Ken Lovelace Ministries


THE MESSAGE OF THE DOVE by Lygia Lovelace The summer I was in Jerusalem, Israel, (see previous article: How Did the Man Know?). the Jewish believers taught me so much about living the Gospel, in boldness and in truth. Every time we would go out on the streets, just walking silently, we would be confronted with those who knew we loved Jesus. But how could that be? We weren’t carrying signs that proclaimed the Way, and many times we weren’t even speaking. But the enemy knew we were there. Rocks were thrown at us, as were curse words and threats. Being a shy young lady of 21, I hung close to my Jewish brothers and sisters, hoping to “catch” their courage and strength just by being near them. Many times I just watched them in admiration, as they engaged their Jewish comrades in conversation, and communicated God’s love to them--sometimes subtly, and sometimes outright. We worked hard together, to learn songs in Hebrew and to learn the folk dances that the Jewish people loved. Even as a Gentile, I hoped to be understood and to communicate the Message God has always had for His beloved people there. Whether we were in Bethlehem, Nazareth, or in the streets of Jerusalem, we wanted the people to know of Jesus’ love for them. One afternoon, my Jewish friends decided to take their guitars and their music to a nearby street corner that was a particularly busy place. They set up boldly in front of a little market, and began to sing and play Jewish music. A crowd began to gather. Many of them clapped; some began dancing to the music they loved so much. Then, as the crowd began to understand the words, and to hear the name of Jesus, their joy turned to anger and they began to shout and spit. The owner of the market came out, yelling and gesturing for our group to leave. With tears streaming down their faces, my Jewish friends continued proclaiming the name of Jesus in song. Oh, how they loved their Jewish brothers and sisters! How they longed for them to know and believe the truth, to become a “fulfilled Jew” as many of my friends called themselves. Many times, when these conflicts would arise, I wanted to turn and run, full of fear. But although God didn’t involve me directly in the spiritual battles going on, He kept my feet firmly planted there beside my brothers and sisters. I literally felt Him standing beside me, holding on to me, as I watched. Finally, in complete fury, the store owner grabbed a water hose on the street, and others did the same. With hoses in hand, they turned on the water and sprayed our group. I’ll never forget how the store owner—rushing up to my Jewish brothers--put his hose inside their treasured guitars, and filled them with water, one by one. Would there be a fight? My brothers only smiled and kept singing until their song was over. Wiping their faces so they could see to pack away their guitars, they lovingly looked at the people, blessed them in sweet Hebrew words, motioned for our group to come, and we walked away. Time after time, I watched as my Jewish brothers and sisters were persecuted—screamed at, spit at, cursed at. I watched as they would take out their handkerchiefs and quietly wipe away the spit, or the blood that would trickle out from wounds they received when rocks were thrown at them. Time after time, I marveled at how the people of this country knew! The Goyim, or Gentiles—like myself—were not harrassed as much! A root of bitterness began to grow in my heart. One such time, I was walking with another friend, a female friend, toward the old market of Jerusalem to where we were staying. Again, the enemy knew who we were as we chatted quietly to one another and attempted to make eye contact and smile at the passers-by on the street. For an instant, I looked down at my feet, and when I looked up again, a bicyclist was a few inches in front of my friend, punching her and trying to run her over. I was indignant! “Hey!” I screamed at the young man. That bitterness rose up quickly in my throat as I screamed angrily at him, and I shook my fist as he rode away. He smiled wickedly and turned his bike again to face us. I looked at my friend to see if she was alright, and then looked up to see him charging her again. She gasped as he slapped her in the face as he rode by. “Leave her alone!” I once again screamed at him—my whole body trembling with the indignance and anger I felt. This caused him to stop again, turn his bike around and charge at her. I jumped in front of my friend and stared at him, daring him to come again. He laughed loudly and came at full force. My friend was begging me to calm down, but I wouldn’t listen. How dare this man mistreat her! When the man got close enough for me to touch, I grabbed his front handlebars and shoved the bike sideways as hard as I could. Thankfully, the man lost his balance momentarily, and fell to the street. My friend and I took off running and lost ourselves in the old city market before he could find us again. When we got back to our hospice, news spread quickly about what I had done. I looked with shame at the precious Jewish faces looking back at me. They held love in their eyes, some even smiled at one another, but there was disapproval in most of their expressions. “I just can’t stand the way they treat you! Why do you let them treat you like that!?” One of the older Jewish men—a well respected leader of our group, took me aside, and handed me a cup of tea. “I know what you did was out of love for us,” he said, “but what we do is out of love for our people! Remember, it is not flesh and blood that we are fighting against. It is our enemy. This has become his city, his nation, and he knows that we are here. The only way that we can fight this battle, Lygia, is with the Messiah. We must fight back with Love.” Then he quoted from Matthew 10:16: Behold, I send you out as sheep in the midst of wolves; so be shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves. “You must stay in the Scriptures, Lygia, so that you continue the wisdom, AND the refining that our God wants to do in your life. You must be bold and courageous, it is true, but like a dove. Never forget the Message of the dove.” I haven’t forgotten. Over the years, people have asked me, “Aren’t you angry with the man who attacked Chase?” “How can you forget what Caleb’s birthmother did to him—drinking alcohol while she was pregnant!?” “Aren’t you furious at those people in that church who claimed to love God, and yet treated your husband so hatefully?” “Doesn’t it make you mad that you have to do all the work? Where are the other church members? Why isn’t someone helping you?” Yes, I must admit, I’ve been angry. I’ve even struggled with it for a time. But through that anger, I haven’t forgotten the Message of the dove. I haven’t forgotten where the true battle lies—not with those around us, but with the enemy of God Himself. As I’ve stayed in the Scriptures, this Message has made me stronger—refining me, making me bold and courageous. It’s definitely a lifelong process—at least for me. I will live by this Message to honor my Jewish brothers and sisters. I will live by this Message to honor my Savior. What about you--are you angry? Are you bitter? Perhaps you’ve been mistreated. Are there marriage struggles? Problems at work? Someone you’ve vowed never to forgive? Remember the Message of the dove.

