CHS – Church of the Holy Sepulchre
Jerusalem is a city of holy of holies. The Church of the Holy Sepulchre (a sepulchre is a small room or monument where a body is put) is perhaps the holiest of holies for Christians. Very early oral tradition had it that this location, outside of the city walls at the time of Jesus’ life, was Golgatha and of the site of the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea where Jesus’ body was said to have been laid. The rock-cut tomb was found in 326 CE and Emperor Constantine gave orders for the construction of a church at the site in 335 CE.
In 614 the Persian army conquered Jerusalem and burnt the church. It was rebuilt, in a fashion, over time. In 938 the Muslims burnt it and built a mosque on one part of it. In 1009 the Caliph ordered that the rock-cut tomb be pickaxed away and totally obliterated. There were restorations in the 11th century, a Crusader church built in the 12th century, and countless additions, renovations and restorations since.
The site does not resemble what we think of as a “church”. Instead, it is today a large, rambling complex incor- porating at least 16 chapels, a tomb, and Golgatha. It is under the reluctantly shared custody of the Latin (Roman), Greek and Armenian churches, along with those of lesser claim, the Egyptian Coptics, the Syrian-Jacobites, the Ehtiopian Orthodox. A 1989 document published by the Franciscans claims that they, on behalf of Rome, actually own all of the CHS, and the other Christian holy sites, and describes in very uncharitable terms the illegitimate claims of the other groups and the actions of the godless Muslim beasts conspiring with them. It is a nasty document no matter how you read it.
The courtyard and entrance way to the church date to Crusader times. Just inside the doors, the only entrance, and exit, the keys for which are symbolically held by a Muslim family because of the squabbling among the Christians,
is the Stone of Unction, a slab of limestone on which tradition has it Jesus’ body was anointed by Nicodemus. The actual stone, however, is from the 19th century, replacing one, dating from the 12th century, that had been destroyed. People commonly kneel here, kissing the stone and placing amulets and crosses on it for blessing.
Above and to the right are two chapels built over an outcropping of bedrock that is said to be Golgatha, where Jesus was crucified. The first chapel, controlled by the Latins, is adorned with an extraordinary mosaic dating to the 12th century.
Next to it is the Greek Chapel of the Raising of the Cross. Elaborately decorated with gold and silver icons, illuminated by lanterns, the altar has been built over Golgatha. People crawl under the altar reaching into a small opening to touch the bedrock beneath. 
One evening I watched in horror as an older man somehow managed to get his adult daughter, physically rigid and unable to walk, up the narrow, slippery, curved stairs to the chapel. Holding her tightly to his body, he shuffled her on his feet to the altar and then, like a plank of wood, lifted her and stuck her head under the altar. There was a collective gasp amongst those gathered. Two priests rushed over to help him. With them holding her, one by the legs, the other around her torso, the father crawled under her (and the altar), took her arm, stretched it out, and placed her hand in the opening. After a moment the priests pulled her out, handling her still like a plank of wood, and stood her up. Her father crawled out, stood, and with her standing again on his feet, shuffled away.
Beneath the Chapel of the Raising of the Cross is another chapel. It is built before a split in the rock and a skull-like image. When Jesus was died an earthquake split the earth and opened Adam’s grave.
The largest chapel in the church, immedi- ately outside of the edicule, is held by the Greeks. It is a beautiful, ornate, peaceful space with an elaborately decorated ceiling.
The edicule, or “little house”, that stands over the site of the tomb replaces one dating to 1555.
Described in one tour book as “an ugly small chapel,” it was built in 1810. By the late 1940’s the edicule was in very bad repair and had to be reinforced with a scaffolding of steel girders. Repair has never been undertaken, however, because the various religious communities cannot agree on how to proceed. Inside are two chambers. The first is the Chapel of the Angel with an altar made from what is said to be remnants of the stone that had been rolled away from of the tomb. A low door leads into the second chamber, marble-lined with a large slab of stone to one side, marking the empty burial place.
I have found the CHS a most distressing place. The incident I described above of the father and daughter is the most dramatic of the dramas I’ve witnessed here over two months. I have been angered by the people who think that in these stones they touch God, they find favour, they derive wholeness. I’ve been infuriated by a faith tradition that has not only condoned this thinking, but actively promoted it. At its worst, the CHS has felt like a theme park designed by Jim and Tammy Faye.
But over the weeks I’ve also met, despite myself, an unfathomable peace here.
It is not the rocks. It is not the thought that x or y happened here or there. But, like at the Western Wall, it is the accumulation of human faith and hope and passion that this place represents and that it stirs up. Touching the rock under the altar was not the point of that father and his daughter coming to the Chapel of the Raising of the Cross. It was the deep sense of association with suffering and grief, of crushed hopes and dreams, that they share with all time. And the even deeper sense of the presence of the Holy, of the Divine, of God, in their experience.
I’ve been reading the Gospels this week. What is it Jesus keeps saying to people? “Your faith has made you well.”
(The Syrian chapel behind the edicule.)
