Friday, July 28, 2006…
Today I attended a March for Israel rally in downtown Macon. Nearly seven hundred activists gathered to march from historic City Hall to the Centreplex in support of Israel. I went with two Messianic Jewish friends of mine. I was greeted by a nice Filipino woman who handed me a pin (with what I guessed were Hebrew letters) that spelled the word shka, which she informed me meant life. I thanked her kindly and put the pin in my pocket. My two Messianic friends left to fulfill the roles of flag-waver and banner bearer. Another mutual friend of ours, Solomon, was accompanying us so I just kind of stood next to him for security.
After about thirty minutes of mulling around in attempt to fit in and seem like I belonged, the opening statements began. My attention was immediately lost as the initial speaker was a politician with a clear agenda (even if it was one I agreed with). I found myself eyeing two protestors across the street from where we were gathered; the only two protestors. I noticed one woman there earlier; the other must have joined her while I wasn’t looking. They both held plain white poster boards; the kind you use for your kids science project or history presentation. In simple bold black letters the posters read, “Who Would Jesus Bomb?” They stood quietly and let their signs do the talking. About this time there was a haphazard round of applause as the politician left the podium and gave the preacher a pulpit. Looking at them I couldn’t tell who was who and listening to them I couldn’t either. Granted, I wasn’t paying very close attention. It was over ninety degrees outside not including the weighty humidity. Sweat dripped from every pore on my body and poured from my brow. I was drenched and stood in a puddle of my own making. I’m sure I reeked, kind of like Pigpen in the Peanut Comic Strip, but only with sweat. I mentioned something about going to speak with the protestors to Solomon. I told him I was really interested to find out their opinion on the crisis in the Middle East and why they felt the need to protest our demonstration. He told me they were just a distraction from why he was there; which was clearly understandable, though I couldn’t help but think the exact opposite. Those two middle-aged white women made me really think about why I was there in the first place. I didn’t say anything to my friend though; it wouldn’t have made much difference. I watched as the overweight Baptist preacher pounded the podium and hashed out all too familiar and vague phrases about the importance of, “standing with God’s chosen!” and “fighting the good fight!”
Honestly, I probably agreed with everything he said. But it was too shrouded with good ole’ boy politics and old fashioned rabble rousing and I’m just too cynical for that. Preacher went for his handkerchief and I went for the protestors. I watched the local law enforcement eye me as I made my way across the street. As I approached the two women I extended my hand to show that I wasn’t hostile and they accepted it with a smile. I introduced myself, and they likewise, though I fail to remember either of their names. We exchanged simple pleasantries and then I did something that surprised me and much as I think it did them; I thanked them. I thanked them for protesting in such a polite manner. They could have been like those foul people you sometimes see on Fox News who hurl insults at funerals or proclaim supposed damnations from God on issues they obviously know nothing about. But instead they acted on their right to protest our demonstration by respecting our right to demonstrate in the first place. Still, I was curious as to what their thoughts were, so I asked them. One lady, the one who was there first, did all the talking. She admitted that her sign wasn’t really adequate, that she had no religious issue with what we were doing (which was part of why she was wrong) and that she really just wanted to see some political dialogue take place before the guns started blazing. I didn’t argue with her, but not because I was afraid. Not because I was afraid of matching wit against wit, or even for fear of pushing them farther away from the truth with sharp responses and cutting logic. For once in my life I felt the need to remain silent and not open my mouth as if to prove I was so much smarter than someone else (I was thinking it though). I felt the need to listen. Truthfully, if it had been a different situation, one in which both sides (Israel and Hezbollah) had the same end goal in mind (mutual peaceful existence), I probably would have agreed with her. But how can you place hope in negotiations with an enemy bent on the very destruction of those you want them to negotiate with! There are parts of the Islamic world that are violently obsessed with the destruction of Israel and the annihilation of the Jewish people and you cannot reason with such people. Osama Bin Laden, The Iranian president, Hamas, Hezbollah, Al Qaeda, and countless others hate Israel. The PLO still calls for the destruction of Israel in its charter! I told the woman I wished peace could be reached through diplomacy, but I felt that history and circumstance proved it was beyond table talk. I thanked them once again for being respectful and they thanked me for my politeness and that of the others who had curiously visited them. I turned to face the crowd and stood there for a second. Then I pulled my pin out of my pocket, pinned it on my shirt and walked back across the street as preacher-man was firing down and finishing up. I remember thinking it odd that he had made it through his fiery monologue without stroke or heart attack. The Lord really does bless those who bless Israel.
