Who Am I as an Adventist?

I had been looking forward to attending the Adventist Church in Jerusalem. I envisioned a modest little church in the shadow of the ancient religion of which we claim to be the purest modern manifestation. God called Abraham and continued to labor with His people through His law and His prophets and finally through His only Son. Our church sprang up as a response of love to and a desire for the One emptied heaven to save His children; the One who promised to make a new heaven, a new earth, a New Jerusalem.

I should have remembered my excitement to worship with the Chinese during my years as a student missionary in Taiwan. I expected to see a church packed with Chinese people singing their hearts out to some pentachromatic Asian-sounding music hailing God as supreme, the lover of the Chinese soul. How disappointing it had been to hear them plodding through the same Western hymns I had sung from youth. The words were Asian, but the feel was Caucasian. Our hymns were a response of the European and American soul to the universal God. I was hoping for a taste of the Asian soul expressing its deep devotion to God in uniquely Asian ways.

My disappointment with the Jerusalem Seventh-day Adventist Church was immediate, though along slightly different lines. The service was more Jewish than the Taiwan services had been Chinese. What was missing were the Jewish people.

The sanctuary was small, long and narrow, simply but nicely decorated with Jewish trappings.

There were yarmulkas waiting by the door for those who wished to enter God’s presence with covered heads, and in front were Bibles written in Hebrew and Greek. There was even a cabinet resembling the Torah arc found in synagogues.

The Mr. and Mrs. wanted their picture taken in that setting and though I objected, they insisted. When I snapped the picture I saw that they had climbed right up on the Bible! A stunt that earned them a ride in the BOTTOM of my backpack for the rest of the day.

Though many hymns were familiar, some songs and recitations were in Hebrew. All that was nice. But the people…

Most of the 29 people in attendance were Filipino! Many were working in Jerusalem as caregivers of the elderly. And they were excellent caregivers for the wanderers who come through their church. I feared the strain the 13 of us visitors would put on the remaining 16 members when it came to the potluck. But they freely invited us to join them. I whispered to Ginger that we needed to leave. She surprised me with a resolute answer: “Jim, I have one word for you, ‘pancit’.” And that settled it. After two weeks of Mediterranean cuisine she was in the mood for food from her childhood.

The people were generous, kind, and engaging. We were even joined by a Jewish rabbi from Cleveland! She was in Jerusalem studying with the ultra-orthodox Jews who had made room for her, but really didn’t know what to do with a female rabbi. They had no quarters in which she could reside, so she was lodging at Advent House, the guest apartments adjoining the conference office (which adjoined the sanctuary in which we worshiped.)She had been at the Western Wall in the morning, but hurried back for church and potluck.

The conference leadership had also seen to it that Torah scrolls were on the doorposts declaring our reverence for God’s holy law. So, yes, the Adventist Church in Israel has taken on more of the Jewish flavor than the Taiwan churches had managed to retain of the Chinese flavor. But in Taiwan the churches were packed with Taiwanese, Mountainese, and Chinese.

But beyond the makeup of the Church in Israel, I have a different feel about the Seventh-day Adventist Church overall. I still love my church, and I do not feel tempted to turn from the Bible-based beliefs that we hold. I am glad that we keep the Bible Sabbath, that we haven’t adopted the Hellenist view of hell, and that we have shed some of the other pagan infusions that have been added since Christ ascended. But my emotional response to my church has shifted. I see it now in the context of the last 2,000 years, and much of our behavior and our attitude seem thin like soup that has been watered down. I am a little more aware of how Jewish Jesus was and how we read and explain Him as though He were an American who traveled back in time to set those people straight. We don’t hear Him the way people in His day would have heard Him. We don’t see that He was a Jew living and breathing and thinking and speaking in a pond of a different flavor than ours. So how much of what He said are we really grasping? How many of our practices are more reflective of American culture than the Christian essence? Considering the thousands of cultures that have embraced and applied His teachings, it seems that our smugness as the remnant is a little arrogant. It ignores the richness of what has gone before. It allows us to think we are far closer to perfection than we can possibly be. We are just one more group in desperate need of a Savior. I still believe that our doctrines are better aligned with correct Bible understanding, but our hearts are not much better than the Pharisees who also focused on being accurate and true to God’s original intent. We can be just as ungodly in our clinging to our “truth” as they were. In regard to doctrine-driven practices Jesus told them, “These you should have done without ignoring the weightier matters of the law: justice, mercy, and faithfulness.” I’m afraid if He were here, He would have the same rebuke for us.

