5-28-2018 Miracling

            Who is like the LORD our God, who is seated on high,

            who looks far down on the heavens and the earth?

            He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the              ash heap, to make them sit with princes, with the princes of                his people. He gives the barren woman a home, making her the joyous mother of children.

            Praise the LORD!                  —Psalm 113:5-9

There are so many encounters related to this latest trip to your land, Lord—I’m anxious to share them all, but also want to be obedient to your spiritual stirrings. I sense that you too are anxious to share, so I’m going to take the path that is encouraging me most at this moment. You, I’m sure will have more to reveal on the matter as the events unfold.

The reason for my immediate inspiration is due to a book I’m reading, Cup of Salvation, penned by an orthodox Jewish rabbi, Pesach Wolicki. What does the writing have to do with my adventure in Israel? It actually started with my previous trip when our group attended a Bible study organized by the Center for Jewish—Christian Understanding and Cooperation. This unique group, which I’ve spoken of before, is founded by a number of rabbis whose vision is to dialogue with, study deeply and seek common understanding of your word. I was amazed by the first encounter and hungered for our most recent group to form their own opinions of the experience.

Because of scheduling and location challenges, a unique opportunity presented itself. I made contact with Rabbi Pesach (having never met before) and he offered to lead a small group study at the apartment we were staying at in Jerusalem. What a gracious man, you placed in our path, Adonai, how could we refuse such an intimate teaching moment? In a preliminary phone conversation, Pesach asked me, “what would you like me to teach on?”

So many things! I laughed inwardly, but knew we needed to focus our time and so suggested he help us examine prophetic verses in the Tenach concerning the Nations—most often referred to in the Old and New Testaments as Gentiles—and how they shall come to the land, committed to serve the people of Israel.

I heard the man on the other end of the line chuckle slightly and then he replied, “That’s perfect because I recently finished writing a book which includes a great deal about those prophecies.”

Well of course, I mused, you, Spirit, are doing a work, why should I be surprised?

Our study time arrives and Rabbi Pesach knocks on the door. We welcome, him, introduce and then laugh and banter a bit about the strange address of our apartment (we were in unit 208… on the 4^th floor of the building). There is an in immediate connection with our group. Sure we have differences: The elephant in the room? Has our Messiah already made himself know in the physical—you Lord Yeshua. But debate on that is not the purpose of this moment—you have something special in mind. Tonight we will share our common desire to understand the roots of your redemption plan for your people.

Pesach offers a great many insights which we eagerly absorb. Are we listening using different filters? Certainly so, that’s the human condition, but what he unpacks includes powerful insight into your sovereign yet personal involvement throughout our past history, our present and our future…

—“The last person to recognize that a miracle is happening,

is him to whom the miracle is happening.”

I’m really beginning to like this guy. While I’m digesting that morsel, he asks what seems an innocent question.

“Can anyone here offer a definition of what a miracle is?”

We all take stabs at the answer. Now I watch the rabbi nod, complementing each on their explanations, and then a smile plays on his lips. You have given this man wisdom I haven’t considered and he’s about to offer it up. My pen is poised and ready to mark the moment.

“A miracle happens when God, who created the natural laws of the universe,

acts outside those laws to produce an un-natural outcome.”

I’m paraphrasing on purpose, Lord because the conversation in that upper-room of ours involved much more back-and-forth, much more testing. The rabbi’s premise was powerful and made such simple sense. It spoke volumes about how we tend to think of miracles as being sometimes normal occurrences directed to help us and others. Sometimes they even seem like random acts, allowed by you. But they are not allowed or accidental at all. Quite the contrary, in order to act outside the predictable order of things, one must have and actively use, the power to act unpredictably… otherwise. That One, the only One who ca

n do that, is you, and therefore, you, Creator of the universe, are involved personally, directly and relationally in every truly miraculous event.

It was at that moment of realization that I perceived perhaps a miracle was happening right then and there. Maybe I was the last of those to realize it. We had come together with beliefs that were similar, but frictionally diverse enough whereby we might very well have sought argument and division as our course. Instead, we had come to agreement. We were of one accord, behaving outside the normal operating parameters of the universe!

A small miracle perhaps: Perhaps not. That’s the other dimension to miracles. They are not for our pleasure or purpose, but yours, Lord. They most certainly demonstrate testimony and can be used to sway the unbeliever, but it would be a mistake to think miracles are only an evangelistic tool.

Your miracles are mysteries of love. There I was, in a room of seekers and you presented yourself in full glory, not because of a word or some special formula of words, but because you desired us to spiritually know…Yadah…you, and each other, better.

