Wednesday, August 12, 2015

The Wrong Garden


            After several busy days of co-hosting a tour of Israel, I looked forward to quiet time at the grounds of the Garden Tomb. Away from the noise and hustle of the city, I would be able to spend time alone with God and write.
            From our hotel, my husband Alan and I walked to the walls of the Garden. He wanted to roam the narrow streets of the Old City so he left me and continued his journey. We decided he would stop to pick me up on his way back.
            The doors in the long wall were closed so I waited for them to open. Finally, I a man approached and started to enter. I explained I wanted to find a spot to sit and meditate.
            Without speaking, he motioned for me to follow him. After we were inside the grounds, he pointed to a bench under a tree and left.
            Even though I had been to the Garden Tomb several times, nothing looked familiar. I didn’t see the winding walkways through the garden, the extensive flowers and foliage or the tomb cut from the rock.
            A gravel drive went beside my bench. Cars parked near a building I had never noticed on previous trips. A few people went in and out, but I saw no tourists.
            Walls surrounding the garden muffled blaring city noises. In my quiet spot, I escaped the busyness of our tour and prayed. Birds sang while I wrote. The serenity under a shady tree offered peace to a tired pilgrim.
            After a while, I decided to explore the unfamiliar part of the Garden Tomb. Just off a dirt path a tall wall surrounded a courtyard. I strolled inside and discovered a stone church.
            When I saw nuns in the area, I realized I had mistakenly entered the grounds of a Catholic church instead of the Garden Tomb. However, my curiosity urged me to continue exploring.
            Cautiously, I pushed open the huge, wooden door and hoped I wouldn’t  interrupt a worship service.  A magnificent, marble sanctuary welcomed me. Towering pink and white striped marble arches and columns created grandeur in the tranquil church.
            Sunlight streamed through exquisite, high stained glass windows which lined both sides of the empty chapel.
            Beneath the windows, marble arches formed small galleries. I studied the paintings of saints that hung in each enclosure.
            Carrying a bucket of water in her hand, a nun entered the church and began silently cleaning the pews, benches, and shelves. She smiled at me but kept working. Her quiet service inspired me.
            Three gigantic paintings hung near the altar. In the center one, Jesus extended one hand in welcome to me and clutched the Scriptures with the other. His eyes held mine.
            What I thought was a stupid mistake in going to the wrong place, wasn’t a mistake at all. Jesus welcomed me to the oasis of peace and tranquility in the midst of the hectic city.
            Neither the man, who kindly offered me a place to retreat, nor the nun, who smiled at me, made me feel uncomfortable at my mistake. Both displayed a servant’s heart and reminded me to serve as though to Jesus.   
            My morning of refreshment gave me strength, encouragement, and inspiration to continue serving. How thankful I was for my mistake which was God’s plan.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” Jeremiah 29:11-13 (NIV)
             
             
           
           


            

No comments:

Post a Comment