The Litmus Test of Desire is Pursuit...

*Taken from my journal on 02/08/09 after hearing a phenomenal lesson from Dr. Hemby about the way we respond to the Savior’s cry while seated upon the wall of the Herodian, Herod’s great fortress overlooking Bethlehem.*

As I sit here, looking out from the upper walls of the Herodian and seeing the land stretched below me for miles, I wonder that it wasn’t enough to make Herod feel small. Overwhelmed by the vastness of what is before me; hill after rolling hill, layer upon layer deep, rolling to the edge of the horizon, a great ring around all that is visible of the earth from here. It is like a great crown and certainly one that I am too small to wear. And sitting here, legs dangling, I sense the big-ness of the world and the small-ness of my part in it.

And I wonder how anyone could think himself kingly from here. But the builder of great walls, the master of stone who perched atop these monuments must have gotten used to what he saw. And at some point, the endless miles ceased to strike his heart with wonder and the voracity of his eyes called the whole world his own. And the people who moved beneath him became pawns in his playing. And the cry of salvation that issued forth from a baby’s lips fell upon his ears in folly. After all, that cry meant destruction to the kingdom of Herod. And, after all, the kingdom of Herod was all that mattered in the world…

So how do I respond? When I hear this cry… the cry of the King… the cry of One to Whom my own kingdom must bow? Do I clutch my crown, hold fast my scepter and reserve the right to rule whatever I lay eyes on? Do I fight to keep control? Or do I fail to flinch? Have I gotten used to Him in all His vastness and greatness? Will He find me apathetic when next His cry reaches my ears?

As I sit here looking out, leadership again makes me tremble. For now I certainly feel small, but I worry about how long it will be so. Will I one day feel entitled to that which spreads before my eyes? Will I fail to move when Jesus cries?

God Sees Us in the Desert...

*Taken from my journal on 02/07/09 after an amazing shabat service at our compound.*

After shabat service tonight, the girls got together for a time of sweet worship and encouraging one another. I have been in a very dry season as of late (largely my own fault) and was just hoping to draw a quick breath of air to keep me going. But when we broke into pairs to speak into one another, the precious girl who prayed for me spoke right to my spirit. And I suddenly realized that I wasn’t forgotten, that the eyes of my Father saw me still… and my heart was flooded.

Deserts may be dry, but they are not empty. God walks with us over the burning sands, though He may walk quietly.

And if you’re walking there, a word to you: you were not created to die in the desert. Though your mouth may be dry, keep going. Remember that you are seen and that you are not alone.

Picking Up Garbage: Cleansing Against All Odds

*Taken from my journal on 02/06/09 after an interesting experience picking up trash in the Palestinian quarter as an outreach with the Messianic synagogue we’ve been attending.*

I don’t think I was alone in having a very different idea of what “picking up trash in the Palestinian quarter” would be than what it actually was. I was expecting soda bottles and candy wrappers on the edges of a paved road. And I found myself at the foot of a steep hill, some forty feet high, covered over completely (and who knows how deeply) in rotting garbage. It’s what could only be called a landfill. The sight was gut-wrenching. And all I could think was “there’s no way; this is impossible.” The work that needed to be done… And at the end of hours, more than a hundred hands had barely made a dent in that hundred foot span.

And then I realized that a dent is still progress; that garbage was gone at least. All that was lacking was a little more time. And my mind went to Israel and the spiritual situation of the city that surrounded me. Years and years of religion, racial tension and the struggle for ownership have left a virtual landfill of man-made garbage surrounding precious souls. But God is an expert at cleansing the impure. It may not happen in a day, but eventually enough hands bearing the nail scars of the Savior will touch this land. One day, we will see clean countryside and a nation restored.

The Importance of Isolation (and Solitude)...

