Israel, Pt. 1

Today, the majority of the Western Wall is buried under layer after layer of newer construction. In the thousands of years that have passed since the temple was originally built, the land upon which it stands has been possessed by many other nations, most of whom probably didn’t care or didn’t understand that the very presence of God, the Holy of Holies, abided in this place. And so, the city now covers most of the Wall, with the exception of the Western Wall Plaza, where devout Jews and curious tourists flock in an attempt to stand on holy ground. These days, the only way to see the rest of the Wall is to venture through underground tunnels, built in the temple excavation process.

On my first night in Jerusalem, battling jet lag and still feeling timid in the midst of an unfamiliar culture, I walked through the Old City to the Wall. As I explored the dimly lit tunnels, examining the Herodian stones beside me, I listened to a tour guide say that the significance of the Wall lies in its timelessness, in it’s importance both to the ancient Israelites and to us today. She concluded that without people from various religions attaching their own meaning to the Wall, its importance would be diminished.

As I emerged from the tunnels and entered the side of the Plaza that I was allowed to enter—the women’s side—I looked around me and wondered if her words were true. Hundreds of women, mostly orthodox Jews, clutched their prayers books and rocked back and forth as they reverently uttered ancient words of worship to their God. Several women unabashedly wept. Many around me scribbled on tiny slips of paper in cramped handwriting, then folded the slips and tucked them into the cracks in the Wall, hoping that God would see these prayers and answer them. And, as they left, rather than turn their backs to the Wall and to God, these women walked backwards out of the Plaza, out of the area they considered to be holy.

While taking all of this in, I wondered about this ancient site. What is the significance? I thought. Is it still important? And why did I travel across the world to come here?

Two weeks after standing in front of the Wall, debating whether to carefully back away or to turn my back on a place thought to be holy by so many, I still don’t have many conclusions. I do know that God’s ministry is incarnational, that he sent his son to earth to die for my sins. I know that, after Jesus’s ascension, God sent his Spirit to indwell all who believe. And I know that, because of this, I struggle with the idea of a holy place. God is working everywhere. He is in everyone who believes and trusts in Christ. No longer do we have to carry on ark before us or send a High Priest into the Holy of Holies on one day of the year. We have complete access to our God every single second of every day. This is incredible and it makes our lives holy.

So, while it was an experience of a lifetime to stand before a place— to touch the walls— that housed of very presence of God, I walked away with a deeper appreciation of and love for an accessible God. A God who doesn’t require the recitation of ancient prayers. A God who listens to me, who comforts me, who rejoices with me, whether I am in front of a wall in Jerusalem or—like I am at this moment—sitting on my back porch, on the other side of the world, in Georgia.