Elisabeth Adams

Pentecost

Does sleeping for three hours after 6:30 am count as staying up all night?

Good.

Because that’s what I did last night.

According to Jewish tradition, the giving of the Law at Mount Sinai took place during the biblical feast of Shavuot. And this important event, they say, the entire nation missed — because they slept right through it! But you won’t catch them making the same mistake twice, because now they spend the eve of Shavuot studying the Bible (and eating cheesecake).

Last night was the very first time I tried this particular tradition. Eight pm found me at a friend’s house, eating a sumptuous meal. (And yes, it included cheesecake). By midnight, the dishes were done, and we were gathered in the living room, armed with coffee, tea, pastries — and a simple Bible study for discussion. We were just seven people, but a whole cornucopia of continents and Christian traditions. And oh! was it lively. We rampaged up and down the length of the Bible, sometimes agreeing sometimes opposed, sometimes defining terms too late, but staying civil just the same. We were passionate, thoughtful, humble, questioning. Loud and quiet, but mostly loud.

We retained our diversity to the end (did we ever!) but managed a unified spirit just the same. It’s surprisingly exhilarating, this articulating what you know and Whom you love: the breadth and glory of His plan, the richness and the transforming aliveness of His life.

By 4 am, we joined the steady stream in the street, all headed for dawn and prayers at the Western Wall. Do you know how surreal it is to be in a laughing, chattering, buzzing crowd in the dark and shuttered streets? One that swells and grows with bright-eyed men and women, and even babies in their strollers, while the cobalt black sky becomes cobalt light and birds begin to sing.

And that’s the picture I have in my head for the very first Pentecost, which was this feast of Shavuot. When wind blew, flames alighted, and the Spirit arrived in all His LIFE to transform us from the inside out, until it could truly be said that we were reborn — born again — born brand new — and full of all that Jesus is.

Elisabeth

May 27, 2012

Life in the Land

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empty

My daddy tells me I’m cryptic sometimes.

(I’m pretty sure he’s right, but tell me how to change, ok?)

In fact, he loved last week’s post, but wished I would tell the story straight. So here it is, in a nutshell:

I used to wonder if the desire for marriage could be an idol. Then one day while I was sitting in a hard wooden chair, hugely privileged to hear stories of God’s kingdom work, some of my thoughts were pouty with the desire for romance. That’s when I knew: in that moment, those desires were an idol. But here’s the point! Idolatry doesn’t have to stick around. Just as fast as I turn to repentance, He cleanses — and I’m back on the track of His kingdom.

Better?

Ok.

Here’s what I’m thinking on today: An old poem by T. E. Browne called “Indwelling.”

If thou could’st empty all thyself of self,
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf,
And say, “This is not dead,”
And fill thee with Himself instead.

But thou art all replete with very thou
And hast such shrewd activity,
That when He comes, He says, “This is enow
Unto itself – `twere better let it be,
It is so small and full, there is no room for me.”

Jesus said, “I don’t have my own agenda. I just do what I see my Father doing.” That’s joyful simplicity. Happy abdication. Glorious, glorious freedom from self-absorption.

Escaping the relentless demands of my own pride and desires to come under God’s tender care: what’s not to love about that?

The fifty-day countdown is up on Sunday; Pentecost is coming. What better time to be empty, and waiting, for Him?

Elisabeth

May 24, 2012

Life in the Land

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light

I tried to think of another topic for this blog post. Really, I did.

But this is what I had to say.

I have friends who head for debate like it’s a sport. And perhaps, for them, it is — with all the elegance and skill of fencing. Others seem drawn to it like a moth to a flame: their hungry heart and keen mind can’t let them let it go until they understand.

I know the need to understand, but my small powers of analysis run to detail, not to sweeping trends. I don’t mind a friendly discussion, but if there’s a real disagreement, I can tell you where I’m likely to be. Sitting on the sidelines, watching, listening, and waiting to see how the matter will fall.

