{We claim Yeshua}
I have long been interested in Messianic Judaism so today I finally looked them up on the internet. Go to this web site to read what they believe: http://www.messianic.com/articles/basics.htm. It is amazing some of things the author says:
"Since Messianic Judaism is Jewish, it deems all Jewish people as its siblings. Also, since Christianity professes the Jewish Messiah as their Savior, Messianic Judaism deems all faithful Gentiles as its siblings (and no longer to be pagan Gentiles). This does not mean Messianic Judaism agrees with all the doctrines, traditions, customs or practices of either traditional Judaism or Christianity. We believe it would be the best and is ultimately necessary for all Jewish people to know their Messiah Yeshua, but we do not believe that God has called any Jewish person to become Gentile or Western Christian in custom. Rather, we believe it would be best and is ultimately necessary for Christianity to remove its pagan influences and return to the roots of Judaism, that is, to return to the way of Yeshua as He walked by example and set forth in His entire Word."
It's interesting to think about it that way. Jewish people do not need to become Western Christians, we are the ones who have been grafted in. Unconsciously, it is easy to think that when a Jewish person accepts Christ that they are laying aside their Jewishness for Christianity. But this isn't the case. They are accepting the promise and hope of Israel that is proclaimed in the Torah (the Old Testement). They are completed. We, on the other hand, are not the core or the root but we are the new branches.
"Since Yeshua is God in the flesh, He is the eternal God of Israel, who gave all holy things only to Israel and promised them for all time. He did not come to reject Israel or to take back what He promised, but only to fulfill what He promised, without taking away any promise to Israel. He came to make Israel a better Israel, not to start another religion. This "better Israel" was foretold through the Prophet Yirmiyahu (Jeremiah) in 31:31, which was the promise of a new covenant that would put the Torah and the Ruach (Spirit) of God into Israel as an indwelling new creation. Since He is God of all, Yeshua also came to allow anyone of the Gentiles who trust in Him as the Messiah of Israel to be grafted into Israel by way of that same new covenant in Him. This better Israel Yeshua called His "Miqra" in Hebrew, which means "Called Out." It is "Ekklesia" in the Greek."
Cool stuff.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
England - Glam = Work
Well, darlings, since I've been here I 've been writing about all the glam and sight seeing but here's the other half. Duh, duh, duh...
I spent the first two weeks here in turmoil and tears as I tried to figure out the crazy British educational system. Impossible. Here's the gyst of what I discovered about the history department (the separation of departments is very strict): Read, read, read and when you find that you don't have anything else to do, read some more. In fact, in England, you are said to be "reading for you degree." People have asked me, "What are you reading for?" Armed with my new lingo, I wasn't stumped by this question and accidently answer, "Well, I like to read, it's good for you." But, instead, I answered as a true British student, "I am reading for history!"
Each class only meets for two hours a week so you have a lot of time to do all this supposed reading. Eight hours of coziness with a book is recomended for each lecture hour. Of course, this is suggested. In reality, students get away with a lot less.
The point of the lectures seems to have escaped me, especially given this remark from one of my seminar teachers. "It's superfluous to take notes in seminar, in lecture too, for that matter. You can learn it all in your own reading." Hmmm. Why do I go? Oh, yes, I am improving my mind. I am reminded of a quote from Good Will Hunting, a horrible movie, but with this one good line. The main character, a genius, says to a snotty Harvard student that he is paying $40, 000 a year to learn what he could've learned by renting the same text books from the library and paying $3.50 in overdraft fees. I suppose we go to get that degree, that piece of paper, and for the motivation. Yah, maybe I could motivate myself to read a book but to write an analytical paper voluntarily? No way, I'll leave that to Benjamin Franklin. Now that's will power!
O.K. So there's the low down, the dirt and grit, the grime. The system here needs some major updating. I can imagine some young medieval scholars involved in the same practices of study as I am here. Everyone reading from the same three ancient texts that comprise the library. Ha, ha, a little dramatized.
N.B. No English feelings were injured in the making of this post.
Well, darlings, since I've been here I 've been writing about all the glam and sight seeing but here's the other half. Duh, duh, duh...
