By Elizabeth Evans Hagan
It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke — an imam, a rabbi and a Baptist and an evangelical pastor spend 10 days together in Jerusalem — but for me, this week, such is true.
On Jan. 16, I joined a delegation of peace to this war-torn land with the intention of visiting places where Jews, Christians and Muslims aren’t normally found peacefully together, such as the Temple Mount, Hebron and Bethlehem.
One of the goals of this adventure is to visit holy sites of each of our faiths with the hope of seeing the religious conflicts of this land with fresh perspective.
Never would I have expected that the most segregated activity in a religious tradition different from my own would be one of the most spiritual activities for me in our journey so far. Yet when I met Jerusalem’s Wailing Wall, I didn’t want to leave.
I assumed I would greet the separation of sexes at the Wailing Wall with frustration, hurt and annoyance. As the only female in the group, I could imagine myself with tears in my eyes as I found my way alone to the “women’s” portion of the wall. I anticipated an experience of sharing in the sorrows of the injustice and persecution that millions of my sisters have felt through the years of male-dominated and male-centered religious traditions.
As I walked through the former temple court into the quarters with the sign “Women” above it, however, I found tears welling up in my eyes for a completely different reason.
There was something incredibly holy that came upon me as I surrendered to whatever the experience could offer. The space felt incredibly safe and inviting, even though I was a Christian pastor dressed like an American tourist without a prayer book in my hands. I did bring, however, prayers folded up on small strips given to me in advance from friends in the United States.
Soon after placing the prayers in the wall, I felt a strong need to cover my head with my scarf and sit in one of the plastic chairs placed close to the wall. No one asked me to cover my head, but it seemed like the right thing to do.
As I looked upon the crowd of my sisters surrounding me with tears rolling down my cheeks, I was truly glad that no men were present. There are unique sorrows and worries in being a woman, and it felt right to grieve alongside those who understand that best.
There was an African woman kneeling and leaning toward the wall praying with a rosary. A Euro-American woman kissed the wall as if it were her long-lost lover. A woman with special needs embraced a teenage traveling companion, so overcome by sadness that she could hardly stand. A Jewish woman rocked back and forth with a prayer book in her hands with more devotion toward a holy book than I’ve ever seen toward a Christian text.
I left the Wailing Women of Jerusalem with a renewed sense that Christians in general get it all wrong when it comes to grief. Yes, because of Jesus we have hope in difficult circumstances such as the death of a loved one. Yet we still need from time to time to be in communities of those who will weep with us.
I began to wonder whether we might be wise to build “wailing walls” in our own centers of worship. While such monuments in parking lots or church gardens would not have the same kind of religious history as the Western Wall, might they provide similar life-giving communion for people in need of places to express their pain?
I believe more people than we realize are seeking this kind of sacred space. After all, Jesus said: “Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted.”