I am particularly ashamed of those of us who think we are defending God’s last thread of belief. The more radical and fundamentalist we go, it seems, the farther we stray from the Spirit of Christ. Right now the Walla Walla Valley has a small group that has become very vocal about the “apostasy” of some better educated ones in the valley. They are causing real damage as they have become “accusers of the brethren.” They do so as ones who feel that they know the mind of God, but in the methods they use to wage their holy war, they look more like the Crusaders than Jesus. They have wrung the life and warmth from Christ’s amazing gospel and are left with cold and lifeless words that are used like cruel stones. They represent a self-absorbed, vindictive Adventism that I hope never becomes our majority voice.

So what must I do? As always the answer is not in looking at the offensive ones, nor focusing on combatting them. I am resolved to continue loving Jesus and the Father He points us to. I want to keep myself pure from the world as His apostle’s preach. I want to use the broader view gained during this trip to make me broad. I want to have the heart of Jesus towards others, while keeping His single-minded commitment to the mission. I want neither to become legalistic nor permissive nor culture-blind. The One God is a huge God and I am a mere speck. I would like to be a speck that understands my smallness and refrains from faulting other specks. I want to let my light shine, but it is a very humble light.

We walked home from church and on the way Ginger found another sculpture with which to interact.

After a short stay in our hotel room, we took off for another visit to the Mount of Olives. People from around the world are buried on the mount in hopes of a favorable resurrection when Jesus returns, or when the Messiah finally comes, or… whatever prompts the Muslims to do the same.

On the top of the mount another “mount” was waiting… your trusty camel. Yup right here in the heart of Jerusalem.

We returned to the olive grove that may have been the site of Gethsemane just to have some time for reflection. Ginger and I found separate places to sit, think, and be.

Ginger’s spot is in a garden kept by the Mormons I believe. I didn’t ask her what she was thinking. It was a good private time.

What was I thinking? Not a lot of lofty thoughts. No, I was mostly just sitting there soaking in the realization of where I was and noticing the warmth and the breezes and the feel of the rough stone I was sitting on. I wanted the time to last long enough for me to recall more passages from Scripture and to let His Spirit blend them with the things I had seen and heard on the tour. It would have been great to have a take-home insight that would change my life.

I calmly asked God to guide my thinking towards that end if it was what He willed, but it seemed the response I got was along the line of, “Just record these sensations of sun and wind, sound and texture. You will find them in many places that you visit in the future. And every place you are with Me will be holy ground. I will go with you so do not reverence this ground as though I were imprisoned here.” Maybe the eternal presence of God with His children wherever they roam was the truth that sunk deeper for me there. And that IS something I will take with me.

Well, surprise! Though I write personal experiences, This is the rest of the tour group remnant still here today. They went with us to the olive grove and we each had our own separate spaces and private prayers.

Returning to Temple Mount, I captured a quick snapshot of this young man hurrying somewhere on his horse.

This was approaching the Lion Gate to Old Jerusalem. The Lion of Judah shows up in many places, even on public garbage cans.

Colorful vendor stalls lined some sections of road as we walk from Old Jerusalem to our hotel.

Some buildings we passed daily were finished to look like Old Jerusalem. There is a building code here that says even new constructions must be of stone. I think stone facades count.

Back in our hotel this was an elegant banquet room right off the lobby. It really was curved; this is not the result of a fisheye lens.

And finally some art on one wall of the lobby; large, interesting, and hopeful.

Friday we visited Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Memorial and Museum. It is reportedly a more comprehensive display than the one in Washington DC. A grimly decorated gate welcomes visitors.

The museum is housed in several buildings and it is all free. 

The triangular building is the main display which gives the chronology of the buildup of anti-Semitism across Europe. The front end of the building hangs out over thin air and the end of the building opens out into the blue sky as you will see in the next picture. It’s an unusual design and visitor meander back and forth across a long middle hallway. The sad saga is effectively told through newspaper reports, cartoons, photographs, and interviews with survivors (there are 200,000 holocaust survivors living in Israel today.)

