11/29/12 – Behind the wall: Part 1

Today would be dedicated to the walled city of Jerusalem.  Our destinations were covered in rapid fire sequence since the city is so compact at about 1 square kilometre.  But before we could even get into the city’s gates Mary Ellen was already one in the hole (in my books at least).  Yesterday, after losing both pairs of glasses that she brought with her, on the same day mind you, she prayed that she would find them.  She claimed that she heard a voice telling her they would be in her black bag, and low and behold that’s where she found them.  Our tour had its very own miracle.  Unbelievable!

As she got on the bus this morning she asked “Isn’t anyone going to ask me about my glasses?”  Hint: If you ever precede a question with “isn’t anyone going to ask…” nobody cares enough to ask.

Back to the holy land.

Our first of three stops were all located on Mt. Zion in the South West quadrant just outside the walled city.  We began at Dormition Abbey, the site where Mother Mary is said to have died; the grotto contains a statue of her in repose.  We were halfway to our next destination when Maria from Thunder Bay said she had left her journal in the grotto.  It contained all her notes and prayers and she was extremely about its loss.  I immediately thought about how I would feel if I lost one of my journals and all the effort that goes into maintaining one… I had a pang in the pit of my stomach.  I hurried back to the church and rushed down the stairs.  When Maria arrived I told her that I hadn’t had any luck and that she should have a second look while I checked with the staff.  But before I even asked, I spotted it on one of the office workers desks; its bright green leatherette cover was unmistakeable.  Relief swept over Maria as I placed the book in her hands.  She clutched it tightly before placing it in her bag and then giving me a hug and kiss.  “My prayers have been answered”.

Our next stop was the Upper Room, the site of the last supper, but not the site of the last supper since this building was “only” about 800 years old.  Also known as the Cenacle, the Upper Room is like many of the sites I have visited in that it merely represents a location.  The long history of destruction, reconstruction, destruction, etc. in Jerusalem makes exact locations very rare.

Empty room...supper must be over

We concluded our tour of Mt. Zion with a stop at St. Peter in Gallicantu (“cock crowing”), the site where Peter denies knowing Jesus three time before the cock crowed and thus fulfilling Jesus’ prediction.  After realizing the betrayal, Peter weeps.  It highlights some common themes in Christianity: suffering and betrayal.  Then it got heavy.

Sr. Jocelyn invited everyone to lay their hands on the shoulder of their neighbour and reflect on the betrayals they had suffered in their lives, and more importantly the betrayals they effected on others.  All were invited to leave their pain in the past. And while I agree that such a symbolic release is all well and good, and even better for one’s mental health, that’s not something that can be forced, not even at a site of biblical significance.  But then again, that’s me; others seemed to genuinely look more upbeat and my neighbour thanked me for sharing the experience with her.

On the way back to the bus which would take us around to one of the other gates Maria and I got to talking.  She mentioned to me that she was involved in hospice work and had told the two women she was tending to that they needed to hold on until she got back from her pilgrimage.  I told her of my own experience in hospice work.  I was 23 years old and thought that working with the dying would help me conquer my own intense fear of death.  During my time volunteering I became close with a series of patients who unsurprisingly all died.  It was after all, palliative care.  I can’t remember exactly how long I volunteered for…it seemed like years, but that’s what happens when you go from working through death on an infrequent basis to dealing with it on a monthly basis.  It wears on you.  I reached my breaking point when William Fairfield died.  We had become close in the months that I had been visiting with him; I used to bring my calm Labrador retriever Casey to sit by his bedside at the hospital without objection from the nurses.  He said that Casey’s disposition reminded him of his old dog Thadius and he found comfort in that.

After William died, I couldn’t bear to go back.  It was simply too difficult for me at the time.  Maybe I was too young for that type of work.  And while I’m better equipped to deal with death because of my time as a volunteer, I don’t want to go back to it now.  It’s a valuable lesson to come to grips with the fact that everyone dies…everyone.  It’s quite another to subject yourself to that sad reality any more frequently than you actually need to.