The Wall

While touring the arid American west in late summer, we could actually see thermal turbulence rising from the pavement; the heat caused an optical distortion of the objects far down the road. The air looked like it had become a thick liquid. In places it looked like water was covering the black road and was reflecting the sky, even where there was no water for miles. I suppose that’s a mirage. I learned that things are not always what they look like from a distance.

In the opposite hemisphere, the black of the night sky was challenged by bright floodlights on tall street poles as I got off the bus with five pieces of paper in my pocket. “Stay on the women’s side,” someone cautioned. “Don’t turn your back to the wall,” urged someone else in a whisper. I was surprised to see white molded plastic chairs strewn around. I approached the ancient wall slowly, taking in its ominous height. All around me were people who didn’t dare speak.

When I stepped within two feet of the wall, I felt I had entered a place where the natural and spiritual worlds were woven together in a way that allowed humans to tangibly sense the unseen world. It seemed like the air was more viscous there. I felt I had entered a thick nearly liquid region of air where a kind of unseen force-field changes life. I wondered if my blood might begin rushing through my veins in a new direction. I began to tremble as I stood before an enormous rectangular stone at the base of the wall.

I sensed the history of thousands of people who had touched this wall before. Like me, they had come to meet with God. Skeptics criticize people here for worshipping the wall, but as I stood there I wept knowing God loves being sought after, even at a cold stone wall. Those stones have been there for centuries and many people before me had brought their petitions to God in trust and with hope that he would have mercy. He is faithful.

Today’s Western Wall formed part of the retaining perimeter of Herod the Great’s platform for the exquisite Second Temple. Jewish tradition maintains that portions of this wall were built by King David. Today it is the closest the Jews can get to the foundation stone where the Holy of Holies stood. The temple was once a conduit where people met with God. Here, God’s teaching touched the world, people made atonement for sin and God’s forgiveness flowed. Awe and love of God surround the temple mount. It is sometimes called the Wailing Wall because here Jews mourned the destruction of their holy temple and access to their holy place was denied.

In the plaza, the exposed section of the wall is sixty-two feet high; rugged little tufts of plants have grown from its lofty cracks. Twenty-eight rows of stone are visible and each stone weighs between two and eight tons. In stark contrast to that mammoth construction project, I retrieved the little papers from my pocket. I feebly rolled up the five pieces, each bearing a heartfelt prayer in my tiniest writing. I wedged the bits between the goliath stones knowing that prayers have power, whether written on frail papers or uttered toward heaven, and that God is stronger than any earthly structure, even this one. Still, my hands were shaking as I mimicked those who had done the same thing before me. “Oh God, give me faith as unmovable as these rocks,” I thought as I stood feeling small beside them. Then I realized you have to get close to God or you might misunderstand what you see, like those distant heat-induced distortions on the highway.

I stood there for several minutes basking in the thick presence of God. Then I reverently backed slowly away from the wall as instructed, more out of respect for the Jewish people than out of a belief that one should not turn their back on the wall.

I took half a dozen or so photos there. Without a flash strong enough to reach the wall from where I stood, I had to use a slow shutter speed. At first I was disappointed with the blurry results, but when I looked closely I realized that people who were in motion when my shutter opened appeared as transparent blurs in the photos. It reminded me that our lives are transparent too, that God sees through our pretenses and masks. Not only that, but although life seems to go on and on, it can end very quickly and should be used wisely. It’s as though life itself is a mirage that fades as you speed toward your destination.

Then I boarded the bus, bearing a sweet memory of a meeting with God, and an inspiration to see through the things of this world. Truly things are not always as they seem.