these words do not inspire any holy thoughts. We turn in early, each hoping to squeeze in just enough sleep to make the early start tolerable. The alarms begin to ring and we shuffle through our morning routines and down into the lobby. We are ready - or at least, present. Our group trudges down to the Damascus Gate, surprised by the mild pre-dawn temperatures. We make our way through the maze of the Old City streets. Except for a few shopkeepers and the occasional garbage truck, they are still and silent. You could scarcely believe that in a few hours, this place will transform into a vibrant market, nearly bursting with crowds and commerce.
We arrive at our destination. There is nothing remarkable here. No magnificent edifice, no statue. Not even an intersection. Our guide directs our eyes upward. About six feet above us, attached to the side of a building, is a small, round, bronze plaque. "I." The beginning of the Via Dolorosa: the Way of the Cross.
How many times have we made this devotion before? "We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you...." The Muslim morning call to prayer begins to blare through the streets. We can barely hear our own words, but there's no time to pause along the Way. We must press on. The city that begins to come alive around us sees us perhaps as a curiosity, perhaps an obstruction. Perhaps it does not regard us at all.
How many times have we made this devotion before? "For by your Holy Cross you have redeemed the world." We continue to wind our way through the narrow streets and alleys. As the sun begins to rise, so do we. Over inclines and stairs, we are slowly making the climb up Calvary, towards the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre. There, at the site of the Crucifixion, we will celebrate Mass. But not yet. For now, we walk.
How many times have we made this devotion before? It doesn't seem to matter. We are making it for the first time. We are seeing it with fresh eyes. Christ made this same journey. Christ sanctified these same streets, sprinkling them with His blood. Christ, at the top of this same mountain, "humbled himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross."
We arrive at the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre. The upper chapel, the site of the Crucifixion, is beautifully tiled with mosaics. One level beneath us is the stone upon which His body was prepared for burial, fragrant with oil and myrrh. Not far below that is the tomb in which He was laid. That tomb is empty. The same Christ who gave His life on the cross, who trampled over death-by-death, who rose again on the third day, now gives us new life in the Eucharist.
The Mass is simple and short. We tarry for a while, pulled in by the great and awesome power of the mysteries we have just experienced. Eventually, we quietly make our way back to the Notre Dame Center for breakfast. After three hours, our bodies are tired and hungry, but our hearts are spiritually refreshed. We know that "in him and through his blood, we have been redeemed, and our sins forgiven, so immeasurably generous is God’s favor to us."