Pilgrimage (13 page)

The doors and enclosed stairway have been sealed shut for centuries. But for those of us who know Christ, we no longer need a temple to offer our sacrifices because “we have been made holy through the sacrifice of the body of Jesus Christ once for all” (Hebrews 10:10). Even so, God has never been without His Temple. “Don’t you know that you yourselves are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit lives in you?” the Scriptures ask. “God’s temple is sacred, and you are that temple” (1 Corinthians 3:16–17). God began building this new temple on the Jewish Feast of Shavuot, the second required pilgrimage festival, fifty days after Passover, fifty days after Jesus rose from the dead. We call it the Day of Pentecost.

Imagine the disciples as observant Jews, gathering together as a group after the resurrection to celebrate the Feast of Shavuot. On this day, worshipers would bring the very first fruits of their summer crops to the Temple in a joyful procession. They had tied ribbons on those offerings back home as soon as the fruit first appeared in the spring, marking them for God. The day also commemorates the giving of the Law on Mount Sinai and is remembered by a public reading of the Torah. On the very first Shavuot, when Moses returned from the mountain with the Ten Commandments, three thousand Israelites died in punishment for worshiping the golden calf.

As Jesus’ disciples and followers began their celebration at nine o’clock in the morning, something amazing happened. “Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven. . . . All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit” (Acts 2:2, 4). In the Old Testament, God’s Holy Spirit came
in small doses, resting for a limited time on His prophets and others anointed for His work. But God promised that one day “I will pour out my Spirit on all people . . . even on my servants, both men and women” (Joel 2:28–29). Now it had happened. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit’s power. When people came running to see what was going on, Peter preached to the amazed crowd of Jews who had come from all over the world for the feast. Three thousand people were baptized that day and became followers of Christ, the firstfruits of His worldwide body.

Many scholars believe that the events of Pentecost took place here at the Temple. Scripture says that the wind “filled the whole house where they were sitting,” and Jews typically called the Temple “The House” (Acts 2:2). Unlike Passover, which is celebrated in private homes, Pentecost was celebrated at the Temple, so it’s likely that Peter and the others would want to gather there early in the morning on this important feast day. Besides, a typical Jewish home in Jerusalem would have been much too small to accommodate a speech to three thousand people. These steps leading to the Temple’s main entrance would have made a wonderful stage and bleachers for the event. And the ritual baths directly below me would provide a convenient place to baptize three thousand new believers.

But the location of Peter’s Pentecost speech isn’t important. What’s important is that on this day, God set the first stones of His new Temple in place. “You are . . . built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling
in which God lives by his Spirit” (Ephesians 2:19–22). God sent His Holy Spirit to dwell not in a man-made building, but in His people. A temple built of enormous stone blocks doesn’t have the ability to “Go into all the world and preach the good news to all creation” (Mark 16:15). But this new temple, like the original tabernacle that Moses built in the wilderness, can travel wherever God commands His people to go.

I don’t always realize until I stand here what a privilege we have. For centuries, God’s Spirit was thought to dwell only here in His Temple. But now the Holy Spirit dwells in us. I can leave this place and He goes with me, guiding me, shaping me. “And surely I am with you always,” Jesus promised, “to the very end of the age” (Matthew 28:20). But with that promise comes responsibility.

I look up at these remaining stones from the Temple’s retaining wall and see how perfectly the masons cut each huge stone to fit in its exact place. It’s a picture of us as His “living stones.” Peter wrote, “As you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by men but chosen by God and precious to him—you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house”(1 Peter 2:4–5).

The phrase
living stone
has a double meaning. We are obviously alive with beating hearts and living bodies, and we have the life of Christ in us. But a
living stone
is also a technical term used to describe a rock that has been quarried, cut, and shaped into a building block. Lately, I have felt like a rock in a quarry as I’ve experienced cutting and chipping and painful carving. But when I look up at the Temple wall’s original building stones, standing firmly in place without mortar for two thousand years, I can begin to imagine what the final result will be when God’s work in me—and in us—is finished.

