«A charge penetrated my body» excerpt from the book » IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF JESUS»

Little did I know what was awaiting me, within
the walls of the Holy Land. Walking through the
streets, my eyes are dazzled by the sun breaking
into millions of diamond shards on white stone,
inhaling the delicious smells of ripe fruit on the
corner stands. Some muslims holler out to attract
some custom as business seems to be slack and visitors too loth to part with their dollars. I am possessed by the feeling of finally arriving home, to
my land, the Holy Land. An electric charge penetrates my body, shaking me to my bones. I and
Peter gallop ahead through the tortuous lanes
covered with cobblestones to make it on time to
the Holy Sepulcre and beat the flocking crowds.
As I see the entrance of the Church of the Resurrection, a silent scream erupts from the deepest
caverns of my being; tears run down my cheeks,
washing away my ego’s built walls of pretense.
The designer mascara and foundation slips off my
face, leaving me bare, finally stripped to my core.
A prayer, so intense comes directly from my soul.
I intone “Give me the strength to choose Your
light. There is nothing I crave more than Your
Divine Presence. Make Your voice louder than
the seductive whispers of my mind, and give me
strength to keep choosing You”. And so I go on
weeping, pleading, until there are no more tears,
until my overwhelmed ego gives in, and there are
no more excuses or distractions. I am now inside
the Church. The first shrine to encounter upon
entering the Church of the Resurrection is the
Holy Deposition which is across the entrance of
the Church. Its present form is of later construction as a result of the restoration work of 1810.
This holy shrine is composed of a natural rock
identified to be the same holy stone of the funerary anointment. According to tradition, a part
of the original rock was transferred to Ephesos
and from there to Constantinople. The emperor
Manuel I Komnenos, placed it in the holy palace
and later at the Monastery of Pantocrator near
its monument of the tomb. Today the holy shrine
is covered with reddish marble which is not only
for decoration but also to protect it from the habit of pilgrims chipping off small pieces, to use
them as talisman and souvenirs. This holy marble has a trapezoidal shape and measures 5,75m
long and protrudes 30cm from the ground. The
earlier one was destroyed during the fire of 1810
when a small pillar fell on it and shattered it. The
holy Deposition relates to the story in the gospel, according to which Joseph and Nicodemus
with Pontius Pilate’s permission brought down
Christ’s body from the cross. They then anointed
it with fragrances and laid it in a new tomb. This
relationship is further brought to attention by an
inscription around the four sides of the monument, which states:

“The honourable Joseph having
taken down your Holy Body from the Cross, and having
wrapped it in clean linen cloth, anointed it with fra-
grant myrrh and laid it in a new tomb”. Wiping my
tears, a voice inside me is whispering “ Jerusalem
is your home, forever, inside you, wherever you
are. Do not weep, you will bring its truthful light
to every place you visit”. My ache is mounting as
I make my way towards the Holy Sepulchre. As
an Orthodox Christian, it was humbling to just
be there. A feeling of unworthiness overwhelmed
me as I stood and took in the realisation that I
was visiting the location that our entire faith is
built upon. It is the place where 7 years ago I
came face to face with our Lord Jesus Christ. His
hands and forehead dripping with sweat and
blood. His gaze penetrating my soul. He was crying. It was a few minutes later that I understoodwhy. My whole life was unfolded like an ancient
parchment. He had been standing alongside me
throughout my life…He had been watching over
me and led me to that place where He was crucified and resurrected. I felt ineffably blessed and
grateful for being where I was meant to be.

The Greek Pilgrim (September 27, 2019)
When humdrum concerns are shunted away
my obsessive ruminations beat a hasty retreat
replaced by a raging sea of whitecaps
piling up around me like the froth on a café viennois

When the sun beats down on us in summertime
the deep and narrow gorge winds its tortuous course,
unfurling a cliff face pocked with caves
where monks are ensconced in steep enclaves

Bringing up the rear, I come to a place
where Elijah was fed by ravens and praised the Lord.
Hiking down a steep and winding path,
I ponder the question of self-fulfillment

The thick plume of dirt upset by my strides,
unsettles the complacency of my life,
the sound of footsteps leaving a trail
that no fear can track to nail its prey

Wadi Kelt is a holy place
While I am craning over my shoulder,
I see God’s serene embrace
Over the brow of the hill, I am free.
copyright 2019

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