By the end of the main exhibit I was exhausted. I had read The Diary of Anne Frank and Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. I had watched Schindler’s List and a score of other war movies. So I thought I knew the worst of it. What I hadn’t counted on was the overwhelm I experienced when I entered the several-story, round Hall of Names. A walkway takes you to the center of it and from there you are surrounded by library shelves full of books. The shelves tower above you and fall away below you. The books on the shelves are full of names of all the lives lost. The sheer weight of numbers so powerfully displayed brought the scale of the atrocity heavily onto my heart. The sadness was unbearable.

On the hopeful side were interviews with those who were first to marry and bear children after the war ended, and there was a reassuring display of those who risked their lives to save the Jewish people in their neighborhoods and countries. Germany broke its promise to Norway to leave their Jewish population untouched, but Norway was tipped off in advance and successfully sent their whole population to Sweden by boat. I think 38,000 people were saved in a single night. I’m relying on memory here and could be high or low on that number.

We didn’t have time to view the other exhibits. As you leave the museum two Bible verses hold your attention. This verse from Joel seems to have foreseen the need to keep this memory alive. I'm glad they are keeping the memory alive. We are learning that it wasn't the "horrible Nazi's" that did this. The ability to be outrageous and violent towards others is innate in all of us. There is some circumstance that can unlock the beast in each of us. And, conversely, we are all capable of letting God's love shine through. Keeping my heart towards God is the cost of my freedom. Every minute I spend studying His goodness brings me closer to that great medical aim "to do no harm." I don't want to forget how low I, as a natural man, can sink, if it will drive me to seeking His kingdom and righteousness. What a kingdom it will be when godly attitudes and attentions prevail.

A more hopeful verse from Isaiah promises restoration. There is no doubt the Jewish people have suffered deeply. The exhibit would seem a compelling argument to leave them alone and let them get on with their lives. Yet, the Palestinians also have a tale of mistreatment and anguish. The museum gift shop sells a book called I Shall Not Hate written by a Palestinian doctor who lost three daughters and a niece when an Israeli tank shelled their home on the Gaza Strip. The writer expresses his grief, but his transcendent resolve not to let hatred have him. The Quran has taught him a higher road. There are beautiful minds and hearts in all faiths. The Spirit of God makes its way through any crack it can find.

We returned to the Old Jerusalem markets for lunch (the museum closed early for Shabbat) and we took home a box of baklava in many varieties. “Yum” times three days.

Towards sundown we returned to the Western Wall to watch the Jews welcome the Sabbath. Their Sabbath does not begin until the third star is sighted. Here you see some ultra conservative Jews making their way through a tunnel towards the Western Wall. The State of Israel supports these Jews who do no paying work, only study the Torah.

The devout stream across the plaza from all directions to gather at the Wall to welcome Shabbat.

If you remember the numbers near the wall from the past few days, you will agree that on Friday nights it becomes a Sabbath mosh pit. Dancing and singing would break out briefly here and there, and suddenly we are all going home. A rather calm joy.

Return to Israel Museum

These are the feet that I love. The tour is over, but it left its mark on Ginger. She was delighted to see that her new sandals (made in Israel) left crosses her feet. No better part of the body since our feet have been so active for 10 days. All but seven of the tour group have returned to States, so we had a leisurely morning before heading out to the Israel Museum.

Some people identify with their cats, but Ginger and I tend to identify with sculptures. I mean if this guy’s worried about unseemly odors, I best check me out too. He was the first statue we came to when we visited Israel Museum’s sculpture garden.

And if this stone dude thinks everything’s thumbs up, then that’s okay by me.

I’m more than happy to give a high five to a grumpy guy with a sword. It might improve his day.

I just wasn’t sure how to relate to this one. I kept watching to make sure it didn’t follow me.

Ginger’s reflecting a person being reflective. I wonder if you could get caught in a sort of mental tunnel of mirrors.

How would you like a chessboard with a bunch of pieces this big? You wouldn't be taking too many turns, I'm thinkin'.

Here’s one of those “stick your face in the hole” things. It would have worked better if I’d found he before her wildly successful diet.

Not sure what to make of this one. Being really careful not to touch it. Some art stinks.

