The semester was complete. For some the study meant real sacrifice because class would compete with Monday Night Football (an “ancient” American institution that met its demise on network television in 2005). Having been disappointed twice before, some guarded their emotions just in case the third time also wouldn’t be a charm. Really, no amount of instruction can adequately prepare one for what lay ahead. A letter grade just can’t reflect what each would take away from this experience. But both were important.
The departure day had finally arrived. Forty-eight unique, diverse individuals voluntarily chose to travel and be together for twenty-four days. What may have looked like a prescription for certain disaster was actually an excellent antidote for proving the faith and putting into practice loving God and serving one another, in love. There was an awareness of the presence of Jesus Christ with us and it was clearly evident that we had become a family of burden bearers.
Getting to Israel began at the El Al Airline counter in the Bradley Terminal at LAX with a mini-evacuation. Was this a sign of trouble ahead? Someone had left an unmarked bag on the counter. Fortunately, “someone” was not in our group. As soon as the check-in procedure resumed, the luggage scanner ceased working and several were required to unpack their bags for visual inspection (then repack them with haste). We had to chalk this “trouble” up as one of our many “cultural experiences.” Enroute, a one-hour layover in Toronto gave us an opportunity to watch and participate in the lighting of the third Hanukah candle, as well as the associated celebration in song and eating pastries. We were met at Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv by our friend and professor Todd Bolen and his son, Luke. Going up to Jerusalem wasn’t accomplished like it was in the Bible days. The ascent from the Coastal Plain through the Shephelah to the Hill Country was traversed with ease, requiring only an hour in a chartered bus.
The final transition from wishful dream to reality coincided with the first dramatic view of the lighted walls of the Old City of Jerusalem. Those walls are impressive and foreboding. But they are not old, relatively speaking. The Ottoman sultan, Suleiman the Magnificent, built those walls in the mid-1500′s (about the same time that Martin Luther nailed his challenges to the doctrinal errors of the Church on the Wittenburg door in Germany). In Jerusalem, 500 years ago is not yet old. Entering through the Jaffa Gate, and just around the corner, is the Gloria Hotel. This was to be our “home” for the next seven nights! From the dining room, looking across the Hinnom Valley, we just knew that all of the guests and dignitaries staying at the King David Hotel were envious of us, and where we were privileged to lodge—inside the walls of Jerusalem.
After dinner, and not wanting to waste any time, several small groups ventured through the narrow streets of the Christian Quarter to the Western Wall. At night, the shops that line the streets inside the walls are closed tight with massive, vault-like, metal doors. The secured shops give the impression that there is plenty of room to maneuver the narrow maze of streets. When those shops are open during “business hours,” the streets are as different as, well, night and day. The same is true of the Western Wall. At night, the plaza (just behind the segregated prayer areas) is more festive. While the sun shines, the atmosphere is generally more reverent. During the day, even the hewn rocks that make up Herod’s expanded retaining wall for the rebuilt Temple look pale and less inviting than they do at night.
The more ambitious ventured close to the wall. Some looked in wonder, others photographed with delight, a few donned the required head covering to touch the wall for themselves or pray. I trekked with a few to the Western Wall myself that night. It had been six years since our last trip to this Holy Land. I was surprised that I remembered the way to the Wall. It was like I had been there often in the intervening years. For a few moments, on that unusually warm December night, I was lost in my thoughts while gazing at the Wall.
“But the best thing about the Holy Land is that you don’t have to go there.” Paraphrasing the preacher who quoted the professor’s teacher, going to the Holy Land is not necessary to believe the gospel, understand the doctrines of Scripture, and mature in the grace of Jesus Christ.
When the shofar bleated its call to prayer, I snapped into consciousness. At that moment I knew the “study” was complete, and the “learning” was just about to begin. Finally, I was ready to believe, “this Israel!”
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