And we will walk in His paths. Isaiah 2:3
WHERE JESUS WALKED
As I sat there in the pew, listening to my pastor husband, as he talked,
Images appeared before me, about “That day I walked where Jesus walked.”
As he shared the message so familiar, sharp images came to mind.
I was lost in time. I was reliving the past. Recalling that wonderful time.
I pictured me, sitting on that rock, in the hills above Nazareth, Jesus’ hometown.
He grew to manhood there. Son of a carpenter. That’s how He was known.
Thirty years He would spend there, before He would be about His Father’s business.
Then began three years of His mission for God. The real purpose of His existence.
On a boat on the Sea of Galilee, I thought, “Jesus walked on the water,” here.
He “stilled the storm”. Filled the nets with fish. Many other miracles were performed there.
How He sent Peter to catch a fish. A coin in its mouth. Money for their taxes.
And I wondered, “How did Jesus know that coin’s value would cover their expenses?”
At The Upper Room, a vision appeared. Jesus and His disciples, lounging there.
I watched Him wash their feet. The act of a servant. Yet He was their Savior.
Did they understand the meaning of Communion? “The bread and wine” He served?
The significance of what was taking place? His plans to leave this earth?
As I strolled through The Garden of Gethsemane, under the beautiful olive trees,
I was awed by the thought that Jesus once walked under these same old trees.
What a story these trees could tell. They saw the events of Jesus’ betrayal unfolding.
They must have bowed their branches low, to have witnessed such loathing.
As I stood near the stone, revered there in the church in the Garden,
I could hear Jesus’ anguished prayer, as He knelt and asked for God’s pardon.
“Nonetheless,” He said, “If it be Thy Will.” He still wanted to fulfill His mission.
How sad! The betrayal. The soldiers taking Him away. His submission.
I walked the path, the Via Dolorosa or “Sorrowful Way,” that Jesus walked to His death.
I saw Him struggling to carry the cross. I saw Him stumble and fall, from the stress.
Fourteen Stations mark His way along this path. Each a tribute, to an event of that day.
I followed the Franciscan Fathers as, at each of these stations, they paused to pray.
I stood at the Garden Tomb and gazed at Golgotha, the rock of the human skull.
Inside the tomb, I thought, “Jesus was laid to rest here. They thought it would end it all.”
The stone rolled away! An empty tomb! Jesus arose! Resurrection Day! What a shock!
What wondrous things happened to me that day. “That day I walked where Jesus walked.”
Carole Schossow
