As a deterrent for crime and
rebellion, ancient Romans placed crucifixion crosses near main highways to
remind their subjects of Rome’s power. Masses of residents and travelers passed
by as Jesus hung in agony. A rocky skull watched His crucifixion.
Etched into the towering rock, the
skull’s black eyes peered at the people, cars, and busses of modern Jerusalem
too. Just as in Jesus’ day, travelers and residents swarmed the city. The clamor
of voices, horns, and engines marred my serenity.
While meditating, I contrasted the
uproar outside the walls with the peace inside the area of the Garden Tomb. I
looked up and saw the skull staring my way.
Paths wound through trees and
flowers. Hidden benches invited visitors to pause and contemplate. A pocket of
serenity in the turbulent city touched my grieving heart.
On each pilgrimage to Israel, Alan
and I relished our visits to the garden. It was a time to sing, pray, remember,
and partake of communion with our group.
Stone steps led down to the tomb.
The low opening beckoned me to bend down and step inside. Carved into the rock
were two small rooms. I stared at the bare, stone ledge. In my mind I saw His
battered, bloody body. Lifeless. Cold.
In the dimness of dawn, Jesus’s
followers peered into the empty cave too. The women, Peter, and John searched
for His body in the vacant cave where I stood.
Just
as they did so long ago, I also experienced puzzlement, uncertainty, and
astonishment followed by joy.
I longed to linger in the tomb.
Remember His sacrifice. But lines of pilgrims waited. They traveled from around
the world to see the tomb. Everyone looked inside. He wasn’t there.
The garden offered peace from the
chaos of the world. Its stillness enveloped me in my grief like it did years
ago on a previous trip.
When I learned of my aunt’s unexpected death
during our trip, I went to the garden. While sitting on a secluded bench, I
grieved her loss. I felt God’s presence in the tranquility. Nestled in areas of
the garden, groups from around the world worshiped. Familiar music in many
languages comforted me.
On my latest trip, I grieved again
for Alan and my parents. Though I hoped staying there would ensure my peace, I
knew Jesus didn’t remain in the dark tomb or in the calmness of the garden.
Neither would I.
He rejoined His followers outside
the garden. He empowered them with the Holy Spirit, gave them directions, and
returned to His Father.
Before our group got on the bus, my
friend, Susie, joined me. Along with a few tears, I scattered part of Alan
among the flowers in one of his favorite spots. A part of my grief was left in
the garden with his ashes. The Holy Spirit was enabling me to move on too.
Again Jesus said, “Peace be with you: As
the Father has sent me, I am sending you.”
And with that he breathed on them and
said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”
John 20: 21-23 NIV
Father, thank you for being with me in
the tomb, in the garden, and in the struggles of my life. Amen
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