Now it was time for the march! I must admit I enjoyed the feeling of being apart of something much bigger than myself. Some over-dressed and over-painted woman confusingly described how the procession would take place. She seemed nice and sincere though, despite the heat that was melting her face, so I listened to her; something about banner holders in the front and flag wavers in the back. I had a small Israeli flag that was made in China and thought for a minute she might be talking about me so I started towards the back. Then I realized she meant some other guys with the really big flags on heavy metal poles.
I caught sight of a friend I hadn’t seen in many years, Reuel. I made my way through the crowd of excited chattering people until I can behind him. I laid my hand on his much taller shoulder and he turned around with a smile. It was like I had seen him yesterday. We played the obligatory game of catch up and he introduced me to his friend Salem. I though he had an interesting name and might be an interesting person, so I talked with him pretty much the whole march (Reuel found some other long lost friend whom he was catching up with. I would see him later.) Turns out I was right about Salem. He was pretty interesting. I wondered if the opposite is true about people with boring names. Like mine for example. I wonder if there are other Matthews out there in the world who are just as boring and uninteresting as the name suggests (after some personal examination I conclude that while I am sure there are some, on the whole this is not true).
The march itself lasted a little under thirty minutes. Reuel, Salem and I walked behind a couple of Native American Messianic Jewish converts who banged on some kind of drum I’m going to call a tom-tom and shouted something I couldn’t understand in either Yiddish or their native tongue. The glory and excitement of the march wore off rather quickly, though walking seemed to release some of the oppressive heat. Either that or I became fixated on my aching feet (for some reason I wore flip-flops).
Eventually we came to the Centreplex and everybody funneled down into the lower level of the building. We filed into a rather large meeting room. Still, after everyone came in there was standing room only. I found Solomon and sat with him. Reuel and Salem joined us. There were thirty minutes or so of some really cool Jewish praise and worship music. The lyrical content was heavy with Hebrew phrases and equally Jewish-natured themes in English that I still found personally relevant and biblically accurate (after all, Christianity was just supposed to be a continuation of Judaism). The music itself was pretty much your typical rock chords and patterns on guitar with some interesting melodic content here and there just to remind you, once again, that this was a Jewish thing. I really enjoyed it though. I would later be taught that as a gentile Christian I was grafted into the olive branch that is Israel (I already knew this but it was cool to hear it explained in a detailed manner). Some quick recognitions were made for those who organized the event and then Greg Hirschberg, a Rabbinical leader from the local Messianic Jewish congregation my friends were from, gave the address. I sat there uncomfortably in my chair pinned between Salem and Solomon, but I quickly became engrossed with what the Rabbi had to say despite having my sweaty rear stuck to the chair.
This guy was different. He wasn’t like the babbling politician or the pontificating preacher. Maybe it wasn’t what he said so much that grabbed my attention at first, but how he spoke and from where. Physically he was an intimidating man, a former bouncer or security guard from NYC. His voice had a thick layer of Yankee on it. He was passionate with a sincerity that words cannot describe. It was odd, almost paradoxical at times. Often he was moved to tears and had to pause before continuing. He spoke from the heart and he spoke at length of the importance of the Jewish people and the state of Israel as it pertains to Biblical prophecy (Evidently twenty-five percent of scripture is prophetic in nature. Eighty percent of that twenty-five has been fulfilled. The remaining twenty percent all pertains to the return of Yeshua, Jesus in Hebrew, and the covenants God established with His people, of whom I am now included.) I’m no expert so I won’t get technical, but basically the Jewish people must occupy the territory God promised them before the Messiah returns. Some seven hundred verses in the Bible center on the Jewish people’s uniting in the name of Yeshua and their return to this part of the world. So basically, as Christians, we should be concerned about Israel and her people because God is concerned for her. After all, if it wasn’t for her we would not be able to lay claim on His promises (this is an interesting study as it was her rejection of Him that led the Lord to offer salvation to all.)