I spent the first two weeks here in turmoil and tears as I tried to figure out the crazy British educational system. Impossible. Here's the gyst of what I discovered about the history department (the separation of departments is very strict): Read, read, read and when you find that you don't have anything else to do, read some more. In fact, in England, you are said to be "reading for you degree." People have asked me, "What are you reading for?" Armed with my new lingo, I wasn't stumped by this question and accidently answer, "Well, I like to read, it's good for you." But, instead, I answered as a true British student, "I am reading for history!"
Each class only meets for two hours a week so you have a lot of time to do all this supposed reading. Eight hours of coziness with a book is recomended for each lecture hour. Of course, this is suggested. In reality, students get away with a lot less.
The point of the lectures seems to have escaped me, especially given this remark from one of my seminar teachers. "It's superfluous to take notes in seminar, in lecture too, for that matter. You can learn it all in your own reading." Hmmm. Why do I go? Oh, yes, I am improving my mind. I am reminded of a quote from Good Will Hunting, a horrible movie, but with this one good line. The main character, a genius, says to a snotty Harvard student that he is paying $40, 000 a year to learn what he could've learned by renting the same text books from the library and paying $3.50 in overdraft fees. I suppose we go to get that degree, that piece of paper, and for the motivation. Yah, maybe I could motivate myself to read a book but to write an analytical paper voluntarily? No way, I'll leave that to Benjamin Franklin. Now that's will power!
O.K. So there's the low down, the dirt and grit, the grime. The system here needs some major updating. I can imagine some young medieval scholars involved in the same practices of study as I am here. Everyone reading from the same three ancient texts that comprise the library. Ha, ha, a little dramatized.
N.B. No English feelings were injured in the making of this post.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Windsor Great Park, at last
I set out for Windsor Park again, this time with a crude map drawn by Michelle, one of my suite mates. Windsor Great Park, the haven of Elizabeth Bennet and all her admirers. Paths enough to explore, woods and lakes and dense greenery to satisfy any appetite. It also was crowded with every sort of chortling, busy bird including parakeets! They flew to and fro making fun of all the small corgis and terriers that were out for airing.
It was a glorious Autumn day of thin, cool air and bright blue sky. I had to be outside! Begone all history papers and books, today is for the soul.
A very old stump.
The long and winding road
This totem pole is a random addition to the scenery. Given to the Queen in the year of her crowning by the provence of British Columbia, I gather the people of that country once made them.
The leaves are slowly changing color.
Me.
The things needed for reflection.
My bench hewn from a log.
The view from my bench.
A dad was taking his two little girls on rides down the hill balancing on the girls' scooters.
"What place is there in me to which my God can come, what place that can receive the God who made heaven and earth? Does this mean, O Lord my God, that there is in me something fit to contain you? Can heaven and earth, which you made and in which you made me, contain you? Or, since nothing that exists could exist without you, does this mean that whatever exists does, in this sense, contain you? So, then, I should be null and void and could not exist at all, if you, my God, were not in me." St. Augustine
I've picked up Confessions again.
I set out for Windsor Park again, this time with a crude map drawn by Michelle, one of my suite mates. Windsor Great Park, the haven of Elizabeth Bennet and all her admirers. Paths enough to explore, woods and lakes and dense greenery to satisfy any appetite. It also was crowded with every sort of chortling, busy bird including parakeets! They flew to and fro making fun of all the small corgis and terriers that were out for airing.
It was a glorious Autumn day of thin, cool air and bright blue sky. I had to be outside! Begone all history papers and books, today is for the soul.
A very old stump.
The long and winding road
This totem pole is a random addition to the scenery. Given to the Queen in the year of her crowning by the provence of British Columbia, I gather the people of that country once made them.
The leaves are slowly changing color.
Me.
The things needed for reflection.
My bench hewn from a log.
The view from my bench.
A dad was taking his two little girls on rides down the hill balancing on the girls' scooters.
"What place is there in me to which my God can come, what place that can receive the God who made heaven and earth? Does this mean, O Lord my God, that there is in me something fit to contain you? Can heaven and earth, which you made and in which you made me, contain you? Or, since nothing that exists could exist without you, does this mean that whatever exists does, in this sense, contain you? So, then, I should be null and void and could not exist at all, if you, my God, were not in me." St. Augustine
I've picked up Confessions again.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
{Living Water}
I love this photo. It's a fountain at Hampton Court and some school children were sitting on the opposite side. By the way, there's no one more adorable than an English school child. They all wear uniforms and talk in tiny English voices. I usually end up listening to their guide in museums and castles because they get the lovely interpreter in costume and I get to hear their hilarious, ten-year-old answers.
