I didn’t end up with colorful, folksy drawings from childhood Sunday school drawings. For most of my life, the Bible stories I envisioned were gray and slightly out of focus – a little fuzzy. My head and heart largely determined when and about what I’d be moved. History lessons were not a strong suit. So how and/or when the puzzle pieces went together didn’t really matter much to me.
Then. I arrived. In Israel.
The when and how took on another dimension suddenly. Gray and fuzzy was replaced by sharp Technicolor --- reality, in other words. Mary had stayed in the grotto in Nazareth -- that I viewed. Paul had visited this seaside village -- where I feel the sea mist in the air. The Transfiguration took place on the mountain – which I stand on.
It’s difficult to describe the shift that occurs when places you’ve only heard about and thought about for many, many years -- are now in front of your eyes. Something I can touch and see. The Bible has suddenly blossomed into a living, breathing reality for me.
But, for a minute, back to the when and how. It’s one thing for me to sit in Houston and intellectually acknowledge that while the United States are only 600 years old, families had been living full lives in homes and communities that were built over 4000 years ago. But another thing entirely for me to be standing at one of the already built sites complete with ancient Greek inscribed into the rock walls where Jesus visited.
I now feel very small. Not in a bad way. Rather, I’ve inched closer to an understanding of “how high, how wide” is the love of God.
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