Life, Grace, Truth and Consequences.

In my reflection over the trip to Israel, one thing kept speaking to my heart. I was looking at the pictures of my companions and I stepping out of the Garden Tomb near Golgotha. The photos actually spoke to me even more than actually standing in the tomb. As Christ stepped through that threshold 19 ½ centuries before I was even conceived, He won the battle over sin. He paid the price for my shame and made the way for me to be forgiven. Dying on the cross was the most vivid part of the price He paid. It is the part we focus on the most it seems. But had He just died, it would not have been enough. His resurrection is where the victory is most revealed. His resurrection is why we have hope in Christ, no matter how big we think our sin might be. His LIFE, after it seemed that all was lost, is the miracle of the Christ!

I am so thankful that my savior lives.

Most of my friends, relatives, readers, and those who have ever heard me speak know that I have a prodigal past. I talk about it pretty openly when it is appropriate for sharing what God has done in my life. Until recently, I thought those horrible things I did as I walked further away from God only affected my life and my family. I knew some of my choices hurt my parents deeply.  I never thought of others I might have touched with the wake of my out of control sin.

 During almost six years of living from one desperate act to the next, I made many stupid choices. I was desperate to be loved and accepted. I was desperate to survive and often, I was desperate for something that would make me feel okay with myself. I longed for peace in my spirit, but I didn’t believe that it was as simple as trusting in a God I could not see or feel.

I surrounded myself with people who seemed to love me and put my trust in the latest group of friends. Only to be disappointed when they couldn’t give me what I needed to be at peace with my life. No matter what I tried to do it was never enough.

One night, close to the end of my rope, I contemplated my life and the worthlessness of it. I already knew how much I would drink so that I would have the courage to end the pain I was causing my family and everyone I touched. My only fear was that if I took my life, my pain would never end. There was no doubt in my mind that God was real, the Bible was true, and Jesus was the savior of the world. I just did not believe that God cared about me. I had been disappointed too many times, so perhaps, I thought, I was not one of the elect that would get to spend eternity in the presence of a God that seemed to pick and choose which of His creation he would love. (That was not what I was taught growing up, none the less, it was my frame of mind as the enemy closed in on my soul.)

I’m sure the low-cut jeweled shirt and short skirt I wore said more than I realized at the time. I didn’t recognize the bus driver, but it wasn’t unusual to find a sub on the route. As I took my seat at the front, he turned toward me. He didn’t say anything, but his sideward glance made me incredibly uncomfortable.

We were about half way to my stop when he looked my direction again. This time he spoke. “So, what do your parents think of your lifestyle?

“What they don’t know, doesn’t hurt them.”

The cliché felt like acid in my throat. I knew I had hurt them, but there was nothing I could do about it.

“Okay,” He looked me straight in the face as he waited for a red light to change. “What does God think of your lifestyle?”

I wanted to tell him what I thought of his questions. But I didn’t.

“He probably doesn’t like it too much.”

The light turned green. I was glad this intrusive driver had to put his eyes back on the road.

“So, if you died tonight, would you go to Heaven or Hell?”

I wanted to ask him who he thought he was. But I didn’t.

“I don’t really want to think about that.” I turned toward the back of the bus, hoping he would stop asking questions.

“You know, God loves you. He wants to bless you and he wants you to trust him.”

His words came just as we reached my stop, but I didn’t ring the bell. He stopped anyway. Opening the door, he asked if I was getting off. I wanted to. But I didn’t.

I rode the entire route with the substitute driver until we got back to my apartment. He handed me a scrap of paper with scripture references on it.

“Do you have a Bible?”

“Yes, I think it’s on the shelf in my closet.”

I wasn’t sure what to think about the bold bus driver, but I knew I had a lot of thinking to do.

That trip through Vista and Oceanside, California with Gary the bus driver was just the beginning of the amazing people God was going to put in my life to bring me to His grace and mercy through Jesus Christ.

Eventually, I turned my life over to God completely. It was difficult to understand at first, but knowing that God’s grace was sufficient, and that Christ’s sacrifice on the cross was big enough, even to cover the sins in my life was hard for me to receive at first.

The first time I realized that my sin was gone, cast as far as the east is from the west, and that God would never hold it against me again, I cried for hours. The love that filled my soul at that moment was like nothing I had ever known. I was on my way to becoming whatever God had planned for my life. A life He created for a purpose in His plan for mankind.

