Israel Trip - Day 4

Today, our 3rd full day in the desert, was a day of contrast.

In the morning, we drove into the Negev to Arad. This town was settled by Canaanites and in existence 800 years before Abraham, but we know that Abraham met these people, walked their streets, and interacted with them. It was powerful to know that we were walking those same paths.

In the bet av at Arad

We explored a few different points about the culture of that time, starting with their patriarchal, communal living framework. 50-60 people might live in one bet av, or "father's house" together. It's why Christ says, "In my Father's house are many rooms." The oldest male in the group was the Patriarch, and it was his duty to see that all his family's needs were met. When the Patriarch died, he passed that responsibility—along with all of his resources and possessions—to his oldest son to become the new patriarch. This was not about male-domination or oppression. This was about caring, protection, and supplying all that's needed. It had a very positive connotation for members of the bet av.

Next was the concept of ga'al. In the Christian tradition, we translate that word to "redeem," but it is actually not a religious word at all. If any member of the bet av was ever in trouble—say from kidnapping or racking up debt—it was the job of the patriarch to do use every possible resource in his possession to bring that member back. That might mean selling everything he had at a greatly reduced value for quick cash, but each member of his family was worth it. Once the troubled one was back safely in the bet av, the whole group would celebrate . . . not so much a welcome-back party, but a celebration of the providing and sustaining power of the patriarch. This is what the story of the Prodigal Son is about as well. When the father's house is made whole, it's good for the community.

Of course, God is our ultimate Patriarch, but there are three "first-born sons" of God referred to in the Bible. The first is the nation of Israel. The second is Jesus Christ. And the third is the church today. God has passed his resources to us to create bet av and practice ga'al, so that the whole world may be brought back into the family.

It strikes me that we need to do a better job celebrating redemptive moments when they happen—not to make ourselves feel good, but to build community and remember the sustaining power of our Father.

The culture of Abraham's day also placed an extremely high value on welcoming the stranger. Even today, it would not be uncommon for a bedouin to give away his lunch to someone he just met. Not to welcome someone or make a stranger more important than yourself is to bring shame to your entire family in this culture that is ultra-aware of shame and honor as driving forces.

Abraham was amazing at his efforts to welcome strangers. His actions were so well known in the surrounding areas, that when he went to inquire of a city's king about buying a burial cave for his family, the king told him that Abraham would get the cave for free "because he was a prince of God"—a God not even worshipped by that king. In welcoming strangers, Abraham put God's name on display and brought glory to it. This is what we are called to do as well!

The most famous account of Abraham's welcoming is the story of the three strangers who came to visit him. He ran out to greet them (something totally indecent for an old man to do). RVL said that our equivalent would be your grandmother walking into the room topless for Christmas dinner! Abraham also washed the strangers' feet—another shameful thing for an old man to do. Then he called for 65 lbs. of his finest flour to be used to make bread for them, again breaking tradition . . . and he let his guests eat first, which was always reserved for the patriarch of the house.

So, in this incredibly honor/shame-based culture, Abraham was willing to shame himself over and over for the value of welcoming the stranger. 

This is a picture of bringing shalom to chaos. 

Would we meet this standard? Are there ways we should use our own resources to welcome outsiders? To help the marginalized? To make the bet av whole again?

There are weighty implications for us in our personal lives and in Christian education as we consider these aspects of shalom-bringing.

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The morning session drew to a close in the temple of Arad, which was a miniature replica of the one in Jerusalem, and used until Hezekiah commanded that all temples outside Jerusalem be closed down. In this temple court, RVL delivered a powerful narrative.

RVL teaching us about the covenant with Abraham

It started  with an explanation of covenants: they aren't just promises. They are agreements that establish a permanent, unbreakable relationship. God came to Abraham in his tent to establish one such agreement. Since this wasn't a covenant between equal parties, the greater party got to set the terms. 

God's terms were simple:

1. I will give you land.
2. I will give you descendants as numerous as the sands of the sea shore.
3. Through one of your descendants, the whole world will be blessed.
4. And all you have to do is love me and follow me perfectly.

As the lesser party, it was Abraham's job to provide the animals for the sacrifice that would complete the ritual. God instructed him to bring a cow, a goat, a sheep, a pidgeon, and a dove (which became the 5 animals used for sacrifice by the Jews). Abraham did as he was told and began to process the animals as was appropriate for a covenant. He killed and cut each animal in half and then laid out the two halves of each animal facing each other in a line. As the blood drained into the area in between the animals, it would make a big puddle.