And in the case of the “marriage-can-be-an-idol” debate, I really had nothing to say. So I waited and watched and listened. And as I sat in a hard wooden chair last week, I knew the answer.

I was surrounded by the persecuted church: real faces and voices, transported for a few days of rest and fellowship to that echoing, flag-stoned room. They were telling stories too BIG with joy to fit inside my heart. Too deep in God’s glory for me to process, even now. I was happy-humbled and honored, just to be there with them.

But I was just plain humbled to realize that there was something else inside my heart. Disappointment and discontent to be surrounded by married people, and no one there to pay attention to me.

Oof. This is excruciatingly honest, and I know you might not understand.

But here’s the joy. Guess how long I had to feel that shame? No longer than a minute. No longer than a second, if my heart could move that fast. However long it took to step into the light of God’s gaze, agree with what He saw in my heart — and be cleansed.

That’s my King.

And this is my King too: He knows my frame. When selfishness is shriveled up and gone, and my heart-need remains, I don’t think He lays it alongside the needs of those other saints and says “It’s too small.”

He says “Your Heavenly Father knows you need these things.”

He sets me free and says, “Run! Chase My Kingdom.”

That glory and joy? Yes, that I can chase.

And you know what? Merry, bountiful goodness is already chasing me.

Elisabeth

May 16, 2012

Writing Life

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backstage

Everyone knows a place where they’re really not supposed to go. Where they’d feel awkward, anxious, out of place — or even mortified to show their face without an invitation. Or perhaps ever.

A few of you may have made it backstage to meet a famous person. Wow, you think. I don’t belong. But I’m here, just the same! It feels like grace.

Last week, I stood in line for two hours, waiting to enter the Temple Mount. I have never seen a line there that long. Not even close! Fortunately, I was surrounded by a group from Great Britain, whose members were more than happy to chat.

One older lady had last year’s royal wedding on her mind. Had I seen it? she wanted to know. I had. Her cousin, she confided, works at the Westminster Abbey — and she had received a piece of the royal wedding cake, which was only given to wedding guests and Abbey staff. My new friend inherited the tin the cake came in.

She wasn’t qualified to get it, but she did.

Remember the Holy of Holies? Only one human went there, once a year, with fear and trembling. That was the inner sanctum of God Himself. Just outside the door, was a table that always held the Presence-bread. In Hebrew, it’s “the bread of the face.” Bread that had been in the presence of the highest royalty.

Remember the story of David and the bread he shouldn’t have eaten? On the run from Saul, he stopped for help, and all his friend had to offer was the Presence-bread. It was forbidden to everyone but the priests, so when a priest gave it to David, it was sheer grace.

Jesus wholeheartedly affirmed that grace. But there’s more.

The other day, as I was eating the Lord’s Supper, I realized. Hey! I’m eating the Presence-bread.

Can you believe it?

I hardly can.

Jesus, the Bread of Life, welcomes me to come and eat, internalize His life, stand face-to-face with God — and live.

Elisabeth

May 7, 2012

Life in the Land

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deeper

This week on the Boundless Line, they’re talking about “the quieter and more lasting kind of interest” that develops as a marriage grows past the honeymoon stage. It sounds a lot like my experience with living abroad. Giddy excitement has given way to deeper and deeper understanding…and I’m still barely scratching the surface of all there is to know, just about one small country.

Today, I stood in line for two hours with a tourist group who had been here just two days. First-timers tend to make me a little envious with their sparkle and excitement. But to have enough experience to exclaim over a dust storm that’s chilly, enough Hebrew for little old ladies to ask why I’m not wearing a sweater, to be on first-name basis with many of the plants, to feel the folk music in my bones, to have glimmerings of understanding for the struggles and joys of the local people, to see history and meaning wherever I look: this is richness.

This week, I took a flying trip south, and saw many new facets and faces of Israel. I spent an afternoon with a new friend, and retold how much of my story has been full of God’s surprises for me. There is so much more of Him to know. So very, very much more.

