Above the Western Wall

No visit to Jerusalem would be complete without a visit to the Western Wall, the remaining corner of the second Temple, built by Herod, and the most sacred place in the world for Jews.  Men and women pray separately here, and onlookers are kept at a discreet distance, and strongly discouraged from taking photographs.  We climbed up to a small courtyard above the Western Wall Plaza, and sat watching people come and go; tourists and orthodox Jews mingled on the steps, and the sound of voices from a nearby yeshiva (religious school) mingled with birds chirping and a solitary clarinet.

There is a beautiful view across to the Mount of Olives in the distance, with a large Jewish cemetery on its slopes, and to the Temple Mount, Al-Haram ash-Sharif.

There can't be many places in the world where there is so much religious significance heaped up in one place.  On top of the Temple Mount are the Al Aqsa mosque and the Dome of the Rock - the rock being reputedly the one on which Abraham prepared to sacrifice Isaac, and from which the Prophet Mohammed ascended into heaven. Just as Empress Helena sought to secure Jerusalem for Christianity by identifying with such conviction the sites of the crucifixion and burial of Jesus, Abd al-Malik wanted to ensure that Muslims focused where they should, by building the impressive golden dome over the sacred rock.

When the Crusaders gained control of Jerusalem they used the Al Aqsa mosque as a stable for their horses.

People are still fighting over this place.  Entry to Al-Haram ash-Sharif is guarded both by Israeli police, and by Jordanian guards.  If you say you are a Muslim and want to go in to pray, the Jordanians will make you recite parts of the Koran to prove it.  Entry to the mosques themselves is strictly for Muslims, unless, like us, you are lucky enough to know someone who can negotiate a special visit.

While we were there, our guide was at pains to point out the bullet holes in the Al Aqsa mosque, and a cabinet containing ordinance collected after one of the clashes between Israeli police and Palestinian protesters.  This place of prayer has become a battleground on several occasions - Ariel Sharon's visit in 2000 sparked the second intifada, and there were several incidents there in the unrest of 2014.

Our guide also described the occasion when an ancient and beautiful wooden pulpit was destroyed in a fire set by an Australian.  In his telling the Australian was a Jew; in fact he was a fundamentalist Christian, suffering from a mental illness.

During our visit our guide did not refer at all to Herod's Temple.

So much holiness; so much hatred and mutual disrespect.  I can't help feeling Jerusalem is not a good advertisement for religion.

Saint Helena dug it up!

I had never heard of St Helena before I went to Jerusalem, but now I think she's my favourite saint, mainly because of her oodles of chutzpah.  

Helena was the mother of Constantine the Great.  She had to fend for herself quite a bit, as his father traded her in for a newer model, but she wasn't one to let that set her back.  She outlived her ex, and, at the ripe old age of 80, went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.  While she was there, she discovered some of the most significant sites of Christendom, and ensured that any non-Christian buildings erected over them were pulled down and replaced with churches.  Whether this was the result of a hotline to God, an early dose of Jerusalem Syndrome or a canny political sense of how to secure Christianity's hold in the Middle East, we must be grateful to St Helena for ensuring we know today exactly where Jesus was born, crucified and buried. (Anyone who entertains doubts about whether Joseph of Arimathea would really have sited his posh tomb a few yards from where the Romans were busily crucifying people should keep quiet.  Helena knew these things!)

She was a stickler for scientific proof too - she found three crosses at Golgotha and established which one was the Holy Cross using scientific testing.  A dying old woman remained sick after touching two of them, but miraculously recovered on touching the third.

So three cheers for St Helena!  Without her millions of people would not have known where to prostrate themselves, and the priests of the Orthodox, Armenian, Latin, Ethiopian and Coptic churches would have had to find somewhere else to fight.  Apparently they find it hard to agree on how to prepare for Christmas in Bethlehem, let alone who should pay for repairs to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

I wonder what Helena would have thought of that?

Why I didn't find the Baby Jesus in Bethlehem

I didn't visit Israel as a pilgrim.  But still - I grew up on Bible stories, so I wanted to visit the most holy places of pilgrimage - the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem.  I came with no particular expectations of being moved or delighted, but with an interest in how I would feel and whether what I saw would make sense in the context of those childhood stories.

Of course it didn't- why would it? Over two thousand years have passed; Bethlehem is a bustling city, and Jerusalem has been knocked down and rebuilt several times.  The accuracy of the locations of the birthplace of Jesus and the site of his crucifixion are suspect.  But as the Pope said about the Turin shroud "It's not whether it's true or not, it's how it makes you feel that counts" - well words to that effect anyway.

Sadly these most sacred places left me cold.  Mainly because when we visited they were packed with tourists and pilgrims so that there was little opportunity to be still or contemplate.  My rational self dominated; sitting in judgement on the people kissing the Star in the Grotto of the Nativity, or flinging themselves (sometimes in tears) on the Stone of Unction in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and then piling their plastic bags of souvenirs on top of it so that some of the holiness would be absorbed into them.

 Walking the Stations of the Cross, particularly those located in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, was rather like trying to locate an artwork in a rugby scrum.  The only moment that resonated with me was when we found the 7th station.  This is located where there was a gate out of the city in the 1st century, and therefore supports the claim that the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is the genuine location of Golgotha.  That felt more real than any of the rest.

But I wasn't unmoved by all the expressions of devotion we encountered.  When we visited the Church of St Anne in Jerusalem these pilgrims singing Ave Maria stopped me in my tracks.

Religious music, it seems, can overcome my rational self, especially, as I discovered when I visited Malawi, when the words are in a language I don't understand!

Outside the walls of Mar Saba

The road to Mar Saba monastery took us through breathtaking sun-bleached landscape, winding up and around hills, and in and out of Arab villages.  Our driver had never been there before, and stopped at almost every junction to check the way with the men selling coffee by the side of the road. As time passed and the sun grew hotter, it became harder and harder to find anyone to ask - the villages appeared deserted as everyone took refuge from the heat.

We knew we were on the right track when, at the top of the hill looking down over empty valleys in three directions, we came across a Bethlehem tour bus, which we then followed down to the monastery.

Only men can go into the monastery itself, and only then when the monks are ready.  Our friends waited an hour or so because the monks were praying, only then to be told they were having lunch. Other pilgrims came and went - some American, some Russian Orthodox women who braved the heat to walk up to the women's tower opposite the monastery.  Arab men offered coffee, water and lemonade as we sat waiting under an olive tree.

Our friends were finally summoned to enter.  We stayed under the tree as the Russian women returned.  They were allowed to approach the door and peer in, and receive a blessing from one of the monks.  Then they gathered under our tree to drink lemonade and pray.

They came all that way, to pray outside the walls in the burning sun.