Pesach was so generous with his time and passion for you—thank you, Teacher-of-all for instilling that purpose in him. Thank you for the miracle of all those people being in that room at that moment, for that is one more subtle truth about miracles. They sometimes look like conveniences—that’s probably why we don’t always recognize them until long after they occur—but you had to alter the natural laws for us to be there, I have no doubt. I know how miraculous was my own attendance and your effort that went into arranging the appointed time.

Which brings me to another realization about miracles. Once recognized—late or early on—I need to respond to their power, react to your intervention, worship and praise the enactor. OK, I don’t need to, but I should want to. Why would I not want to sing that song of appreciation? After all, miracle, in the Hebrew language is a verb. It is active so it might inspire activity by its receiver. I suppose then, Lord, the true nature of our fellowship, you and I, me and my brothers and sisters and neighbors, is one of Miracling.

So now perhaps, the readers of this blog will understand the connection of Rabbi Pesach’s book to our encounter. Cup of Salvation is a commentary on the Hallel (Praise) Psalms (113 through 118). I’m not going to shamelessly plug the rabbi’s writings; that is his job (and I risk that bit of comedy, believing I have now come to know the man at least enough to recognize we share a sense of ironic humor). I pray to and appreciate you Lord, for continuing to weave small and great miracles into our lives, joining us together for your greater miracle unfolding…your kingdom come.

Happy Miracling,

Mark C.

(Released with permission of Rab. Pesach Wolicki)

5-20-2018 Messiah

Go on up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good news; lift up your voice with strength, O Jerusalem, herald of good news; lift it up, fear not; say to the cities of Judah, "Behold your God!"

―Isaiah 40:9

OK Lord, I didn’t even know it was on my bucket list. It was not by my design. Now, it is a part of my spirit’s heart: Accident? Coincidence that this gift is discovered? Hardly.

Our group heard about an evening performance of Handel’s Messiah that was to be held at the Garden Tomb area of Jerusalem, a very special composition in an intimate terraced paradise that I love to visit whenever in your land. The concert had already been rescheduled once due to weather and now was an invitation not to be denied. So our venture began…

―We arrive into this nighttime paradise. Perfect; almost. There is a mild wind chilling the air, and we looked forward to the entertainment as we enter the peaceful courtyard. I explain to the others, who have not been, that this was not the “traditional” site thought to be your temporary resting place after the crucifixion. Instead, it is a fair re-creation of what the area might have looked like in your time. Regardless of its authenticity, the surroundings are beautiful, with stone walkways meandering side to side, stepping up and down alone a terrain lavished with flora which the breeze wafted, intoxicating my soul in preparation for what was to come.

We arrive early and disperse, each of us seeming to have individual preferences of seating location for the event. To my amazement, there is a second-row bench opening just behind and to the right of the conductor who is preparing to warm up the orchestra and choir. I eagerly take my place and happen to look above me. I am sitting directly under a beautiful olive tree that canopies out in peaceful protection of any who seek its sanctuary. I embrace the invitation and give you thanks for this tranquil moment.

It is enough, but you are not through with the blessing. The conductor raises his arms, the musicians become alert and then the air and my ears receive the melodic prelude of one of man’s most earnest attempts to honor you, reflecting your word in music.

An immediate sense of completeness floods my soul. Each note, each chord resonates in cause of reflecting your presence. Here is where I belong. As the soloists and choir join in, I too want to sing, but instead let their voices be mine, rising up in offering a sweet incense of song.

Comfort, comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that her warfare is ended, that her iniquity is pardoned, that she has received from the LORD's hand double for all her sins. A voice cries: "In the wilderness prepare the way of the LORD; make straight in the desert a highway for our God.                                               

―Isaiah 40:1-3

And not only upwards does your word soar, but outward to the world. Interestingly, the dissonant tones of recorded evening prayers offered to other gods occasionally compete, invading from outside the garden walls. They are respected, the orchestra and singers stop, wait patiently with us, eagerly anticipating the finale of the chants and the restarting of our worship. Handel knew, I can hear it in his composition, that all mankind, if we will only consider the potential, can find you in song, in common prayer, in joined communion, recognizing that even in our best attempts, you are the Completer of our symphony.

         

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and of peace there will be no end, on the throne of David and over his kingdom, to establish it and to uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time forth and forevermore. The zeal of the LORD of hosts will do this.

―Isaiah 9:6-7

The songs continue and then the wind also begins a crescendo, it is a very cool breath considering this is May. Everyone around me shivers and we huddle, struggling to focus on the beauty of the notes rather than the increasing intensity of the weather. The musicians wrestle as well, their paper music flapping in the breeze and the gusts becoming a part of the concert, wanting to rush what we hope to savor longer.