THE MESSAGE OF THE DOVE
by Lygia Lovelace

The summer I was in Jerusalem, Israel, (see previous article: How Did the Man Know?). the Jewish believers taught me so much about living the Gospel, in boldness and in truth. Every time we would go out on the streets, just walking silently, we would be confronted with those who knew we loved Jesus. But how could that be? We weren’t carrying signs that proclaimed the Way, and many times we weren’t even speaking. But the enemy knew we were there. Rocks were thrown at us, as were curse words and threats. Being a shy young lady of 21, I hung close to my Jewish brothers and sisters, hoping to “catch” their courage and strength just by being near them. Many times I just watched them in admiration, as they engaged their Jewish comrades in conversation, and communicated God’s love to them--sometimes subtly, and sometimes outright.

We worked hard together, to learn songs in Hebrew and to learn the folk dances that the Jewish people loved. Even as a Gentile, I hoped to be understood and to communicate the Message God has always had for His beloved people there. Whether we were in Bethlehem, Nazareth, or in the streets of Jerusalem, we wanted the people to know of Jesus’ love for them.

One afternoon, my Jewish friends decided to take their guitars and their music to a nearby street corner that was a particularly busy place. They set up boldly in front of a little market, and began to sing and play Jewish music. A crowd began to gather. Many of them clapped; some began dancing to the music they loved so much. Then, as the crowd began to understand the words, and to hear the name of Jesus, their joy turned to anger and they began to shout and spit. The owner of the market came out, yelling and gesturing for our group to leave.

With tears streaming down their faces, my Jewish friends continued proclaiming the name of Jesus in song. Oh, how they loved their Jewish brothers and sisters! How they longed for them to know and believe the truth, to become a “fulfilled Jew” as many of my friends called themselves.

Many times, when these conflicts would arise, I wanted to turn and run, full of fear. But although God didn’t involve me directly in the spiritual battles going on, He kept my feet firmly planted there beside my brothers and sisters. I literally felt Him standing beside me, holding on to me, as I watched.