Walking with the Lord, being obedient to the leading of the Holy Spirit and trusting God for my life, even during tough times brought me through more trials, temptations, sickness and struggles…always knowing God had me in the palm of His hand. I rarely thought of my six year journey through godlessness. Even when I gave my testimony, I was careful to talk about things I did that my audience would understand. I talked openly about my alcohol abuse, my promiscuity and the financial binds I put my parents through. There was more, and I knew it, but I didn’t think it mattered since nothing I had done ever really hurt anyone else. I could be honest and transparent without dredging up every sin I had ever committed. After all, they were forgiven.

I have always known that forgiveness does not mean that we don’t face consequences for our actions. In fact, while God’s grace is sufficient to bring us through those consequences, they do exist. It is the natural order of the world as God created it. No action is benign. Sometimes, even years later, we must face our past mistakes in order to make restitution, amends or to let God work in our life, or the lives of others.

As I said, I knew my life had caused pain for my family. We worked through that years ago, and my parents forgave me, actually showing me the perfect example of God’s forgiveness and unconditional love as I was finding my way back to the faith they taught me as a child.

What I did not know, was that someone else had been hurt by my horrible choices and the stupid things I did out of desperation. That is, until I reconnected on facebook with an old friend from “those days”. After a discussion about the Lord, and how much I knew I would be dead, were it not for Christ and the Grace of God, I mentioned that he probably remembered the person I was back then. He did remember. In fact he also remembered the pain I had caused someone else who had been a mutual friend of ours.

My heart broke that something I did had caused pain to someone else. Pain, he said that lasted until the past couple of years. But I didn’t know what to do about it. More than 20 years later, there was nothing that could change what I had done. I asked him to help me find her.

He located her quickly, and I sent her an email. I don’t know what will happen through this, but I do know, that His Grace is sufficient for me. More than anything, it was imperative that she know how sorry I am that I hurt her or affected her life in any negative way. The Word of God is clear, if we know we have offended someone, or caused harm, we must go to that person and try to make restitution.

I pray that God will use this to not only show me more of Himself, but to reach out to her in a supernatural way. Not because of me…but because of what He is still doing in my life and my heart. There will never be a day that I can say God is finished with the process of perfecting my faith, until I stand before Him at the threshold of eternity. Until then, as he calls to mind any sin or hurt in my life, that I have not given to Him, I must have integrity in repenting before God and in expressing my contrition to anyone I may have hurt during my unfaithfulness.

Thank you God, for giving me the chance to repent, and turn from every wicked thing that has ever been in my heart or life.

We Are So Much the Same

I’ve been home for one week. Israel and her people are fresh on my mind, but as I ease back into my American life, I have taken a few moments to reflect on the take-away. Besides the Biblical and archeological history, wonderful spa experiences on the Dead Sea, seeing the clear-blue waters of the Mediterranean and enjoying five-star cuisine what did Israel leave in my heart?

I will never watch the news from the Middle East the same way. The people, who once seemed so distant, almost as if they were characters in a movie, now fill my heart. Watching children playing, mothers caring for their families, and the fathers celebrating their son’s entrance to manhood, bonded me to Israel and the Jewish people in new ways. None of the moments in everyday life ever crossed my mind when I heard about war-torn regions. It was just a news report.  It is hard to admit, but until this trip, I felt almost disconnected from the Middle East. It seemed so far away.


I prayed for Israel, and loved her people because they are God’s chosen people. Their culture, however, seemed distant and difficult to understand. I didn’t really have a point of reference. There was nothing that actually connected me with them.



The woman between the cars is the one to whom I refer in
this blog post. The frist woman was shopping near the gate.