It’s been a hard week, with dullness and deep sadness. It’s been a good week, with clear evidence of God’s tenderhearted planning in the details, and the reminder that it’s right and good to pray the most basic of prayers: for the gift of repentance. Hunger for God and His word. Just…that He will pursue me, when I cannot seem to pursue Him.

I’m told that the absence of rain on the surface will cause palm trees to send down roots through packed earth, through gravel, deep, deep into the ground for water.

I think I’m going deeper. I don’t know, because I can’t see below the surface of my life. But God can.

Elisabeth

May 3, 2012

Life in the Land

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brothers

Lessons from tonight: It’s probably not wise to wear dark blue if a very small somebody is going to cry himself to sleep on your shoulder. Also: It’s one thing to take your friend’s one-year-old to the park to play. He’s not necessarily going to be so keen on seeing you at bedtime.

Let’s just say that this particular babysitting venture wasn’t an unqualified success. (We won’t even talk about how long it took to get his older siblings to sleep, what with the lost stuffed rabbit, the contraband storybooks, the unwanted lullabies, and — just for a little comedic relief — the cherry tomato on the floor, which I stepped on repeatedly). But you know what? That’s just the way it is sometimes.

Feeling so philosophical about the happy chaos of life with small children: it’s just another of the ways I was shaped by growing up the oldest of eight.

Start talking about the unborn, and I may be a little emotional about the term “fetus,” because I knew and loved and prayed for my siblings since they were just that tiny and unseen. Now that even the youngest of them are rapidly closing the age gap and becoming my peers, I’m feeling just an echo of that joyful ache my parents are experiencing in watching them fly the nest. Oh, be safe! Fly well! Know bone-deep that you’re loved by God.

Now, more than ever, I’m glad to be reminded that my brother’s keeper is none other than Jesus Himself.

Elisabeth

April 23, 2012

Boundless

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counting

A dear friend of mine is counting down the hours until her wedding. (She’s got sixteen hundred and something to go). The Jewish people are counting the forty-nine days between Passover and Shavuot. (Ten days down; thirty-nine to go). Christians are counting too, because after Resurrection Day comes Pentecost. Pentecost means “fiftieth” because it is the fiftieth day.

Suspenseful times, these, in ancient days, when you’d just celebrated the firstfruits of the barley, but the wheat crop was coming up, and you were holding your breath, hoping it wouldn’t rain and shatter the fragile heads of grain all over the ground.

This is precisely the time period meant by the new-risen Jesus (the “firstfruits of them that sleep”) when he told his disciples to wait in Jerusalem for the gift that was already on its way.

Suspenseful times, when your best-beloved, your Teacher, your friend, has flown away to heaven, and you’re waiting for a future which he assures you is better still.

Better than strolling through fields of wheat on a Sabbath day, talking and laughing with Messiah?

Wait and see.

What life has no waiting? The suspense, the holding your breath? And the joyfilled countdown.

See the anticipation in your Savior’s eyes. Don’t be afraid. Just wait and see!

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PS These pictures? Have a silly story. Because I was all set to walk to a meeting, and rushed madly out the door. Ten minutes down the road, I realized I’d left an hour early. Oops. But my Shepherd knows me well, scatterbrain, shutter finger, and all — and the wait-and-see part of this story wasn’t long in coming. I slowed down, and walked right through this field of wild grain and wildflowers just when the light was absolutely perfect.

Elisabeth

April 16, 2012

Life in the Land

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Resurrection

Living in Jerusalem, I’ve encountered crowds before. But today, for just a few moments in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, I understood very clearly just how crazy it must have sounded when Jesus was surrounded with a desperately pushing crowd, and yet could confidently ask: “Who touched me?” He knew the lightest touch of faith, even if it was just a tug on a corner of His cloak.

With Passover, Palm Sunday (for Eastern churches) and Easter (for Western churches) all falling on one day, this city is packed! No wonder I’ve been thinking about “the multitudes” that figure so prominently in the gospels. They appear almost as if they were a single, amorphous character in the story: an ever-changing, unpredictable, exhausting part of Jesus’ everyday. And yet He was constantly addressing individuals.

