ATHENS – I am about to celebrate my sixth Easter in Athens since moving here permanently five years ago. My mind looks forward to the beautiful services and the fellowship of friends and strangers they induce, and my palette can’t wait for the food at the homes of loving relatives – but my soul, jarred by what is happening at this time in Jerusalem and Ukraine, is looking back to my remarkable visit last winter.

Among Jesus’ most beautiful titles is ‘Prince of Peace’, and while he is worshipped by all Christians as God-incarnate, revered as a prophet by most Muslims, and even honored by many Jews, in the Holy Land, they are not heeding his calls for love, forgiveness, and philanthropy. On the other hand, Christ met a violent death there, so the rockets, bombs, knives, and guns that are being lifted along with candles, palms, and flowers in this period of Western and Eastern Easter, Passover and Ramadan, should not come as too great a shock. Sigh.

This is not what I encountered in Jerusalem last Christmas from December 24-27. Naturally, I must confess that the feeling of joy and serenity I experienced as I approached the Damascus Gate was something I carried with me in anticipation. But I was quickly filled with something more – and it was coming from… inside the city, and up from… the sacred earth.

As I approached the ancient gate, without thinking about it, I came to an immediate halt. I did not feel an invisible barrier – like St. Mary of Egypt, whose feast day is April 1, which is also my birthday – but I simply could not proceed without kneeling and praying. Not for myself, or even my sins, but for all my loved ones – and especially for peace, specifically in Ukraine, where Orthodox Christians were killing each other for Christmas… that happened at several locations.

The words to describe what I felt as I rose and proceeded through the Old City is reverence and awe. I must admit, there was some anxiety – being aware of the conflict that quiets down but never goes away – which evaporated quickly as I saw the various groups, the Greek and Armenian Western Christians mixing with the Muslims and both the secular and religious Jews. They were not all friendly to each other, but they were respectful as they passed one another in the narrow streets. As an American and Greek I was able to chat and learn from all of them.

I created a spiritual bubble around myself by quietly chanting: ‘Θεὸς Κύριος, καὶ ἐπέφανεν ἡμῖν, εὐλογημένος ὁ ἐρχόμενος ἐν ὀνόματι Κυρίου – Christ is Lord and He appeared to us. Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord’ – but I must admit the male and female Israeli soldiers eventually made me feel secure after the initial shock.

Very quickly, you become suffused with the history, walking past and into the moving sites and buildings sacred to those three major faiths.

Apropos of my writing this during Holy Week, I have powerful memories of the Praetorium, where Christ was examined by Pontius Pilate – who had to render his tragic judgment despite seeing no evil in the words or deeds of the man – and then humiliated and beaten by the ruling Roman Soldiers.

Outside the walls of the Old City, one gains a moment of inner peace walking through the Garden of Gethsemane, where Christ and His disciples prayed before He was betrayed and captured.

Nearby, a site connected directly to a different great feast day (one I never new existed) also fills one with holy warmth – the Tomb of the Theotokos, where you can kneel and touch the stone slab where she Fell Asleep in the Lord.

The Jewish and Muslim sites are also deeply moving. I did visit the Western Wall, and while I am sure I was the only Christian there, I was treated with respect as I moved between the others to place my written prayers for loved ones and world peace between the stones. I did not have a chance to visit the Dome of the Rock or the Al Aqsa Mosque, yes, the scene of the most dangerous – the situation can explode – recent violence, but they cut a noble silhouette across the day or evening sky

On course, the most powerful moment for a Christian is the visit to the Holy Sepulchre.
There, all must kneel, but I just COULD NOT BELIEVE I was there – at the tomb itself. When you place your hands on the stone where the crucified Christ was laid… and rose from… for that realization and feeling – there are no words.

God knows if I will be blessed to witness the ceremony of the Holy Flame as thousands will in a few days, but God-willing, I plan to return to Jerusalem. And I pray all of you will be able to do so… in more peaceful times.