Flashback: The Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Summer 2006

Almost as a matter of chance we found ourselves at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. We went inside, saw the place of the Crucifixion and reached in and touched the rock in which the cross was placed. When we made it over to the tomb, we discovered that this was one place where the “No Shorts” rule was enforced. So, we decided to go to dinner and come back later. We figured there would be less people around then anyway. When we came back, we found the door to the church’s courtyard was closed and locked. A monk who was waiting at the door told us it would be opening in 5 minutes. We waited with two other people to be let inside. Once inside we rather quickly made our way over to the shrine covering the tomb and sat down to wait for the priests to do their required things before we got in line.

As we sat there, watching the priests go in and out, a Ukrainian Orthodox monk stopped to say hello in the few english words he knew. After finding out that he disliked our current administration’s policies in the middle east through a series of hand gestures, he began to ask about my religious background. “Orthodoxa?” No. “Catholique?” No. “Armeeenian?” No, Protestant. “Ah, Proteestant - vich? ” None, Neutral. “Neutraday?” Yes. “Oh.” Then he looked straight at me andpointed to his eyes, then he pointed to his ears and finally pointed up. He seemed to want to tell me to begin to look to and listen to God. (Apparently he thought that “Neutral” meant that I didn’t have a religious background.) I smiled and nodded my head, wishing I was better at charades. I wanted to tell him that I do see and hear God, and that I love Him and follow him as well. Instead I settled for smiling, nodding and receiving an old Ukrainian hand tussling my hair.

In the several minutes that we chatted with the Ukrainian, the line at the tomb became rather unruly. We explored the basement of the church to pass some time. After seeing the shrines and relics, we returned to the tomb to find the line even longer than it had been. We decided we should get in line now before things got worse. We got behind a couple of nuns which soon became several. Then some of their priests joined them and a few congregants. Not wanting to be a problem in this holy place, we held our tongues. The line behind us continued to get longer as well. Those in charge of keeping people out of the tomb lost a little control when the nuns continued to flock forward in large groups. As we got closer to the two small steps up to the tomb entrance we noticed that we had been positioning ourselves to block those behind us from moving in front of us. Here we were, at the very place where Jesus made himself last, trying to secure our place in line. We were annoyed with the nuns for slowing down the line and frustrated that any priest could walk in without waiting. As our turn finally arrived, we walked beneath the hanging lights and incense and ducked into the tiny two-room structure. Inside was a lone priest still praying. The monk outside said something to him (presumably asking him to leave), to which the kneeling priest virtually shouted back in response. He continued his prayers at a much higher volume and remained for the duration of the time we were there. I knelt beside him and said a short prayer as I looked around the tiny room. As I got up to leave, a man and his son were squeezing into the inner room with us, creating quite the pressing situation in getting out.

The experience was interesting, but not as spiritual as I would have hoped. The short, cynical prayer, “Lord, please save us from your followers” could not be ignored. We wondered what Jesus would do if confronted with what his tomb has become. Our own tired, cynical answer was, “Well, for starters he would have gone to the back of the line.”