Pilgrimage (9 page)

Amen

5
Jerusalem

Great is the Lord, and most worthy of praise, in the city of our God, his holy mountain. It is beautiful in its loftiness, the joy of the whole earth.

Psalm 48:1–2

F
rom my room in a nineteenth-century guesthouse inside the Old City walls, I awaken to the sound of bells tolling at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher nearby. I want to get an early start on this first day in Jerusalem, so I bundle up against the cool morning air and sit outside on our stone balcony to read my Bible. The trees in the open courtyard below me rustle in the breeze, and the aroma of our breakfast cooking in the guesthouse kitchen makes my stomach rumble.

I settle back in my plastic chair and open to the Psalms. When I see what today’s psalm is, a thrill of excitement shivers through me. Psalm 48 celebrates Jerusalem as “the city of our God, his holy mountain”—and that’s where I am! I
know that God is everywhere and that I am never more than a prayer away from His presence, but Jerusalem is His city in a very historical, tangible way. It’s where the Temple once stood, where Jesus was crucified, and where He rose again from the dead. Tears fill my eyes and blur the page as I read this psalm. I have been trying to find God’s will among all of the changes in my life, and verses 12–14 offer me direction: “Walk about Zion, go around her, count her towers, consider well her ramparts, view her citadels, that you may tell of them to the next generation. For this God is our God for ever and ever; he will be our guide even to the end.” Perhaps this pilgrimage is not only for my benefit, but so that I can bear witness to God’s power and love “to the next generation” through my writing.

But my tears are for another reason, as well. This verse played an important role in my faith walk once before—one of those stones of remembrance in my life. More than twenty years ago when my children were still young, I struggled to discern God’s calling for my life. I wanted to write. I loved to write. Yet how could I know for certain whether God wanted me to be a writer or if it was my own foolish idea? Were the hours I spent at the keyboard a waste of my time and God’s?

Unsure, I decided to walk in faith in the direction I felt God was leading me, writing while my children napped, investing money and time in writing conferences to learn the craft, buying a computer so I could write more efficiently. Yet doubt plagued me. After hours of labor, I had not published a single word. My novel about the life of the Old Testament king Hezekiah remained unfinished. I longed to visit Israel and see the land I described in my novel, to study the culture and everyday life in biblical times. But as far as my writing
was concerned, it seemed as though I would take one step forward and then slide two steps backward like a pawn in my children’s Candy Land game.

Then God beckoned me to take a giant step forward, showing me an opportunity to volunteer on an archaeological dig in Israel for one month. I could take a college course in biblical backgrounds through Hebrew University, see the land, and research what ancient Israeli homes and villages might have looked like. But how would I afford such a trip? Our family lived in Canada at the time, and since I was a stay-at-home mom, the only moneymaking option for me was baby-sitting. Determined to go to Israel, I worked very hard for one very long Canadian winter, caring for my neighbor’s three preschoolers in addition to my own three children, trying to save up enough money for the airfare. With my family’s help and countless sacrifices, I managed to raise the funds. My husband cheered me on, encouraging me and offering to take over my duties at home so I could go.

Then, a few days before my trip, all three of my children became ill with chicken pox. That’s when we discovered that my husband had never had chicken pox as a child. He had them now, and he was in misery. I felt like the captain of a plague ship as I scrambled to take care of everyone, soothing their fevers with aspirin, bathing them in lotion and tubs of warm water to ease the itching. I called the airline to see about changing my travel plans and learned that my charter ticket could not be rescheduled or refunded. All of the money that I had worked so hard to earn would be lost. Was this God’s way of telling me that my plans had not been His? Several people from our church thought so. They telephoned to say that the chicken pox must be a sign from God that He wanted
me to be a wife and mother, not a world-traveling writer. My husband, from his sickbed, disagreed. He said this plague was an attack from the enemy to make me doubt my calling. Who was right? Who should I believe?

I got on my knees and prayed, asking God for direction. Then I happened to open my Bible to my daily Scripture reading as I did every day. It was Psalm 48: “Walk about Zion, go around her, count her towers, consider well her ramparts, view her citadels, that you may tell of them to the next generation. For this God is our God for ever and ever; he will be our guide even to the end.”

God had given me marching orders. He not only wanted me to go to Israel, but also to use my writing gift to tell of His faithfulness to the next generation. I listened to God and to my husband, not to the enemy’s whispers, not to other people’s opinions. I went to Israel and walked into my calling as a writer, in faith.

Now I’m in Jerusalem once again. In the intervening years, my five novels about the life of King Hezekiah have traveled the globe and been translated into languages as diverse as Indonesian, Romanian, Dutch, and Afrikaans. Readers all over the world write to tell me that my stories have made a difference in their lives. So why do I still doubt? Why do I find it so hard to believe that God has new things in store for me, life-changing things, if I put aside my fears as I did twenty years ago and embrace what He is asking me to do?

This morning in Jerusalem I’ve heard God speak to me again through Psalm 48. There are lessons for me here in the city of our God, lessons I shouldn’t keep to myself but share. God invites not only me, but all of us to walk into His kingdom, to look around, to see what He has done and
what He is doing, and then to find our purpose and calling in serving the next generation.

And so I lay aside my doubts and fears today and accept His invitation. I will walk around this city, view its ramparts and citadels, trusting that this pilgrimage will lead to the next great adventure that He has in store for me.

