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?

A cold grave...

*Taken from my journal on 02/01/09 after renewing my baptismal vows in the icy waters of the Jordan River.*

A cold grave. The one thought in my mind as my feet stood upon a stone stair, invisible beneath the dark water. The lower hem of a thin white robe just met the surface of that icy water. The chill went right through my bones and, mid-day though it was, I could see my breath like smoke rising just before me. Shoulder to shoulder with friends I stood shivering… waiting to be buried.

There is a lot of death imagery in the Christian sacraments. In Communion, we partake of the body and blood, broken and poured out for the redemption of mankind. But Communion is, above all, a remembrance. With bread and wine we remember not just the cross, but the Christ… the God-man Himself… Who hung upon it. Jesus said “in remembrance of Me”. In Communion, we remember Him. Not just His dying, but His living. Not just His divinity, but His humanity. And in so doing, we come to a deeper understanding of how costly was that death. For such a heart to stop beating, for the Raiser of the dead to let go a dying breath, for such pure and living blood to spill out on dry dust which He Himself had wrought before the foundations of time…

He was life abundant incarnate… All the life of God in one now-broken body. For such life to just stop… no wonder the heavens were rent, no wonder the world was shaken. Not just a death, but the death of pure life. We remember Christ and there is no doubt about the cost. The death to end all deaths… and so it did.

So now at the water’s edge I stand, the memories of a million wrong-doings flashing through my mind and making me colder than the water ever could. And here also I remember the Life, laid down to save me from deserved death. And light breaks upon me and I remember that I am clothed in righteousness, purity not of my own making, like the brilliant robe I now wear. A deep breath and a sudden plunge… I am laid back into ice cold water – a cold grave, well deserved by my old life. And again, death brings life. Those ugly deeds laid to rest in a watery grave and I am raised to newness of life. A freshly washed white garment and I’m dripping with freedom. Raised to life again with Life Himself, unkillable.

“And You’re raising the dead in me.”

Saint Peter's Primacy... and Other Such Nonsense

*Taken from my journal on 02/01/09 after visiting the spot where the resurrected Jesus restored the fallen Peter… a spot which is now called “The Church of Saint Peter’s Primacy”.*

In the spot where the coals burned again, releasing that painful scent… the one that in a moment had him back in front of another coal fire… at Caiphus’ house… cussing at a servant girl and being shattered by a rooster’s crow…

Where the rugged fisherman, dripping wet and hurting more deeply than I can imagine, was asked to try again after one of the most gut-wrenching failures ever endured by man…

Where he was reminded that he was to love God, not be the best… where “Peter, do you love Me?” fell as the harshest rebuke on humbled ears…

Where every “the great and mighty Peter” image in his mind came crashing down and became for him an object of disgust…

In this place we have erected glossy images of larger-than-life spiritual leaders and declare the importance of Peter among the other apostles.

His place of greatest humiliation. And we use it to mark his “primacy”.

I think it would make him mad. It makes me mad. In a place of such raw weakness and such nakedness before the resurrected eyes of Jesus Whom we have utterly failed… in a place where grace sears like hot coals on the wounds caused by the long fall from our own lofty, self-glorifying expectations…

In this place of painful humility… the point of admission that we can do no more than love God… and hardly even that…

In this place we glorify man?

Such nonsense.

And it breaks my heart. Indignant is the word. How have we missed it by so much?

A Higher Calling...

*Taken from my journal on 02/01/09 after visiting the Mount of the Beatitudes.*

“You have heard it said, but I tell you…”

It is in this place that those words were spoken. Words of both challenge and freedom. Words that elevated the expectations for humanity and simultaneously did away with generations of petty bylaws that brought bondage.

Certificates aside, be faithful to your spouse, endure the trials. The interactions of men aside, love and pray for those around you. That is your concern, not endless records of wrongs done you.

And here the impossible standard was set. No more room for excuses. Not difficult to remember, not difficult to interpret, not difficult to apply in real life. “Be perfect as your Father in Heaven is perfect.” Be. A standard that speaks not to rules kept, but to a state of existence. A standard that leaves no room for comparison, except to God alone.

Rain Over Israel...

*Taken from my journal on 01/31/09, the day after we first heard the rain.*

Last night after service at the Messianic synagogue and a wonderful meal at Foccacia, the ladies in our room were indulging in some beauty treatments before the busy week ahead. With toenails still wet with polish, I pulled my hair back and was getting ready to put on a mud mask when a familiar but longtime absent sound met my ears. I listened for just a moment before a roommate came rushing in and confirmed what we had all just heard: “it’s raining”.

To step out onto that familiar balcony and see everything around me glistening with much needed water, to watch it pour down from the night sky, to feel the fresh cool wind on my face… such an invigorating moment. Rain over Israel.

For months now this land has been parched. The beautiful Sea of Galilee sits some thirty feet lower than it did last summer. It has been a dry, dry winter for Israel. Until now.

While such a brief shower will certainly not quench such thirsty ground, I have to believe this shower to be the beginning, not the end, of rain over Israel.

Ever since we arrived and heard of the nation’s need for water, we have been praying for rain. And with a thousand, thousand drops of grace, God answered last night. But the land needs more than water. The dryness is not just that of the rocks and dust. There is dryness also in the souls of men and a thirst for God in newness of intimacy. Dry souls in need of living water, a thirst for Messiah Who is Life Incarnate.

But to quench this thirst, a different sort of grace must fall. So once again we ask, Lord, let it rain over Israel.

A Day in the Desert...

*Taken from my journal on 01/28/09 after a day in the desert, preparing to spend the night with the Bedouins.*

So I'm sitting here on the floor of a Bedouin tent. An amazing communal meal with the best tea I've ever had was followed by some lively dance lessons with Moti, our bus driver. After a change into PJ's and a few minutes of watching some of our group playing ultimate Frisbee in a field of level desert dust under a black ink sky, I find myself here.

The girls are chatting in the background and a few of the guys are talking too. A few more of the ladies have gone to get ready for bed and the other guys are searching for wood so they can start a fire outside. I'm under a billowing fabric canopy, sitting on a couple of thin mattresses that rest atop colorful thatched mats that form the floor of our tent. And I'm thinking about how blessed I am.

Today I rode a camel. Her name was Albert and she was very sweet. The one behind us was named Wilber. She seemed grumpy as we were getting going, but somehow became quite friendly and kept walking up beside Albert and putting her face very near mine. This admittedly made me a bit nervous considering the groans and teeth bearing that she began the journey with. (By the way, we mean no insult to our lovely camels' femininity. But they looked like Albert and Wilber while we were riding... and we didn't know yet that they were girls...)

We rode through the Judean desert - mountains of sand in either direction as far as the eye could see beneath a beautiful, golden sunset.

This alone would be an incredible day, but is actually only the latter half...

This morning I swam in the Dead Sea and was able to stand straight up with nothing beneath my feet but water. With arms still at my sides, I could look down and see my toenail polish hovering over seemingly endless blue. Today we also looked out over Jericho, took a picture with Lot's wife and licked the mountain of salt that she stands upon, and visited Qumran and saw the caves where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found.

And now here we are... camping with the Bedouins. I am 22 and am doing what those three times my age have only dreamed of. It is a quite enchanting moment and I am so very grateful.

Welcome to week two in Israel.

What a blessing. :-)