The Greek word that describes Jesus as a carpenter means much more than someone who works exclusively with wood. It means a master builder or a stone mason—and visitors to Israel quickly see that the majority of buildings here are made of stone, not wood. Jesus, our master builder, can use the painful trials we experience to cut and shape us for our perfect place in His new temple. If we allow Him to work, we become “living stones,” shaped to fit tightly together, shoulder to shoulder. We are the Temple of God, shining like millions of dollars’ worth of gold. How comforting to know that all of the pain we experience now, when surrendered to Him, will one day bring glory to God.

If I resist His work in my life, I become as useless as a block in a stair that leads nowhere, facing a dead end. But shaped by Christ’s grace and love, I become a stepping-stone to help people find their way up out of the darkness into God’s dazzling light.

The Kotel

Today I am going to the Jewish place of prayer, the Western Wall. The Israelis call it simply the
Kotel
—The Wall—and it is one of Judaism’s holiest sites. This section of what was once King Herod’s retaining wall is the closest point to where the Temple sanctuary stood on the plateau above. The sanctuary housed the Holy of Holies and the ark of the covenant. It was God’s dwelling place on earth.

Thousands of people come to worship here at the Kotel every day, but to get here we have to pass through a security checkpoint guarded by Israeli soldiers. Women must have their purses and bags searched, men must empty their pockets
and open their backpacks. Everyone must pass through a metal detector. I see soldiers everywhere, some watching us from high above the Kotel. I’m told that security intensifies on holidays.

Once we’re past the gates, sunlight fills the spacious, open-air plaza. Men and women worship separately, just as they did in God’s Temple, with a low barrier dividing the two areas. I go to the women’s side and approach the wall, looking up at the massive stone blocks, some as large as three feet high and six feet long, rising several stories above my head. I feel a sense of joy and awe. Some of the women, unwilling to turn their backs on this holy site, walk backwards as they leave the wall, their hands folded in prayer.

I have followed the tradition of writing my prayers on a scrap of paper to tuck into one of the narrow cracks between the stones. Hundreds of such prayers already cram every available space. I push my paper between the blocks, then close my eyes and pray. The stones feel sun-warmed as I rest my hand against the wall. For some reason I am overcome with emotion. I know I can pray anytime, anywhere, but there is a sense of accumulated faith here, as if the prayers of countless millions of worshipers throughout the centuries still linger in the air.

When King Solomon first dedicated the Temple a thousand years before Christ, he prayed these words: “As for the foreigner who does not belong to your people Israel but has come from a distant land . . . when he comes and prays toward this temple, then hear from heaven, your dwelling place, and do whatever the foreigner asks of you, so that all the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you” (2 Chronicles 6:32–33). Three thousand years ago, Solomon prayed for me!

I gaze up at this fortress-like wall when I finish praying and try to hold on to the feeling I have. I want to envision God as my Rock, my Fortress, as strong and protective as this towering wall. I want to remember that I can fold up all of my needs and prayer requests and place them in His care, then walk away and leave them, knowing He has heard me.

I follow the other women’s examples and slowly back away from the wall. After rejoining my group, I make my way across the plaza and exit the secure area, passing long lines of people waiting to enter through the checkpoint. It seems incongruous to me to submit to an inspection on the way to worship or pray, but without security measures, the Kotel would become a prime target for Israel’s enemies.

The Jews in Jesus’ day were as zealous for the holiness of the Temple as the modern security guards are for its safety. The largest area of the Temple Mount, the Court of the Gentiles, was open to all worshipers. But only Jews could go beyond the barriers into the Court of Women or the even smaller Court of Men—provided they were ritually clean, that is, and not blemished or crippled. A large sign warned that any non-Jew who tried to worship in these inner courtyards would be put to death. The apostle Paul was nearly killed in a riot at the Temple because the Jews believed he had brought a Gentile from Ephesus named Trophimus into this sacred area (Acts 21:27–36).

