From My Journal – Jerusalem 1994

10 years later in 2004, before Mass in Jerusalem

On Saturday, January 29, 1994, Air France Boeing 767 takes off at 3:30PM from O’Hare Airport and brings me to Paris on Sunday morning at the local time of 6:30AM. Flight Time: 9 hours. With my departure for Tel Aviv set at 2:30PM, I have much freedom to wander about the Charles De Gaulle Airport, the biggest and newest in France.

After an hour of searching, with the kind help of an Airport employee, I discovered the Airport Chapel with its sign hanging above the door, “Spirituel Centre” At the most, 30 people could be crammed into it. Our Midway Chapel seats 70 worshippers comfortably! As a member of Airport Chaplains International Conference, I received a gracious welcome from Pere (Father) Jovanex, the Airport Chaplain and an invitation to concelebrate Sunday Mass with him. . . a perfect way to begin my Jerusalem Pilgrimage.

Paris to Tel Aviv. . . a 5-hour flight. . . local time: 8:30PM at Ben Gurion Airport. . . darkness. A jitney minivan takes me the 35-mile trip up the winding expressway to Jerusalem. . . cost $10(US). . . finally at 10:00PM, I collapse into bed in the Notre Dame of Jerusalem Hostel, about 24 hours after leaving Chicago. On the day I fly, I never eat solid food, only liquids, after an example of a travel newspaper editor. . . the result, no jet lag.

January 31, 1994. . . Monday. At 6:00PM I offer Mass on Mt. Calvary in the ancient Church of the Holy Sepulcher (built 300 A.D.) I am refreshed from a few hours of sleep. The 3-block walk through narrow, deserted streets give some time to think of the wonderful privilege that will be mine. . . to celebrate Mass in the place where the Lord was crucified. To get to Mt. Calvary, I climb 15 steep stairs with my chalice in one hand and my other hand holding tightly on the steel railing.

Only one person stands next to the altar, on this cold, damp morning. . . an Ethiopian nun with knowledge of English. After a consoling Mass, with a painting of Christ Crucified facing me from behind the altar, I ask my altar server her name. Her answer almost bowls me over, “I am Sister Paraclita (Paraclete – the Holy Spirit)! Before I had left on the trip, I had written in one of the Chapel’s bulletins how I planned to ask the Holy Spirit to be with me as I visited the Holy Places in the Jerusalem area.   On the very first morning, My Gentle, Loving Friend gives me this consolation in the holy person of Sister Paraclita. She tells me she is a hermit, living close to the Garden of Gethsemane.

February 1, 1994. . . Tuesday. Mass this morning at the Tomb of Christ in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher at 6:00AM. I bow low to enter the Tomb. Only two people can stand with the priest at the altar. A little bit of Heaven, and I say the Mass of Easter Sunday with its Alleluias. I wish to die with Christ and to the world and live only for the Resurrected Lord. People always ask me Why I go back to Jerusalem. Why? Because of the consolations the Lord gives!

Fr. George Mc Kenna