The Passion in Jerusalem - Life from the Dead

The Passion in Jerusalem

Life from the Dead

In childhood, the years melt in my memory of the annual Passion Week: Easter egg hunts, eating chocolate bunnies and hard-boiled eggs. I recall waking up to don our Sunday best, going to Church early for “Sunrise Service” with huge breakfasts and hymns about the Resurrection. Later in life, two years studying and living in Israel changed my life.

I grew up in rural Montana. Having lived in other cities, like San Francisco, Jerusalem was not an ordinary urban environment. Touring Jerusalem was one thing; living here was different. As I gazed upon the faces of orthodox Jews and security guards in our area, Jerusalem seemed ominous and tense. Getting shoved stepping on the bus shouldn't be common place. As time waxed on living there, my own spirit tightened; I could feel spiritual darkness around me.

We approached Passover – a remembrance of the Exodus for the Jews, and an extension of this for Messianics: the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus. I woke up one morning to sirens and an eerie feeling. I walked up to my Ulpan Alef Hebrew class to greet Shuley, our teacher. She had an intense look of worry on her face, along with other students. Someone was missing.

She stated in a thick Israeli accent, “There’s been a bombing.” On one of the buses that blew up, Jean, from Korea, rode every morning. She phoned again, hoping. A sleepy voice answered. He had over-slept! Everyone sighed a relief. God was with us, protecting us, and sovereignty guiding our every step. Nevertheless, here in a city called “Sodom and Egypt” in Revelation, a presence hated the innocent, hated us, wanted us dead. It led some toward depression, others toward suicide, and others to be slaughtered. The war was right in our back door. We watched as bombing after bombing happened in our city and others. We looked on as a bus burned and body parts hung everywhere, blood staining the streets. Still His Spirit reassured, “I am around you. I am always with you. Do not fear. Believe. My grace is sufficient for you."

I walked through the Old City to an Arab congregation -- hidden down a narrow street, almost invisible. I stepped into the singing and worship, only to have eyes gaze upon me. I was the only westerner there. I felt God. As well, I had never felt as much of a struggle to take sides. The Arabs and Jews outside the Church continued to war, while fear, intimidation, and misunderstanding separated groups who both believed in Jesus. Jewish believers cast doubt upon Arabs as a whole for suicide bombings and lack of support for their people and nation, while Arab believers saw some exaltation of Israel and Jewishness as arrogant, presumptuous, and idolatrous. Both were targeted by those outside of Christianity. I had to resist these prejudices. I clearly felt the love of God and His desire for unity. Many times believers were forced to bind together to help encourage one another because of persecution. Arabs believers would sometimes meet in buildings where Hebrew believers also met on a different day. I knew ultimate reconciliation of Israel as a nation to God and the unity of the Church would only come through Jesus' love.



The next year, while staying in hostels to save money, I cultured myself in amazing shawarma and falafel in Jerusalem's food shops, while prayer-walking the streets. I prayed the Tehillim at the Cotel, and that night went to bed trying to suppress the shadowy realities around me: the prostitution of little Arab boys in the Old City, a German girl and French boy “shacking-up” in the adjacent hostel bed, hatred and division all around. I wondered what tomorrow would bring. After all, it would be Resurrection morning, and this was Jerusalem. I awoke, wondering about the clanging outside the hostel. I walked out as sunlight warmed my face and my soul. The most glorious sound I had ever heard filled my ears. For once, I heard the bells of grace and freedom. Every church and steeple in Jerusalem together rang their bells throughout the day, unhindered. Together. Like light breaking through the window of someone living in a holocaust cell, hope was restored. For once, the blackness surrounding the city broke. I sincerely felt that, through the immense evil and impossibility of Jesus' prayer for His Church to be “One”, hope existed for its reality. Sounds of war, of guns and of bombs drowned in rejoicing, like life from the dead.