1/6/07
A Letter to Matthew
(though obviously intended for all of you to read)
Today I visited the Holy Sepulchre, the site where Christ was entombed and then rose from the dead. Actually, over the past thirty-six hours I have inadvertently stumbled upon almost all the Stations of the Cross by following Spanish speaking tour groups. The path of the Stations of the Cross, the way Christ took when he bore his cross through Jerusalem to be crucified, Via Dolorosa, or Tareeq al-Aalaam, runs within a hundred feet of my hostel. Small shrines marked prominently in Roman Numerals according to the number of the Station of the Cross dot the entire way.
Of course I doubt anyone knows with absolute certainty that the path and the Stations are marked exactly where each thing happened. And when I eventually got to the Holy Sepulchre, there were no explanatory pamphlets or signs for any of the relics, shrines, altars, and display cases. I understood almost immediately that a small elaborate shrine with a quiet line of entreetants was the place of Christ’s entombment, and the rock in casing must have been a piece of the stone that closed the tomb and then was rolled aside when he arose from the dead. Still, those were just guesses reinforced by what I comprehended from a nearby Spanish-speaking tour guide. So I felt a little silly waiting in the long line of somber pilgrims, unsure what someone of uncertain beliefs like myself was doing here among devout Christians who traveled just to be here. Yet as I approached the entrance of that place, I was overcome with a strange awe and reverence. It felt a little bit like wanting to cry.
I’ve no easy answers, Matthew. No one really does. But as I left the Holy Sepulchre deep in thought, the following paragraph came to my mind. Excuse me if it is cloyingly aphoristic.
The intellect demands exactitude through questioning, but can never achieve certitude. The heart leaps to certitude but cannot provide precision or explanation. Somewhere in between, I think, is the human soul where faith of all kinds resides, be it religious or secular, neither or both.
A Letter to Matthew
(though obviously intended for all of you to read)
Today I visited the Holy Sepulchre, the site where Christ was entombed and then rose from the dead. Actually, over the past thirty-six hours I have inadvertently stumbled upon almost all the Stations of the Cross by following Spanish speaking tour groups. The path of the Stations of the Cross, the way Christ took when he bore his cross through Jerusalem to be crucified, Via Dolorosa, or Tareeq al-Aalaam, runs within a hundred feet of my hostel. Small shrines marked prominently in Roman Numerals according to the number of the Station of the Cross dot the entire way.
Of course I doubt anyone knows with absolute certainty that the path and the Stations are marked exactly where each thing happened. And when I eventually got to the Holy Sepulchre, there were no explanatory pamphlets or signs for any of the relics, shrines, altars, and display cases. I understood almost immediately that a small elaborate shrine with a quiet line of entreetants was the place of Christ’s entombment, and the rock in casing must have been a piece of the stone that closed the tomb and then was rolled aside when he arose from the dead. Still, those were just guesses reinforced by what I comprehended from a nearby Spanish-speaking tour guide. So I felt a little silly waiting in the long line of somber pilgrims, unsure what someone of uncertain beliefs like myself was doing here among devout Christians who traveled just to be here. Yet as I approached the entrance of that place, I was overcome with a strange awe and reverence. It felt a little bit like wanting to cry.
I’ve no easy answers, Matthew. No one really does. But as I left the Holy Sepulchre deep in thought, the following paragraph came to my mind. Excuse me if it is cloyingly aphoristic.
The intellect demands exactitude through questioning, but can never achieve certitude. The heart leaps to certitude but cannot provide precision or explanation. Somewhere in between, I think, is the human soul where faith of all kinds resides, be it religious or secular, neither or both.
posted by Bloo at 8:55 AM
2 Comments:
When I was about your age and in grad school, I gave a report on "St. Helen Finds the True Cross" (or maybe it was "the True Rood," I can't remember), a medieval about Emperor Constantine's mother and her legendary trip to the Holy Land. It was appallingly anti-Semitic.
Yesterday, I was home sick, and I read almost all of The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas. Gertrude Stein was possessed of a certain indefatigable wanderlust, as was another of my favorite eccentrics, Melvin Belli, who, though he never visited there, had a lifelong fascination, almost an obsession, with Tibet.
OK, I guess Jeffrey has your address. I'm going to send you granola.
"Medieval poem," I meant to say.
Long-ass medieval poem.
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