Finally, in complete fury, the store owner grabbed a water hose on the street, and others did the same. With hoses in hand, they turned on the water and sprayed our group. I’ll never forget how the store owner—rushing up to my Jewish brothers--put his hose inside their treasured guitars, and filled them with water, one by one. Would there be a fight? My brothers only smiled and kept singing until their song was over. Wiping their faces so they could see to pack away their guitars, they lovingly looked at the people, blessed them in sweet Hebrew words, motioned for our group to come, and we walked away.

Time after time, I watched as my Jewish brothers and sisters were persecuted—screamed at, spit at, cursed at. I watched as they would take out their handkerchiefs and quietly wipe away the spit, or the blood that would trickle out from wounds they received when rocks were thrown at them. Time after time, I marveled at how the people of this country knew! The Goyim, or Gentiles—like myself—were not harrassed as much! A root of bitterness began to grow in my heart.

One such time, I was walking with another friend, a female friend, toward the old market of Jerusalem to where we were staying. Again, the enemy knew who we were as we chatted quietly to one another and attempted to make eye contact and smile at the passers-by on the street. For an instant, I looked down at my feet, and when I looked up again, a bicyclist was a few inches in front of my friend, punching her and trying to run her over.

I was indignant!

“Hey!” I screamed at the young man. That bitterness rose up quickly in my throat as I screamed angrily at him, and I shook my fist as he rode away. He smiled wickedly and turned his bike again to face us. I looked at my friend to see if she was alright, and then looked up to see him charging her again. She gasped as he slapped her in the face as he rode by.

“Leave her alone!” I once again screamed at him—my whole body trembling with the indignance and anger I felt. This caused him to stop again, turn his bike around and charge at her. I jumped in front of my friend and stared at him, daring him to come again. He laughed loudly and came at full force. My friend was begging me to calm down, but I wouldn’t listen. How dare this man mistreat her!

When the man got close enough for me to touch, I grabbed his front handlebars and shoved the bike sideways as hard as I could. Thankfully, the man lost his balance momentarily, and fell to the street. My friend and I took off running and lost ourselves in the old city market before he could find us again.

When we got back to our hospice, news spread quickly about what I had done. I looked with shame at the precious Jewish faces looking back at me. They held love in their eyes, some even smiled at one another, but there was disapproval in most of their expressions.

“I just can’t stand the way they treat you! Why do you let them treat you like that!?”

One of the older Jewish men—a well respected leader of our group, took me aside, and handed me a cup of tea.

“I know what you did was out of love for us,” he said, “but what we do is out of love for our people! Remember, it is not flesh and blood that we are fighting against. It is our enemy. This has become his city, his nation, and he knows that we are here. The only way that we can fight this battle, Lygia, is with the Messiah. We must fight back with Love.”

Then he quoted from Matthew 10:16: Behold, I send you out as sheep in the midst of wolves; so be shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves.

“You must stay in the Scriptures, Lygia, so that you continue the wisdom, AND the refining that our God wants to do in your life. You must be bold and courageous, it is true, but like a dove. Never forget the Message of the dove.”

I haven’t forgotten.

Over the years, people have asked me, “Aren’t you angry with the man who attacked Chase?”

“How can you forget what Caleb’s birthmother did to him—drinking alcohol while she was pregnant!?”

“Aren’t you furious at those people in that church who claimed to love God, and yet treated your husband so hatefully?”

“Doesn’t it make you mad that you have to do all the work? Where are the other church members? Why isn’t someone helping you?”

Yes, I must admit, I’ve been angry. I’ve even struggled with it for a time. But through that anger, I haven’t forgotten the Message of the dove. I haven’t forgotten where the true battle lies—not with those around us, but with the enemy of God Himself. As I’ve stayed in the Scriptures, this Message has made me stronger—refining me, making me bold and courageous. It’s definitely a lifelong process—at least for me.

I will live by this Message to honor my Jewish brothers and sisters. I will live by this Message to honor my Savior.

What about you--are you angry? Are you bitter? Perhaps you’ve been mistreated. Are there marriage struggles? Problems at work? Someone you’ve vowed never to forgive?

Remember the Message of the dove.