As I sat near the Dung gate watching people rushing through for work or prayers or celebration on the last day of Chanukah, a widow held out her cup begging for alms. She was probably around 75 years old. People happily put a few coins in her cup as they passed, and she spoke a blessing in Hebrew to each of them. The scene could have been taken from any country in any language. But then, the woman turned to me, she said something in Hebrew and smiled with only a few teeth as she waited for my answer.  As I sat there, wishing I had finished my Hebrew lessons before the trip, she realized I must be a visitor to her homeland. So, she spoke a different language- Sign Language. Using her hands and some universally recognized gestures, she made her request for me to please watch her belongings while she went to find a water closet. I nodded and she disappeared down the stone walkway toward a public facility. The fact that she trusted me, and drew me into her life, just for a few minutes caught me by surprise. As I kept an eye on her belongings I realized, we are not different. Our cultures may be different, our faith may be different and our language might make communication difficult; but we are the same. We are created in the image of God. We have hopes and dreams and emotions and fears and faith and a desire to live. When she returned, her gratitude was expressed in her eyes, and I understood it fully. Dropping a few shekels in her cup, we said Shalom and parted. I will most likely never see her again, but I will never forget her. 



I am toward the bottom left of this picture.
Photo by Steven Norman, used with permission



I felt the same things as I walked through streets lined with Palestinian shops and as I sat side by side with Israeli soldiers watching videos from Holocaust survivors. We all laugh, we all cry, we all smile, we all have thoughts. And, I will never again watch the news about other countries without deep compassion for the people who live there.

It isn’t that I didn’t care about people in other countries. In fact if I had been asked, I would have said that I did care and I even prayed for them, for safety or healing or provision. But it was somehow different. Before the trip, they were on my mind. But now they are on my heart.

My last day in Jerusalem

The last day in Jerusalem began at the site of the Upper Room. As we looked at the architecture from the 13^th century and though of what happened on that site before the Crusades, I was moved by two things. First, of course, was the fact that Jesus ate his last meal with His disciples at that spot 2000 years ago on the night before He was betrayed. The second thing, striking even more poignantly for me, was that it was that we were standing on the spot where Pentecost occurred. The first spot where people were baptized, not only with water but in the Holy Spirit. The spot where tongues of fire were on their heads and each man spoke in a tongue he did not know, and everyone else understood in their own language. It was the place and time where more people were baptized as believers at a single event than any other time in Biblical history. Standing in the place where people experienced the power of the Holy Spirit for the first time was more than humbling, I could not help but to thank God for bringing me to that place.

From there, the rest of the group went to walk through the old city, but our guide, knowing my desire to connect with the culture, sent me on to the Dung Gate with our driver. It was the last day of Chanukah and a very special day for Bar mitzva at the Western Wall. Families and friends of the boy gathered in a courtyard down the hill, near the Dung Gate. With singing and dancing, drums and shofar they made their way to the Western Wall where the young man received his four corners and read the Torah from a large scroll in an ornate case. It was beautiful.

In contrast, along their route, beggars sat shaking the few shekels in their cups; Passers-by were generous to give these widows a few shekels. Along the street children played with their siblings, Tossing candy to one another and chasing each other in games of tag and wrestling. Watchful mothers stepped in only when the wrestling became too raucous. Children are children in any language and a baby’s tired cry is identical, however, there is a difference in the children in Israel. I did not see them argue with their parents when they were corrected. If their mother said it was time to go, they went without question. These children have an element of respect for their elders and a joy in each moment of living. It was beautiful to watch them, knowing they understand the history of their beloved homeland.

Quietly surveying every moment of the morning, two Israeli soldiers stood by. Their guns were at the ready, but their young faces said they hoped to not see danger in the city. Each Israeli citizen spends time in the armed forces for their country. Boys at 18 will serve for 3 years. Girls for a year and a half.

Following one of the many Bar mitzva I walked up to the Western Wall. The Wailing Wall as some call it. The men’s side was full of the most religious Jewish men. The women’s side is smaller, and much less full. However many women waited with their children for the men to finish prayers. I thought I would want to go to the wall and put a written prayer in it. I didn’t. Watching from a distance was close enough for me.

I went back to the gate to wait for my friends. Soon they came from their walk through the old city. I was so full of joy from being around such a beautiful people. They were mostly worn out from the pace of their tour. I was thankful Tsion suggested I use my time differently.

We gathered at the Robinson Archeological Park for the next leg of our tour. After watching a film about the temple in the days of Jesus, we went to the recently excavated steps of the temple. Many of the steps have been repaired or replaced with dolomite stone, (the same material as the original construction), but there are seven steps toward the bottom that are original. Steps that Jesus or the Jews of His day would have certainly walked on to reach the Temple.

Unfortunately most of the temple gates have been sealed off by other eras but you can still see the arches that were once the doorway to bring the sacrifice to God. Inside that place was once the Holy of Holies.

