Finding God
There were many reasons for my move to Jerusalem this year. The decision to move overseas was a fairly easy one; in fact, I had planned to move overseas as soon as I’d got my teaching qualification sorted (back in 2004) but God had other plans, involving proper commitment, for probably the first time in my life, to a place and a church and a group of amazing people who blessed me in ways I don’t have the space to describe. In retrospect, if I’d left sooner I wouldn’t have the roots and sense of belonging and deeper sense of security (in myself and in God) that being rooted in the community of Hope Chapel brought to me. I’d also had a frustrating year at home, felt stuck in a rut, in need of a change and a breath of fresh air. When I left I did so knowing that the time was right for the adventure that had been deferred, but never forgotten about.
But why Jerusalem? Lots of people have asked me that question since I arrived here and it seems to me to be a very important one, as it helps others define you and your role in the city. A lot of people come for religious reasons: Jerusalem is the centre of the three monotheistic faiths and the pull of faith is strong. A lot of people come here for political or social reasons, working in development, or for the UN, or for organisations that champion a variety of causes. Turnover here is high with lots of people on short-term placements, whether for academic study, or volunteering for a faith-based organisation, or just an extended visit. I think it’s hard for the long-term residents as it makes investing in friendships difficult when people come and go in such high numbers; some people I’ve met have been wary, understandably perhaps, of newcomers and tend to relax a bit when I say I’m here for at least two years. Other people are wary in case I turn out to be one of the following: a religious fanatic – doesn’t matter which religion, there are fanatics of all sorts here – with a drum to bang; a hippy with an over-developed social conscience that has turned into boring self-regard and self-righteousness; an idealist, living the Jerusalem dream; or, worst of all, someone with Jerusalem syndrome and a genuine Messiah complex.
I hope I’m none of the above. I moved here because the school I now work at offered me the opportunity to learn the curriculum for the International Baccalaureate in an environment with comparatively little pressure; it’s a small, relaxed, friendly school with charming students and supportive staff. I also chose this job because after 8 years in the inner-city in Bristol, 4 of them in management, I was desperate for a break and a job that didn’t consume my life to the degree that my old job did. This job fitted the bill perfectly. The fact that the weather here is great from (I gather) March to November was also a big pull – constant sunshine and warmth. Lush. From December to February it’s cold, with poorly heated housing not making life easier, but there are still blue skies most days. Seasonally Affected Disorder, I bid you adieu.
However, it’s also fair to say that faith, and the role it plays in my life, was an important factor in the decision to move to Jerusalem. I am a follower of Jesus Christ and the opportunity to live and work in the city where he lived and worked, and died, was too good to pass up. A dear friend of mine, when she heard I was moving here, told me that living here would be an immersion – into the Bible, into deeper faith, into a closer encounter with God; like doing Bible study every day. I was excited by the prospect of learning more about the biblical Jesus, about the stories (and histories) of the Old and New Testaments; by the thought of walking in the steps of the church fathers and other heroes of the faith, of medieval pilgrims who gave up everything in search of an encounter with God in the holy city. However, it turns out that finding God here isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. On reflection, I think that’s a good thing; the Bible tells us to seek God and call upon Him while he may be found; I’m learning that it isn’t a simple process. Perhaps it shouldn’t be.
I’ve been reflecting on what’s making it difficult and I’m pretty sure that most of it is down to me – my prejudices, my opinions, my habits and characteristics. For example, I’ve been looking for a church to commit to and serve and at every church I’ve attended thus far I have encountered people who have pushed several, if not all of my buttons. I should confess that I’ve found that the people here who have irritated me the most have been other Christians. I have a deep distaste for proselytising, as I find it goes hand in hand with bigotry and judgement, and I have never liked being told what opinion to have – political, social or otherwise. I have met people who sit all over the political, religious and social spectrum, with strong opinions that they share in forceful ways that make my teeth hurt. Paul tells us to ‘bear with one another patiently’ and that is proving to be a huge challenge, though an important one if for no other reason than it breeds humility.