Anyway, water. I love it. It is so spacious and beautiful. I have thought about what it would be like to live in the center of the States but it makes me feel claustrophobic. The sort of claustrophobia that you feel when you are on a tube in the London underground during rush hour, for example. There is no airflow let alone air conditioning, every person on the platform is determined not to be the one to miss the train so you cram and cram until someone can barely get their feet from crossing the yellow line so that the door can close. Sometimes you are fortunate and you are snuggly near a cute businessman in a crisp blue and white shirt talking in an upscale accent to his partners. Other times, most often, you are stuck near the men who haven't felt the need to bath in quite some time, a scent that clings to the air and your senses like the smell of a skunk. But either way you are stuck without any AIR.
More terrible still is when you are in the carriage, rocking back and forth, trying to think of blue sky but only seeing the very close brick walls of the tunnel fly by the windows when suddenly the lights flicker off. Or when the train just stops, not at a station, but in a tunnel. Dozens or hundreds of feet below dirt and cement in the dark without air! And no way to get out, the walls nearly touches the sides of the train and you crammed in without being able to move.
I like open spaces and air. Ben, you will appreciate this.
I love this photo. It's a fountain at Hampton Court and some school children were sitting on the opposite side. By the way, there's no one more adorable than an English school child. They all wear uniforms and talk in tiny English voices. I usually end up listening to their guide in museums and castles because they get the lovely interpreter in costume and I get to hear their hilarious, ten-year-old answers.
Anyway, water. I love it. It is so spacious and beautiful. I have thought about what it would be like to live in the center of the States but it makes me feel claustrophobic. The sort of claustrophobia that you feel when you are on a tube in the London underground during rush hour, for example. There is no airflow let alone air conditioning, every person on the platform is determined not to be the one to miss the train so you cram and cram until someone can barely get their feet from crossing the yellow line so that the door can close. Sometimes you are fortunate and you are snuggly near a cute businessman in a crisp blue and white shirt talking in an upscale accent to his partners. Other times, most often, you are stuck near the men who haven't felt the need to bath in quite some time, a scent that clings to the air and your senses like the smell of a skunk. But either way you are stuck without any AIR.
More terrible still is when you are in the carriage, rocking back and forth, trying to think of blue sky but only seeing the very close brick walls of the tunnel fly by the windows when suddenly the lights flicker off. Or when the train just stops, not at a station, but in a tunnel. Dozens or hundreds of feet below dirt and cement in the dark without air! And no way to get out, the walls nearly touches the sides of the train and you crammed in without being able to move.
I like open spaces and air. Ben, you will appreciate this.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Thursday, October 12, 2006
{Last Saturday}
We began our day in Camden Town Market, a place where punk meets goth and randomness. It's a huge outdoor market along with all these random stores. This one had a plane on its front.
We had Chinese from a vender. "Hot meal two pound fifty!" shouted the small oriental man.
We took a canal ride on the Regent's Canal up to Little Venice. It struck me that our boat was the Jenny Wren -- the name of Lizzie's friend in Our Mutual Friend, "I'm the person of the house!" Wow, cool. We went through one lock which of course reminded me of Lockport and the boat trip!
A bird's nest treehouse
Stopped for some hot chocolate at a chic café along the canal to warm up.
Then to Regent's Park. City parks are wonderous places! You search and search for them, seeing only brick walls, sidewalks and buildings until suddenly you turn a corner and voilá! Prettyish wilderness all around you.
Keeping in shape for rowing season : D
221B Baker Street
Of course, I was Holmes
Holmes' violin and chemistry set. You could touch everything in the museum and while we were there one of the visitors presented one of his cards to the guide with his name on it. His name was Moriarty!
Et to finish we came around the corner and saw this, our first sighting
We began our day in Camden Town Market, a place where punk meets goth and randomness. It's a huge outdoor market along with all these random stores. This one had a plane on its front.
We had Chinese from a vender. "Hot meal two pound fifty!" shouted the small oriental man.
We took a canal ride on the Regent's Canal up to Little Venice. It struck me that our boat was the Jenny Wren -- the name of Lizzie's friend in Our Mutual Friend, "I'm the person of the house!" Wow, cool. We went through one lock which of course reminded me of Lockport and the boat trip!
