Because my studio in the Old City of Jerusalem, in the Christian Quarter, is not far from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, I often walk through the church grounds to reach the spice market on the other side, toward the Muristan. I’m frequently drawn to the church by the singing, the bells, or simply the excitement of tourists seeing its architecture for the first time. What begins as a shortcut to save time usually takes twice as long because of my detour, but I never get tired of exploring this church.

How can I truly explain in words the magnificence of this church, which holds multi-faceted architecture, vaulted ceilings, ancient pavement stones, and marble pillars ornately sculpted with hundreds of small 12th-century crosses carved by pilgrims? It also holds mosaics, icons of Christ and of saints, incense holders and candles, tapestries of embroidered gold, and golden lamp stands casting their light onto a special corner of the area. Every direction my eye turns, it is captured by beauty. Some of the beauty seems incongruent, as the church is divided into different churches and functions. How many times have I walked in and felt the same awe myself? Each time I see something different.

A memorable time for me in visiting the Church was during COVID, when it was officially closed. This was the first time in more than 700 years that the Church was not accessible to tourists. Even the priests and nuns who serve there would have to wait outside the massive, closed wooden entrance doors until one of the priests already serving inside opened them and gave them access. Slowly, the doors would open, just a crack at first, then further for the priest or nun to enter before quickly shutting again. I have photographs of Ethiopian Christian women, clothed in white veils and long skirts, kneeling in front of closed doors and praying. Their belief that this church would bring them closer to the Lord, no matter where they were in proximity to the holiest of sites, the Aedicule, the small shrine inside the church that encloses the Holy Tomb of Christ.

One day, during COVID, when the church was officially closed to outsiders, I was taking what was to be a brief walk through the grounds of the Church and into the building. It was totally empty. I saw no one else in the building. No priest in front of me lighting candles or waving golden censers filled with the smoke of the lit incense. I saw it as a perfect time to take photographs.