In His Divine Footsteps: Journey Through The Holy Land

It was a long-awaited trip with the degree of excitement that was usually generated by the anticipation of breaking the tedium of everyday grind, seeing new places and being exposed to the novelty of other people’s culture, or simply experiencing that unique thrill of bridging an imagined connection to the distant past in visual and other sensory explorations .   Combining those with the spiritual sense that only a place where the Son of God had lived, taught, and died could offer, was a fascinating aspect that added to  my eagerness to see the Holy Land. I have visited many parts of the world in the past, perused the history of other people and culture, stared in awe at their man-made monuments and palaces, walked in their famed gilded halls that boasted of long-ago glories, marveled at the accomplishments of their past and present leaders and was enriched tremendously in secular and empirical knowledge in the process. These were things I expected from my visit to Israel, but there was something more, a yearning more compelling and powerful that went beyond the need to satisfy the tug of wanderlust.   For Israel has that singular Biblical distinction that ostensibly puts it above the rest.  It is the land of the Redeemer, the Promised Land of Jesus,  where he dwelt among men and where he became a living sacrifice for the sins of the world.  

Yet, I was not going there to find Jesus. For I had found him, many long years ago, not in garishly ornate but casual relics of sand and stone in a high-pedestalled altar, not in the finely-crafted words of a lightning and brimstone believer, not even in the smooth, fine type-set of scriptural dogmas, for I did not understand them then. I found Jesus in the crevice of the heart as his Spirit spoke to me of love, and truth, and goodness and provided me with fine human examples to look up to. I found him in the sincere words of his anointed and authorized servants, words that stoke the fire of faith that had been previously left latent from ignorance and lack of sound spiritual understanding. I found him as I learned of his life, his mission, his unequalled sacrifice of mercy and love for my sake and for the sake of all his creations.

I did not need to go to the Holy Land to seek him in the broken fragments of structures of antiquity in the place he once called home. Because those, even as they could satisfy the sense of touch in their concrete form, would fail miserably to convey the depth of the loving omnipotence of this God called Jesus.  But I wanted to be where he once walked; I wanted to roam  in those ancient places where the wind caressed the bowed tree branches when he passed, where the sand and stone crunched under his silent footsteps, where the tumultuous sea obeyed his voice, and where the dark of night hid the anguish of his soul as he prayed for the sins of the world.  Like a beautiful story in a beloved book that I wished to see portrayed on a silver screen, I wanted to view his life in another medium, in another dimension, not to validate its truth- for I know the truth - but maybe, to give homage to the earthly memories of that consecrated life.  I wanted to feel, and see, and hear, even in a fleeting moment in time, the sights and sounds of Israel, that vibrant, pulsating, living,  religious melting pot that became central to the Savior's divine mission. So to Israel, the Holy Land, the Land of Jesus, I went as a pilgrim would.

In my cautious effort to avoid presenting this under the heading of a common travelogue, I would skip many of the places my husband and I, as well as our son, visited that did not completely add to the spiritual aspect of the trip. Instead, I would focus on the areas I felt had direct significance on the life the Savior led on earth commencing on his birth, then his ministry and his death on the cross, and how those places affected me.

The Church of The Annunciation

The altar in the Church of Annunciation, the exact spot where the Angel Gabriel appeared to Mary announcing that she would be the mother of Jesus (Luke 1:26-32).

The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, Palestine

Bethlehem is on the Palestinian side, in the central West Bank, approximately 5 miles south of Jerusalem.  The Church of the Nativity is only about 5 minutes from the border and faces a big square called the Manger Square.  The facade of the church is starkly different from most churches in the Holy Land, not only due to the absence of a "real" door but also in its modest, unassuming appearance.  Its entrance is a tiny opening left from an enormous original door that has been closed ages ago to prevent people from bringing their animals, like donkeys, inside.  The small door is aptly called "the humility door" because everyone has to bend to get through. Being the oldest church in the Christian world, the Church of the Nativity bears the scars of time in its discolored walls of brick lime stone that have seen both marked and subtle changes in the history of man.  The church is expansive inside, featuring three main altars facing the doorway maintained by three Christian denominations, Greek Orthodox, Roman Catholic. and Armenian.  But despite the presence of old relics and priceless though faded works of art, it has maintained the same unpretentious simplicity of its outside appearance as if honoring the humble, yet glorious event that took place within its confines more than 2,000 years ago.

