In the Spirit of History
As I enter the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, a special sort of quiet fills my mind. I am welcomed by the reverent atmosphere of a church, coupled with the holiness of the history this place holds. Surely, between the several different communities who occupy this space according to the Status Quo agreement, one must find at least one place to belong in. Of course, I am not a Christian, so that isn't the case for me. My interest and wonder weren't at the religious aspect of it, but rather at the beauty it held as a spiritual point of conjunction, containing pieces of history. That didn't keep me from enjoying and exploring further. Even as a stranger, the magic of this ancient church had its hold on me, as it does on so many others.
This church was built in the 4th century AD by Constantine the Great and is widely believed to be the place of Jesus Christ's crucifixion and resurrection. The duality of that charms me, the solemnity of death residing amongst the triumphant return of hope. That sort of coexistence is also reflected in the Status Quo, an agreement from 1757. The agreement is between several six different religious Christian communities. It was agreed upon to share rights over certain religious sites in Israel, including the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and respect the other communities who also find significance in the sites. This agreement goes so far as to detail that no changes to any entity or object in those shared sites are to be made unless a consensus is formed, and thus, The Immovable Ladder was born.
The Immovable Ladder is a ladder propped up on the ledge of a window in the church, and honestly, if I would have seen it anywhere else, there wouldn't have been anything special to me about it. But this ladder has stood there for centuries, (almost) consecutively, untouched according to the agreement. It has stood by and watched history unfold in real time, right there from that ledge. More than it is a symbol of the respect given to the agreement by the different communities, for me it is also a great symbol of resilience and the history it holds within it. And this entire building contains an insane amount of history. In the 2020 pandemic, the site was closed to the public due to Covid regulations, only to be opened back up after a few months. This was the first time the church has been closed for visitors since 1349, during the Black Death.
As I wander the church photographing, I listen to the worshippers who came there from all over the world and hear their stories. I meet several different friendly faces, all with a different background, some different customs, but with the same desire to find comfort and strength within the history-saturated walls. I am suddenly reminded of all the people who have walked the pathways of this gorgeous church before them, seeking the same thing, and I am filled with a sense of understanding. This church is, indeed, a place of hope for many people, including myself. Many people come here searching for a religious experience of reverence, strength in their belief, and maybe even forgiveness. Others, like me, come here for the sacred spiritual beauty of it.
As I leave the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, I find myself gaining a new understanding of the importance and beauty of truces, or compromises, and hoping it is something that will be much more prevalent in my own life and the life of others around me. Apart from the memories and photographs, I try and take a bit of the calm atmosphere with me, some of the lessons this place has learned over its history. Even if I don't quite belong in this church, I think this church is now part of me.
