My First Journey to the Holy Land #10 (Sunday in Jerusalem)

 After church, our Jerusalem Mama, Eva, invited us to the Cafe next door. It felt odd to go to a restaurant after church! I kept reminding myself it was Sunday.

Her good friend, Judy joined us for lunch.

I sat at that table enjoying this moment of fellowship. Time went by, but I reminded myself that I was prioritizing people over places. For some reason I was at this table at this time with these people. Maybe it wasn't just coincidence.

These women, who were strangers to us a few hours ago, were instantly our sisters. Arab, Jewish and American ethnically. Yet all Christians. We sat at one table, eating and laughing. None of us were in a hurry to leave. A little taste of the Kingdom of God.

I had 2 more things to check off my list before the day was over: souvenir shopping and visiting the cemetery. So, we had to end this moment of beautiful fellowship. 

Judy offered to be our tour guide and show us where the cemetery was. Her face glowed with the love of God. -full of life, this Jewish lady in her eighties guided us through the narrow streets of the Old City - her home and the home of her ancestors.  

She took us to the Armenian section of the city. She explained that the Armenian Christians were often misunderstood and treated unfairly. I don't remember hearing about them before. I wonder if my ancestors had friends who were Armenian. 

Then we came to a souvenir shop owned by Judy's Armenian friends. We were treated warmly by our brothers whom we had never met. They spoke our language. I spent all of my souvenir money in their shop. They hadn't had much business because of the war.

 I sat outside the shop while I waited for Aunt Anita and Judy. A tour group from Nigeria walked past and we greeted each other joyfully. I'm from the USA, I said proudly! Nigeria! -they announced proudly! I thought I would be embarrassed, but everyone seemed so happy that we had come, all the way from the Americas, during this time of war. I thought about Zechariah chapter 14, I think it is. This is how it should be - Jerusalem. This little city. Yet all nations come here. And, somehow, we all belong. These were my brothers and sisters, my cousins, my friends. This place was my home. "Walk with your head high." I remembered Aunt Deb's advice. "I'm a Christian! I'm an American!" I confessed. Why do I feel like I have to apologize for who I am? I'm sorry that Christians have hurt you in the name of Jesus. I'm sorry America is so arrogant... -that was in my heart. But suddenly it didn't need to be said. Maybe it was because I was here: -sitting on the streets of Jerusalem during war, yards away from a group of IDF soldiers. I was welcomed. -even though I didn't deserve it. I didn't have to be perfect. I didn't have to speak Hebrew. I took my head scarf off and tucked it in my pocket. I'm not sure why. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Why was I trying to hide my identity? Often we misunderstand each other.

 What if we could be more like Judy? The dear Jewish lady who ate with her good friend - an Arab? -who embraced her good friends who were Armenian? -who offered to spend all afternoon guiding American strangers all over her city? Maybe I caught a glimpse of Jesus on those streets of Jerusalem that day. 

My First Journey to the Holy Land #10a: Christ's Church

  

Sunday, February 9, 2025 was a day of divine encounters and brand-new experiences for us- two poor Mama's from the USA.

As you know I am a country girl. But this day I planned to brave public transportation, in a foreign country, without Aunt Sheryl. I had a hard time sleeping the night before. Aunt Sheryl (who is often up at night) sat down with me and patiently explained the route. Finally, I slept. 

Aunt Anita and I got up early, so we could catch the bus that goes directly to the Jaffa gate. We were prioritizing "people over places" on this trip, and that included friends -old and new. On this day, Aunt Anita and I wanted to experience worshipping with fellow Christians in Israel. We didn't want to give up time with our family, but it ended up that everyone was busy that day and we were well-rested from the wonderful Shabbat. This was the day to cross 3 things off of my list: meet Eva at her church, visit my great-grandparents' graves and buy souvenirs. Miraculously, it all got done, and I am not using that word lightly. The miracle wasn't THAT it happened, but HOW. What is this place? Jerusalem. Is it really different than other cities? How could it be? God's presence is everywhere. I've felt Him, experienced Him. But this day was different from anything I had ever experienced- yet "just another day in Jerusalem".