Our time in Israel was drawing short and we still had many things to see. We headed back toward the Western wall and then up the hill toward the Via Dolorosa where we would have lunch, in the Shuk. Muslim Arab shopkeepers line the way of the cross. Their shops are filled with everything you can imagine, including Christian and Jewish souvenirs. Rosaries, Menorah, Star of David, Crosses with the name of Jesus etched into Olive Wood. On the Via Dolorosa these peaceful Muslims capitalize on religions they consider false. It reminded me of the shops in Tijuana, Mexico, with the men standing outside trying to lure tourist in to spend money. Their thick, Middle Eastern accents could easily be compared to the broken English of the towns bordering the U.S.

Halfway up the climb through the streets of the Shuk we arrived at an Arabian style restaurant for lunch. Pita and salad started our meal. The menu offerings included Humus and Falafel, Shwarma, Kabob and a sort of sesame chicken schnitzel. By the recommendation of a friend from High School, I ordered the Shwarma, grilled chicken chopped up with some spices and fresh vegetables. It was very delicious, especially in pita with pickled cabbage and tubule.

After lunch, we continued our climb through the streets where Jesus carried the cross of Calvary. There are a lot of steps there and the Dolomite is slick from centuries of footsteps. While this construction may not be the original, it is still at least 7 or 8 centuries old and the terrain is the same as it was in the time of Jesus. As we continued to walk I thought of how hard that walk would have been with a 300 pound cross on your back, especially with blood and sweat dripping from your body, making the stone slick and difficult to maneuver. Stopping at each station of the Cross and listening to the part of the story represented by each one, it was impossible not to feel sorrow mixed with gratitude that Christ loves ME enough that he would walk that road.

Finally at the top of the Via Dolorosa, we stepped through a gate into a churchyard. It was non-descript and not what I expected at all. Our guide told us this was the Ethiopian Catholic church; the door was about 5 feet tall. After ducking through it, the ceilings were like that of a cathedral. The Ethiopian church was small and dark. Only candle light and some sunlight streaming through high windows eliminated the pathway.

We exited the little church and entered the courtyard of the most Holy Catholic site. The church of the Holy Sepulcher, the spot where most Catholic believers say Jesus was buried before the resurrection. The inside is ornate and crowds fill the altars hoping to be blessed by the priest there.  I took a few pictures, but my priority at this site was personal. The week I spent in Israel, my good friend spent saying good-bye to her mother. I needed to light a candle in this place for her. Mimi Warnock passed away this week. Not being in the states there was little I could do for my friend, but I could light a candle in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in her honor and I could pray there for them. Being able to do such a thing for my friend was a wonderful honor. Please continue to pray for Heather and her family as they enter the Christmas Season without their dear Mimi.

Exhausted from a wonderful week in the Holy Land, a few of us headed back to the hotel to pack and prepare to say goodbye to a country that will forever be etched on our hearts.

Shalom Israel!

From the Holy City to the Lowest Place on Earth

Tuesday at Masada and the Dead Sea

We left our hotel and headed back toward the West Bank. Jerusalem is very high, about 800 meters above sea level, but we were going to the lowest place on earth, the Dead Sea, which should be called the Sea of Salt because while it cannot sustain life within its waters, the minerals there can improve life for many visitors.

As we drove past the camps of the nomadic Bedouins we were reminded of the way Abraham lived in the deserts of the Middle East. Passing Jericho as we entered the desert of Judea and drove past Bethany, where Mary, Martha and Lazareth lived, it seemed like we were in a time machine. So much of Israel is the same as it was in the days of the Bible.

The mountains of Judea led us to the place where we would descend to En Gedi, the Dead Sea and Masada. This was the only day we were warned about wildlife in the area. Some species of extremely poisonous snakes, hyena and leopards call this desert home. Secretly I hoped we would see a leopard or hyena from a distance. But we didn’t. We did see some cool En Gedi Crows from the top of Masada.

Our visit to Masada (Hebrew for fortress), was poignant and a bit disturbing to me. To imagine the shear strength and fortitude it took for this fortress to be constructed, and the passionate acts of desperation that occurred in what was supposed to be a safe place, was more than I could imagine.