Officer, quick! Over here! I think I found the culprit! Tell him to go back and clean it up!

We also looked at the non-art displays inside the museum. Here is an old altar that they reconstructed. It was probably destroyed by Hezekiah who wanted to clean up the worship scene of his day. Notice the zigzaggy snakes on the stone in the center of the picture? They are for increasing fertility. Those ancients were rather modern in their fixation on sex.

At last, proof that people got crucified in days gone by. True. Up until this discovery people wrote about crucifixion, but there was no tangible proof that it happened. Now there’s proof. Apparently the nail hit a knot and bent. The people who came to remove the man from the cross could not extract the nail, so they hacked off his leg and cut the cross. Did you know that only recently they have found proof outside the Bible that David really existed? Archaeologists had been debating it, but now they know.

Here’s the ossuary (OSH-oo-wary), or stone bone box, that held the remains of Caiaphas son of Joseph. Definitely a rich person. Remember this is one solid, carved-out stone, not pieces held together. An unsettling artifact in the same exhibit was a ossuary labeled “Jesus son of Joseph” and next to it another labeled, “Judas son of Jesus.”

Interesting architecture abounds in Old Jerusalem. We returned there to end the day with some shopping.

Even in Old Jerusalem shopping wearies the men and delights the women.

Ginger snapped this photo just after the marring couple popped off a cracker full of heart-shaped confetti. They were on an overlook to the Western Wall, and it was a balmy evening. Nice ambiance for a young couple’s nuptials. By the way, “Ginger snaps” a lot of good photos.

Via Dolorosa

On the last day of the tour, we visited sites associated with the passion and resurrection. You should remember that I am a lay person, not a student of biblical archaeology, and I am relying on memory. So if one of my accounts does not match some expert’s account, go with the expert.

Here’s a view of the Old Jerusalem from Mount of Olives. We’re facing west and are a little farther south than Jesus would have been when He halted His triumphal entry procession to weep over the city. You can see all the caskets that cover the hill. Many believe this will be prime real estate when the Messiah comes (either the first or second time, depending on your religious background) and they want to be near the epicenter of the resurrection.

The stones on the caskets are a sign of respect. They last longer than roses, and the breeze doesn’t blow them away.

We entered the Tombs of the Prophets, and you’re about to go there with me.

Once your eyes have accustomed to the dark inside, you see that you’re in a large room with side rooms. Dead people would be laid out on a slab and left to rot. Meanwhile a stone would be rolled across the mouth of the cave so that animals wouldn’t desecrate the body.

Later, when another person died, they would roll away the stone and bring in the fresh corpse. If the former one was decomposed so that only bones were left, they would gather the bones and put them in an ossuary (a small bone box carved from stone) and slide them into one of the smaller cubbies that surrounded the central room. It sounded like sometimes their bones would just be gathered up and placed on the bones of the ancestors. This is what was meant when they said, “And Abraham was gathered to his fathers.”

Back on the surface, there’s a beautiful church honoring Mary Magdalene. Of course, hers would be the sparkliest.

Carl bypassed the traditional Gethsemane and took us to a spot that would have been more like the natural landscape of the time. We spent some moments in reflection there. Later, Ginger read that some scholars believe this would have been a more likely spot for Christ’s final conference with His Father than the traditional site which is too close to a main thoroughfare.

And yes, there were olives growing there. Gethsemane means “oil press” so it was a place where these fruits would be put under tremendous pressure to remove the oil that would light the lamps in the temple, feed the populace, and manage more menial tasks.

Our guide in Nazareth explained that the olives were first crushed with a large stone wheel.

Then they were pressed three times: first, for God; second, for man; and third, for common use. He showed us the huge crushing weights that were used to press the oil from the pulp. It seems like a fitting symbol for the pressure that Christ endured in Gethsemane. (This press was in Nazareth, not here in Gethsemane, though in days of old one would have been here.)

Later that night, Jesus ended up at Caiaphas’ palace which was probably this ruins. It was here that people believe Peter denied knowing Jesus three times. And, of course a church rises over the spot.

The ruined palace is down the slope from the church, but directly under it is the pit in which Jesus was held until He could be tried by Pilate the next morning. This was prophesied in Psalm 88, “You have plunged me into the bottom of the pit.”

