Home Sweet Home

I'm back home and Indy has never looked so green or my home more welcoming. The beauty almost stuns me.

The Holy Land, as you may have noticed by the pictures, is not a place where external aesthetics are highly valued. The land is brown and most homes are unpainted apartments in what look to be the bad part of town. Still, whenever we went behind the walls, we found hidden pockets of beauty. The Old City looks to be a bustle of tourists and hawkers in dingy streets, but then we go into Christ Church and find an oasis of beauty in the inner court. We view what some refer to as the ghetto of Bethlehem from afar and wonder what good could come from there; but then we travel into the town and find one of the most stunning hotels ever. We hear from media how scary the radical Islamics are, or from our pastors how lost the Jews are—and then we eat a meal with the people of the Holy Land and see how precious they are.

When God looks down from his throne, he sees the beauty, hidden though it may be. He looks at each individual and each people group and he loves them. He loves them so much he sent his Son to die for them so that they might see the beauty themselves.

Final Day

I guess we needed something that was not "my favorite part" of the trip—as I've described every event so far. Things kept getting better and better, until today ... probably just because I was so tired. In fact, I'm too tired to write about it now, so I'm going to cheat send you to Larry's blog for a rundown of today's events. Besides he always offers a beautiful spiritual application to his entires that you might not find here.

But the pics show the highlights of the day for me: the Jordon River (top left) where Jesus was baptized; the chapel representing the location where Jesus performed the miracle of the loaves and fishes (top right); eating a fish with the head and tail still on it from the Sea of Galilee (bottom left); spending our last night in Israel at a swanky hotel on the beach in Tel Aviv.

The True Startling Beauty

A smiling beautiful young woman met us at the church and introduced herself with such apparent joy that I felt I was reconnecting with an old friend. And that comfort level continued as we walked down the street to a local restaurant where we ate a meal together (chicken quesadillas and burgers).

Sawsan was forthcoming about the suffering of her people: She told of the wall that was currently being built around Bethlehem, separating her family from the plot of land they owned and the country they had once called their own. Her dream was to have horses someday, but that probably wouldn't happen anymore.

She told of how a boy from her neighborhood had shocked her community by becoming a suicide bomber. "I don't know how they brainwashed him into doing that," she said softly. He was one of the brightest boys in her neighborhood with so much future in front of him. He gave up his life for nothing.

She told of how the town's pride and joy, the Jacir Palace, a 5-star hotel, had been damaged in recent fighting and how the owners came up with the money themselves to restore it; she then gave us an extensive tour of the hotel. We were shocked by the majestic and intricate beauty of this palace.

Sawsan was also absolutely joyful and hopeful about her future, and spoke with compassion about the other religions and nationalities with which her people battled, even speaking highly of some Jews who have been sympathetic to the plight of the Palestinians. Sawsan truly revealed the heart of Jesus in her gracious words and hopeful spirit.

Here is a brief excerpt from an email I received from her after our visit:

"it is my nature to stay optimistic never give up and to keep the faith. i just want to add one thing, i keep picturing you when you started to cry because of the things i said to you, it was very touching for me. it is a little bit rude from me to say that many americans do not know anything about the things that happens in palestine especially the violence that take place every day, because someone wants to cover the truth so they will let you watch the things that they want you to see. many palestinians like me they live hoping and praying that things will be better someday."

Oh Little Town

Our next meeting was in the little town of Bethlehem. We negotiated with our cab driver a price that he grumbled was much too low but which later we discovered to be 20 shekels higher than the typical price. Of course, he drove us into Bethlehem the long way—through Beth Jalla to avoid the checkpoint.

Here's where I'll try to get into politics a little bit. In 1948-49 the state of Israel became an independent nation; in 1967, after the six-day war, Israelis occupied Palestinian territory, including the West Bank (where Bethlehem is). The politics are very complex, and this one sentence isn't close to representing the entire story, but the point is that now the Palestinians are closely monitored by the Israelis, to the point that they may not leave the West Bank without permission from the Israelis.

We drove through Beth Jalla into Bethlehem where our driver dropped us off at a large church—The Evangelical Lutheran Christmas Church—that was decorated with graffiti. I remembered we were in the infamous West Bank and wondered if we were absolutely crazy for coming here. But a young man showed us into the church, and we found ourselves in a beautifully renovated ancient church with many welcoming people.

The pastor, Rev. Dr. Mitri Raheb, our contact, was not yet available, but we were ushered into a lovely coffee bar where we sipped water while watching the wonderful commotion around us as people prepared for a graduation ceremony of ten of the school's students. I had found Dr. Raheb online while researching back in the states. His writing had been on behalf of the Palestistian people whom he considered prisoners in their own country. He is an influential voice—he'd met with Jimmy Carter just a few days ago (see Palestine: Peace Not Apartheid)—so I was surprised when he'd agreed to a meeting with me. We didn't mind waiting.