Another thing I’m battling with is the sheer intensity of religious activity – there’s so much going on, all the time, yet I find myself questioning how much of it contains a real depth of faith. (You see, there I go, judging people again.) There’s religion everywhere and by that I mean the outward signs of religion – the clothes people wear, the laws they observe, the company they keep, the food they eat, the places they go. I’m finding that all the activity is a distraction. I think Jesus thought that activity was a distraction, from an encounter with God that makes a deep and lasting change to our hearts and gives us a more profound peace; or at least, that’s the message I get when I read the gospels. Perversely, I’m also irritated by how damn enthusiastic and sincere other people are. There’s a lot of commotion and a lot of loud, full-on declarations of faith that are done with a complete lack of self-consciousness and irony (though that does beg the question of how much, if any, irony is appropriate for expressions of faith). Once again, I wonder how much the problem is to do with me; an unwillingness to accept sincere emotions without inwardly sniggering, a reflex action perhaps from that over-developed British sense of irony.
I never expected to find that the people that profess to follow the same religion or, rather, the same man at the centre of that religion, are the people who made me most uncomfortable with myself and with my faith. (There’s nothing quite like shining the light on the ugly stuff in your soul to remind you of the need for a Saviour.) I’m also very aware that I’ve moved from a very supportive, closely-knit church community to a place where I know few people and so I’m largely disconnected from the people who have walked with me for the past 9 years, although I daily thank God for Skype and the blessing of cheap/free phone-calls. And so I find that I have returned to the same issue: where is God in this place; where can I find him? At risk of sounding both disingenuous and cheesy (eurgh), faith really is a journey. The obstacles to finding God lie more with my own reaction to people and situations; they can all be overcome if I keep my eyes fixed on Jesus, the author and finisher of my (our) faith. I’m in the middle of Tim Keller’s book King’s Cross, a wonderful meditation on ‘the story of the world in the life of Jesus’ and I’m learning that it’s in looking more closely at Jesus that finding God becomes easier. Keller repeats a story told by the British minister Dick Lucas, an imaginary conversation between an early Christian and her neighbour, which I’d like to leave you with.
“Ah,” the neighbour says. “I hear you are religious! Great! Religion is a good thing. Where is your temple or holy place?”
“We don’t have a temple,” replies the Christian. “Jesus is our temple.”
“No temple? But where do your priests work and do their rituals?”
“We don’t have priests to mediate the presence of God,” replies the Christian. “Jesus is our priest.”
"No priests? But where do you offer your sacrifices to acquire the favour of your God?”
“We don’t need a sacrifice,” replies the Christian. “Jesus is our sacrifice.”
“What kind of religion is this?” sputters the pagan neighbour.
And the answer is, it’s no kind of religion at all.
But why Jerusalem? Lots of people have asked me that question since I arrived here and it seems to me to be a very important one, as it helps others define you and your role in the city. A lot of people come for religious reasons: Jerusalem is the centre of the three monotheistic faiths and the pull of faith is strong. A lot of people come here for political or social reasons, working in development, or for the UN, or for organisations that champion a variety of causes. Turnover here is high with lots of people on short-term placements, whether for academic study, or volunteering for a faith-based organisation, or just an extended visit. I think it’s hard for the long-term residents as it makes investing in friendships difficult when people come and go in such high numbers; some people I’ve met have been wary, understandably perhaps, of newcomers and tend to relax a bit when I say I’m here for at least two years. Other people are wary in case I turn out to be one of the following: a religious fanatic – doesn’t matter which religion, there are fanatics of all sorts here – with a drum to bang; a hippy with an over-developed social conscience that has turned into boring self-regard and self-righteousness; an idealist, living the Jerusalem dream; or, worst of all, someone with Jerusalem syndrome and a genuine Messiah complex.
I hope I’m none of the above. I moved here because the school I now work at offered me the opportunity to learn the curriculum for the International Baccalaureate in an environment with comparatively little pressure; it’s a small, relaxed, friendly school with charming students and supportive staff. I also chose this job because after 8 years in the inner-city in Bristol, 4 of them in management, I was desperate for a break and a job that didn’t consume my life to the degree that my old job did. This job fitted the bill perfectly. The fact that the weather here is great from (I gather) March to November was also a big pull – constant sunshine and warmth. Lush. From December to February it’s cold, with poorly heated housing not making life easier, but there are still blue skies most days. Seasonally Affected Disorder, I bid you adieu.
