Imagine a stage full of kids, Jewish ones alongside Gentile ones, singing "Jesus, Jesus, I Love You," in six different languages. Did you get goosebumps? You should. Especially because they were singing so enthusiastically too.
"If you want to hear from the Lord, you got to be picking up the phone to Him!"
The sermon (or "teaching") was in Hebrew and English. And there were a host of other translators ready to translate into your headphones. We sang! We prayed! We read from both the Old Testament and New Testament! I was just ridiculously excited about how familiar everything felt.
Grant, our host, recognized my name right away. And, just as the two Jewish teachers did before him, he gave me a passionate translation of my name. I am beginning to think that there is more to the name than I realize, a reason for why people name their daughters "inheritance." Perhaps it can be the topic of my next paper.
The visit to this congregation was an answered prayer. It is my last weekend here, and I would be miserable if I left without meeting the Jewish Christians. I bumped into Bryanne and Kyle on the bus ride home from a late Thursday night, and both the bus ride home with them and their invitation to join them for church were providence.
After lunch, Diane, Collin and I set out to say good-bye to the Old City. Sabbath is a good, quiet time to greet these streets for one last time.