Dr. Raheb apologized profusely for being late and told us he had been in a council meeting all day. He had not yet eaten lunch and had a graduation ceremony to conduct in an hour. Still, he was more than willing to hold a brief conference with us and graciously invited us into his office.

I blundered at the first word. I spoke of Israel, which is the occupying nation making his life so miserable, and I asked about the likelihood of restoring peace in the country—which is like asking a couple in the middle of a bitter divorce why they won't just kiss and make up. I just didn't get it.

Dr. Raheb quickly and kindly put me in my place. He shook his head a bit and said, "Maybe the focus of your book should be on other Christians. Why introduce 11-year-olds to the complex politics here?" Really. How could they possibly understand when the researcher herself was so out of touch? As Dr. Raheb patiently taught me, my heart quickened and I felt a compassion in a very real way for this nation, much like how I had felt when God was calling me to the work in the inner city. Suddenly everything I had been learning fell into place. This man is undoubtedly a modern-day prophet.

We stayed for part of the graduation ceremony and then slipped out to meet a young Palestinian woman who had once been a student of Dr. Raheb. If my meeting with her teacher hadn't already knocked me to my knees, my time with Sawsan certainly would.

Holy Calling

"The Jews may have a tough exterior, but they are the sweetest people you could ever meet." So says an American Christian woman who is involved at Christian Friends of Israel, a ministry exclusively serving the Jews—holocaust victims/descendants, terrorist victims, refugees, young military members, etc. It is clear that Lori has a heart for the Jews—and a calling from God to serve in this country. She represents so many evangelical Christians who take seriously the words of Scripture to "pray for the peace of Israel."

We walked back to our hotel through a Jewish neighborhood after our meeting with Lori. A sign on a wall warned passersby not to be immodestly dressed in their neighborhood. I was dressed quite modestly, but still felt highly conspicuous. I wondered if these Jews thought of me as one of those Christians who was zealous to change their culture by pointing out their empty laws that have been fulfilled by the Messiah 2000 years ago. I am glad to know there are at least two Christian ministries in town that serve this people with grace, not judgment.

The Holy People

Jewish people in this city are as common as grains of sand on the seashore—which is exactly what I expected. They come in many different varieties—from jeans and ball caps to large furry hats and flowing robes. Some wear just a simple skull cap in modern clothes and others wear what I would call black cowboy hats and business suits. What was surprising to me was that most Jews in this city are not religious, though many still follow the laws/traditions to some extent—most notably the Sabbath rest. The ultra-religious Jews do not hold jobs, but live in severe poverty to keep up their prayers and rituals; secular Jews may go so far as to lead tours for us "gentiles" on Sabbath and other Holy days.

All these Jewish people are welcomed into the place we visited this morning—Christ Church, the first Protestant church in the Middle East, which was founded back in 1849 to serve the Jewish people. We had an appointment with Paul Hames to learn more about this ministry. His gentle manners and extensive knowledge of Jewish history made it very evident that he is effectively serving this community. Christ Church is made up of a church, a guest house, and a bookstore, all rich with history ... including a newly found tunnel beneath them. "Jews are drawn to the history magnetically," Paul said in his British accent. "We simply share the history and wait for them to ask more—which they inevitably do."

This ministry is done right. It is loving and respecting the people who are being ministered to without ever requiring change from them. After all, that's God's job—for all of us.

Out of Israel

Crossing the famous Allenby Bridge wasn't what I expected. I mean, I've crossed over from Indiana to Michigan without noticing before. And I've crossed over from the United States to Canada in two minutes without any identification. But you don't cross over from Israel to Jordan so easily. You pass through several checkpoints manned by well-armored militia; you say goodbye to your driver because he likely is not allowed to go through this border; you go through interrogation at customs; you get on a bus and have your passport examined again; you go through customs on the other side; and then you hope another taxi is available for you there—a process of at least an hour when all goes well.

Even with all of that, I was amazed and how calm the procedure was. I didn't feel stressed out at all—actually, just bored with all the waiting. And we did have a ride on the other side because our friend Mr. Nessur arranged a driver for us. Mohamad stayed with us all day, serving as a our driver, tour guide, and companion.

I am discovering that Arabs are the most hospitable, warm-hearted, relational group of people I know. They are passionate about their faith, their nation, their family—and free to show their affections. Everywhere I looked little boys walked around with their arms around each other; many smiled at us, waving. Three little boys I met at the site of Hadrian's Gate—which was built in AD 129, a most impressive site—asked me what happened to my hand and told me I was special and would be used greatly by God because he spared my life in that car accident; they asked for a blessing from me (a kiss on both cheeks).

We visited a Nazarene missionary (though he is not to be called that in public) who oversees a Christian school, among other ministries. We visited the school just in time to join the children's celebration of Independence Day (61 years from the Brits), and we danced along with them. Rod then took us to the home of an Iraqi pastor, whose passionate faith humbled me. I nearly cried when he talked of his longing to visit the Holy Land—a privilege we were blissfully enjoying and one which he will likely never realize in his lifetime, all due to where he was born.

