In His Footsteps

by Steve Roe
via Sentry Magazine, Vol. 16 No. 4, December 31, 1990

I was recently given the opportunity to go "on a pilgrimage" to the Bible lands. It was one of the benefits of being a member of the world’s second-largest fleet. I accepted the opportunity and opted for the longer, but still too short, whirlwind two-day tour. The tour guide was decidedly Jewish, as was to be expected in Israel, although he claimed to be sectarian several times, which meant that he was not as involved in religion as some of his countrymen. He also made it quite clear that he understood that most of the tourists on the bus were there to learn about the time of Jesus and that he would do his best to accommodate that wish. We were to learn later what that meant.

We started from Haifa and traveled east to Nazareth. There is a bustling city where we saw the beautiful buildings erected over the cave that "Joseph and his family lived in" and where "the angel spoke to Mary" at the well. We discovered that a building was built upon every site with some religious significance, most often by either the Roman Catholic Church or the Eastern Orthodox Church. We, in turn, visited Cana where the first miracle was performed, the site of the feeding of the five thousand, the site of the beatitudes; Capernaum where Peter lived, the Jordan river where Jesus was baptized; Tiberius, and the Sea of Galilee. The day's last stop was Tel Aviv, where, the next morning, we saw Joppa, Peter's home after the dispersion. The first day was the Galilean tour, which took in most of the childhood and ministry of Jesus.

On the second day after leaving Tel Aviv, we went directly to Jerusalem and spent the rest of the day there. We went first to the top of the Mount of Olives and looked at the old city on one side and the Judean desert on the other. Then we entered the old city to view the Wailing Wall, walk the Via Dolorosa, which is the way of the cross, and finally to wind up at the Holy Sepulcher,
where Jesus was crucified and buried. After lunch, we went to the Garden tombs, which are another place that claims the crucifixion and burial, and finally to the Garden of Gethsemane. I have listed all of the above so that you would understand what a typical pilgrimage tour consists of, because now I can comment on all that I saw, heard, and thought as I retraced the footsteps of Jesus.

Sometimes my naivety surprises even me. For a while, before I was ready to admit to such a weakness, I would blame it on age and an early senility setting in (almost to the grand old age of forty), but now I know what the true scope of the problem is. Being naive is not being young, dense, or even innocent, but being unaware. It’s not knowing that you are the brunt of a joke, even after the punch line has been played back for your benefit, or not knowing that angry words are being directed toward you, or not knowing about a dangerous situation close by until the danger has passed. General naivety is a blessing to children and a curse to adults. Children are protected by it, but for adults, they are left exposed and vulnerable. I entered Jerusalem under a fog of naivety lifted only by the lessons of disappointment. Was Jerusalem disappointing? Hardly! I entered with great anticipation and left with a deeper understanding of not only the history of Bible times, but also of the true nature of Christianity.

I had just spent an entire day in the north, taking in the sights, walking in places where Jesus walked, and enjoying the entire day with thoughts centered on Jesus. Living in a time when so much emphasis is placed on Peter and Paul, they rarely crossed my mind. And any worldly thought was genuinely turned away in earnest. It was a time of unique spiritual revelry I had never known before. When I arrived in Jerusalem, I was primed for a highly religious experience, and emotions were running at an all-time high. I can remember fighting tears throughout the morning, especially when I would relive the final hours of my Lord or remember the words to songs such as the "Old Rugged Cross" or "I Come to the Garden Alone." I had fully intended to walk the last mile with Jesus and bear the cross if he would let me.

But, as I started along the path of Via Dolorosa and listened to the narrative that the guide was putting forth, I found myself constantly questioning the story he was telling, running the Bible through my mind, comparing my education with the information now presented. Who better should know the truth than those who live here and are confronted daily with the scriptures? Things were just not as I pictured them. Oh, I was prepared for some differences, but not the wholesale changes in record. When we reached the top of the hill, I was prepared to make my way out of the city to Golgotha, but it was there that the guide announced that we had reached the place where Jesus was crucified, which was enshrined in a building called the Holy Sepulcher. My faith in the guide began to waver. But it was inside, when the guide showed us the temporary grave where Jesus was laid for eight days while Joseph of Aremathea prepared a tomb, that the buzzers went off and the red lights came on in full force. Gone suddenly were the romantic notions of doing something special, like tracing the footsteps of Jesus or becoming enthralled in the ultimate religious experience. Suddenly, I felt the urge to check my information. By now, I should have the events correctly catalogued after 20 years as a Christian, but I remember once when I was younger that I had a problem separating the resurrection from the ascension, so a misguided education was not completely out of the question. But no, there was no mistake about this. The scriptures were on my side.

Sure enough, there was only one burial. Destroyed and distraught, I left the old city and went to lunch.

I thought about this and other errors and misinterpretations I encountered on this tour, all through lunch. It dawned on me that our Jewish guide was going to put forth the Jewish explanation of the non-messianic Jesus with the help of religions such as the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox as they so piously compete for top billing as the most spiritual of the "Christian" religions by erecting beautiful buildings on all the legendary sites. The Jews capitalize on the fact that tens of thousands of "pilgrims" come to Israel each year to do just as I have done. The sellers and vendors are all over the "holy places" as they were two thousand years ago. The truth was not necessary as long as the trade was lucrative.

By the end of lunch, the lesson was learned, and I couldn’t help but think that God had a hand in its teaching. Places are not important any longer. Jesus said to destroy the Temple and he would raise it again in three days—not in Jerusalem, but in the heart. Jerusalem would be destroyed also, but his church would carry on as the center of religious activity—not a building, but a people—a nation, the new Israel, God’s chosen. Chosen not by birth, but by death and rebirth. I saw what had been, but it was just a place now of no more importance to Christianity than any other earthly place. Walking in the footsteps of Jesus is not done in Jerusalem, but in the heart, in our daily lives. I know that now, and will not forget.

After learning this lesson, another event happened that I can’t help but believe that God had a hand in. Before moving on to the Garden of Gethsemane, our last stop, the ship’s chaplain insisted that we stop by another site that was not scheduled. He was in charge of the tour, so he could do that. So we stopped by a small garden in the Arab sector called the Garden Tombs, yet another shrine that did not aggrandize that, but was bought and kept by some English Protestants. As I listened to another guide explaining the significance of the garden, it suddenly dawned on me that the bus station I was overlooking from the garden was most probably the actual location of Golgotha, and not too far away was a tomb that fit the description found in the Bible. Was it? Who can say for sure? Does it matter? That question was answered very well by the second guide, who said that whether it was the actual tomb or not, we would see the same thing that the woman and the disciples saw when they looked in—nothing. It was not important that he was buried in this particular tomb in this particular garden, but that he is no longer here.

I do not want to discourage anyone from touring Israel or calling the trip a pilgrimage. However, I warn not to expect something that isn’t there. Jerusalem has been destroyed and rebuilt several times since Jesus walked her streets. How things were is anybody’s guess. The Scriptures and other historical accounts are the only sources of information to be trusted, and many other historical accounts are as false as the legends of today. It is also important to remember that these things do not impact true Christian holiness. So be careful. It is just possible that as you kneel at the site that might have been where the cross of Jesus was planted, you just may be run over by a bus.