M E R I D I A N     M A G A Z I N E

A Singing Spring
By Susan Law Corpany

I told myself that I should have been more moved by my experience at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher than by an obscure sanctuary that we stumbled upon on our way out.

According to tradition, that church houses both Golgotha, the place where Jesus was crucified, and the tomb in which He was laid to rest. For me, the fact that six different factions of Christianity share this church and fight over the right to these holy sites is troubling. It serves as a reminder to me that no matter where we are, if we follow the teachings of Christ, we can “get it.” Conversely, no matter how holy the ground on which we stand, we can fail to follow the precepts of the very One we are attempting to honor.

It is easy to dispute, especially the more learned you are, the authenticity of various traditional holy sites. After more than 2000 years of history, destruction and rebuilding, erosion, and conflicting archeological data, it is not difficult to have “reasonable doubt” about many of them.

Given the unverifiable nature of oral history and tradition, any claims can reasonably be called into question. Doubt is instilled automatically when more than one place purports to be the authentic site of an event from the life of Christ. But authentic or not, what we and countless others bring to these holy places in terms of faith and honor for the event celebrated gives them meaning and endows them with a spiritual power.

Why then, I asked myself, was I able to visit such a site and feel so little spiritually? For me, at least, the answer was in the very efforts made to try and bring honor and acclaim to the spot. The ornate decorations, the candles and lamps and paintings took away from my ability to just plain feel.

Take-a-Number Adoration

At the entrance to the tomb of Jesus, I stood in a line of about a hundred people who were ushered in, four at a time, by some sort of Eastern Orthodox bouncer, for two or three minutes of genuflection. I was conversing quietly with the three businessmen from the Philippines as we neared the head of the line. Our entrance was interrupted by the appearance of three ornately-clad men, appearing to represent differing faiths. One after the other, they went into the tomb, each chanting and waving an incense holder, imparting pungent aromas and turning the air pink and orange.

I pondered the fact that, in addition to the many religious uses of incense, one possible use at the time of a death would have been to cover up the smell of the deceased. My thoughts irreverently wandered and I thought perhaps the incense presently was to mask the odors of those of us who had been standing in the heat of the day in a non-air-conditioned stone cathedral. It should have come as no surprise to me then that I did not feel much spiritually while inside the tomb.

Upstairs I put my hand into an opening in the floor and felt what was purported to be a hole that had held the cross of Jesus. Again, I felt a distinct lack of emotion, only an intellectual musing about whether or not this hole would have still been there after all that time.

Did they reuse the holes until they were so deep as to remain down through the ages? Didn’t holes get covered over and eventually disappear? Hadn’t entire fortresses been buried by the sands of time? Was this one of the finds of Constantine’s mother in the 4th century, when she went in search of holy sites from Christianity at the behest of her son?

After Christ died, did people immediately start to revere these sites or did it take a while before they became significant? Had so much time passed by then that it became hearsay? The questioning was enough to keep any spiritual feelings at bay, should any have been attempting to break through.

Private Worship

On the way out through a back door, we saw a small Coptic chapel with a sign that said there was a singing spring inside and decided to investigate. Thom had not noticed this door on either of his prior trips. We nodded greeting to the Coptic priests, followed the signs and headed down several steep stone staircases. The steps narrowed, and the handrail became more necessary, the further into the middle of the earth we ventured.

Finally, in the dim light before us, we saw a spring deep below. Standing together, just the two of us, at the bottom of the damp stone steps, my husband began to sing.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Praise Him all creatures here below.

The sound echoed off the walls. I would have joined in the singing, but I was overcome with emotion. Here, with no distractions, spiritual feelings came freely and unbidden. Listening to my husband’s voice reverberating off the stone, I felt the stirrings I had wanted to feel earlier.

I knew I would never again sing or hear that hymn without immediately being transported back to that underground cavern. I wanted to join in, but I knew my emotions were too close to the surface, and I did not want to hear my faltering voice magnified. I wanted instead just to listen to the strength of his song, to hear his deep voice echoing off the walls.

I marveled at his simple yet profound choice of a hymn and how the words appropriately spoke of blessings flowing while we looked upon an ancient spring and creatures here below as we stood underground, well beneath the old city of Jerusalem.

I pondered how it is usually through our trials that our faith grows stronger. Sometimes we have to venture downward, holding fast to a handrail, in what feels like darkness, to find evidence of the living waters. I imagined we might always hear heavenly echoes when we sang if only we were not veiled from the sound of the heavenly hosts joining their powerful voices with ours, those unseen spirits that aid you and me.

As we climbed the stairs to the surface, I mentioned to Thom that I was glad we were not on a guided tour, that even though we might miss some things traveling on our own, the people who were herded on and off of busses would not get the chance to venture off the beaten path and find the hidden springs.

In the final analysis, we have the maps, the guidance that God has laid out for us, and we know what we want our final destination to be. We won’t all take the same path to get there, but if we don’t lose sight of our destination and move toward it, He will guide us. He rejected Satan’s plan that would have controlled our every move, delivering busload after busload of Father’s children back to Him.

He wants us to return, but not absent the strength that is gained by learning to find our own way back.