In 614 the Persian army conquered Jerusalem and burnt the church. It was rebuilt, in a fashion, over time. In 938 the Muslims burnt it and built a mosque on one part of it. In 1009 the Caliph ordered that the rock-cut tomb be pickaxed away and totally obliterated. There were restorations in the 11th century, a Crusader church built in the 12th century, and countless additions, renovations and restorations since.
The site does not resemble what we think of as a “church”. Instead, it is today a large, rambling complex incor- porating at least 16 chapels, a tomb, and Golgatha. It is under the reluctantly shared custody of the Latin (Roman), Greek and Armenian churches, along with those of lesser claim, the Egyptian Coptics, the Syrian-Jacobites, the Ehtiopian Orthodox. A 1989 document published by the Franciscans claims that they, on behalf of Rome, actually own all of the CHS, and the other Christian holy sites, and describes in very uncharitable terms the illegitimate claims of the other groups and the actions of the godless Muslim beasts conspiring with them. It is a nasty document no matter how you read it.
The courtyard and entrance way to the church date to Crusader times. Just inside the doors, the only entrance, and exit, the keys for which are symbolically held by a Muslim family because of the squabbling among the Christians,
is the Stone of Unction, a slab of limestone on which tradition has it Jesus’ body was anointed by Nicodemus. The actual stone, however, is from the 19th century, replacing one, dating from the 12th century, that had been destroyed. People commonly kneel here, kissing the stone and placing amulets and crosses on it for blessing. 
Above and to the right are two chapels built over an outcropping of bedrock that is said to be Golgatha, where Jesus was crucified. The first chapel, controlled by the Latins, is adorned with an extraordinary mosaic dating to the 12th century. 
Next to it is the Greek Chapel of the Raising of the Cross. Elaborately decorated with gold and silver icons, illuminated by lanterns, the altar has been built over Golgatha. People crawl under the altar reaching into a small opening to touch the bedrock beneath. 
One evening I watched in horror as an older man somehow managed to get his adult daughter, physically rigid and unable to walk, up the narrow, slippery, curved stairs to the chapel. Holding her tightly to his body, he shuffled her on his feet to the altar and then, like a plank of wood, lifted her and stuck her head under the altar. There was a collective gasp amongst those gathered. Two priests rushed over to help him. With them holding her, one by the legs, the other around her torso, the father crawled under her (and the altar), took her arm, stretched it out, and placed her hand in the opening. After a moment the priests pulled her out, handling her still like a plank of wood, and stood her up. Her father crawled out, stood, and with her standing again on his feet, shuffled away.
Beneath the Chapel of the Raising of the Cross is another chapel. It is built before a split in the rock and a skull-like image. When Jesus was died an earthquake split the earth and opened Adam’s grave.
The largest chapel in the church, immedi- ately outside of the edicule, is held by the Greeks. It is a beautiful, ornate, peaceful space with an elaborately decorated ceiling.The edicule, or “little house”, that stands over the site of the tomb replaces one dating to 1555.
Described in one tour book as “an ugly small chapel,” it was built in 1810. By the late 1940’s the edicule was in very bad repair and had to be reinforced with a scaffolding of steel girders. Repair has never been undertaken, however, because the various religious communities cannot agree on how to proceed. Inside are two chambers. The first is the Chapel of the Angel with an altar made from what is said to be remnants of the stone that had been rolled away from of the tomb. A low door leads into the second chamber, marble-lined with a large slab of stone to one side, marking the empty burial place.
I have found the CHS a most distressing place. The incident I described above of the father and daughter is the most dramatic of the dramas I’ve witnessed here over two months. I have been angered by the people who think that in these stones they touch God, they find favour, they derive wholeness. I’ve been infuriated by a faith tradition that has not only condoned this thinking, but actively promoted it. At its worst, the CHS has felt like a theme park designed by Jim and Tammy Faye.
But over the weeks I’ve also met, despite myself, an unfathomable peace here.
It is not the rocks. It is not the thought that x or y happened here or there. But, like at the Western Wall, it is the accumulation of human faith and hope and passion that this place represents and that it stirs up. Touching the rock under the altar was not the point of that father and his daughter coming to the Chapel of the Raising of the Cross. It was the deep sense of association with suffering and grief, of crushed hopes and dreams, that they share with all time. And the even deeper sense of the presence of the Holy, of the Divine, of God, in their experience.
I’ve been reading the Gospels this week. What is it Jesus keeps saying to people? “Your faith has made you well.”
(The Syrian chapel behind the edicule.)
posted by He's Not Home (again) at 9:25 pm
1 Comments:
Alan, thanks for the history lessons and the wonderful pictures. For those of us who may never see Jerusalem in person, it has been the next best thing to being there. Apparently, the use of a dud shemesh on the sabbath is considered controversial by some - perhaps the more orthodox Jews. As with so many things pertaining to "religion", it is open to human interpretation. Happy Easter. Hopefully Paris' weather will change from the 13 degrees and rain/cloud before your arrive.
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