However, it’s also fair to say that faith, and the role it plays in my life, was an important factor in the decision to move to Jerusalem. I am a follower of Jesus Christ and the opportunity to live and work in the city where he lived and worked, and died, was too good to pass up. A dear friend of mine, when she heard I was moving here, told me that living here would be an immersion – into the Bible, into deeper faith, into a closer encounter with God; like doing Bible study every day. I was excited by the prospect of learning more about the biblical Jesus, about the stories (and histories) of the Old and New Testaments; by the thought of walking in the steps of the church fathers and other heroes of the faith, of medieval pilgrims who gave up everything in search of an encounter with God in the holy city. However, it turns out that finding God here isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. On reflection, I think that’s a good thing; the Bible tells us to seek God and call upon Him while he may be found; I’m learning that it isn’t a simple process. Perhaps it shouldn’t be.
I’ve been reflecting on what’s making it difficult and I’m pretty sure that most of it is down to me – my prejudices, my opinions, my habits and characteristics. For example, I’ve been looking for a church to commit to and serve and at every church I’ve attended thus far I have encountered people who have pushed several, if not all of my buttons. I should confess that I’ve found that the people here who have irritated me the most have been other Christians. I have a deep distaste for proselytising, as I find it goes hand in hand with bigotry and judgement, and I have never liked being told what opinion to have – political, social or otherwise. I have met people who sit all over the political, religious and social spectrum, with strong opinions that they share in forceful ways that make my teeth hurt. Paul tells us to ‘bear with one another patiently’ and that is proving to be a huge challenge, though an important one if for no other reason than it breeds humility.
Another thing I’m battling with is the sheer intensity of religious activity – there’s so much going on, all the time, yet I find myself questioning how much of it contains a real depth of faith. (You see, there I go, judging people again.) There’s religion everywhere and by that I mean the outward signs of religion – the clothes people wear, the laws they observe, the company they keep, the food they eat, the places they go. I’m finding that all the activity is a distraction. I think Jesus thought that activity was a distraction, from an encounter with God that makes a deep and lasting change to our hearts and gives us a more profound peace; or at least, that’s the message I get when I read the gospels. Perversely, I’m also irritated by how damn enthusiastic and sincere other people are. There’s a lot of commotion and a lot of loud, full-on declarations of faith that are done with a complete lack of self-consciousness and irony (though that does beg the question of how much, if any, irony is appropriate for expressions of faith). Once again, I wonder how much the problem is to do with me; an unwillingness to accept sincere emotions without inwardly sniggering, a reflex action perhaps from that over-developed British sense of irony.
I never expected to find that the people that profess to follow the same religion or, rather, the same man at the centre of that religion, are the people who made me most uncomfortable with myself and with my faith. (There’s nothing quite like shining the light on the ugly stuff in your soul to remind you of the need for a Saviour.) I’m also very aware that I’ve moved from a very supportive, closely-knit church community to a place where I know few people and so I’m largely disconnected from the people who have walked with me for the past 9 years, although I daily thank God for Skype and the blessing of cheap/free phone-calls. And so I find that I have returned to the same issue: where is God in this place; where can I find him? At risk of sounding both disingenuous and cheesy (eurgh), faith really is a journey. The obstacles to finding God lie more with my own reaction to people and situations; they can all be overcome if I keep my eyes fixed on Jesus, the author and finisher of my (our) faith. I’m in the middle of Tim Keller’s book King’s Cross, a wonderful meditation on ‘the story of the world in the life of Jesus’ and I’m learning that it’s in looking more closely at Jesus that finding God becomes easier. Keller repeats a story told by the British minister Dick Lucas, an imaginary conversation between an early Christian and her neighbour, which I’d like to leave you with.
“Ah,” the neighbour says. “I hear you are religious! Great! Religion is a good thing. Where is your temple or holy place?”
“We don’t have a temple,” replies the Christian. “Jesus is our temple.”
“No temple? But where do your priests work and do their rituals?”
“We don’t have priests to mediate the presence of God,” replies the Christian. “Jesus is our priest.”
"No priests? But where do you offer your sacrifices to acquire the favour of your God?”
“We don’t need a sacrifice,” replies the Christian. “Jesus is our sacrifice.”
“What kind of religion is this?” sputters the pagan neighbour.
And the answer is, it’s no kind of religion at all.
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