The question he asked was, “Why don’t we know Jesus better?” I swear I heard, “Why are you even here?”

Why don’t we know Jesus better?

The flight to Israel from Germany was a nice 5-hour ride over mountains, waters, and lands I couldn’t name. Millions of people speaking in tongues not heard much in New Mexico. Cultures that differ from my desert land. When I saw the Mediterranean Sea, I knew we were close. My son and I shifted in our seats, eager to be on land again. The Tel Aviv airport was smaller than the one in Frankfurt. We found the open hall and stood in the line for the foreign ones to pass through customs. Excited for our next adventure.

We arrived in Jerusalem with our tour group that evening. Our first night, Michael Card asked the question that was to be the scaffolding with which to build our understanding of Jesus while traveling in His steps.  I wrote “meditate” next to the question in my journal. I suppose we came to learn more of the person our faith is focused on.

Meditate – To dwell on any thing in thought; to contemplate; to study; to turn or revolve any subject in the mind; appropriately but not exclusively used of pious contemplation, or a consideration of the great truths of religion. (1828 Dictionary)

I tumbled the question over in my mind a time or two. Thought about it through the ten days we wandered the lands of history and war. But mostly, I tried to stay aware and present as information flooded my senses. I couldn’t drink it all in.

In a world where more is written about Jesus than any other person in history, in a world where people discuss the life of Christ more than any other life in history, in a world where the influence of this Rabbi reaches long in space and time more than any other revolution in history, we know Him only in part, in shadows, incomplete. His ministry was 2000 years ago, yet His birth literally changed time.

His birth is the fulcrum separating the now, HESED incarnate, and the before, HESED in law.

The LORD passed before him and proclaimed, “The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, but who will by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children and the children’s children, to the third and the fourth generation.”

Exodus 34:6-7

No other life has had such influence. And we know so little of Him.

Time separates me from this Man I love. Space separates me from this Saviour I serve. Culture separates me from this Rabbi I study. Language separates me from this Hebrew I pray to. Ethnicity separates me from the God I follow. In a moment I realize the reason of His birth.

This is the reason and wonder of Jesus’ birth is because I am the one separated. Not Him. I am bound by time, space, and language. He is not. He chose to be bound in that time and shattered every meaning of the now and not yet. He chose to be bound in space and shattered every dimension of the here and there. He chose to be bound by culture, language, and ethnicity for me in a totally different culture, language, and ethnicity. And shattered for me every limitation to my own being. And put action and being to His hesed, חֶסֶד.

Jesus entered time to show me love. Jesus clothed himself in flesh to serve me. Jesus lived in a culture to reason with me. Jesus spoke three languages to communicate with me. Jesus took on the look of someone unremarkable to lead me to something remarkable. He became the way to a God who is HESED, who is LOVE, who is GRACE, who is JUST, who is HOLY.

He walked this land knowing I would someday find a way to take pictures of broken stones. Hoping for a poignant shot that seeps into the soul of someone who might be searching for beauty beyond words.

Our first stop was Bethlehem, house of bread. At that time in history, it was in the shadow of Herod the Great’s palace. Ironic, isn’t it, that the God of all there is enters the womb of a lowly woman to be born under Rome’s puppet calling himself “great”? God has a sense of humor.

We went to a 1^st century house to sit in while our guide discussed the culture of the times and the homes and what “inn” meant. Sitting in that dusty, small space, listening to our guide elucidate how they gathered grain for the winter, where guests would stay, walls large enough to hide people, and a space for the animals to come in transported me to a time and space I’ve never been. I feel I understand his birth a little more. I could see their families saying “no, you’re not welcome here” until finally someone let them stay with the animals.

Jesus was born in sight of this palace of a man who called himself “Great” yet was Rome’s puppet to the Jews. The politics and land at that time were fragmented and volatile, just like now.

God had long stopped talking to the faithful. And when He does break His silence, it is to a young girl and her betrothed about a helpless baby boy. They endure ridicule and gossip. Yet, the extended family sees that she is not stoned to death for her unfaithfulness. Many people would view Him as one who should have died with the faithless mother.

And here this child whose mother follows the crazy Word of God is born in a world full of harm and hatred and holy. She treasures all these things from holy to harm in her heart. And Jesus is saved from the first attempt on His life. It is interesting that before His lungs fill with air, His life was in danger. The beating heart of God calmly carried on His will, Word made flesh.

Shepherds come to the place where the baby Jesus is laid with dirty animals and his parents. God’s glory is never easily hid in life. Angels came to tell dirty shepherds about hope alive in a feeding trough. They leave the lands outside the city, the caves and hills, to bow their knees to a baby.

Later, when the baby is toddling about, men from the east come to worship. They bring a strange gift of Myrrh. A spice used only for burial. The mother treasures this in her heart. She doesn’t question why bring such a damning gift. She doesn’t chide them for bringing a blessing of death to her child she knows is bringing life and that abundantly.

Herod is now aware of a King born. And his fragile pride cannot handle the life of this baby. He cannot abide glory going to someone born of poverty. He orders all children two years and younger to be killed. Another attempt on His life. So the family pack up their few belongings and the Myrrh, the reminder that He did come to die, and flee to Egypt.

Herod died while Jesus and his family were in Egypt, land of their ancestors’ slavery. They travel to Galilee to raise this incarnate God in Nazareth. Herod’s palace is in ruins now. Stones upon stones only hinting at the glory the man held in a moment of time. The place Jesus was born is said to be under a Byzantine Church visited by millions of people hoping to cross the centuries to touch a part of the Holy in this world of harm.

Why are you even here?

My son and I walk the rocky roads and visit churches, graves, restaurants with our new close friends. We listen to our guide elucidate the meaning of words and places and history. Each of us gain an insight that is unique to us. What does Jesus’ birth mean to me differs from what it means to my son or my new close friends.

I walk these roads with my journal, pen, and camera trying to drink it all in. Wanting to hold it beyond what is physically possible in this time and space. My desire to know and understand NOW overwhelms my need to be present. Just being in the here and now. To listen to this God that spans time and space to bring me closer to Him.

My trip to Israel started three years ago, when my oldest son landed before the country closed. He returned from his Israel trip and told me I needed to go. He didn’t suggest it, he impressed it on me. So, I got the tickets with the middle son. And we waited. In three years, I had plenty of time to discover why I was even going to Israel.

I don’t think I knew exactly why. To meet Michael Card was a plus. I’ve enjoyed his music and books for years now. My children know his songs. To meet my new close friends was an added grace I did not expect but am ever grateful for.

As I went through my pictures and my journal for this first day in Israel, for this day focused on Christ’s birth, I am in awe. I realize that my why am I even here is to be present. To listen. To be born of Him. To experience grace that goes beyond temporal confinements and limiting dimensions.

I am here to listen.

Shema.

I am here to be born of holy from YHWH born to harm.

חֶסֶד