Masada is situated atop an isolated rock cliff at the western end of the Judean Desert, overlooking the Dead Sea. On the east the rock falls in a sheer drop of about 450 meters to the Dead Sea and in the west it stands about 100 meters above the surrounding terrain. The natural approaches to the cliff top are very steep.
75 years after Herod’s death, at the beginning of the Revolt of the Jews against the Romans in 66 CE, a group of Jewish rebels overcame the Roman garrison of Masada. After the fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of the Temple (70 CE) they were joined by zealots and their families who had fled from Jerusalem. With Masada as their base, they raided and harassed the Romans for two years.
Then, in 73 CE, the Roman governor Flavius Silva marched against Masada with the Tenth Legion, auxiliary units and thousands of Jewish prisoners-of-war. The Romans established camps at the base of Masada, laid siege to it and built a circumvallation wall. They then constructed a rampart of thousands of tons of stones and beaten earth against the western approaches of the fortress and, in the spring of the year 74 CE, moved a battering ram up the ramp and breached the wall of the fortress.
Josephus Flavius dramatically recounts the story told him by two surviving women. The defenders – almost one thousand men, women and children – led by Eleazar ben Ya’ir, decided to burn the fortress and end their own lives, rather than be taken alive. “And so met (the Romans) with the multitude of the slain, but could take no pleasure in the fact, though it were done to their enemies. Nor could they do other than wonder at the courage of their resolution, and at the immovable contempt of death which so great a number of them had shown, when they went through with such an action as that was.”
The Zealots cast lots to choose 10 men to kill the remainder. They then chose among themselves the one man who would kill the survivors. That last Jew then killed himself.
After we understood the story of Masada we took a cable car to the top. The excavation there is amazing; they have done a wonderful job. I enjoyed sitting in the Snake Gate watching families bringing their children, some for the first time, to share the story of their heritage with them.
I always thought that Patrick Henry was original when he said, “Give me liberty, or give me death,” but perhaps he knew the story of Masada.
On our way down from this amazing fortress, we visited the museum from the excavation. The lots of the last 10 men, names written on shards of pottery, are there. Although they are written in Hebrew, looking at each piece, knowing it was that small chunk of earthenware that would determine which of the Jews at Masada would take the life of his friends and then his own, so that the Roman’s could not take them again into slavery made me stop and reflect on how easily we allow the world to make us it’s slave, rather than enjoying the freedom we have to worship and serve the God of the Universe. These men, right or wrong, would be slave to nothing. They would not watch as their wives and children were defiled by captors, yet we so often defile our own bodies.  Their only desire was to worship their God…a God so holy they could not speak His name…even if it cost them everything. My mind is full from this experience, so I will have to ponder it more before I can write about it more clearly. Please understand that this posting is my immediate gut reaction to the things I’ve seen today.
When we left Masada, we went to lunch in En Gedi and saw a very interesting tree. The Apple of Sodom. Our guide told us it was so called because of its poison. It seems the people of Sodom were so evil; they would serve this fruit to guests. I don’t think that is the gift of hospitality.
It is also a useful plant, the fruit, when dry, offers a pod that has a cotton-like substance, perfect for making wicks for oil lamps. We found one pod on the ground so we could see what Tsion described.

After lunch we visited the Ahava cosmetics factory. This factory takes the minerals and resources from the Dead Sea and the surrounding area to make creams and other products for skin care. It was a nice tour and some of our group were excited to purchase their products at factory prices.

From there, we went to Mineral Beach at the Dead Sea. It was incredible to coat ourselves in the thick mineral mud, and float without effort on the waters of the Dead Sea. It is an experience of a lifetime. The great thing was, after we rinsed the mud and salt from our bodies, our skin was so smooth and radiant…we all felt great the rest of the day.

We got back to our hotel in Jerusalem just in time to change into warmer clothes and head to the Jaffa Gate of the old city. Inside, we were seated in the citadel of King David and watched the history of Jerusalem unfold in lights on the Dolomite walls around us. It was the most amazing light show I have ever seen. Nothing at Disney or any other studio I’ve experienced has even compared to the complete experience of this show.

We enjoyed dinner at the hotel, laughing and visiting with our friends old and new. It’s bittersweet that tomorrow is our last day in Israel. The people we are traveling with will never leave our hearts. And Israel is forever etched on my soul. Please pray with me for the peace of Jerusalem, and for the Jewish people…God’s Chosen People.
Love and Joy to each of you!
Shalom!

