a holy land dream ALMOST gone awry

It was a dream of a lifetime, but things weren't going great. We were in Jerusalem—our last leg of a trip to care for our missionaries around the world. For weeks I’d envisioned what it would be like to walk where Jesus walked in his final hours. I took that journey for the first time from the corner of my living room decades ago, and have been doing so every Lenten season since. My life was so transformed that I wrote a book, Contemplating the Cross, which has guided many on their own journey with Jesus through his suffering.
Can you imagine my emotions as we set out that first morning in Jerusalem? Our sweet volunteer guides led us to the most popular sites and shrines, sharing a wealth of knowledge along the way. To be honest though, I wasn't as moved as I had expected. After a few hours, feeling frustration and tourist fatigue, I asked our guides if they could take me to the Via Dolorosa (way of suffering), which Christian pilgrims have trod for centuries to follow in Christ’s final steps. They quickly shared that the terrain had changed so much in 2000 years, that no one really knew the exact path to Golgotha, which explains why Protestants and Catholics have different sites commemorating his death and burial. 

Overcome with a sinking sense of sadness, I heard the gentlest whisper: He is not here. He is risen. Feeling put off, I assured the Lord that of course I knew this, going on to opine, Lord, all I really want is to walk where you walked, to place my feet where yours trod as you dragged your cross to your death.
​Again, that gentle whisper: He is not here, he is risen. 

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​Not to be deterred, google maps on our phones, we navigated the narrow streets of old Jerusalem looking for the stations of the cross that mark the historic path. Through shops of every kind, jostling with hundreds of people coming and going, we explored the Christian quarter, the Jewish quarter and the Muslim quarter, all to no avail. Needless to say, my disappointment ran deep.

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​Later that day, some friends drove us to the one location that everyone agrees is exactly where it has always been-the Mount of Olives. We parked halfway up to avoid the crowds around the shrine at the top. Climbing over a short wall, I sat on the ground in the middle of an empty olive grove. This time, when I heard it again--He not here, he is risen--I waited in quiet stillness. God had my attention.

          I waited in quiet stillness.
          God had my attention. 

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My Lord spoke then of his love, tenderly showing me that the way of suffering I’d pondered for so many years had always led to this profound outcome—that I would become his eternal dwelling place. This was the joy that was set before Jesus, the one for which he endured the cross—that he might live and breathe and move within my soul, making his glory known to me and through me, wherever I might be.
 
Jesus expressed his yearning for this in his final prayer for his followers: Father, I desire that these you have given me be with me where I am, to see my glory... (John 17:24) Do  you see this? Jesus chose to endure unfathomable suffering to become the answer to his own prayer, paying for our sins, providing a way, not only for us to come to him, but for him to come to us, to make his permanent home within our souls so that we could always be with him where he is.
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​I believe God took me to Jerusalem because he wanted to mark me with this precious reality. I continue to experience the profound wonder of it, daily brought to tears. So, on this most blessed Easter weekend, I pray that God will reveal to you in fresh ways this uncommon mystery, that Christ is within you, as real as the beating of your heart; living and leading and loving. May you experience the joyful simplicity of turning within to commune with the Lover of your soul who has promised to never leave. He is risen! He is risen indeed!
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Epilogue: On our final day, a friend and I did get to walk the Via Dolorosa, and it was more meaningful than I could ever have imagined.