*Taken from my journal on 02/04/09 after some time spent writing by the spring of Ein Gedi, from which you can look out over the Dead Sea and the Moab mountains. It was a heavenly moment.*

Sitting and writing at Ein Gedi today was absolutely amazing. After a long climb up and some monumentally important spiritual lessons at the foot of David’s waterfall, we came back down for lunch. After that I found myself climbing back up into the cliffs with an amazing assignment: write. I wound up at the place where the lower waterfall forms shallow pools over smooth stones, all surrounded by rough cliffs.

I crawled through a few crevices and climbed over a few boulders searching for the perfect place. I wound up on a large tan stone just beside the foot of the little fall within easy reach of the wading pool below. I pulled my hair up, dipped my hand in for a drink and set pen to paper… and my soul was refreshed. It was a moment that mattered to the core of me; one that I’ll never forget.

I remember thinking beside the great waterfall that I didn’t know why David would be so bothered about hiding here, in the midst of such beauty. Of course a hunted soul wrestles bitterly, perhaps even more so in the midst of beauty it cannot fully rejoice in. His unrest was of a spiritual sort and his time in those hills was far from voluntarily taken. What David experienced at Ein Gedi was isolation. But as he himself certainly shows, there is an important work wrought by isolation. Forced seclusion, even in a place of majesty, is often a harsh tool in the hand of God, used to work humility and dependency in us.

But Ein Gedi was for me something different: a moment of sweet solitude in the midst of chaotic activity on all sides. A sudden stop, a deep breath, a handful of cool water. And in a much sweeter way, solitude is also of great importance. It is something I have neglected since I’ve been here. But I heard God in those hills and need to incline my ear far more often.

Preaching in your hometown...

*Taken from my journal on 02/03/09 after visiting the ancient synagogue at Nazareth where it is believed that Christ preached His first sermon.*

Under this domed stone roof, in a crowded service, the voice of a young boy once echoed.

It was here that Jesus stood, unrolled the scroll of Isaiah and proceeded to preach His first sermon… “The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me because He has anointed me to…” To heal. To preach. To prophesy. To love. To rebuke. To teach. To save the world.

Hostile crowd for a first sermon. The young Jesus, almost killed for a short and simple word of redemption.

And as I stand here and think of what it must have been like for Him, my mind flashes to what a different experience my first sermon was. Applause instead of stoning… Am I just enjoying the free air created by the doors He broke down? Or do I not speak with the same utter truth that characterized His words? Probably a bit of both…

But I just want to take a moment here and remember that first time. The beginning of a lifetime of being misunderstood… of speaking the truth… and healing the broken… and not being received.

Following Jesus leads to the cross. In following Him we find ourselves there. There’s no glitz in His ministry, no stardom, no fame. Rejected by the religious and honored by whores… It’s a dusty, dirty way. A way of pain and brokenness, a promise you’ll be misunderstood.

And in life I want happiness… I want to be thought well of in the world… I want to make a difference… and I want to preach well. But the crowd will be fickle and God’s Word is not soft. What will happen when they hate me and despise the words I say? Will I still be set on following Him when the road climbs cross-ward? By His grace alone, I hope He will find me faithful there.

Mercy on your accusers...

*Taken from my journal on 02/03/09 after visiting Caesarea Maritima, where Paul was tried by Herod and kept under house arrest for years. From this place, he was finally sent to Rome.*

The exchange recorded between Paul, King Agrippa and Festus at the end of the book of Acts is quite remarkable. Standing before these high-ranking leaders in chains, Paul is less concerned with preserving his own life than with sharing the gospel with these men and with the Romans. To imagine him raising his chained hands, saying “I wish you were just as I am, except for these,” is incredibly moving.

Few things in life are as frustrating as being accused for a crime you did not commit. So how do we respond? When treated wrongly by others, do we become embittered and wish evil on them? Do we become apathetic and lose all concern for them? Or do we, like Paul, retain our love for them and wish that they would come into a saving relationship with Christ? Even if they respond like Agrippa, do we want more for them than that?