The Star of Bethlehem in the grotto under the Church of the Nativity, marking the exact spot where Jesus was born.

I felt the Spirit of the Lord as I ran my hand in reverential awe on the "Star of Bethlehem" that marked the site of Jesus' birth into mortality and was reminded of the unfathomable love of an Eternal Father who sent his Son as an unblemished sacrifice to save a sinful world.  I stayed kneeling for a few minutes to soak in that unsullied peace, that indescribable feeling of being connected to something divine, that intense sense of reverential wonder that I was indeed in the place where the Son of God first came to earth in his mortal form.  I uttered a prayer of thanksgiving for that opportunity to be a partaker of that knowledge and that testimony.  And in humility and immense gratitude, I wept.

The altar in the grotto of the Church of the Nativity that marks the location of the manger.

Inside the Church of St. Joseph.

The inscription says:  "This church was built in 1914 on the site of an earlier 12th Century church.  The caves, granaries and wells in the lower level were used by the early dwellers of Nazareth.  Later, Christians turned the site into a worship place.  Travellers who had visited the place in the 7th Century pointed out that this had been the location of the 'Carpentry Shop of Joseph'.  Later traditions identify the place as being 'The House of Joseph'".

The carpenter’s shop in the basement of the church where Joseph probably taught the child Jesus his trade.

Part of the Jordan River where pilgrims come to get baptized to commemorate the baptism of Jesus by John the Baptist (Matt.3:13-17).

Part of the Jordan River flowing along a major highway.

                     Cana, the site of Jesus’ first miracle when he turned water into wine (John 2:1-9).

A Roman Catholic Church had been erected on the site where a mosaic revealed that a synagogue once stood and where the wedding, when Jesus turned water into wine, was held.

                 A reinforced original wall outside the church in Cana that existed during the time of Christ.

                                                Going on a river cruise on the Sea of Galilee.

The waters of Galilee that obeyed the command of the Savior - "Peace, be still" (Mark 4:35-39).

The waters where Jesus walked (Matt.14:22-27).
I stood in quiet reflection surveying the expanse of the Sea of Galilee with its calm waters sparkling in the midday sun  and marveled at the role it played in the Savior's ministry.  I could almost see him there, walking toward his frightened disciples, calming their fears and saying, "It is I, be not afraid".  I imagined that even in the midst of our own uncertainties and doubts as we sailed on our own personal Sea of Galilee, there would be comfort that would not fail to offer peace if we would reflect on those long ago but unfailingly reassuring words from a loving God, "It is I, be not afraid". 

On the back porch of the Church of the Beatitudes. The hills beyond is probably where Jesus gave the Sermon on the Mount.
I looked in wonder at those hills where they said he taught the Sermon on the Mount and reflected on the beauty and enduring appeal of his teachings.  "Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.  Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God."  Those truths were as unchanging and eternal as the God who taught them and I could only imagine what glorious blessing it would be to learn those lessons at his feet.

Above the altar in the Church of the Beatitudes. There are 8 glass panels where the Beatitudes are written.

The altar in the Church of the Beatitudes.



Capernaum, regarded as the center of Jesus’ Galilee ministry where lots of his healing miracles took place.



The foundation of the original synagogue in Capernaum where Jesus worshipped.

Ruins of Peter’s house in Capernaum where Jesus healed Peter’s mother-in-law of a fever (Mark 1:29-31).



Statue of St. Peter in Capernaum.



The "Thorn of Christ" tree, source of the crown of thorns placed on the Savior's head.



The Upper Room, where Jesus held the Passover meal with his disciples before his crucifixion (Mark 14:13-16).



Mosaic facade of the Church of Gethsemane also called The Church of All Nations.

The actual rock in front of the main altar where Jesus agonized as he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane (Luke 22:39-44).

Inside the church in the Mount of Olives, I touched the rock where the Savior knelt during those agonizing hours in the Garden and felt transported in a journey of the spirit that intertwined with the timeless sense of the divine. 

