Noise

I woke early, my last day on this first part of my sabbatical wondering where best to spend my last few hours. Obviously in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Shortly after 8am, the local shops of the soukh not yet open, I stride uninterrupted to this most holy site.

Perhaps I will have time enough to read the closing chapters of John inside the Tomb itself! Alas, there is already a church group here, inside, singing, and another in the queue. Perhaps I could pray in the Fransiscan chapel but the sign outside calls for silence leaving me feeling confused and unwelcome. Perhaps upstairs by the 12th station, where Jesus hung on the cross. Afterall this place is remarkably empty given the squash and squeeze it was earlier in the week. Here I find a small English language Roman Catholic Eucharist in mid flow. I sit and read with the back drop of familiar responses. Ah. At last.

A man drags a wooden step across the floor and standing on it pulls down the chains that bring the oil lamps to within reach so they can be topped up. Sigh. I go downstairs and sit on the cool floor outside the Tomb and continue reading. What better place, the place of the resurrection, to read of Jesus’ threefold reversing of Peters thrice denying – Do you love me? At last a profoundly sublime moment.

A man in a hi-viz jacket kneels down a few feet away and with his electric drill begins to unscrew a broken bit of MDF floorboard. In such a place , with such wonderful acoustics, the drill makes its presence felt.

I finish the gospel of John quickly and leave to try my luck at Stations of the Cross no.4. I know that behind this door is the most gorgeous and huge Monstrance. This is simply name of the display case for the presentation of blessed bread and wine, body and blood of Christ, and last thursday was Corpus Christi and the one here is fabulous. Alas the shop that supported it has been closed through covid. I wander into the courtyard and look longingly at the door. Two women are sweeping they stop and glare at me. I ask. One replies “No, not today” and in case I might get my hopes up follows it with a quick “and not tomorrow”.

As I wander back to pack my things I realise that Jesus’ own Via Dolorosa would have been filled with noise, with busy people, shop owners trying to make a living, builders repairing and cleaners sweeping. So I note that it is here in the bustle and noise of it all, Jesus came and  walked and died and rose again.

(Photo is of me heading into the courtyard of the Holy Sepulchre, the key bit is to note the utter lack of crowds)