SOUTH AFRICA

ESPAÑA

It had been four years since the last trip to Israel. Four years. 

Now, I understand that’s not something everyone gets to say: “since the last trip to Israel.” Many people have never been and this was going to be my fifth trip. Despite that privilege, it didn’t detract from the fact that I missed it. The people in that land. The sounds. The food. The possibilities. God had taught me many precious lessons there over the years, and I wanted to go back to learn more, to hear what he might want to say this time around.

The door was opened to me through a teaching opportunity with our January school. They were wrapping up their lecture phase in Israel and they invited me to speak on the kingdom of God. Speaking on the kingdom of God in the same place JESUS taught on the kingdom of God. Are you kidding me? That’s like going to France to teach people how to make a baguette. It’s where it started. It’s the place of origin! Okay. Weak analogy. But my point is that the honor and significance were high.

I asked the Lord for a word to guide me through this time. “Meditation, not necessarily adventure,” he said. Innnteresting. Pocketed that, packed my bags (not too far in advance, I admit), met up with Amy and Camille at the airport, boarded the plane, and instantly started feeling sicker than a sailor at sea. I guess I’d caught some bug going around the base in the days prior and it decided to manifest itself now. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me from enjoying Israel. No way. The borders had opened and I was walking through them! About twelve hours later I found myself lying on a church floor, groaning in pain, questioning my life choices. 

The team and I had made it to a church located on Jerusalem’s south side, about a twenty-five minute bus ride from the city center. This church would serve as our home for the week. Classrooms, meeting halls and the sanctuary became our living quarters as we strategically placed our mats on the floor (I called dibs on the altar). All my muscles ached and I started to wonder if I was supposed to be here or not. But with the taste of fresh falafel still lingering on my palate from that afternoon, I concluded that I had no regrets. I figured I’d get a good night’s sleep and by morning, whatever I had would be gone.

But lo’ and behold, morning came and I had a fever that burned with what felt like a personal vendetta. Everyone went out to explore the city on that first day. All I could do was lie down on the roof terrace, take Vitamin C tables and feel grateful for the sun on my aching body. 

I had to remind myself that I’d come for more than exploration and falafel. I’d come to teach the Word and to listen to what the Lord wanted to say. But at that stage, I barely had the strength to listen, let alone teach. I asked the Lord to heal me and also hoped those vitamin C tablets did their thing. Whatever it is that they do.

Healing did follow, but at a different pace than I anticipated. Over the next few days, I found that I would have enough strength to teach whenever it was time for lecture (albeit sitting down). But after each session, I would crash. Strange as it may seem, I felt this weakness gave me a particular sensitivity to the Lord’s voice. (And I guess that is healing, isn’t it?)

There was one session early on in the week when I felt the Lord speak something to me. I was teaching about the present-day veil that remains over the Jews which keeps them from recognizing Jesus as the Messiah. As I was speaking, I was overcome with grief for the Jewish people and started crying. I was a bit caught off-guard at what was happening, really. It was one of those moments (this is how I can best describe it) where a deeper part of you reacts, and that deeper part didn’t go through any of the checkpoints your mind had set up to filter outward responses, so you observe yourself reacting to something real and then eventually decide to join in completely. The symphony of body, mind, soul and spirit crescendos and you realize you made a good choice. 

It wasn’t a response time or a corporate ministry moment, so everyone kind of just waited for me. But the Lord was doing something intense. So I had to wait for him. All I could feel was an anguish over the Jews’ rejection of Jesus. It burned, hotter than the fever. After a few minutes, I stopped crying. I finished the teaching, and crawled back to my sleeping mat, unsure as to what just happened but ready to close my eyes.

Each day from then on was challenging because of the fever, but, if I could pry myself off the floor, each day had its own reward too. Like praying at the garden of Gethsemane, or dropping a coin on the marble floor during an Armenian-Christian liturgy and seeing a host of clergymen give me the death stare, or waiting at the bus stop in the rain with students, or meeting Messianic Jews, or finding my home church at the garden tomb, or teaching right below the Eastern Gate and seeing scripture “click” for students. It was all pretty wonderful still.

Whatever bug I had ended up lasting the entire time I was in Israel. It didn’t fully lift until I boarded a plane out of the country. Once it did, I had a bit more headspace to think. 

Why sickness then and there? It kept me from exploring like I’d wanted to. But it did give me time to think and it did make me extra grateful for every moment I was able to go outside.

But I still don’t understand everything that happened, especially the way the Lord encountered me while teaching. I mean, it’s not that I was surprised at feeling something for Israel. I guess it’s more that I wasn’t expecting the emotions to be so fresh and raw. Maybe this fresh dose of God’s heart was a re-invite of sorts into the story of the Jews, the land and all the people there. But why would he give me that again, when I’m not leading DTS’s there? Is there a way to further connect with the Jews still, and if so, what is that avenue? 

I don’t know have a conclusion on it all just yet. Maybe there’s something there for me in Israel up ahead. I don’t know how it’ll look just yet. But maybe this was part of the “meditation and not necessarily adventure” that he was talking about from the start.

Emmanuel is the poorest of the poor in the Roma Gypsy community. He hardly ever is found with shoes or shirt, but always bearing scrapes and scars. Somehow none of that hinders him from beaming with the biggest smile whenever he sees you.

