In the middle of our worship time
2000 of us singing over the city of Jerusalem
Sitting on the steps that lead to the temple mount, we sang praises to the King of Kings - Jesus, the Messiah (or Yeshua ha Meshiak, in the ancient and timeless Hebrew language).
Led by a band from Bethel Church in California, our praises rang out over the city. Echoing off stones that were first raised about 3000 years ago.
The very steps where Jesus debated with the Pharisees. The very place where He faced down those about to stone a woman who had been dragged out an humiliated by men eager to see Jesus incriminate himself.
Looking to our left
we could easily see the slope and peak of the Mount of Olives, the very place where Jesus will first step down on earth in His triumphant return to claim all that is His.
(We each secretly hoped we would be sitting right here, singing His praises, when He sounded the trumpet and stepped through the curtain once again.)
(It didn't happen that evening - but it will! And soon!)
In that holy moment,
the muezzins started their unearthly call to prayer. Granted, I don't understand the language, but I do understand that they are calling the Muslim faithful to pray to a god who leads millions of his followers down a path that leads away from salvation, and toward an eternity of hopeless despair.
The clash sounded in the air
But within moments, the songs of Jesus grace and forgiveness and beauty and love pushed back the discordant chanting of the errant call to prayer.
How sad to consider the Muslims in their millions and in their lost confusion, foisted on them over the last 14oo years.
Please pray with me that they will hear, and receive the truth of God's love for them, demonstrated through the life, death and resurrection of His only Son, Jesus - the Jew from Nazareth.