The practice of the covenant was to have the first party walk through the puddle barefoot, soaking their feet in blood, to say, "If I violate any of my part of this agreement, may I be killed and my blood spilled like these animals." God did that with Abraham.

Then it was Abraham's turn as the lesser party to do the same, but he knew . . . and we know . . . that his terms were impossible to keep. Love God and follow Him perfectly? There's no way. So right as Abraham would have raised his foot to step in the blood, God said, "Wait! I will do this for you."

God took on the death vow for both sides of the covenant . . . and at that very moment, he sentenced His son, Jesus, to die.

All of the worship sacrifices of the Jews are made to remember this covenant. At 9am and 3pm every day, they would sacrifice an animal and throw its blood against the altar to say, "God, we remember your promise to us! Don't forget us either!"

The sacrificial system was never about paying for something. It was about remembering the covenant of grace that God established at the very beginning.

In the centuries to come, sacrificial worship grew highly ritualized, and the priest's shofar (ram's horn instrument) would blow in a particular rhythm at 9am and 3pm each day, with the whole city falling silent as an animal was sacrificed in the temple. Silence to remember God's covenant of grace.

. . . One day in Jerusalem at 9am, three men were crucified outside the city walls. The middle one had been beaten so badly, he would have died from the wounds without the crucifixion. For six hours they hung, and the day grew particularly dark. At precisely 3pm, the priest in the temple blew the shofar to signal the afternoon sacrifice.

And in the moments of silence that followed, the man on the middle cross screamed out through the gurgling, choking lungs he had left:

"IT IS FINISHED!"

And it was.

Jesus had made good on God's terms in His covenant to Abraham. 

Of course we couldn't live perfectly for him. But God is a God of ga'al. He will pay any price to bring us back into His house.

Our group gathered in a tight circle in the temple at Arad, weeping together at the immensity of God's love for us and the lengths He is willing to go to bring us home. We sang hymns. We said the Shema. We dedicated ourselves to be people of ga'al and patriarchs of bet av.

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The afternoon brought us to Masada.

Masada from below, before we hiked up

The place is perhaps best known as a zealot stronghold against the Romans, made famous by the 70's movie and miniseries, but it was originally the favorite vacation palace of Herod—the Herod ruling at the time of Jesus' birth.

Herod was the richest man to ever walk the face of the earth. He owned every single spice-producing tree there was, and he controlled the spice trading routes. He himself was a man of the desert and an amazing athlete, an olympian in the javelin. His personal income was three times the gross national product of the country, and about 60% of all the workers in Israel worked for him.

Herod also set new standards for brutality. He killed thousands of people on multiple occasions. He tortured 75,000 of his subjects. He threw dinner parties at which he killed his favorite wife by tightening a garrote around her throat more and more with each course that was served as the guests watched in horror. He did the same to his son by placing him in an iron cage and lowering him into a fire periodically throughout the meal. It was said that everyone hated Herod. Even his own family.

Remains of the plastered walls with their intricate Herodian masonry

But on this rocky mountain overlooking the Dead Sea, he built an opulent 25-acre palace—complete with two massive outdoor swimming pools, seven indoor pools, 17 cisterns, massive storage rooms for food, intricate mosaics, and a staff of 5,000-10,000 people to keep it all running smoothly. The rock walls were covered in gleaming white plaster inside and out so that Masada would shine like a jewel in the sun from miles away.

Herod stockpiled enough water and food at Masada to supply 10,000 men for 10 years in case he ever fell under attack or siege. His throne room was built to make the King loom large, while the one entering would feel small.

But for all of this wealth,

and power,

and violence, 

Herod spent his time alone in his chamber while at Masada. He had no friends. He was suspicious of everyone. His own wives hated him. 

There's no flourishing in that.

There's no shalom in that.

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Today was a day of contrasts. 

On one hand, we had the picture of nomadic Abraham, giving up 65 lbs. of flour to welcome three strangers. We had the example of God giving up everything to bring us back to the bet av. These acts were ones of shalom.

On the other hand, we have a man of immense wealth and power—more successful and more strong than anyone else in history.

And he died alone, rotting from syphilis . . . and no one mourned.

God's Kingdom comes in ways totally antithetical to what our society traditionally values. It's about making ourselves low, welcoming others when it's uncomfortable to do so, and caring more about the family than we do ourselves.

That is love. That is grace. That is shalom.