A STRANGE AND TROUBLING THING

THE HOLY FIRE OF JERUSALEM: A STRANGE AND TROUBLING THING

            Every year, on the eve of Easter in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the Greek Orthodox Patriarch of Jerusalem enters the traditional site of Jesus’ tomb and, out of sight from the restless mob that has crammed itself into the church, presides over the ignition of a spontaneously combusted fire, the product (it is believed) of no match, flint, or any other human agency. From outside the tomb the event is signified by the sudden appearance of a tentative but intense white light, flashing from the interior of the cave-like room. The Patriarch emerges, lifting two blazing torches high over his head, upon which the crowd erupts with a roar of cheers and piercing whistles and presses forward in a chaotic rush to light their own candles and torches from the Holy Fire. The flame passes from torch to torch until the entire church is blazing with waving tongues of fire. The crowd is utterly fixed the obtaining of the fire for themselves. They push forward, jammed as closely together as any crowd at a sporting event. The Patriarch’s bald head is all that can be seen of him, and the shouting and whistling is deafening, accompanied by the peeling of church bells overhead. Once an individual has obtained the Fire, they at once begin waving their hands through it, eager to demonstrate the tradition that, for a period of time, the Holy Fire is harmless to the touch. Indeed, given the close quarters and hysterical mood, it is surprising not to see any burning beards or vestments. Everything about this event is surprising, and to a skeptical believer like myself, appalling and very strange.

           In many ways this spectacle represents Christianity at its worst, an embarrassment to any thoughtful Christian. A carefully staged “miracle,” devised to impress credulous believers in the past, now performed on cue under the gaze of mini-cams? Give me a break. It is something like a Las Vegas magic act, except in Jerusalem the audience is much rowdier, and the “magicians” seem less self-assured. Indeed, the atmosphere leading up to the Fire’s appearance is very tense, with monks and bishops clustered around the tomb’s door all looking very anxious. Are these hierarchs in fear for their safety? Has it ever happened that the Holy Fire does not appear? If so, no website mentions it, but one can imagine the reaction of a disappointed crowd, departing the site of the resurrection with unlighted torches and a need for someone to blame.

        Is there “a trick?” The thought of a Patriarch being initiated into the ancient secret is almost as disconcerting as the notion of spontaneous combustion occurring in tandem with the church calendar. Is there a special course taught in seminary? Are there modern embellishments to the technique?  Does the outgoing Patriarch take his successor aside and murmur in a conspiratorial tone, “Oh, by the way, there is a Bic lighter hidden under the altar cloth?”

     An elaborate protocol has been developed to safeguard the “authenticity” of the miracle. The Patriarch is meticulously searched by a policeman before entering the tomb.  The Tomb itself is searched and then sealed with beeswax and locked with a huge key, and by established tradition certain ecclesiastics are designated to accompany the Patriarch as witnesses. Among these is the head of the Armenian Church in Jerusalem, a church regarded as heretical by Greek Orthodoxy. This is cited as definitive proof of the miracle’s veracity, because, by an agreement dating from the days of Turkish rule in Jerusalem, the Armenians are “next in line” to assume leadership of the Holy Fire ritual should the Greeks ever fail to pull it off successfully! Assumedly, the Armenians have a vested interest in discrediting the Greeks’ performance, which gives rise to another strange mental picture: are the Armenian heretics instructed in “how the trick is done?” Or is there another “trick” devised to keep them in the dark?

         The possibility of a complex web of deception seems almost as weird and unlikely as the “miracle,” and, in a way, the oddness of the “Holy Fire” spectacle begins to resemble the oddness of the Resurrection itself. Was Jesus’ corpse suddenly jump-started back to life by invisible jumper-cables from heaven? Or is Christianity based upon an elaborate conspiracy stretching back 2000 years, with the leadership of the church being successively indoctrinated with regard to “the trick,” right down to our own day? If so, I missed that class in seminary.

        We can speculate about what goes on in the darkness of the tomb, but, in the end, it is not our speculations that matter, whether they have to do with “the miracle” or “the trick.” What matters is the oddness, the strangeness, of the event. It leaves us puzzled, stunned, appalled, and, in my case, irresistibly intrigued.

          It would resolve nothing for me if the “Holy Fire” stunt were to be exposed as a  fraud, or if the “miracle” suddenly stopped happening. The truth of the Resurrection lies somewhere in between the miracle and the trick, in a place where suspicion and naivite both fall silent. There is an oddness that haunts the tomb of Christ and still persists, casting its strange light upon the world.