Day 847

DAY 847
Dear John,

Dad and I went to Israel.  You would have loved it.  You would have wanted to stay and join their Army.  They looked sharp in their uniform!   I know people think there is so much danger and unrest, at least us here in the US, but it’s not like everyone thinks.

We are all guilty of a lot of assumptions as to what a place is really like.  Weird, really, when you’ve never experienced it for yourself, and it’s all based on the opinions of others and the media.  I felt that way before I went to New York – and it wasn’t at all what I thought it would be.  It’s like anywhere else with people, sites, food, and daily life.  How different would life be if we could all see the truth without all the haze that blinds us?

Anyway, I wanted to tell you, John, that I have a whole new appreciation for Mary.  When we visited the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and stood in front of Mary’s statue, there is a sword plunged deep into her heart. What an accurate depiction of losing a child.

You can’t help but put yourself in her sandals, and his.   His mother, the one who talked to the angel, gave birth to God's only son,  the one who raised him, held him, loved him . . . all the while knowing who he was and how he came to be.  Other than Father God, who knew his heart better than she?  How could she stand it when he was spit upon, scourged, tortured and mocked?  When she could so clearly see his divinity and they could not.

He was giving himself for them, for all of them, and yet they knew it not.  When you look into that beautiful statue and see the sorrow in her eyes and the sword in her heart, it gives you great pause and great pain.  Then you approach the statue of the cross with Jesus hanging there, dying, for the sins of everyone but himself . . .and you wonder what kind of people are we?

Would you be the finger pointer, the legalist, the disciple, the betrayer, the best friend who pretended not to know him, the judge, the jury, the family that didn’t believe, the mocker, the supporter or the stone thrower?  Would you have given him a chance?  Helped him when he fell?  Or joined the crowd and showed up to watch him die?  Are you the thief hanging next to him who joins him in Heaven at the last moment?  Looking to him when you have nothing else to lose?  Or in your desperation, believing him?

Dad and I lit a candle there for you, John. I told Jesus how sorry I was, I told Mary I saw her pain and hurt, and I wished I could hug you.  Touch you.  See you.

I couldn’t help but think about that debacle in high school where you gave that guy a ride to a party and he ended up in a fight. It was a mess, but your only involvement was giving a couple guys a ride to a party and then trying to get them out of there before it got even worse.  You didn't even realize how bad it was until you were a few miles away, and a truck was chasing you.  It was all so dumb and I can't stand going into the details because it was so unnecessary, and yet it changed your life forever.

The "crowd" in this case made a lot of assumptions. They assumed you were in the fight and all sorts of ridiculous rumors ensued.  You told me you literally had two friends that were standing with you, while everyone else was believing a bunch of lies. There were threats, attempts to fight you . . . I even found the adults taking part, and it was such a sad example of the way we are quick to judge and how we delight in a scandal.

I wish they knew how much those rumors and false accusations hurt you.  Changed you.  Devasted you.  You took that one to your grave.

Imagine how you felt about people not believing you, but times it by infinity.  Imagine Jesus, hanging on a cross, whipped and crowned, gasping for breath, and having every single sin from every single person who was ever born or would be born, on his shoulders and he's just trying to save them from themselves, from their sin - and give them an eternal home and eternal hope.

As we listened to the guide tell us how that whipping went – it made me sick.  Bits of metal and glass tied to those 30 pieces of leather.  Built to tear your flesh out in chunks – to hit your bones and take out a part of those as well. We walked the path he took, saw where he fell, where his mother met up with him, where Peter betrayed him, and even the cistern where they imprisoned him. I'll never read Psalm 88 the same gain.

And the thorns. I didn’t realize the crown of thorns came from a tree.  We saw one growing in the Garden.  The thorns are wicked.  So wicked and long that the soldiers had to push it on his head with sticks.

Israel is a life changer.  A gift.

And now John, you’re with Jesus and we are all down here still trying to learn to get along with one another. To live in peace.  To honor our differences and be the hands of feet of Jesus to others.  I’m not going to lie John; I don’t think we are doing a very good job.

I miss you so much.

Mom