After about 17 hours of traveling by car, plane, and bus, I'm here at the crossroads of world history. We arrived in Jerusalem in the early evening on Wednesday (I think we're 9 hours ahead of Utah). It was dark already, so I couldn't see much of what will be my home for the next few months, but the next morning brought with it a panoramic view of the city from the balcony outside of our room. Jerusalem spreads out across the hills like a white blanket, and the Old City is front and center, the "Dome of the Rock" standing magnificently on the temple mount.
Since arriving, most of my time has been spent sleeping, eating, and orientating. The biggest struggle has been overcoming the jet lag, and that fight still isn't over. It's especially difficult when we're trying to stay awake listening to boring orientation speeches about linen exchange and library policies. The good news, though, is that I can see the light at the end of the nodding-off, droopy-eyed tunnel. Tomorrow after church we'll go visit what is considered the sight of the garden tomb, Sunday is a free day where we'll be able to go explore the city, and Monday brings our first field trip.
Midst the blur of the first couple of days, however, there is a very bright spot. Thursday morning we split into groups of about 10 and took a tour of the Old City. We trekked down from our beautiful building on Mt. Scopus (the Mount of Olives) to the narrow, vender-lined lanes of Old Jerusalem. We saw quite a few things, mostly landmarks to help us know our way around the city, but what stands out in my mind is the visit we made to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. It contains what is traditionally considered the spot where Jesus was crucified as well as the stone slab upon which he was laid after they retrieved him, lifeless, from the cross. It was filled with pilgrims kneeling, hands placed reverently on that stone rest that held the Savior of the world. Others, like us, walked around, taking in the beauty and contemplating what it all means, what this man who died 2000 years ago has to do with us. It's the question that came to my mind as I walked through the "Sacred Gifts" exhibit at the BYU Museum of Art last week, admiring the giant murals of Christ painted by Bloch, Hofmann, and Schwartz.
What does He have to do with me? I'm in no better place to find out, to have that question answered for me again and again. That being said, I don't need to be here to answer such questions. It's not where I am, but who I am and what I do that brings divine knowledge of the man known as Jesus of Nazareth. I came to understand more about Him in small, insignificant little cities like Bowling Green, Ohio and Cedar City, Utah. I came to know him better in dingy, gray Galati, Romania and tiny Orhei, Moldova. Now, I'm in this white city; perhaps the most significant city in world history. It's the city where He walked, taught, and died. I am so lucky to be here, and I'm going to try and make the most of this unbelievable opportunity.