Mohamed gave us a tour of Imman, showing how advanced this city is becoming. "Now that there is peace we can focus on things other than staying alive," he told us. From universities to McDonald's to an architecturally stunning bridge, we could see the advancements with our own eyes. And all that was placed among ancient artifacts, like remains from the Roman civilization, including homes and amphitheaters.

I mostly slept as we drove to the Northern border (the Allenby Bridge closed at 2pm), gearing up for the 3 hour procedure of crossing the Jordon River (which is merely a stream) and the two hour drive back to Jerusalem. Mr. Nessur himself came to pick us up. He is a Palestinian muslim. Nessur has the right visas to get in and out of Jerusalem, but the strict rules do not allow him to have in his car any Palestinian without the same identification ... which includes his own brothers. His brothers live in the West Bank, and have to adhere to the 6pm curfew. They may not enter Jerusalem, even to visit their own families. "We will never be at peace with the Israelis," Nessur told us, "as long as they stay on our land and try to make us live by their rules." He told us a story he heard since he was a little boy of a snake who killed a boy who had cut its tail—neither the father nor the snake would ever forget the wound that had been afflicted. "That is the same for us. We will never be at peace."

We shook hands goodbye, but the comraderie of earlier was replaced with a sort of embarrassed goodbye. Maybe he had been too vulnerable with us when there was nothing we could do with the information.

Tomorrow we visit with organizations who work with Jews. The different perspective will no doubt be jarring.

Not a Vacation

There's no one I'd rather be on vacation with than Larry. Oh wait—this is not a vacation. We're working. That's like getting paid to read books. Oh wait—I get paid for that too.

May no one ever catch me complaining about my life.

We woke up rested this morning (I went right back to sleep after blogging), ate a delicious breakfast of pitas filled with cream cheese, cucumbers, tomotoes, and some sort of spice, and walked across the street to (the more expensive) American Colony Hotel where our tour bus was picking us up.

Larry doubted me only a little bit when the bus was late, but he made up for it by thanking me all day long for arranging such a wonderful trip. And it was wonderful. We went to the birth place of John the Baptist, to the Mount of Olives where we had a panoramic view of the old city where we could see so many of the Biblical sites we had read about since children, to the Church of the Agony in Garden of Gethsemane, to the burial place of King David, to the Upper Room. For lunch we ate at the very lovely Tomb of Rachel Kibbutz.

In the afternoon we took a whirlwind walking tour of the Old City. (Larry gets big points for walking through his pain without complaining once.) We entered through the Zion Gate in the Armenian Quarter, walked through the Jewish Quarter and on to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre which is said to be where Jesus was crucified and buried, down the Via Delarosa (in reverse), which is the path Jesus took while carrying the cross, and ended at the Western Wall. We exited through the Dung Gate and were dropped off, exhausted, at our hotel.

I wish I could insert every photo we took and describe in detail all of the sites and the emotions they evoked—but you'll have to read my book to get that.

One of my favorite parts of the day was after the tour, when we meet Nasser, an Arab fellow who is helping us prepare for our trip to Jordan tomorrow. But you'll have to wait until next time to hear the rest of that story.

Foreigner

Our hotel room doors don't lock, but so far no bombs have collided with us, so I'm feeling good. Well, maybe not good. It's 3:46 am here, and I'm up blogging. Clearly my body still thinks I'm in Indy. But I'm not in the Mid-West; I'm in the Middle East. Wow!

We haven't done much yet, but the little bit of walking we did yesterday to find dinner was enough to give me goosebumps. Here's where David and Solomon and yes, Jesus, walked.

The trip over here was uneventful—we went from Indy, to Chicago, to Frankfurt to Tel Aviv and then on a shuttle bus to Jerusalem ... 25 hours of travel with about 4 hours of on and off sleep. The climate/landscape here reminds me of Colorado, but the buildings are ancient and people are a leee-tle more diverse. White American tourists are the minority; I'm seeing various religious groups (Muslims, Jews, Christians) and colors (black, white, arabs, asians) and cultures (European, Indian, Jewish, American).

We ate dinner at at lovely restaurant around the corner from our hotel (Flavors) where we had Thai food ... exactly what we often ordered when dining out in Monrovia last year.

I can hear the Muslim call to prayer right now, which makes me very aware that I am a foreigner here. It gives me a sense of adventure and humility at the same time.

Shalom

Jo Anne Lyon enlisted me to write a youth fiction series to help kids become aware of world issues. She sent me to West Africa last December, and Book 1 is now nearly ready to hit the presses. (Sneak preview to the main character's blog.)

Tomorrow Larry and I are heading to Israel so I can become familiar with that country in preparation for Book 2. I know so little about Israel—except for what I read in the Bible—that I am able to go into my research with eyes wide open. I have no prejudices or preconceived notions. I simply don't know what to expect.

Please pray for us—but maybe you should pray even more for my former parents-in-law who are staying at our house with five of our kids.