It’s stunning to think about the Resurrection story from this standpoint. You have an overcrowded city. Just one Savior. And yet He addresses Mary by name.

I’ve written before about the sheer historicity of the Resurrection, about the care Jesus took to convince each disciple — in a way that individual needed in order to understand — that He really is alive.

It makes sense that the One who names the stars sees each face in the multitude. And if He sees my face and knows my name, then surely He hears and values my stumbling cries of praise.

This I know: He is good. He is utterly worthy of following. And I have no question that He is alive!

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Elisabeth

April 8, 2012

Life in the Land

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Passover

In Jerusalem, the mix-and-match world of multiple calendars, today is that rare combination of Good Friday and the Passover Seder.

As I was swapping holiday greetings with an Israeli friend today, he asked an unexpected question: how do you greet someone on Good Friday? Good question, I thought. You don’t really say “Happy Good Friday,” because it’s a sad story: someone died, after all. But it’s not a strictly sad day, either because, well, we know what happens next.

(“It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming!”)

Come to think of it, the Passover Seder has some sadness in it as well. The reason for being passed over by the death that visited every home in ancient Egypt that night? A little Passover lamb. Familiar. Loved by the children, perhaps. And now quite dead, for their sakes.

Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed.

The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world could indeed have saved himself. But he did not — for our sakes. So for the joy (our joy!) set before him, he endured the cross. And died.

Let us therefore celebrate the festival

How (how in the world?) can I thank Him for all these benefits? This coming and rescuing me with His two outstretched arms? This real-world rescue. This substantiated love. This redemption piled on redemption.

What shall I render unto the LORD for all his benefits toward me?
I will take the cup of salvation.

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Elisabeth

April 6, 2012

Life in the Land

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preparation

I’m pretty sure it wasn’t this much work to put on the first Passover meal.

You know, the one in Egypt, just before a million or more Israelites grabbed their mixing bowls, herded their sheep and goats and children into line, and headed out on foot for the Promised Land. Back then, the menu was simple: lamb, bitter herbs, and yeastless bread. And there was no cleaning out leaven from every corner of your house. (There’s something to be said for being homeless, and on the move).

But now…oh, the labors! If you’re from New England, you know all about spring cleaning already. Mopping, and dusting, and window-washing, and even painting (if need be). Sending the carpets to the cleaners and paying attention to all the nooks and crannies because who knows whether Junior was munching Bamba in bed, or bread behind the couch, or muffins in front of the computer?

It tends to be a family affair, this blitz on leaven. My Hebrew study partner, a college student, was pressed into service by his mother. Today I was helping my hostess-to-be, while her neighbors (father, mother, teenaged daughter and little son) joined in the fray…er, fun. And I know how all of them feel: all sore, and tired and satisfied and a little anxious because whew, there’s still more to be done!

Like the shopping. And getting ready for out of town guests. Because the fervent Jewish wish at the close of every Passover meal is “Next year in Jerusalem!” All over the city, folks pull out fresh sheets, and squeeze a few more in.

Passover in Jerusalem couldn’t have been a whole lot different in Jesus’ time, with numbers swelling, and muscles aching, and minds spinning with guest lists and menu plans, and occasional twinges of childlike anticipation.

Because a holy-day (a holiday!) is like an oasis in time. A party-tent set up smack-dab in the middle of everyday life. A passing-through but honored guest, worthy of polished silver and fine china and rich food and the very best of company. To entertain and reenact God’s redemptive work in history (Him! Here! at work on earth! in Exodus — and Resurrection) is privilege and joy.

And reenacting we truly are, because the external preparations mirror internal motion. This week, as I shopped and scrubbed and planned, I’ve pondered: “Search me, O God, and know my heart. Try me, and know my inward thoughts. See if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” So when tiredness stirs up fears or selfish words or cranky thoughts, I know the Deep-cleaner is hard at work, and I’m quietly glad. He heard; He’s preparing my heart.

For joy.

Elisabeth

April 4, 2012

Life in the Land

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