He’s often bullied by the others, especially since he’s the smallest. That’s how I first met him actually, helping him get his pink cap back from the village kids holding it high above his reach. I think that’s what made him stay close to my side after that. My guess is he’s around 8-years-old.

He was seated next to me one day during a kids program. Another group of missionaries was putting on skits about parables and such. It was nice. They were nice. But he wasn’t paying attention at all. How could he? His life functions primarily on the principle of survival, not the principle of behave properly when the person in the front is speaking. Sure, he wasn’t catching the lesson, but man, it was enough for him to simply be there.

To be honest, I wasn’t paying attention either. I was egging him on a bit, poking and making faces and silly noises. He brought out a coin of 50 lek (¢.50) and began playing with it. I joined in on his game. We were spinning it, flicking it, hiding it, exhausting the possibilities of what you can do with a coin. Then, suddenly, I saw an idea pop into his head. His eyes lit up with a eureka! sense of accomplishment. He pointed at the lek and then pointed at me and exclaimed, “Coca!” He wanted to buy me a drink.

He started smiling and clapping in anticipation of his plan. “No, Emmanuel, don’t do that,” I protested. Disinterested, he whistled a distinct signal and his friend from the other side of the row popped up and made his way over to us as if he was on a secret mission (the kids program was still going on). Emmanuel told him his brilliant idea in their Gypsy language and was about to hand over the coin so his friend could complete the assignment. I intervened at this point and made Emmanuel sit down and face the front. “Coca! Coca!” he kept singing, making gurgling sounds and pointing at me.

All I could do was point to the nice missionaries performing a nice skit and now be the one to tell Emmanuel to listen. I knew he wouldn’t suddenly start taking sermon notes, of course. I just needed a moment to compose myself and try not to begin crying loudly. Because here in front of me, I have the poorest child showing me a kind of hospitality I have never known. The coin, I suspect with good reason, was quite literally all that he had, and he wanted to spend it on me.

In that moment I was honored above all others. I am the recipient of his love! I have been chosen! Look at how he has given me everything! Yet at the same time I was put to shame. Who am I? What have I done? Why have I never lived with such love, such generosity? Sure, I have given to others before. But not out of my poverty. Not like this. In one moment I was both devastated and rebuilt. In one moment I felt the coldness of my heart and the warmth of God’s. I was undone.

Volleyball at the church in the Roma community

Over the next several days I was able to spend more time with Emmanuel. We played on the monkey bars and swings a lot. Musical chairs also (didn’t know that game could get so rowdy).

I helped him carry food to his house once. The church had distributed free soup and he was spilling it all over himself as he tried to carry it home. I offered to help and he accepted. Since I only knew a few words of Albanian (and not really any of Roma) I communicated through song. I mimicked the sounds of trumpets and drums, and we had a jolly ol’ time marching like a band back to his house. But the tunes made an abrupt stop once we got there.

The house had a skinny corridor that led to one small room where dirty dishes and old mattresses were strewn about the floor. There was an old green couch against the back wall, which took up most of the space there. On it slouched a woman who was holding a small mobile phone. She looked at me and made somewhat of a smile. Her eyes were sad, grateful, desperate, somewhere else. It was Emmanuel’s mother. I smiled at her and tried to say some polite greeting. Emmanuel directed me to put the food down on an old tv and rushed back outside so we could keep playing. I made my way out of there to find Emmanuel’s older sister waiting on the street, hair matted, eyes glowing. I think she wanted to join the band. So, all three of us marched through the streets making trumpet sounds and all kinds of racket until an old couple told us to be quiet (why must we always be quiet?).

When the day came for our team to leave this city, I couldn’t find Emmanuel. We walked through the streets to say goodbye to all the kids and families we met, but he wasn’t around. After looking for a bit, I figured it just wouldn’t happen. Everything was packed up and we were driving away in the van when I saw a little boy playing in the streets with his friend. I asked our host to stop and she graciously did. I was able to give him a big hug and say goodbye. I could tell he understood we were leaving. As I got back in the van my heart sank. I was about to return to home, a home full of comfort and abundance. But what does he return to? Where will he go? I waved at him from the window, feeling the weight of the situation and all its sadness. Then, with the most confident “it’s going to be alright face,” he gave me a solid thumbs up. That’s right, a thumbs up. It’s like he saw I needed encouragement, and he had plenty to offer. And there I was again, humbled and also lifted up, empty-handed and suddenly gifted everything, revealed to be the poor one and at the same time given an inheritance, shown to be the sinner and now endowed with grace.

I saw God
he was the poorest of the poor
Empty hands
giving, giving still all the more

Who am I
sitting comfortably in my home
Where is he
abandoned? suffering? alone?

Yet recall
it was he and not I who danced
Joy unbound
JOY! JOY! the kind I’ve not yet grasped

I saw God,
he was terribly glorious
A kind of
treasure, hidden, victorious

Warm reception by friends here in Trentino. Laughs, meals, catching up, new friends. Perhaps home happens in moments.

x

Morning worship:

I just wanna say that I trust You, once again
I know You’re faithful
God, it’s Your loving kindness that leads us to repent
From the thought and ways that separate us

So let’s start over, God
Come take over, God
I lay it all down
I lay it all down
(Repent by Ryan Ellis)