At a point, however, after the Tenor Contra duet is ended, the conductor turns to us with a smile. “I would also like this to continue, but alas, our God has a different concert to share with us.” We all laugh and he tells of the unique nature of this evening’s work: The first time for a symphony concert in this garden (promising there will be many more); the context of Handel and the first of its kind translation, sung in Hebrew. O what a glorious night. I’m saddened by the shortening of the evening but am rewarded with a final requiem―of course, no Handel’s Messiah ever dares leave out the Halleluiah Chorus, and this is no exception. The choir and the audience suddenly become one; it’s the same with every Messiah concert I’ve ever participated in; the exultations of our hearts cannot be interned, rushing out in harmonies and voices of different countries and cultures. Hebrew, English, Korean, Dutch, and so many others: It is the same word―we all live the exclamation; we all pour it out with understanding of its origins and it Originator.

Halleluiah, Halleluiah, Halleluiah!

For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth.

Halleluiah, Halleluiah!

                                                ―Revelation 19-6

Please don’t let it stop, Lord. Let this be that eternal moment when you return to rule us with your love.

But I know somehow in my heart of hearts, this is not that moment. It will come, but tonight it is just the most perfect and sweetest of reminders. Your kingdom is approaching, its antiphonal procession sung in practiced hope and joy, by your creation in this garden of your creation. Our gang as one had set out to be entertained. Instead, we were enveloped into a symphony of Spirit. You had foreseen it and placed us in the moment; an invitation and feast unexpected and magnificently orchestrated―just as a future day will come when there will be another, last invitation when each of us must a choice, accepting or rejecting your song of love. It may be today, or yet one more. Only you know that final moment.

I can’t wait another day. My heart chooses you now, Lord God, today and maybe yet one more. I long for that day when you shall reign forever and ever.

Amen, Halleluiah!

Mark C.

The Marathon - Days 1 & 2

Day 1-2 The Marathon.

Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable.                                                                                      ―1 Corinthians 9:24-25

It wasn’t life or death, my Lord, but it certainly was a sprint of uncertainty; the events all still fresh and clear in my mind’s eye. The day was beautiful, beginning with my prayers and exercise routine to center me on your plan, not mine. The rest of the day would not be routine whatsoever as this was to be the start of my 3^rd journey to Your Land. There was much to do, between finishing up business, trying to spend a portion of time with my bride, who as you know was not called to be on this trip.

The morning breezed by and suddenly I was entering the airport for a favorite pastime (not):  Security checks are a necessity these days Lord, sad to say. All of us near-do-wells have to submit ourselves to various levels of indignity, because evil lurks―sometimes in the person right next to me.

The good news was that this frisking was brief and efficient. I believe you had something to do with the friendly environment and I give you praise for that.

Now on to my other favorite airport pastime (not): Waiting is a specialty of mine Lord. I have perfected the art of expectation, concocting all sorts of ways to distract myself. Yet, as my grandmother would quip, “The faster I go, the behinder I get.” Special meaning there, the better I get at keeping myself busy while in latent mode, the more time seems to drag.

Regardless; my first flight of three flights was finally boarded and swept me safely on to one of my favorite air-hubs (not): What can I say about JFK Airport that has not already been said, Lord. I have not had the best experiences there over the years and I was all hopeful that, since my last visit, they had worked out the kinks. Instead, I found they had invented some new ones.

Upon arrival, I had 1 hour and 15 minutes to catch my next flight. Under normal circumstances, a doable feat, but the circumstances were instead; JFK Normal.

I got the attention of the first Flight Desk Attendant I could find and he explained in his own mix of Caribbean English, “No problem man, ye jest go ye down dat escalator to its stopping and take a right. Go to them doors before ye and they’ll be a bus a waiting. Take it to Terminal 2, get ye off and then go all dat way through Terminal 2 until ye see Terminal 1 to ye left. There ye go.”

Easy Pease: Lord, I do love to experience fresh perspective through the eyes of humanity, but I confess as a spiritual reveler, trapped in a time-restricted body, sometimes the moment can’t be properly savored. I did manage to get to the bus with the help of another friendly attendant and on that bus I waited again. And waited.

Apparently, the 4 passengers on the bus were not enough for regulations to allow motion and I feared we might wait for another plane to land in order to reach critical mass. Fortunately, some higher power (maybe influenced by the Highest Power?) finally squawked through the walkie-talkie to the driver that his break was over and we should be on our way.

Critical Mass was most definitely reached at the next bus stop where we played the Let’s see how many people we can squeeze into a vehicle game. Now I was feeling a tiny tingling sense of panic―Satan whispering, “Are we running behind schedule?”

I trust in you Lord and at the beginning of the day, I prayed, “Your will be done.” So I pushed through the angst of not being in control and acknowledged: It is your day, your plan.

