Walking the Via Dolorosa: A Journey That Changed Everything

I had read about Jerusalem my entire life. I thought I knew what to expect. Nothing — not the books, not the sermons, not the photographs — could have prepared me for the moment I set foot on those ancient stones and felt two thousand years of history beneath my feet.

Our group of fourteen arrived on a Tuesday morning, bleary from the overnight flight but electric with anticipation. Our guide, a soft-spoken man named Yosef who had walked these streets his entire life, met us at the Jaffa Gate with a quiet smile. 'Welcome home,' he said. I didn't understand what he meant until later.

The Via Dolorosa winds through the Muslim Quarter of the Old City — a narrow, cobblestoned lane lined with spice merchants and souvenir stalls. It is simultaneously sacred and ordinary, which is perhaps the point. Faith has always lived in the middle of daily life here.

At the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, I waited in a long, quiet line to enter the Edicule — the small chapel built over the site of the tomb. When my turn came and I knelt in that tiny space, I wept. I hadn't expected to. Tom held my hand and said nothing, which was exactly right.

We spent four days in Jerusalem and three more traveling to Bethlehem, Nazareth, and the Sea of Galilee. Each site layered meaning onto the last. By the time we stood at the Jordan River on our final morning, something had shifted in me that I'm still trying to find words for.

If you are considering a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, go. Go with an open heart and comfortable shoes. Let yourself be surprised. Let yourself be moved. Yosef was right — for those who carry this history in their faith, it does feel like coming home.