A JEW’S JOURNEY TO CHRIST

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It was early in the morning, the sun barely risen. Hues of gold and orange lit up the horizon, erasing the dark blue of the night before. I had not slept. My eyes wandered over the tree outside my bedroom window, the light of the impending day shining in rays through my bedroom. It was quiet, no one yet awake, and I was left to my thoughts which were particularly dark. I had just been through a three year long traumatic experience that had only recently come to a close. Life was dark. There was a buzz from beneath my pillow. I lifted my phone into my hands, and the text I received was ominous. “We were wrong. Our people were wrong.” An important person in my life had texted me. Someone I trust immensely. 

I knew. I don’t know how I knew. The word ‘Jesus’ rang through my mind chaotically. Like the sound a lid of a pot makes when it hits the kitchen tiles. Obnoxious, loud. Anxiety rode through my body. Ping.

They sent another text. This time, a link to Bible Gateway. Isaiah 53.

Despised and rejected by mankind…He took up our pain and bore our suffering…Pierced for our transgressions…by His wounds we are healed…lead like a lamb to the slaughter…the Lord makes His life an offering for sin…

Panic washed over me. My already anxious heart quickened its pace. My hands shook. My already dark thoughts became pitch black. I was in attack mode. I responded ‘I know’ and I put my phone away. I would go to sleep knowing my life had changed forever. 

Being thrown into the world of Christianity disturbed me to my core. Being raised an Orthodox Jew, a kind of antipathy toward the faith was instilled in me from birth. I did not understand how I could have been wrong my whole life. I did not understand how the same people who would abuse, murder, and mistreat myself and my family could be the same people who held the other piece of the puzzle to the truth of the world. I did my best to distance myself from the religion as a whole. My faith was centered around Orthodox Judaism; rabbinic law, levitical law, and Jewish philosophy. The only difference was that now I knew who the Messiah was. I knew who my people were waiting for. As a Messianic Jew, I did not learn about Christian theology. I did not bother with Christian tradition or thought. I was not interested in understanding the things that allowed Christians to hurt my people for centuries. This went on for two years. 

During that time I would encounter many types of Christians. Evangelical fundamentalists, Non-Denominational folks, Roman Catholics, Mormons, you name it. I had met people from diverse backgrounds in the faith, and I hated what I saw. I was glad to be a part of what I believed to be absolute truth;  Judaism. It wasn’t until I met a group of Oriental Orthodox Christians who took the time to thoroughly explain the literal understanding of the Eucharist to me that I would begin to doubt myself. If I could be wrong about the Eucharist, what else was I glossing over, both in the Gospels and in Paul’s epistles? I was thrust into a six month long journey of constant studying. I watched, listened to, and read everything I possibly could. Like a sponge, I soaked up every bit of information about Christianity that I came across. I began to realize that the thoughts and traditions of the Early Church were not evil, but they were deeply rooted in Judaism. My love for apostolic Christian tradition began to grow.

After speaking of my love and admiration for Mary, the mother of God, a friend recommended I pray the rosary for the first time. I didn’t know what that was, let alone did I own one, but said friend patiently taught me. I wrote down all of the prayers, and early in the morning after yet another night of no sleep, I got on my knees and stared up at the sky.

While reciting the prayers of the rosary, counting each Hail Mary on my fingers, emotion overcame me. Tears accumulated in my eyes. I could feel the presence of Mary beside me as I asked for her intercession. Once the prayer was over, I knew I had to pursue conversion into the Catholic Church. 

This was, of course, a terrifying ordeal for me. The Catholic Church had oppressed my people from the beginning of its existence. It was the reason for the exile and murder of my family members. My family hated, and still does hate, the Catholic Church. I could not blame them, I cannot blame them. The Church took the face of God, and used it for great atrocities. I could not condone the Church’s actions, but I believed that the Church held the Truth. I thought that God resided in the Catholic Church, and wherever God was, I wanted to be so I continued my conversion process. 

I would have converted if it weren’t for my life-long struggle with my sexuality. I’d known I was attracted to women as young as eight years old. When I became a Christian, this was a source of shame for me, so I hid my attractions and didn’t tell a soul from that point forward. I struggled terribly with my feelings, so much so that I demanded God allow me to fall for a man or I would submit to my desires. I couldn’t do it anymore.

But God did not change me, and I resented Him for it. It wouldn’t be until I met another woman who was a lesbian and a practicing Christian that I learned that there was another way for me to reconcile my attractions with my God. Again, I was thrust into months of studying and grappling with who I loved with my love for my God. I came to the conclusion that I could love women while also loving God. In fact, I had to; it’s the way God created me, and all things that God does are perfect and good. I was only left with one question. How could I continue my way into the Catholic Church when they were teaching the antithesis of what I knew to be true of God, that homosexuality was inherently disordered and inherently immoral, the opposite of God’s goodness and truth? I wanted God, but I was aware that the Church was teaching that which was not true of Him. I stayed in the Catholic Church for some months as I tried to figure out what I was going to do.

Eventually, I met Christians who identified as Episcopalians/Anglicans. Their Church was apostolic, High Church, but they believed in the holiness and goodness that came from the vocation of LGBT identities. I felt like I finally found my home; I had finally found where God was leading me. With peace in my heart, and confirmation from God in prayer, I left the Catholic Church and I began my journey to becoming an Anglican. 

I was then faced with the question of women’s ordination. I had always known, since the moment I accepted Christ, that He wanted me to lead others and to teach others about Him. He wanted me to help mend the relationship between both of my peoples, the Jewish people I’d been born into this world with and the Christian people who came to accept and love me. 

Through months of prayers, I would beg God to reveal to me what exactly He wanted from me. How was I going to do the impossible? How could I fill the shoes He was asking me to fill? He answered me loud and clear one night. The priesthood. This was how I was going to fulfill His mission for me. I ignored Him at first. James 3:1 rang through my head, “we who teach will be judged more strictly.” I didn’t want to lead those around me astray if I couldn’t be sure of the things I believed. Over time as I continued to pursue study, I felt myself becoming stronger in my convictions. I could see God paving a path for me to perform His will. He had made things perfect, so I finally accepted. I said yes to God. 

Being a Christian is hard for me. My relationship with God has become one of tough love, frustration, and at times anger. I love my God, though, and wherever He is, wherever He exists, I want Him. I want to go where He leads me, and He led me to Christ so with Christ I shall stay.