Church of the Pater Noster, Jerusalem

Beyond a hush of ancient olive trees, an enclosed garden opens onto the church, built above a rocky grotto traditionally associated with Jesus’s teaching on the final struggle between good and evil and the coming end of the world. Medieval tradition also placed here the moment when Jesus taught his disciples the Lord’s Prayer. It was this belief that led the Crusaders to give this church its enduring name, the Pater Noster, meaning “Our Father”, from the opening words of the prayer in Latin.

The history of the site reaches back to the early Christian period. In 326 AD, Emperor Constantine ordered the construction of the Eleona Basilica, known as the “Basilica of Olives,” under the supervision of his mother, Saint Helena. This early sanctuary became an important place of pilgrimage, closely linked to the Mount of Olives and its Gospel associations.

In the early 7th century, during the Persian invasion of Jerusalem, the basilica was destroyed, leaving behind ruins that still mark the outlines of the original structure. Portions of these remains have been partially restored and remain visible today.

The present church dates from the late 19th century and reflects a renewed Christian presence on the Mount of Olives. Its construction was overseen by a community of contemplative Carmelite nuns, who preserved the spiritual character of the site while shaping the modest building and garden seen today. The open courtyard and surrounding cloisters invite quiet reflection, echoing the long tradition of prayer associated with this place.

From the southern side of the courtyard, a short flight of steps descends to the tomb of the Princess of the Auvergne Tower, who acquired the property in 1868. Her legacy is especially visible in the tiled panels that line the entrance and cloister, each bearing the Lord’s Prayer in a different language. Originally displayed in 62 languages, the collection has since expanded to include many more translations and regional dialects, turning the walls themselves into a visual testament to the prayer’s global reach.

Indeed, this is a place where theology meets typography, and where visitors often pause—not to debate doctrine, but to search for a familiar line of text. If your language proves hard to find, the small on-site shop keeps a map of the panels. After all, when a prayer has traveled this far, it helps to know exactly where it landed...