I have always embraced a Jewish heritage in my Christian faith, even if I haven’t understood it and I’ve always felt a kinship with Israel, even though I’ve never been there. But tonight I cannot help but feel I’ve been missing a connection, something that is significant and maybe even essential. After all, if Jesus was a Jew, isn’t he still? He didn’t convert did he? And if God’s promises can never be broken, why do we as Christians in the Western world think that what happens to the Jewish people and the state of Israel is of little consequence. Make no mistake, the fate of the Jewish people, of Israe,l is one that we will share in; and though it be a glorious fate, those who bless Her shall be blessed and those who curse her shall be cursed. She is Christ’s bride. She is the church of which we are a part. And as Derek Webb somewhat prophetically wrote, “You cannot care for me with no regard for her. If you love me [Jesus Christ] you will love the church [Israel].”
To what degree this experience will inform my faith, I am not yet sure. I do know one thing however, I rode home tonight thinking about the two lady protestors and it made me sad. Not because of their naivety of obvious political and historical truths, but because of their ignorance of spiritual things. And I can’t help but wonder how many others are out there just like those two ladies, just like I was; those that may be Christians but have no spiritual understanding of the importance our Jewish counterparts have here at the end of all things. In John 4, Christ himself even claimed that, “salvation is of the Jews.”
Sadly, I think too often we are not truly concerned with the return of Christ, rather whether we are right or wrong doctrinally. Much less are we truly concerned with the world experiencing the love of God, but whether or not our church has more members and money than the one down the road with whom our doctrine is opposed. Then again, maybe I’m being unfair. Honestly, if I peel away the sour layer of the Baptist’s rhetoric and ignore the coat-tailing agenda of the politician, I find that on the simplest level these men had something within them that hinted at a necessity to support Israel. Maybe I have more in common with them than I at first realized. So I’ll join with them in the call of Rabbi Hirschberg; I’ll, “pray for the peace of Jerusalem and pray for the return of the Messiah.”
Today I attended a March for Israel rally in downtown Macon. Nearly seven hundred activists gathered to march from historic City Hall to the Centreplex in support of Israel. I went with two Messianic Jewish friends of mine. I was greeted by a nice Filipino woman who handed me a pin (with what I guessed were Hebrew letters) that spelled the word shka, which she informed me meant life. I thanked her kindly and put the pin in my pocket. My two Messianic friends left to fulfill the roles of flag-waver and banner bearer. Another mutual friend of ours, Solomon, was accompanying us so I just kind of stood next to him for security.
After about thirty minutes of mulling around in attempt to fit in and seem like I belonged, the opening statements began. My attention was immediately lost as the initial speaker was a politician with a clear agenda (even if it was one I agreed with). I found myself eyeing two protestors across the street from where we were gathered; the only two protestors. I noticed one woman there earlier; the other must have joined her while I wasn’t looking. They both held plain white poster boards; the kind you use for your kids science project or history presentation. In simple bold black letters the posters read, “Who Would Jesus Bomb?” They stood quietly and let their signs do the talking. About this time there was a haphazard round of applause as the politician left the podium and gave the preacher a pulpit. Looking at them I couldn’t tell who was who and listening to them I couldn’t either. Granted, I wasn’t paying very close attention. It was over ninety degrees outside not including the weighty humidity. Sweat dripped from every pore on my body and poured from my brow. I was drenched and stood in a puddle of my own making. I’m sure I reeked, kind of like Pigpen in the Peanut Comic Strip, but only with sweat. I mentioned something about going to speak with the protestors to Solomon. I told him I was really interested to find out their opinion on the crisis in the Middle East and why they felt the need to protest our demonstration. He told me they were just a distraction from why he was there; which was clearly understandable, though I couldn’t help but think the exact opposite. Those two middle-aged white women made me really think about why I was there in the first place. I didn’t say anything to my friend though; it wouldn’t have made much difference. I watched as the overweight Baptist preacher pounded the podium and hashed out all too familiar and vague phrases about the importance of, “standing with God’s chosen!” and “fighting the good fight!”