A bird's nest treehouse
Stopped for some hot chocolate at a chic café along the canal to warm up.
Then to Regent's Park. City parks are wonderous places! You search and search for them, seeing only brick walls, sidewalks and buildings until suddenly you turn a corner and voilá! Prettyish wilderness all around you.
Keeping in shape for rowing season : D
221B Baker Street
Of course, I was Holmes
Holmes' violin and chemistry set. You could touch everything in the museum and while we were there one of the visitors presented one of his cards to the guide with his name on it. His name was Moriarty!
Et to finish we came around the corner and saw this, our first sighting
Saturday, October 07, 2006
TO WINDSOR! where is it?
I've been remiss in writing lately. This week was the first week of classes: the commencement of eccentric Britishness. As the orientator for the History department stated, "You will find that we still do things the 19th-century way. It has been suggested that we may move into the 20th-century around the year 2020 or 2030." But more on that later, first, the most recent expeditions!
Someone told Laura and I that we could walk to Windsor, so that is what we were determined to do. So, with hardly a thought, backpacks, hiking boots and umbrellas, we took our bearing from the sun and headed...that way! About fifteen minutes into our walk, we decided to stop and take our bearings, i.e. ask the way. We were confirmed in our belief that an entrance to the Windsor Great Park would shortly be upon us. Therefore, we soldiered on as it began to rain.
Many fields, horses, hopeful signs and ritzy prepatory schools later, we again paused to consider. However this time we were forced to make our own decisions as the livestock weren't telling. We'd seen a sign for Windsor (not the park) a while back and decided that we weren't quitters or turner-arounders. Another hour...another down pour...here Hayley took a moment to comment, "I think in our over exuberance to be English, we are outdoing the English." Greatly bolstered by this remark both travelers stop at a gas station to use the Loo but unfortunately they don't exist in this nation. Onward...
where is it? it's a CASTLE!
Lured by a promising stone turret, we walked in the suddenly increased gale towards it. Both happily and unhappily, it turned out to be The Windsor Farm Shop. An amazing place of only local products everything from fresh butter, meats, jams, Christmas puddings, ciders and wines, etc, etc...along with a lovely teashop. However, ignoring all this and feeling slightly embarrassed given the name of the shop, Hayley asked where Windsor Castle might be. Equally confused, a young shop girl gave them precarious directions.
Once again refreshed (having used the loo), we set out "across the bridge." Most importunely, as we reached the unguarded crest of the bridge, the rain took out its greatest wrath. From that height, Laura and I were able to see the vast nothingness before us and with one mind we turned back. At this moment, a bus driver took the opportunity to laugh at us.
Back at the Farm Shop, avoiding the girl with bad directions, we sat down and had some warm English food. I ordered some yummy soup and when the shop dude handed it to me it had four slices of bread and a slab of what I thought was cheese on the side. "Oh, I just wanted soup," I hastened to say. "That comes wif it," was the reply. Well, what I thought was cheese was actually the thickest butter I'd ever seen. It must have come straight from the cow, it was deeelish!
first sighting
Laura and I eventually did get correct directions to the Castle and we finally found the park, about three hours too late.
joy
worth it
The Castle, still the residence of the Queen on most weekends and her favorite home, was beautiful and very "castle like." The most impressive room was the St. George Hall that was enormous and had shields hung on the ceilings and walls down its whole length with every different standard of former knights. Some were completely white which meant that the knight had somehow disgraced himself and had been banished from the Order of the Garter.
the park we missed
"I love the rain"
lush
Later, we checked out a homemade fudge shop that our suite mates had recommended to us. We missed the evensong in St. George's chapel because the guard forgot to tell us when it was beginning and you can't go in after it's begun. So, weary, we headed to the bus stop. A bit damp, though the sun had promptly come out after we found the castle, and ready to head home, we sat 20 minutes waiting for the bus. It never came. So, we waited another 20 minutes for the next one. It came. "One ticket to Egham," I confidently said. "Oh, what divle dkdihfeklw." Translated into American, "I'm going the other way."
chapel we didn't get to see
For some reason it hadn't occurred to either of the college students that a bus route follows two directions. We had been waiting for the wrong bus. Directed to the Parish Church bus stop, Laura and I trudged back to the only church we'd passed that day. No bus stop. But, wait, across the churchyard on the other side of the street, a bus! We sprinted as fast we could across the yard (I was sure an angry priest was going to jump out at us). Fortunately, it wasn't the bus we needed and the one that we did need was running behind. But all the people waiting for the bus had a good view of our very American, mad dash across the churchyard.
these came out of the ground by the main entrance which was guarded by two guards with machine guns.
