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Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem, Israel. May 24, 8.45am
Jake and Morgan came out of a narrow passageway and entered the courtyard in front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, an ancient building crushed into the dense heart of the Old City.
The church seemed to be within the walls of the souk, stuffed amongst the traders and hawkers of the market, brimming with religious baubles and trinkets. Tourists milled around eating felafel and sweet harissa cakes. They exchanged shekels for Palestinian glass, Jerusalem t-shirts and statues of the Virgin Mary. Morgan thought that perhaps this was appropriate, for surely Jesus would have held his ministry amongst these people, the merchants, the hagglers, the real people of the city.
Walking these streets was a bittersweet joy for Morg
