The Power of the Good News

Saturday I brought 6 of our Iraqis to church: Arazoo (17) who comes regularly now, Halo (9), Alaa (6) and Um Alaa, and Omed (12) and Um Omed (Halo, Alaa, and Omed are our three latest arrivals for heart surgery from Iraq). The families are each given a Kurdish or Arabic New Testament when they come to stay with us, and they had not seen a Christian worship service before. Outside it was the most extreme weather I’d seen in Israel yet, freezing cold, gusty winds, hail, and claps of thunder that made me wonder what kind of idolatry could provoke God to such a fury. It was perhaps more actually blessing in disguise as Israel has really needed the rain, and each thunder clap made the prayer, the worship, the preaching poignantly emphatic.

Because the nature of Jerusalem Christian churches involve a lot of people coming and going the pastor asks who is here for the first time and they are acknowledged by the congregation. Our visitors received a lot of attention as you can imagine, both because they’re not Christians, but also because of the situation they come out of, the fact that this congregation prays for Shevet Achim and its patients regularly, and because Arazoo who they had prayed for previously had since had her surgery and was doing much better. They were made to feel very at home by one of speakers leading a liturgy who addressed them in Kurdish with “choney boshey” which loosely translates to something like “how are you, good?” to which both mothers jumped up, seemingly very pleased to hear these words, raised their hand and said “choney boshey” in return. They seemed to enjoy the worship though they could not understand it, Halo and Omed enjoyed clapping along to the songs (however out of sync they were), and had a good time participating. They all also participated in all the prayers that were said. Whether it was coincidence, Divine will, or sensitivity towards the Iraqi’s, the guest preacher gave the sermon in Arabic which was then translated to English for the rest of the congregation. Kurdish and Arabic are only related to the same extent that, say, English is to say Spanish, but Um Alaa is fluent in Arabic, and Um Omed like most Kurdish speakers in Iraq can understand some basic Arabic. The speaker talked about a prison ministry that he runs in Israel, talked about how we are all molded uniquely like clay in the hands of a potter and gave some other theological references and general edifications toward an individual’s humanity regardless of circumstance and the need for redemption.

I was very grateful that the mothers were able to understand the sermon but something very unexpected happened following the closing prayer and the small horde that approached the mothers and children to bless them and pray over them. Um Alaa began to weep. I wasn’t sure what had happened, if the stress had overtaken her or what exactly, but the other volunteer with me, Donna, told me shortly following that she was weeping because she had been so touched by the message. At this I was kind of surprised…I didn’t think it was that powerful of a message…sure it was good to hear about the success of this ministry and to hear again how God has made each individual special, etc… I thought maybe Donna was being a little too optimistic that it wasn’t something else, but then I noticed the other mother, while not weeping, was also visibly shaken…

This reminded me of, and strengthened my conscience concerning something I’ve felt over the last few weeks being here and in the course of settling in. The work my coworkers and I are doing by any outsider's standards would be seen as tremendous, incredible, awe inspiring, praiseworthy, etc; but the longer and more feverishly I do it, the harder it is for me to see this. I’ve heard analogies such as "you can't see the forest from the trees", or "you can't grasp the immensity of a sky scraper from inside the ground floor," and I think this fits both with my work at Shevet and my spiritual life to a certain extent. I may be driving kids in and out of Gaza, the West Bank, Jordan, making believers out of Muslims, ministering to the least, being a peacemaker between arch enemies, living humbly so that I can save others, etc. but unless I repeat that to myself, stop and step back and realize that is what I’m doing, I don’t see it when I’m actually in the process of doing it.

In the same way the radical nature of the Gospel is something that I need to be reminded of and refreshed by; not only that, but be truly impressed by the things being accomplished in Jesus name. The speaker was talking about a wonderfully successful prison ministry, to which my response was, “that’s great, another effective prison ministry built on the love of Christ,” but I lacked the enthusiasm of how glorious such an accomplishment is. I know that there are such ministries around the world and perhaps I am jaded by their number rather than overwhelmed by the joy of the enduring and vibrant work of Christ and his Church. I am used to the wonder of God, like the Israelites, like so many Great Revivals, my eyes have adjusted to the brilliant light; I know it's not the right place to be. Witnessing the response of these mothers, I think certainly more appropriate than my own by Kingdom standards, is a welcome reminder to pray for a new, fresh faith that can appreciate all these things, that will in turn encourage and strengthen me as I go about doing the work the Lord has graciously set before me to do in his name. Perhaps when you pray you can petition God to do this for me, so that I can feel newly inspired again and again, by all that he does, and for yourself if you find you are in this same place.

After the service ended the kids ran around the sanctuary taking pictures, smelling the flowers, enjoying being kids. Each of them, and the mothers, received copious blessings and prayers during this time. While I was not there with them, it’s my understanding that some of them, maybe more, went to church again that evening. Please continue to pray for the work God is doing in the lives of these families, physically and spiritually, today especially as I will be taking Halo, Alaa, and Omed in for their open-heart surgeries within the next 48 hours.