We got back. The End
"Life can be delish,
with a happy disposish."
I've been remiss in writing lately. This week was the first week of classes: the commencement of eccentric Britishness. As the orientator for the History department stated, "You will find that we still do things the 19th-century way. It has been suggested that we may move into the 20th-century around the year 2020 or 2030." But more on that later, first, the most recent expeditions!
Someone told Laura and I that we could walk to Windsor, so that is what we were determined to do. So, with hardly a thought, backpacks, hiking boots and umbrellas, we took our bearing from the sun and headed...that way! About fifteen minutes into our walk, we decided to stop and take our bearings, i.e. ask the way. We were confirmed in our belief that an entrance to the Windsor Great Park would shortly be upon us. Therefore, we soldiered on as it began to rain.
Many fields, horses, hopeful signs and ritzy prepatory schools later, we again paused to consider. However this time we were forced to make our own decisions as the livestock weren't telling. We'd seen a sign for Windsor (not the park) a while back and decided that we weren't quitters or turner-arounders. Another hour...another down pour...here Hayley took a moment to comment, "I think in our over exuberance to be English, we are outdoing the English." Greatly bolstered by this remark both travelers stop at a gas station to use the Loo but unfortunately they don't exist in this nation. Onward...
where is it? it's a CASTLE!
Lured by a promising stone turret, we walked in the suddenly increased gale towards it. Both happily and unhappily, it turned out to be The Windsor Farm Shop. An amazing place of only local products everything from fresh butter, meats, jams, Christmas puddings, ciders and wines, etc, etc...along with a lovely teashop. However, ignoring all this and feeling slightly embarrassed given the name of the shop, Hayley asked where Windsor Castle might be. Equally confused, a young shop girl gave them precarious directions.
Once again refreshed (having used the loo), we set out "across the bridge." Most importunely, as we reached the unguarded crest of the bridge, the rain took out its greatest wrath. From that height, Laura and I were able to see the vast nothingness before us and with one mind we turned back. At this moment, a bus driver took the opportunity to laugh at us.
Back at the Farm Shop, avoiding the girl with bad directions, we sat down and had some warm English food. I ordered some yummy soup and when the shop dude handed it to me it had four slices of bread and a slab of what I thought was cheese on the side. "Oh, I just wanted soup," I hastened to say. "That comes wif it," was the reply. Well, what I thought was cheese was actually the thickest butter I'd ever seen. It must have come straight from the cow, it was deeelish!
first sighting
Laura and I eventually did get correct directions to the Castle and we finally found the park, about three hours too late.
joy
worth it
The Castle, still the residence of the Queen on most weekends and her favorite home, was beautiful and very "castle like." The most impressive room was the St. George Hall that was enormous and had shields hung on the ceilings and walls down its whole length with every different standard of former knights. Some were completely white which meant that the knight had somehow disgraced himself and had been banished from the Order of the Garter.
the park we missed
"I love the rain"
lush
Later, we checked out a homemade fudge shop that our suite mates had recommended to us. We missed the evensong in St. George's chapel because the guard forgot to tell us when it was beginning and you can't go in after it's begun. So, weary, we headed to the bus stop. A bit damp, though the sun had promptly come out after we found the castle, and ready to head home, we sat 20 minutes waiting for the bus. It never came. So, we waited another 20 minutes for the next one. It came. "One ticket to Egham," I confidently said. "Oh, what divle dkdihfeklw." Translated into American, "I'm going the other way."
chapel we didn't get to see
For some reason it hadn't occurred to either of the college students that a bus route follows two directions. We had been waiting for the wrong bus. Directed to the Parish Church bus stop, Laura and I trudged back to the only church we'd passed that day. No bus stop. But, wait, across the churchyard on the other side of the street, a bus! We sprinted as fast we could across the yard (I was sure an angry priest was going to jump out at us). Fortunately, it wasn't the bus we needed and the one that we did need was running behind. But all the people waiting for the bus had a good view of our very American, mad dash across the churchyard.
these came out of the ground by the main entrance which was guarded by two guards with machine guns.
We got back. The End
"Life can be delish,
with a happy disposish."
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