It was my first time there on a Sunday. Voices lifted to the eaves in prayer as groups of pilgrims c
It was my first time there on a Sunday. Voices lifted to the eaves in prayer as groups of pilgrims carrying large wooden crosses made their way through the streets of Old Jerusalem and into the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. They bend down and kiss the anointing stone. Pigeons fly through the open doorways and windows. Bells chime. Incense drifts into the chapels. I feel holy not because of the place, but because they feel holy. Photos by the lovely Jessica Walthew. -- source link
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