Finally, we got to Terminal 2 and I serpentined through the crowds. Another friendly attendant explained the next part of the obstacle course in fairly passable Africans/Philippine with a hint of Scotch, I think. “Taker thasr waay to thalr raht. Stay on thasr flowr to thatr doooolr downr tharr. Jarajar Binks could not have explained it better, mesah know.

What he didn’t explain was what to do at the door and I found myself exiting the building onto a car entrance ramp. My God and King, do travelers have this much adventure in the spiritual realms, traveling interdimensionally?

One more friendly attendant was all it took to get me headed left down a sidewalk and across a blocked of parking section to the long sought after Terminal 1. Upon entering, I saw International Chaos on full display. Every country and personage was decoratively represented, except for one. Air France, the one I now desperately sought. A friendly security guard assured me that the Air France desk did indeed exist and it was at the farthest end of the building for my convenience.

I needed to get to the desk because, though I had checked in at my Nashville origin, they had had no clue as to what gate at which I was to depart in New York. After moving my seat assignment so that I wasn’t sitting on the tail of the Jumbo Jet, the friendly lady at the desk assured me that I was not going to make the flight unless I ran really fast. Obviously, she has never seen me run. I did my best imitation however and fortunately encountered a security line that slowed me way down and I no longer had to pretend I was a speedster. The line poured fresh gas on the fire of my doubts about making the flight. I was now again thinking I was going to miss the opportunity you had provided for me to fly to Your Land.

Little did I know (so typical of me) that you were using this to strengthen my faith. I somehow made it through the indignity process in record time and was herded out into a foyer with absolutely no evident directional signs for assistance. I do love JFK (not):

A friendly indignity patter-downer explained to me that I needed to head down the indistinct hallway he pointed toward and to look for Number 5. Thank you Lord, it was all of another two-minute sprint-and-weave between suitcase wheeling pedestrians. I found the big sign marked 5, which was indeed a gate. I am sure I did not present the best image of myself to the next attendant, who assure the profusely sweating me that I had made it to her gate in time; it was just the wrong gate. I needed 5-B; thankfully right next door.

And that’s when things got much, much better Lord. Somehow, my sense of utter futility must have impacted the Air France desk attendant at JFK, for she had managed to acquire me the seat of all seats. The bulkhead front seat by the galley, just to the rear of first class: What made it even more special was the design of the plane which also had an exit door by the bulkhead so there was no wall. With the added benefit of there not being any other occupant next to me, it was as if I was sitting in my own private cabin. I was able to stretch out my feet completely, even snooze a bit, get up and do a lap or two, and with the help of a fine French meal with exceptional service from the also friendly air-attendants, to regain my sustenance for the last leg of the trip. Paris to Tel Aviv.

Lord, I know that you were my encourager and strong balm of healing. I recognized your presence as I made my third trip through security without a hitch. I know that you put wonderful, friendly people in my path when needed to guide my steps. Others less trusting in you might say it was just the system working itself out, but I don’t believe systems have that power. I don’t believe that things find their own way to work out well…or not so. I believe in you.

I also believe you put me in the path of others, for your purpose. Did I mention Kinya from the Dominica Republic who did not speak much English (nor I Dominic Francais), but who was carrying her Bible and who was going home? Did I mention the one thing we did learn of one another was that we shared a favorite name for you…Dad? Another Pentecost moment that you fed to both of us – how sweet that was.

Did I mention the French couple on my next flight who were standing and waiting for the flight crew to fix a botched seating assignment? I was corrected in my stereotype which had me thinking the French are mostly an impatient lot. You reminded me again how wrong I could be. Their manners and demeanor through the inconvenience was exemplary. I complemented them and even offered a petit four of their language for encouragement…”C’est La Vie.” They agreed and your seed of fellowship was planted.

What about the phone technician who, after I landed in Tel Aviv, patiently helped me for 45 minutes of programming hell to get my internet properly functioning.

All along the way, there was a constant sense that, whatever was happening had your stamp of spiritual management on it. Even the perfect weather and flawless flight schedules. OK, there was the fact that I had to wrestle with my international calling system, but that too became a small thing in the shadow of your greater ways.

Lord, the long and short of it was that on this day…two days in fact, you were the long and short of it. Others may agree or scoff, matters not. I know deep within when you are leading in delight and correction and I felt your spirit upon me in every way.

I praise you for that fellowship, especially on this one portion of my journey when I am not sharing the joy and presence of my wife and other Mishpacah traveling companions. I appreciate that we can do this together, not because of what I bring to the table, but because you bring the table itself and provide all, so that my cup will overflow by your filling.

I pray for that filling throughout this trip, and one other thing I can count on without a doubt―your will be done.

Mark C.