Today we made our way into the Old City of Jerusalem. We entered through Tanner’s Gate and passed by the Western Wall on our way into the Muslim quarter and where the Dome of the Rock is and where the Holy of Holies stood until it’s destruction in 70 A.D. The people pray at the Western Wall because it is the nearest place to where the Holy of Holies once stood, by making contact there prayer perhaps will be heard.
Around the Dome of the Rock there are discussion groups all around. The people were discussing just as they did at the time of Christ. Then they would have been discussing matter of the Jewish faith, now the Muslim faith. After a glorious time being guided by a charming artist, we proceeded to the Western Wall to pray.
I approached reverently and cautiously, not wanting to offend. I made my way to the wall and prayed quietly, then I reached my hand to touch the ancient cool rock. The kaleidoscope of the sights and sounds that have bombarded my attention over these past few days faded. The racing thoughts of political and personal struggles paled and I spoke to God, and I thanked Him. I thanked Him that He was just as close to me when I first remember praying earnestly at the early age of 5 in a little church, in that little town in Kansas. I thanked Him that He chose not to dwell in stones made by man. I rejoiced that no box or steeple or dome could ever capture His essence. I rejoiced that He dwells in His people.
After this holy moment we journeyed to the southern excavations. Here I stood on the 1st Century stone staircase that Jesus would have climbed on his way to the Temple. There He was presented as a baby, there was brought as a boy. There Jesus came as a man to build The Temple. We are the Temple of the Holy Spirit. The veil was ripped in twain when Jesus died on that cross and we have access to the Throne of Grace. The beauty of God is revealed as His people live in His love and compassion. And stones speak.
New Hope 