The Church of the Holy Sepulchre contains terrible art – but is filled with magic

For a press tour of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem – the Church of the Resurrection, the Mother of churches, site of the last four stations of the Cross – you must apply to the Patriarch. This being Jerusalem, there are three: the Latin, the Armenian and the Greek Orthodox. The process of accreditation is like a scene from an Olivia Manning novel. If you receive an acknowledgment of your email from the Greek Patriarchate – the Latin and the Armenian were otherwise engaged – you turn into Greek Patriarchate Street and present yourself at the Patriarchate palace. It is pale limestone, silent, a home to spoilt cats. 

You are waved towards an office, get lost, and consult a priest for directions. You climb stairs and knock on doors. Once in the office – a bright room where secretaries type letters – you wait for a pre-interview with a bishop, to whom you present your credentials. If you pass this test – I tell him Spectator readers are godly people – you are invited to meet Theophilos III, the 141st primate of the Orthodox Church of Jerusalem. If you are me, you will bow to him – it was the obvious thing to do – and he will nominate a guide to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which I think is, without exception, the most arresting building in the world.

St Peter’s in Rome is one-dimensional, less a church than a painting that shouts, and I am afraid of it. The Pantheon is empty, waiting for something that won’t come back. St Paul’s Cathedral is a compromise. The Frari is a barn with a Titian. The Holy Sepulchre – and I do not think Theophilos would like this description – contains terrible art and it is filled with magic.