City Walls

The walls surrounding the Old City of Jerusalem are new compared to so many other artifacts in Israel, but I am still very impressed. Our guide says that Suleiman the Magnificent built them in the sixteenth century AD during the reign of the Ottoman Empire. It’s easy to see by the stones’ varied shapes and sizes that he recycled many of the building blocks from earlier walls, including King Herod’s wall in the time of Christ. But the stones were all quarried from the same creamy golden limestone that makes Jerusalem a “city of gold.” In some places along the wall’s perimeter, the building blocks rest on enormous chunks of bedrock jutting above ground level. Suleiman originally built several gates into the city and stepping through one of them is like stepping into the past, into a maze of narrow, twisting streets, into a world of exotic spices and aromas. The guesthouse where we’ve been staying is inside these walls near the Jaffa Gate.

The massive walls of the Old City enclose an area of only .35 square miles, a space where the entire population of Jerusalem lived until 1860 when, for lack of room, Jewish settlers began building neighborhoods outside the walls. Jam-packed into this confined area are three important religious sites where the followers of the three monotheistic religions go to
worship: the Church of the Holy Sepulcher for Christians, site of Calvary and the empty tomb; the Western Wall for Jews, a remnant of God’s Holy Temple; and the Dome of the Rock for Muslims, the site where they believe the prophet Mohammed made his night journey into heaven. That’s a lot of devotion to pack inside such a small space!

This morning, instead of exploring the Old City within the walls, we are getting an energetic workout as we try to circumnavigate the city on top of the walls. Whenever we reach a gate, we have to go down countless sets of stairs, cross to the other side of the gate, then climb up more stairs before continuing along the narrow walkway on top. But the panoramic view from the parapet makes the journey worthwhile as the newer sections of Jerusalem and the surrounding countryside lay spread out before us.

That view was one of the reasons why ancient peoples went to the trouble of building walls in the first place. If they could see their enemies approaching, they could quickly close and bar the gates. All available manpower would rush to the ramparts on the side of the city that was about to be attacked. Walls kept the enemy out and citizens safe inside.

Before the Israelites conquered Jerusalem, the Jebusites controlled the city. They thought their walls were impregnable, so they taunted King David, saying, “You will not get in here; even the blind and the lame can ward you off” (2 Samuel 5:6). They boasted too soon. David’s men found the entrance to an ancient water system and climbed up the shaft to conquer the city. The archaeological excavations in the City of David have uncovered the ancient tunnel that David’s men might have used.

I pause at a high point on the eastern rim of the wall and look down at the Kidron Valley far below. I can easily
imagine the Old Testament King Hezekiah standing in this place on the wall, observing hundreds of thousands of Assyrian troops, the most powerful army on earth, encamped in the valley below him. They had already conquered all of Hezekiah’s allies, and it looked like he would be next. The king did everything he could to prepare for the siege, reinforcing the walls and digging a tunnel and a reservoir to safeguard his water supply. I saw those preparations firsthand when I viewed a portion of Hezekiah’s “Broad Wall” on display in the Old City.

Ultimately, it wasn’t the walls that saved Hezekiah and Jerusalem, but God. Realizing his impossible situation, Hezekiah prayed for God’s help, and “That night the angel of the Lord went out and put to death a hundred and eighty-five thousand men in the Assyrian camp. When the people got up the next morning—there were all the dead bodies!” (2 Kings 19:35). The most powerful army in the world was no match for God.

Courtyard Stairway

But Jerusalem’s walls didn’t stop the Babylonian army. Because of Israel’s sin and idolatry, God allowed Babylon to conquer Jerusalem and carry the nation into captivity. After seventy years in exile, the Israelites returned to rebuild Jerusalem and the Temple. Nehemiah knew the value of protective city walls and took a leave of absence from his job as the Persian king’s cupbearer to rebuild the walls around Jerusalem. Everyone in the city got involved in the project, and when Nehemiah’s enemies tried to halt the work, he ordered the men to keep working and trust God. “Those who carried materials did their work with one hand and held a weapon in the other, and each of the builders wore his sword at his side as he worked” (Nehemiah 4:17–18). The walls, which were completed in only fifty-two days, not only made the people secure, but they also safeguarded God’s newly rebuilt Temple, the nation’s most valuable asset.

We’ve walked as far as we can go on our circuit of Jerusalem’s walls and stand overlooking the plateau where the Temple once stood. The golden dome of the Muslim shrine dominates the paved square. Not even King Herod’s fortified walls could stop the Romans from destroying Jerusalem and the Temple in AD 70. Israel went into exile a second time. Man-made walls can be toppled by man-made means, but God’s rock of protection cannot be moved. God helped Nehemiah to rebuild the walls, David to conquer Jerusalem, and Hezekiah to remain safe because they all put their faith and trust in Him. But man-made walls didn’t help the sinful Jebusites or a rebellious nation that had turned away from God.

So often, I’m tempted to build my own fortresses and rely on my own provisions for security. Money in the bank becomes my reservoir in times of drought. I trust my retirement plan to protect my future instead of seeing God as my security.
When I place my trust only in things that I can see with my eyes and touch with my hands, that’s idolatry, whether I’m putting my faith in an engraved image or a savings account. Like Hezekiah and Nehemiah, I should remember that “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea” (Psalm 46:1–2). Or the stock market crashes. Or a tornado strikes. God never promised to protect me from all of my trials, but He did promise to be with me in the midst of them.

“Walk about Zion, go around her, count her towers, consider well her ramparts,” the psalmist wrote—which is what I have been doing all morning—because the view will remind me how God rescued and saved His people in times past. But afterward, I need to tell “the next generation. For this God is our God for ever and ever.” Each time I testify to God’s faithfulness in my own life, it becomes a building block in my wall of faith and gives my children and future grandchildren something to stand behind. What a privilege to show the next generation that their own walls of faith can be carefully constructed by prayer and trust in One with a better view of the future than they have.