It was late afternoon in Jerusalem. Low clouds seemed to be burdened by a pending rain. But in the garden, the overhanging branches of the trees were like umbrellas stretched over the pathways. A small crowd was inching along the path to the tomb.
Not just any tomb, but the one that many scholars agree is where Jesus was placed after his crucifixion.
Even with a small crowd of people, it was so quiet. Our lowered voices made a gentle sound in the area around the tomb. I closed my eyes and just listened.
I’m not a world traveler—but here in Jerusalem, just outside the tomb, I heard French, German, and Spanish visitors. But there were other languages I’d never heard before. As we waited for our turn to go into the tomb, I looked at my fellow travelers. Different cultures and languages, but one faith. The Bible talks about every nation and every tongue—and I felt it here.
Even though we couldn’t understand one another, we were sharing a moment we’d hold close to our hearts forever. We’d travel back to our native lands, and this side of heaven probably never see one another again.
Click here to read more.
SOURCE: Christian Post, Karen Farris