Walk His Walk

     “Once you go, you will never be the same!”

     How could any trip have such an impact on one’s life? But this was not an ordinary vacation. I was going on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.

     Time and time again, those who have made the pilgrimage to the Holy Land have reiterated the same claims: Scripture will take on a new richness. You will not only hear the words but see the places in your mind’s eye. You will think, “I know that place. I was there in the spot where it happened!”

     And they are so correct!

      When reading scripture, or hearing it proclaimed at Holy Mass, I am immediately transported to that place where the incident occurred. I can picture the location and make present the event. It has added a dimension to my faith. One that is deeper and personal. I am eternally grateful to God this great gift of enlightenment, as well as having had the privilege to have walked in the footsteps of Jesus.

     As Lent winds down, and Palm Sunday and Holy Week are approaching, my mind conjures up the sites where it all played out.

     I picture the cobblestone Palm Sunday walk, with all its curves and turns, as it ascends towards the old city of Jerusalem. As I walked the path, I wondered if it was difficult to ride a donkey because of the steepness and bends in the road. It was also a good way off from the Temple area.

     As I continued on the path, I came to the place where Jesus wept, as He thought about the destruction that awaited His people. Jesus loved His people deeply. On a previous visit to the Holy City, He bemoaned their rejection of Him.

          “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kills the prophets and stones those sent to you, how many times I yearned to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, but you were unwilling!” (Lk 13:34).

     As I stood there that day, my heart broke for Our Lord. I told Him of my love and did my best to console Him in some small way.

     A beautiful church is built on the spot where Jesus wept. The roof looks like a large teardrop. It is called the Church of Dominus Flevit, Latin for “the Lord wept.” 

       As Jesus rode toward the Holy City exalted as King, the joy of the day was flavored by the rejection of many who did not and would not recognize Him.

     “As He drew near, He saw the city and wept over it saying, ‘If this day you only knew what makes for peace – but now it is hidden from your eyes. For the days are coming when your enemies will raise a palisade against you; they will encircle you and hem you in on all sides. They will smash you to the ground and your children within you, and they will not leave one stone upon another within you because you did not recognize the time of your visitation’” (Lk 19:42-44).

    The city was destroyed in AD 70, 40 years after Jesus’ prophesy.

     We traveled from the Palm Sunday walk to the Garden of Gethsemane. Jesus would soon be declared King of the Jews, but not with Hosannas. His crown was one of thorns pressed down upon His Sacred Head, and His throne was a cross!

     Seeing the infamous garden, brought feelings of sorrow. The Church of All Nations, also known as the Basilica of the Agony, enshrines a section of the bedrock where Jesus is said to have prayed and sweat blood.

     We celebrated Holy Mass there. The altar is attached to the rock where Jesus prayed – the place where Jesus surrendered His will to the Father. It was very moving to be there and offer Jesus, once again to the Father and pray that I too, may be open to the grace to accept God’s will in my life.

     Venerating the rock, the very place where Our Lord suffered, was surreal, but at the same time profound. At Jesus’ time of great need, Peter, James and John slept. It made me think about all the times when in my weakness, I had not brought comfort to Jesus, but pain.

     I asked for forgiveness and grace to grow to always bring comfort to Him.

     The Palm Sunday walk was not the only cobblestone road that I tread; I also walked the Way of the Cross. It too was much different than I imagined.

     Although I knew it meandered through a marketplace, I didn’t realize the steepness and the steps which accompany it.

     I wondered how Jesus was able to make the trek. It was not easy for a healthy person, let alone someone who had sweat blood, been beaten and scourged and awake all night in prison. It was easy to see why they would have had to get Simon to help Him.

     The next stop was Calvary. As I climbed Calvary, in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Holy Mass was being offered.

     “This is My Body. This is My Blood,” were the words that were being spoken as I waited to venerate the very spot where Jesus was stripped, nailed to the cross and lifted up.

     Jesus gave His Body and Blood for me! He died for me! The thought was overwhelming.

     A beautiful image of Jesus on the cross, with John and Mary there with Him is above the altar. Under the altar, is a hole which the crucifix was placed into.

     Once again, venerating the very spot where Jesus was taunted, suffered and died, was unbelievable! Being able to put my hand down into that hole, was stunning! “Oh, my dear sweet Jesus, thank you for suffering and dying for me,” I prayed. “Forgive me for all of my sins! I am so sorry for having crucified You!”

     As I climbed down the steps of Calvary, my eyes were riveted on the “washing stone.” This was the place where Jesus’ body was lain after His death. This was the place where Our Lady held her dead Son.

     At that moment, my heart broke open! This was the culminating moment in my pilgrimage. This is when it all became real and truly present to me.

     As I venerated the spot where Jesus body was lain, I thought about Our Lady and what she must have been feeling. My eyes flowed with tears of sorrow and compassion for Our Lord, and Our Lady.

     As a mother, I imagined how she could have felt. She felt relief that Jesus was not suffering any longer. They could not inflict any more suffering upon Him—her little boy. But as she held His battered, beaten, bloodied, dead body, it evoked deep pain.

     Although I had thought my understanding of what Our Lord offered up for me, my pilgrimage to the holy spots where it all occurred has been transforming.

     This is just a taste of what I experienced, and a mention of some of the places where I walked.

     I’m looking forward to experiencing Holy Week with a deeper understanding of Christ’s love for me. My hope is that it deepens my love for Him, and that I can bring comfort to His wounded heart.