Day 5, He is Alive!!

Monday, December 6^th

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, I woke up to another amazing day in Israel.

There has been a drought here for a long time. In fact Jerusalem had not received rain since April, today it rained all day. They needed it so badly and it didn’t dampen our plans at all since most of our agenda was indoors today.

We left the hotel this morning and drove past Gahanna to the Kidron Valley and the Jaffa Gate to Mt. Scopus. After looking over the city, seeing the golden dome of the Mosque, built where the Temple will one day stand again, the Islamic cemetery along the entire east side of the wall and seeing the Eastern Gate, where Christ will return, sealed off as if to keep Him out, I felt something in my spirit stir.

It doesn’t matter what man does to try to stop God’s plan. It won’t work. Christ’s return to Jerusalem is not dependant on a gate being open, and he is not a priest, who cannot pass through a cemetery. In fact, he conquered death and nothing can keep Him from fulfilling the prophecy from thousands of years ago.

Next we went to the Mount of Olives, the area above the east wall of old Jerusalem and to the Garden of Gethsemane. A beautiful church is there. I stood on the stone entry of the church, looking again at the Eastern Gate of the Holy City. A song came to my heart.

“Signs of the times are everywhere, and there’s a brand new feeling in the air, keep your eyes, upon the Eastern sky, lift up your head, redemption draweth nigh”

I’ve known that song since I was a child, but never has it felt so real…If back then it seemed so real, then I just can’t help but feel how much closer His coming is today.

I stood there for quite a while, in the rain, with tears flowing freely down my face. I was standing on the hill where he prayed, “Let this cup pass from me, but, not my will but thine be done.”

As that sunk in, I thought about the fact that I was facing the place of His Triumphant return. I stood for several minutes soaking it in, before I went into the church. A beautiful mass was starting and as the priest spoke of God’s love for us, and the season of Advent I sat, on a bench to the side of the church, and cried. Thankful for the scarf I brought to cover my head in respect for the holy sites we visited. It was a good way to wipe the tears as well.

From Gethsemane, we traveled to the Garden Tomb and the place many believe is Golgotha. You can certainly see the skull in the side of the mountain there. It was touching to hear the story from our British guide. He talked about the fact that Jesus’ agony would have been at Golgotha, but not necessarily ON Golgotha because the Romans wanted passers-by to see the agony on the faces of those they crucified. It struck me, to think that the agony of Christ was so intentional, that they would want to put it on display as something they were pleased to do. Yes, I have seen The Passion of the Christ, and yes, I understand, to the degree that any 21^st century American can understand, that the crucifixion was horrible. I even knew in my head that crucifixion was a common way to put criminals to death. But, standing near Golgotha, looking over the place they may have put the cross of Jesus, and thinking of people passing by on camels and donkeys, or even walking, looking into His face, shouting insults…Silent tears could not be stopped. Throughout the garden there were sobs, and sometimes wailing at the thought of our Savior, whom we love going through such sacrifice, because He first loved me.  For a few moments, I was not in the Golgotha of 2010, but transferred to a place long ago, where I stood with Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary the Mother of Jesus, weeping as He laid down His life for me.

As Jesus breathed his final breath on the cross, an earthquake shook Jerusalem, the sky turned to black and the veil on the temple, which blocked access to the Holy of Holies, was torn. That curtain was several inches think. It was not like tearing a normal piece of fabric, it was miraculous, and intentional. With Jesus work on earth fulfilled, the penalty for sin paid, we gained access to God our Father. We were no longer subject to God’s wrath.

Knowing it was finished; Joseph of Aramathea and Nicodemas went to Pilot and asked for Jesus Body, they had to bury Him before sunset because it was the Sabbath. Pilot sent a guard with them to take the body off of the cross. To be sure He was dead; the soldier pushed a sword into his side. Already drained of His blood, Water poured from the wound. Jesus was indeed dead.

His friends wrapped his body for burial, packing the wraps with spices and carried him to the tomb, borrowed from Joseph. A tremendous stone was rolled in front of the opening and Roman soldiers placed there to guard the body, so that His friends could not come back and steel it.