Honestly, I probably agreed with everything he said. But it was too shrouded with good ole’ boy politics and old fashioned rabble rousing and I’m just too cynical for that. Preacher went for his handkerchief and I went for the protestors. I watched the local law enforcement eye me as I made my way across the street. As I approached the two women I extended my hand to show that I wasn’t hostile and they accepted it with a smile. I introduced myself, and they likewise, though I fail to remember either of their names. We exchanged simple pleasantries and then I did something that surprised me and much as I think it did them; I thanked them. I thanked them for protesting in such a polite manner. They could have been like those foul people you sometimes see on Fox News who hurl insults at funerals or proclaim supposed damnations from God on issues they obviously know nothing about. But instead they acted on their right to protest our demonstration by respecting our right to demonstrate in the first place. Still, I was curious as to what their thoughts were, so I asked them. One lady, the one who was there first, did all the talking. She admitted that her sign wasn’t really adequate, that she had no religious issue with what we were doing (which was part of why she was wrong) and that she really just wanted to see some political dialogue take place before the guns started blazing. I didn’t argue with her, but not because I was afraid. Not because I was afraid of matching wit against wit, or even for fear of pushing them farther away from the truth with sharp responses and cutting logic. For once in my life I felt the need to remain silent and not open my mouth as if to prove I was so much smarter than someone else (I was thinking it though). I felt the need to listen. Truthfully, if it had been a different situation, one in which both sides (Israel and Hezbollah) had the same end goal in mind (mutual peaceful existence), I probably would have agreed with her. But how can you place hope in negotiations with an enemy bent on the very destruction of those you want them to negotiate with! There are parts of the Islamic world that are violently obsessed with the destruction of Israel and the annihilation of the Jewish people and you cannot reason with such people. Osama Bin Laden, The Iranian president, Hamas, Hezbollah, Al Qaeda, and countless others hate Israel. The PLO still calls for the destruction of Israel in its charter! I told the woman I wished peace could be reached through diplomacy, but I felt that history and circumstance proved it was beyond table talk. I thanked them once again for being respectful and they thanked me for my politeness and that of the others who had curiously visited them. I turned to face the crowd and stood there for a second. Then I pulled my pin out of my pocket, pinned it on my shirt and walked back across the street as preacher-man was firing down and finishing up. I remember thinking it odd that he had made it through his fiery monologue without stroke or heart attack. The Lord really does bless those who bless Israel.
Now it was time for the march! I must admit I enjoyed the feeling of being apart of something much bigger than myself. Some over-dressed and over-painted woman confusingly described how the procession would take place. She seemed nice and sincere though, despite the heat that was melting her face, so I listened to her; something about banner holders in the front and flag wavers in the back. I had a small Israeli flag that was made in China and thought for a minute she might be talking about me so I started towards the back. Then I realized she meant some other guys with the really big flags on heavy metal poles.
I caught sight of a friend I hadn’t seen in many years, Reuel. I made my way through the crowd of excited chattering people until I can behind him. I laid my hand on his much taller shoulder and he turned around with a smile. It was like I had seen him yesterday. We played the obligatory game of catch up and he introduced me to his friend Salem. I though he had an interesting name and might be an interesting person, so I talked with him pretty much the whole march (Reuel found some other long lost friend whom he was catching up with. I would see him later.) Turns out I was right about Salem. He was pretty interesting. I wondered if the opposite is true about people with boring names. Like mine for example. I wonder if there are other Matthews out there in the world who are just as boring and uninteresting as the name suggests (after some personal examination I conclude that while I am sure there are some, on the whole this is not true).
The march itself lasted a little under thirty minutes. Reuel, Salem and I walked behind a couple of Native American Messianic Jewish converts who banged on some kind of drum I’m going to call a tom-tom and shouted something I couldn’t understand in either Yiddish or their native tongue. The glory and excitement of the march wore off rather quickly, though walking seemed to release some of the oppressive heat. Either that or I became fixated on my aching feet (for some reason I wore flip-flops).