Beyond the court for Jewish men, access to the Temple continued to become more and more restricted. Only ordained priests and Levites could approach the altar to offer sacrifices. Only they could enter the Temple sanctuary itself and burn incense or light the menorah in the Holy Place. And the holiest chamber of all, the Most Holy Place, separated
from the rest of the sanctuary by a curtain, was off-limits to everyone except the High Priest—and he could enter only once a year on the Day of Atonement, bearing the blood of the sacrifice. Imagine the priests’ horror on the day of Christ’s crucifixion when, at the moment of Jesus’ death on the cross, “the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom” (Matthew 27:51). Christ had opened a direct path to God for everyone who accepted His sacrifice on the cross, men and women, Jews and Gentiles.

Jesus zealously guarded the sacredness of the Temple but not for the same reasons that the priests did. In His day, the Court of the Gentiles had been turned into a loud commercial shopping mall where money changers had set up shop and sacrifices were sold. People even used that courtyard as a shortcut to carry merchandise from one side of Jerusalem to the other. If any foreigners like me came to worship, as King Solomon foresaw, they had to fight their way past the animal stalls and noisy bartering marketplace to find a place to pray. Jesus turned all the tables upside down, quoting the prophets Jeremiah and Isaiah as He tossed aside crates of doves and bags of money to cleanse the courtyard. “Is it not written: ‘My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations’? But you have made it ‘a den of robbers’” (Mark 11:17). Jesus cleared the way so that everyone who sought the God of Israel could have access to Him.

I want to take a careful look at my place of worship back home with this in mind. What can I do to make sure that our church sanctuary provides an atmosphere of reverent awe and worship? Is it sanctified as a holy place where nothing profane is allowed to desecrate it and detract from worship? Is it a place where both believers and seekers can come and
truly worship our Holy God, or has it become a busy, babbling marketplace?

Maybe I should set up a security checkpoint around my own worship times, too. Whether praying at home or in church, I need to keep all of my enemies out, including my own distracting thoughts, petty complaints, and the weight of stored grievances that hang on my shoulders like a bulging purse. If my worship feels stale, maybe it’s because my barriers are down, and I’m allowing unwelcome distractions to enter.

On Sundays, the enemy seems to know just how to make sneak attacks on my husband and me so we’ll arrive at church grumpy and out of sorts, hardly in a mood to worship. We need to go through a spiritual checkpoint so we can come with a right attitude and a forgiving heart if we would like God’s forgiveness. Jesus said, “Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift” (Matthew 5:23–24). What if I took a few moments to prepare my heart and mind ahead of time to worship? The same is true of my quiet times at home. Before meeting with a Holy God, I could turn off the incessant mind-chatter, the distracting telephone and email alerts, cleansing the courtyard as Jesus did.

I’ll always remember the awe I felt today when praying at the Kotel—and also the joy I saw on the other worshipers’ faces. Worship and prayer are ways to approach a holy, righteous, and gracious God who is waiting to meet with us. The curtain of separation has been torn in two, and we can feel the warmth of His love—like sun-warmed stones—anytime and in any place.

Bar Mitzvah

I have returned to the Kotel to pray. There is something about the Wall that draws me, a sense of holiness and connection as I remember all of the men and women from Scripture who have worshiped here, all of my favorites like Isaiah and King Hezekiah and Jeremiah and, of course, Jesus. Today I hear drums and cymbals and music, the trumpeting of shofars, sounds of a joyful celebration. Excitement fills the air as musicians in gold-trimmed white robes lead a procession across the plaza to the Kotel, escorting a young boy beneath a portable, velvet-draped canopy. Visitors turn to watch as the musicians usher him and his family to the Wall with singing, clapping, rejoicing. The boy looks a little sheepish, as if unaccustomed to being the center of attention among his family and friends—much less being stared at by hundreds of strangers and tourists taking photographs.