I walked on the concrete paths that were laid out around the Garden of Gethsemane and gazed at the panorama of nature's beauty on display before my eyes.  The garden was now blanketed with flowers in a beautiful array of colors.  The olive trees still stood, some probably half as old as time, their weary branches genuflecting to the ground.  As I stood pondering about the Savior's offering of boundless love in a dark moonless night as the olive trees stood in watch, I felt his sweet spirit that even the crowd of tourists huddled everywhere could not dispel.  Being in that place where he offered himself to die for our sins was an experience so uplifting that I would not soon forget. 

The Garden  of Gethsemane dotted with olive trees.

A plaque marking one of the Stations of the Cross on the Via Dolorosa.

An impression on a rock behind the present wall on the Via Dolorosa believed to be from the hand of the Savior.

One of the streets of  the Via Dolorosa where the Savior walked carrying his cross on his way to Golgotha.

I joined the throng of believers tracing the path of the Cross on the streets of the Via Dolorosa with its cobbled stone surface,  some deeply etched and smoothened by a millennia of footsteps, that served as silent reminders of the unspeakable hate that brought the very Son of God to the horrors of the crucifixion.

Outside the walls of the city of Jerusalem is the Garden Tomb, believed to be the burial site of Jesus.
It was a cool, slightly hazy Jerusalem morning with the muted rays of the sun barely sending its warmth when we went to the Garden Tomb.  The place was calm, quiet, with the dappled sunlight peeking through the dense trees as birds fluttered overhead.  There were blooms of carefully tended flowers along the narrow garden paths and I felt the strong presence of the Spirit that testified to the depths of my soul I was treading on hallowed ground.

The top area is believed to be Golgotha or “place of the skull”, site of the crucifixion.

I gazed in veneration at the craggy limestone rocks of Golgotha and wondered if drops of his divine blood drenched their rough- hewn surface.  Did even those lifeless forms created by his hand weep in anguish and sorrow as they became helpless spectators in the brutal expression of blind hatred against the Son of God?

In the Garden Tomb

The tomb of the Lord Jesus Christ (John 19:40-42).

The empty tomb (John 20:1-9)

The floor of the burial tomb.

In worshipful silence, I entered his burial tomb and felt so undeserving to tread such a holy place, and yet, so immensely grateful for the gift accorded to the sinful soul by a loving God of Mercy.  In John 11:25, the Savior said, "I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live."  The empty tomb cannot be more explicit in its unspoken declaration of such divine promise.

"He is not here, for he is risen".  Sign on the door of the tomb.

The Golden Gate where Jesus came through when he entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. Tradition holds that the Golden Gate or Gate of Mercy will open miraculously at the end of days to admit the Messiah. This gate was permanently closed by the Ottoman Empire in the early 1500's on the belief that it would prevent the Messiah from returning.

Israel, the Holy Land; Jerusalem, the Holy City.  What's in a name?  What's in a place?  The Lord's spirit dwells everywhere where there is righteousness and peace.  We can have our own Jerusalem, our own Holy City, wherever we may be.  And yet, there is only one place on earth where the Master lived in divine purity among mortals, where he walked, and talked, and taught eternal truths, a place where we can find a trace of his glorious years on earth in the religious memorials built by the faithful, in the ruins of structures where he visited and worshipped and performed his miracles. 

Israel, Jerusalem, the place that betrayed him, the people that crucified him; and yet, it is his Promised Land, it is his Holy City, its people his chosen people and one day, in the timetable of the Lord, they will accept him and worship him as the one true God, the Millennial Messiah foretold by the Scriptures.

I did not go to the Holy Land to find Jesus, but what I found is so wonderfully akin to the glory of him.  For I felt a renewed closeness to his Spirit that I hope will stay with me for as long as I live.  Perhaps it is presumptuous to hope that the vicissitudes of life will never cloud the memory of this trip of a lifetime, but the testimony will remain.  Faith can never be built on a pile of rough-hewn stones but I felt a closeness to the Spirit that fortified my faith in those places where the Son of God once inhabited and taught profound lessons of love, and sacrifice, and forgiveness.  In the hallowed sanctums of the Holy Land's churches and religious cenotaphs to the Savior's name, I experienced an increased testimony of the divinity of this extraordinary Man, this Precious Redeemer, this only Begotten Son of God, this Jesus...and I am blessed beyond measure.

Song - The Holy City