Eventually we came to the Centreplex and everybody funneled down into the lower level of the building. We filed into a rather large meeting room. Still, after everyone came in there was standing room only. I found Solomon and sat with him. Reuel and Salem joined us. There were thirty minutes or so of some really cool Jewish praise and worship music. The lyrical content was heavy with Hebrew phrases and equally Jewish-natured themes in English that I still found personally relevant and biblically accurate (after all, Christianity was just supposed to be a continuation of Judaism). The music itself was pretty much your typical rock chords and patterns on guitar with some interesting melodic content here and there just to remind you, once again, that this was a Jewish thing. I really enjoyed it though. I would later be taught that as a gentile Christian I was grafted into the olive branch that is Israel (I already knew this but it was cool to hear it explained in a detailed manner). Some quick recognitions were made for those who organized the event and then Greg Hirschberg, a Rabbinical leader from the local Messianic Jewish congregation my friends were from, gave the address. I sat there uncomfortably in my chair pinned between Salem and Solomon, but I quickly became engrossed with what the Rabbi had to say despite having my sweaty rear stuck to the chair.
This guy was different. He wasn’t like the babbling politician or the pontificating preacher. Maybe it wasn’t what he said so much that grabbed my attention at first, but how he spoke and from where. Physically he was an intimidating man, a former bouncer or security guard from NYC. His voice had a thick layer of Yankee on it. He was passionate with a sincerity that words cannot describe. It was odd, almost paradoxical at times. Often he was moved to tears and had to pause before continuing. He spoke from the heart and he spoke at length of the importance of the Jewish people and the state of Israel as it pertains to Biblical prophecy (Evidently twenty-five percent of scripture is prophetic in nature. Eighty percent of that twenty-five has been fulfilled. The remaining twenty percent all pertains to the return of Yeshua, Jesus in Hebrew, and the covenants God established with His people, of whom I am now included.) I’m no expert so I won’t get technical, but basically the Jewish people must occupy the territory God promised them before the Messiah returns. Some seven hundred verses in the Bible center on the Jewish people’s uniting in the name of Yeshua and their return to this part of the world. So basically, as Christians, we should be concerned about Israel and her people because God is concerned for her. After all, if it wasn’t for her we would not be able to lay claim on His promises (this is an interesting study as it was her rejection of Him that led the Lord to offer salvation to all.)
I have always embraced a Jewish heritage in my Christian faith, even if I haven’t understood it and I’ve always felt a kinship with Israel, even though I’ve never been there. But tonight I cannot help but feel I’ve been missing a connection, something that is significant and maybe even essential. After all, if Jesus was a Jew, isn’t he still? He didn’t convert did he? And if God’s promises can never be broken, why do we as Christians in the Western world think that what happens to the Jewish people and the state of Israel is of little consequence. Make no mistake, the fate of the Jewish people, of Israe,l is one that we will share in; and though it be a glorious fate, those who bless Her shall be blessed and those who curse her shall be cursed. She is Christ’s bride. She is the church of which we are a part. And as Derek Webb somewhat prophetically wrote, “You cannot care for me with no regard for her. If you love me [Jesus Christ] you will love the church [Israel].”
To what degree this experience will inform my faith, I am not yet sure. I do know one thing however, I rode home tonight thinking about the two lady protestors and it made me sad. Not because of their naivety of obvious political and historical truths, but because of their ignorance of spiritual things. And I can’t help but wonder how many others are out there just like those two ladies, just like I was; those that may be Christians but have no spiritual understanding of the importance our Jewish counterparts have here at the end of all things. In John 4, Christ himself even claimed that, “salvation is of the Jews.”
Sadly, I think too often we are not truly concerned with the return of Christ, rather whether we are right or wrong doctrinally. Much less are we truly concerned with the world experiencing the love of God, but whether or not our church has more members and money than the one down the road with whom our doctrine is opposed. Then again, maybe I’m being unfair. Honestly, if I peel away the sour layer of the Baptist’s rhetoric and ignore the coat-tailing agenda of the politician, I find that on the simplest level these men had something within them that hinted at a necessity to support Israel. Maybe I have more in common with them than I at first realized. So I’ll join with them in the call of Rabbi Hirschberg; I’ll, “pray for the peace of Jerusalem and pray for the return of the Messiah.”
