The Distance Between

This week I walked through the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem.
The air was heavy with incense and a sense of reverence.
In a corner near the entrance, a group of women knelt beside a slab of marble,
believed to be the place where the body of Christ was prepared for burial.

They were weeping.
Some lay across the stone, their tears mingling with rose water.
One woman poured it gently over the marble,
and another pressed her prayer shawl against it,
folding it carefully to carry the fragrance home.

And for a moment, I understood.

There is something sacred about proximity.
About being near what once held Him.
The place where love was poured out
and loss became redemption.

But as I stood there, surrounded by centuries of devotion,
I thought about how close He really is.
Not just to this stone.
Not just to Jerusalem.
But to every heart that calls His name.

The miracle of salvation was never bound to geography.
It was never limited to one city or one stone.
The same Spirit that filled that tomb
now breathes life into ordinary rooms and weary souls.
It fills hospital corridors, tiny churches, and crowded streets.
It meets the broken and the needy in every corner of the world.

What those women sought in a place,
we find in His presence.
Not carved in marble, but written on our hearts.
Not an echo of where He was,
but the living proof that He still is.

“He is not far from each one of us;
for in Him we live and move and have our being.”
Acts 17:27–28 (NKJV)

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