Most Christians know this story, and we know that is not the most important part of the story. After the Sabbath was over, the women came back to the tomb with more spices…but the stone was rolled away, and His body was not there. Still, that’s not the most important part. While His earthly body was in the tomb, Jesus was not there. He descended into the very bowels of Hell, defeated death and Satan, Preached life to the captives in Abraham’s Bosom and then returned to be resurrected with the body that was healed and restored.

As I stood in the tomb, I thought of something else I had not considered much before. His body was beaten beyond recognition, His skin sliced to shreds by the scourging on his back, His head pierced by the long thorns on the crown they placed on His head to mock him. There is no natural way that His body would have been functional in three days. Except, that when His divine nature, and power to heal stepped back into His earthly vessel, He was healed so completely that only scars remained to prove to the doubting disciple He was indeed Jesus.

Stepping out of His tomb, and leaving it empty, brought Joy to my heart. We do not serve a God who is impersonal or cold. We do not have a Savior who is in a grave, turned back to ash and dust. The God of Heaven is alive, He is real and He is personal.

When we left the Garden tomb, we drove past the House of Parliament to The Shrine of the Book, a museum built to display the Dead Sea Scrolls. It was very interesting, although, unless you read Hebrew, it is not possible to read them. The display is well done and very interesting.

At the same site there is a scale model of the Holy Land. It is the entire city of Jerusalem at the time of Herod the Great. Very intricate detail makes it much easier to understand the lay of the land and the relationship of one section of the city to the others

From there we traveled a few minutes to Yad Vashem, the National Holocaust Memorial. They have done a beautiful job, ensuring that no visitor will ever forget the atrocities against the Jews in the hands of the Nazis. I was glad I got to see it. Toward the end of the museum, is the Hall of Names. They are collecting and offering information on the 6,000,000 Jews who lost their lives during the Holocaust, 1.5 million of whom were children.

A special building is dedicated to the innocent children put to death for no reason other than their bloodline. Prisms reflect the light of 6 candles, making 1.5 million flames in memory of the children. A perpetual announcement of names cycles as visitors walk through the special place. It takes over a year for the list to completely cycle. Astonishing.

After we left Yad Vashem we came back to the hotel to freshen a bit before dinner. Be sure to watch for a special blog post about Israel’s fine restaurants after I return to the states. I am too full of everything else I have seen to write much about the food today.

Here is a teaser...

Chicken stuffed figs with pomegranite-tamerind sauce

Blessings and Shalom!!

On the Road to Jerusalem

After another beautiful breakfast on the shores of Galilee we loaded the bus and said farewell to Tiberius. Our first stop was Zippori, the town where archeologists believe Mary lived as a child. They are doing an incredible job with the excavation there. It is very interesting to see the process of revealing more than 2000 years of history. They have done a wonderful job uncovering and preserving the mosaic floors discovered there. The intricacy of the floors is quite amazing.

From Zippori we went to Nazareth, to Kfar Kadem Hosha’aya, a recreation of a Galilean village from the time of Jesus. It was so much fun to spend time in this interactive village. We were greeted by Menachem Goldberg. Tea was served from a brass pot and we gathered on stone benches as he took us 2000 years back in time. We donned the 4 square robes and covered our heads with the authentic triangle wrap before we headed to the stables, threshing floor, olive press and ovens. It was great fun to milk the goat, spin wool to thread, make cheese from the goat’s milk, thresh the wheat as Ruth did, grind it to flour with a mills stone and then bake our own unleavened bread on an outdoor oven heated with palm branches and wood. It was also delicious with hyssop and olive oil. The stories Menachem told throughout our visit brought the Bible to life. After riding donkeys we gathered for lunch under a palm branch roof. It was some of the best food we have had so far in Israel. Simple food from a time that will never be forgotten.

Reluctantly we said goodbye to Menachem, He gave us a pigeon and a capsule to put a note on the bird’s leg to send back to him.

Leaving Kfar Kadem we traveled through the Valley of Kesurat, where Deborah fought her battle. Then past Mount Tabor. We drove by Endor, where Saul consulted the witch. Dropping from there to the Valley of Jezereel was like a dream. We passed the Spring of Tin Harod where Gideon tested his people, and toward the Mountains of Gilead. Finally we arrived at our next stop, Tel Bet Shaen, The ruins of an amazing city from Roman and Bisentine times. We spent time exploring the theater, the beautiful marble buildings and the remnants of homes.