Next stop was near the Antonia Fortress and, yes, another underground holding place.

Carl shared passages related to Christ’s mistreatment by the Roman soldiers which, as you will remember were actually local Samaritan hires commissioned by the power of Rome.

It was from here that Christ began His long walk to the place of crucifixion. In this underground chamber, almost in a forgotten corner someone invested much artistic effort to construct a beautiful mosaic of the Christ whose actual message also seems to occupy an almost forgotten corner. We focus on and clash over the details of theologies that have arisen since His walk here, but His main message of forgiveness and of the divine affinity for all people is often barely given a corner. We may loudly claim it for ourselves, but barely practice it towards those we dislike or distrust.

If He came to accomplish some cosmic requirement essential for our salvation, hallelujah! We should be eternally grateful. But the surest sign of our gratitude would be to live as He lived; seeing with hope the value of our enemies.

Another remaining structure is this arch from which Pilate declared, “Behold the man!” prior to Jesus’ death walk.

Today when you travel the Via Dolorosa you pass shop after shop. They are not hawking religious relics but spices, clothing, food, etc.

Anybody for some fresh pita?

This is definitely a well-traveled lane for today’s masses. I’m not sure what put the bright light around this woman’s eyes, but it’s a striking photo, don’t you think?

A common T-shirt was the “Guns and Moses” one on display here. If you order one, they will have you look at blanks, choose your size and color, pick the art from a drawer of choices, and do the heat transfer there before your eyes.

In time you wend your way to the traditional spot of the crucifixion and true to form a huge stone shrine covers the spot. This woman is placing her hand in the hole where they claim the cross was planted. Again the spot is so marble-encrusted that it stretches the imagination to envision a God-forsaken rocky knoll upon which countless crosses had been erected.

A little lower, but in the same shrine is the slab they believe He was laid on when removed from the cross. Today the devout bring their souvenirs and icons to lay on the stone. I assume this is to allow the item to soak up some of the lingering holiness before packing them into suitcases for the trip home. Again I wonder about the dividing line between reverence and superstition.

Within the same shrine (did I mention it was very large?) is this two-storey structure that was built over the spot where they claim Jesus was buried. That is natural light seeming to draw things up from this ceramic-oven-shaped shrine-within-a-shrine.

Yes, you can go in to see the spot and again touch where He was laid, but you will be at the direction of a very business-like priest who had mastered several words in English: “Come, come come. Go, go, go. Stop!”

Pilgrims get instructions from a variety of sources. This sign seems reasonable, but I think the sign-maker’s attention drifted when he/she matched the words to the photos.

There is some disagreement on exactly where Jesus was crucified and buried. The Garden Tomb is a relatively recent discovery, and there are some arguments for why it should be considered the real spot. The arguments have not convinced Carl, but he took us there, because it presents a better place for contemplation. The hill is less developed, though a bus lot has been built which has obscured the lower half of the hill. An arrangement of caves on the face of this cliff created the appearance of the face of a skull. Hence, its discoverers felt this would have been called Golgotha, the Place of the Skull.

Nearby is a family burial tomb thought to be Joseph’s. Some stone work and an engraved Byzantine cross makes one wonder what else the Church would have been commemorating as they were in possession of this land long ago. Inside is a plaque which reads “He is not here for He is risen.” That is our belief and our hope. Regardless of the controversies that raged around His ministry, and the ones that still continue about His final hours and His remains (or lack of them) we read a gospel that brims with hope in a life that transcends this one; a vision that lifts us above the threats of our current world and focuses us on the One who loves us and has set our worth above the heavens. All of the hubbub, the argument, and the devotion that continue 2,000 years later are themselves an affirmation of the veracity of Jesus. What other being has so dominated the philosophical, political, and archaeological landscape?

As I stop to reflect, the inspiring and horrible events of this place, the urgency and patience of God, and the positive and non-violent teachings of Jesus lead me to grasp the depth and breadth of God’s love for His children. In that is anchored my own worth despite my defects and shortcomings. I didn’t pass a test to earn His favor, nor was I born into the right family. I have value because He sees something in me worth salvaging. When I grasp that mystery then I am aware that I must treat with respect each of His other kids regardless of their defects and shortcomings. A follower of Christ who is harsh and critical is not a follower of the real Christ.