We got on the crowded bus and managed to get off at the correct stop in spite of not understanding Arabic, or Hebrew. "Jaffa Gate"? We asked. People are so helpful in Jerusalem. They acted like we were their sisters, or aunts- pointing us in the right direction. I breathed a sigh of relief as we stepped off of the bus. We had arrived! Now, if I could just find the church. I had studied the route on google maps a month before- using "street view" to try to familiarize myself with the area. If we hurried, we should get there 5 minutes before church started. "Eva said she sits in the front row." I chatted nervously with Aunt Anita. "We'll recognize her from her picture. She said she will be there. The church should be right past this cafe. Wait... somewhere around here..." "Where is Christchurch?" I asked a random stranger. He smiled, "You are almost there!" We followed him through a gate and around a corner and there it was. I took a deep breath. I remembered the stories my Great grandfather, Andrew Dugger, wrote about his experiences in Jerusalem. Once he walked into the post office (I guess the one right next to this church) and happened to meet the very person he had been corresponding with from America! I wished I had his faith. The faith that could travel with his wife and three little children, for three months, on a boat, with not much more than the clothes on their back and trust that God would lead them and provide for them! And He did! We didn't have an important mission, but here we were, doing the little bit we could.

We had a cellphone to deliver to an Arab-Christian lady. Her family had been friends with the Dugger and Fauth families for many years. Aunt Anita had met her stepdaughter, Beatrice over forty years ago!

We walked into the cold, stone church, past the sparsely filled rows of chairs to the front row. Aunt Anita recognized Beatrice right away, so we knew the lady next to her must be Eva. She smiled such a warm smile and called us her daughters!

 It was time for church to begin. 

The service wasn't what I am used to. I attend a small home-church on Saturdays, and we are very laid-back. This church met on Sundays and they follow- I think it's called a "liturgy". (They gave us a piece of paper that told us what to say at different times.) Yet, I wasn't there very long before I felt right at home. -in this cold, stone church, with traditions that weren't mine.

 We began singing songs that ministered to my soul. Songs directed to God, praising Him, worshipping our Creator. Songs of Moses and the Lamb. Songs about eternity! I closed my eyes and let the tears fall as the small congregation sang.

 "Right here!" I told myself. "It's all going to happen right here!" The Mt. of Olives was very close. "I wonder if these walls will crumble when our Messiah's feet touch the mountain. Or if people will be able to see right through the wall! Jesus asked if he would find faith on this earth when he returned. Will there be anyone here, or will this church be empty?  Here we are singing, in earthly Jerusalem, what is being sung in heavenly Jerusalem! It all seems so real. It's really going to happen!  Yet, Heavenly Jerusalem is even more real than this!" 

I knew I must savor each moment of this precious hour. Perhaps the only time in my life I would sing with other believers in Jerusalem. 

I am used to singing songs in multiple languages and was happy to see they did that here. But, instead of Spanish words appearing on the screen, it was Arabic. My heart melted as I did my best to sing the unfamiliar words, standing next to a dear lady whose mother tongue was Arabic. How important to sing songs about life and peace in this language that is often used to spread hate. 

"People from EVERY tongue..." Even Arabic! "People from EVERY nation..." Even, Israel! ".. stand before the Throne of God singing Holy, Holy, Holy is the LORD God Almighty who was (during Biblical times), is (right now during this war), and is to come (Eternity)!"

Everything seems more intense in this place, so close to Mt. Zion. 

This was only the beginning of my first Sunday in Israel.

I'll go ahead and share this now and write more later. 

It's real, my friends. The Bible is true and Jesus is really coming back. I don't know when. But things are happening in the spiritual realm.

 -things I do not understand, but caught just a glimpse of

And yet, I felt at home and so very safe and loved in this place that is like nowhere else in the world. No wonder my Great-grandparents decided to move here. No wonder my Grandma Orabelle talked so much about this land that was just pictures of dusty hills to us. 

"...the mother of us all " Words my great-grandma sang many years ago, in this very place. I pondered these words as the service ended. I breathed deeply, trying to capture this moment. -making it a part of me.

 -something I can hold onto when hard times come, and it feels like God is far away

 -when it feels like the Enemy is winning.

I will close my eyes and imagine myself within those stone walls, sheltered from the craziness of this world, and I will sing!