ARE YOU ONE OF THEM?
by Lygia Lovelace

 

Many times we had walked through the streets of Jerusalem, but never had I felt the Spirit as powerfully as I did on the night before we left the continent. Everyone’s hearts were heavy—Jews and Gentiles alike—as our group looked back on our time in Israel. Where had the months gone? How could our journey here be almost over?

Some from our group remarked how amazing it had been for them, living where Jesus had lived—seeing where He was born, where He grew up, where He had been crucified… Visiting the churches had been special to them, seeing the relics and remembrances of times past—of so many years ago, before we ever gathered the dust of Jerusalem in our shoes.

But for me, it was different. I would miss the experiences I had—walking through the streets of the Old City, smelling the food, watching the people. I would never forget losing my balance and sliding all the way down the hill from Jerusalem into the City of David, landing at the feet of a startled goatherd. I would hold forever in my memory the long walk through the tunnel of Hezekiah, walking through the blackness—groping the walls of the cave. My walk up the Mount of Olives at dawn would not soon be forgotten, listening to the church bells chiming as I reached the top of the Mount through the olive trees.

But it was the people I would miss the most—the Arab children who laughed at me when I tried to speak their language; the goatherds and shepherds as they walked their flocks to the fields; the Jewish men, so stern-faced and tight-lipped, refusing to look my way, yet with eyes so full of emptiness and sadness. I would miss the Jewish women, with their curly-headed children, who dared smile at me as I tried to catch their eyes. I would never forget the rocking back and forth—the praying and mourning of the Jewish people that I had observed at the Wailing Wall, as the Jewish people cried for a Savior.

“But He’s here! He loves you!” I wanted to shout at them. It was a land so barren of belief, yet so fertile with the love of God and the Spirit. He was there. I knew it, I could feel it. And I understood why.

But never had He been so obvious to me as this night before.

“Let’s just walk the streets together,” suggested our leader. “We’ll pray as we walk. Perhaps we can engage someone in conversation. It would be so good to see someone accept the Messiah before we have to leave.”

We walked, mostly in silence that night, leaving the gates of the Old City, and walking through the lighted nightlife of the modern Jerusalem. I tried to burn into my memory the images I was seeing. I lingered, trailing behind the group, as I gazed at the people walking by.

“Lord, help me to remember all that You’ve taught me here, and shown me. Never let me forget.” I prayed silently.

I was vaguely aware of our leader, at the front of the group, talking with a group of college-age young men. They appeared to be Jewish students, and I wasn’t surprised at the conversation, since our leader loved talking with his own people.

But, I was jerked into their conversation by a threatening question, posed by one of the young Jewish men. He was actually shouting at our leader in English—that was unusual, since most of the Jews in our group spoke Hebrew.

“So you are a Jew, and yet you believe that Jesus is the Messiah?”

Boldly, our group leader smiled. “Of course. He is my Lord and Savior. He is the Son of God—the Messiah of all.”

Then, my friend screamed as these young men began to beat him!

Frantically I looked around for my group. Where were they? A crowd had gathered quickly, and I could barely make out my friends quite a few yards away. Why had I lingered behind? Why hadn’t I stayed with them!? As the young men were shouting and kicking at our leader, huddled in the street, I saw another one of my precious Jewish friends running away to find the local police.

But what could I do? I didn’t want to just stand there! We had been taught early in our stay that we should never interfere during confrontation—especially those of us who were young women, and Gentile. I even now remembered the Message of the Dove (see previous article), but I didn’t want to stand by and just let them hurt this precious brother in Christ. I knew that he would not fight back, or even defend himself.

But God’s Word says that we can pray—we are in the battle when we pray!

And how I prayed! I interceded for my group, out loud yet unheard amidst the noise and shouting. My blonde hair and fearful expression must have shown like a light bulb to the Jewish and Arab crowd standing around. More and more curious people were gathering, some even cheering on the young men who were beating up this dirty traitor—this Jewish believer. I received angry looks and began to realize that I was being included in the hostility.

“So fine!” I thought. “Go ahead. Here I am! I am a believer too!”

I didn’t feel so brave, however, when a woman shoved me from behind and pushed herself right into my face. She was an older Jewish woman, bigger than I was, and as is their way, she roughly invaded my personal space.

“What about you!? Are you one of them? Are you a believer?”

Then she got up even closer to me and asked threateningly, “Do you believe that Jesus is the Son of God?”

Fully expecting her to slap me or attack me, I stiffened my back. It was strange, but I was actually relieved to be challenged! I wanted to identify with my persecuted brothers and sisters in this way! I felt strength surge through me.

“Yes, I love Jesus! He is the Messiah! I believe that He is the Son of God,” I announced to her.

At that instant, I heard our group leader yell again, in pain, as he was being beaten. Agonizingly, I turned my face and my attention away from the woman and stood on my tiptoes, trying to see what was happening. It was at that moment when I heard her whisper in my ear. She had come so close behind me that I felt her breath against my face.

“That is good. I will pray for you.”

I couldn’t turn around fast enough! What?! A Jewish believer, living in Jerusalem, out among the people?! Finally, I had met one! I wanted to embrace her, to cry with her, to tell her that on the contrary, I would be praying for her!

But when I turned around again, she was gone. Vanished! I looked among the people, even ran back through them, looking for her face. She was gone, hidden from view.

By the time I returned to find the group, the Israeli police had arrived. Giving the young national students no more than a rebuke, they sent them on their way. They told our leader to go back to the hospice and “stay out of trouble.” He was fine, this brother of mine, but bruised and sore for the plane ride home.

 

With all the news regarding our upcoming election, I can’t help but wonder if we will someday be officially classified in our own country as “one of them.” We must remember that it is indeed our privilege to stand before our enemy and those who choose him, to proclaim that Jesus is our Lord and Savior, the Son of God, the only Way, the Messiah of all.

Perhaps you will be challenged some day soon.

…are you ready?

 

I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God for the salvation of everyone
who believes: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile. Romans 1:16