Jerusalem
by Richard Bristol PhD
Morning
The sun rises over the far away eastern horizon and creates a pink glow on the walls of stone.
How does it make stone seem so soft in this special light?
Quiet, calm, the raucous call of the muezzin having faded before the morning sun, the city at rest.
It will be hours until strident tones pierce the air again.
For now, the wall, it calls the devoted to its side to offer petitions and praise to the One older than time.
Mid-day
Children run and laugh in the streets,
Beggars cry with outstretched hands.
Pushing and calling. Buy here, feed me, help me.
A whirlwind of activity as people rush to make enough to meet their daily needs.
Thoughts of yesterday and cares of tomorrow disappear in the harsh reality of surviving one more day.
Everyone in a rush seeking to get so much done in the time allotted,
Yet knowing this might be the day the sirens call could be for their own bent and twisted body.
The crush of mankind almost drowns out the call of the spirit of the One who made this special place.
You have to listen carefully to hear the still small voice singing songs of comfort and love to His people.
Catching its notes you smile to those who look your way with wonder
about what brings you such a hidden quiet joy.
Evening
The day winds down as you watch the heat rise from stone walls
and the evening breeze caresses your cheek.
Time to reflect upon the day.
You come to serve and find yourself served.
You come to give offerings and find yourself receiving more than you ever imagined.
This special place, this center of the world, it leaves no one untouched.
Yet even our time in this holy city is only for a season.
And each day serves as silent testimony of He who sent us.