Next we drove toward Samaria, and then as Jesus did 2000 years ago, we took a route that did not take us through Samaria on our way to Jerusalem.

Driving along the highway, our guide pointed out the places where terrorist attacks and war had ravaged his homeland. We saw many caves that hid attackers as they waited to ambush Israeli soldiers. It truly brought the news to life. I will write a lot more on that later.

It was dark when we arrived in Jerusalem. At our hotel, Joyce, Amber and I took our pigeon to the steps of the hotel, attached our note of thanks to Menachem and released the beautiful bird to return to Nazareth.

Our first night in the Holy city was quiet, but you can already feel God’s Presence here.

Great is the Lord, And greatly to be praised, in the City of our God, in the Mountains of His Holiness, Beautiful for situation, the Joy of the whole earth, ‘Tis Mount Zion on the sides of the North, the city of the Great King.

Shalom!

Capernaum and the Golan Heights...another incredible journey.

NOTE: I may have to edit or add to this post later, I am so tired tonight I can hardly put a sentence together, but it is such a good tired. :)

 

Today we enjoyed breakfast on the patio overlooking the Sea of Galilee and the Golan Heights that were occupied by Syria until the 6-day-war in 1967 reclaimed the land for Israel. Sitting there in such peace, it seemed surreal that many Israelis remember such fear from their not so distant past.

After breakfast we caught a boat to cross the Sea of Galilee to Capernaum. We visited the synagogue where Jesus first taught, as well as the places he healed people, including Peter’s Mother-in-law and the man they lowered through the ceilings. Most of it is just foundations, pieces of tile or marble pillars, but to know that Jesus taught at that exact spot was overwhelming.

I was so blessed to bring the devotional at Capernaum. We’ll post the video of that in a follow-up blog-post when return to the states.

After Capernaum we visited the Mount of the Beatitudes, The church of the Multiplication (of loaves and fishes) the Church of the Mensa Christi, which is also the place where Jesus told Peter, on this Rock, I will build my church.

We ate lunch at an awesome restaurant that serves only one dish…St. Peter’s Fish. The same type of fish, the same way they prepared it in Jesus time. I usually hate fish…but of course you can’t be extremely picky when it is the only item on the menu…so I ordered the fish. When it came, looking at me from the plate, my stomach got a bit weak…but being the tough farm wife I am. I began taking off the parts of the fish I absolutely would not eat. The rest was actually quite good. I was glad someone else asked for tartar sauce before I thought of it. It seems asking for such a condiment is a complete insult to the cook. They will happily give you Lemons…and even salt…but please, don’t ask for tartar sauce or ketchup.

After lunch, our guide took us up through the Golan Heights. At times we were literally 2 feet from the borders of Jordan and/or Syria. There were countless bunkers and landmines still littering the hillsides from a war that ended the summer I was born. It was incredible to hear the stories from Tsion. He knew about the war first hand, having served as an officer with tanks in the Israeli Army until he retired and took up tourism.

While on the road we passed Gadara, where Jesus made the demons go into the swine and run into the sea. We also passed many ruins of homes and churches along the way.

Finally we came to a spot where Tsion told us to close our eyes and follow him…a feat which is rather difficult, but when we came to the end, and opened our eyes. We could see the entire region of Galilee…We were at Peace Vista, the place Israel took back from Syria. The view was breathtaking.

On our way back we visited the baptismal sight on the Jordan River, started by Chuck Smith of Calvary Chapel Several years ago. The spot that is actually believed to be Jesus’ baptismal sight is not accessible, but the Jordan River still flows, ready to provide the place to commit or re commit lives to Christ.

A short break at our hotel gave Amber and me the opportunity to take advantage of the wonderful Mineral spa at our hotel. All I can say is Ahhhhhhh…much better. LOL

Dinner at the Deck’s Restaurant in Tiberius capped off another wonderful day in the Holy Land. Please continue to keep us in prayer. Tomorrow we leave here and go to Jerusalem. I know the presence of God is going to be so strong there…and I know that I have no idea what we will find in the City. What I do know, is we are ready.

Before saying goodnight this evening, Amber and I spent a long time in prayer, we were visiting in her quarters, and just felt led to pray…it was a sweet time with the Lord and we are both excited about what he will do with the rest of this trip.

Shalom to all.