But, I did feel a little better having given the prayer thing a try. I had put it in God's hands, if there really was a God out there. I had left a message and now I would wait for God to return my call. There was a sense of having done something. You know what I am talking about--that satisfaction that comes of having done your part. Now it was up to God--if there really was a God and if this God was not some unflappable "Divine Mover" who had created the universe and left the universal processes to move at their inexorable pace.
My Jesus freak friends were convinced that God was much more than a Divine Mover. Indeed, they believed unswervingly in a personal God who delighted in interaction and personal responses to personal prayers. They were convinced that the traditional churches had lost touch with this "personal relationship" with God. These churches held firmly to ancient traditions that were based on the personal relationships of the disciples of Jesus and other ancient theologians. My friends in the commune consistently "testified" of their own extremely personal and daily, sometimes hourly, interventions of God on their behalf.
They believed that when they "witnessed" to me and others concerning God's personal activities that they were actually speaking the "living words of the living God." They claimed to be speaking for God in such a capacity. Well, that was not the voice from heaven that I was expecting. And I had asked God to reveal *Himself in a way that I could understand. Their stories were just not helping me.
*[As a Ph.D. in World Religions, I am well aware that it is a pretty big leap to assign male gender to God. Certainly, God would be neither male nor female. By using such terminology, I am simply reflecting the conversations and thought processes that I experienced in 1970. For a scholarly approach to this subject, see the first chapter of my book, Messianic Jewish Congregations: Who Sold This Business to the Gentiles. Lanham, MD: University Press, 2000.]
It was Sunday, and even though the members of the commune rejected established churches, they did frequent a mission church located near the Santa Cruz boardwalk. I welcomed the chance to actually get to the beach and see the ocean for the first time since arriving a few days earlier.
The mission compromised two small rooms in a ramshackle storefront one block from the beach. One room was a small kitchen where snacks were prepared for the hippies and others who were passing through. The other room had a plywood pulpit and about 25 metal chairs arranged in rows. This is where they conducted their services. The mission pastor was a preacher from some small independent fundamentalist church. As I remember, he looked old and feeble to me. Of course, I was all of 19, so anyone over 30 was old and feeble in my eyes.
This preacher was not at all what I expected. I had thought that I would encounter someone who was also a Jesus freak, not some guy in a well-worn sports coat and tie with short gray hair. And his sermon was nothing like what I had encountered with the commune members or even the Bible scholar the day before. After whining through some hymns that sounded like they were straight out of the 1880s, he took a passage out of Jeremiah and began to talk politics! There was nothing about Jesus, a personal relationship with Jesus, or even discussion of God at all. He just went on and on about the dangers of Communism. I felt like I had wandered into a meeting of hobos discussing the McCarthy hearings!
As I squirmed in the folding chair, (I squirmed from the content of the message, not the discomfort of sitting on a metal chair), he wrapped up his anti-Communist diatribe with a prayer. Very strange! Then he asked people to come forward and to "accept Jesus as their Lord and Savior"! How he could expect a spiritual response to a wholly political message still befuddles me today. When no one budged in response to his invitation, he asked for testimonies as to the "great things God is doing in your life." No one said a thing.
Now, my mother raised me to be considerate of others, and although I had no reason to like this guy, I did feel sorry for him. He looked so pitiful standing up there with no one responding. The deafening stillness continued. Just to help the guy out, I raised my hand. Relieved, he recognized me: Brother, give us your testimony!
I responded: Well, I am not sure I am a "brother," but I did pray to God yesterday and asked him to reveal Himself to me.
The preacher shouted "Praise the Lord" and led the dozen people in applause for my "testimony." I would have been totally humiliated by the response, but I felt so sorry for the fellow. And, besides from being trained to be considerate, it has always been my tendency to take the lead in awkward situations. And this was the most awkward situation of my life.
Now I was considered to be one of the group, but I sure didn't feel that way. Other than that sense of satisfaction from having initiated a course of action by praying, I felt much the same as I had before. Now, instead of Jesus freaks constantly witnessing to me and trying to convince me that Jesus was my savior, they began to insist that I needed to "be discipled." Oy! I had gone from the pan to the fire.
For three decades I related this story as the beginning of a small seed of faith that introduced me to a relationship with Jesus. I tracked my "born again" experience to the beginnings of faith during these 7 days in May. I have given my testimony as I have travelled across the US and Canada, in southern Africa, and southeast Asia.
Looking back now, I have a different perspective, but the following story is as I used to tell it. I am no longer an adherent to the Christian faith, having grown in my understanding and returning to a better-informed Jewish faith tradition. However, I believe the process of how faith is born in heart related here is valid.
Notes from my exposition of Romans 11, given in Singapore to an audience of 2,000 on Sunday, March 8th, 1998:
Yes, A Jew Can Be Saved
Jeffrey S. Wasserman, Ph.D.
READ Romans 11:1-5
Paul asks a question here: "Is it possible for a Jew to be saved?" Then he answers, "Yes, you are looking at one."
1. He himself is a Jewish believer in Jesus (vs. 1).
2. Even when it looks like there are no believers left, there is a surprising number of believers (7000 in vs. 3-4).
Elijah thought he was the only believer left, but there were many more.
3. In Paul's day there was a remnant of Jews who believed.
Are there Jewish believers in Jesus today?
The answer is the same as the one Paul gave 1950 years ago, "YOU ARE LOOKING AT ONE."
Yes, I was born a Jew. I grew up in a Jewish family, was educated in the Synagogue and practiced all of the Jewish religion.
When I got to my university years, I discovered that all of my religious upbringing had not prepared or equipped me for the realities of life.
-At that time (the late Sixties) a terrible war was going on in Vietnam. As a university student I knew that I would have to serve in the Army after completing my studies.
I did not look forward to war, but was even more importantly, I was sure that if I went to Vietnam I would be killed.
-And before I died, I wanted to know the reason for living. "What was the reason I was alive? Was there a purpose for my life?"
-Well, I began a serious search for the meaning of my life.
Even though I had been raised in Judaism, it seemed as if there was nothing in Judaism for me. I looked at my parents, my brother, and my sisters, and saw that they were consumed with their interests in material things: jobs, houses, cars, clothes, and entertainment.
No one Jewish that I knew in my family or synagogue ever discussed the purpose of life. They were all too busy chasing after "things."
My Gentile friends were no different. Although they came from Baptist, Methodist, Presbyterian, Catholic, and other Christian church backgrounds, none of them seemed to care about the ultimate realities of life.
-So, I turned to the religions of Asia to see what I could discover. I investigated Hinduism, Buddhism, and Taoism. I tried yoga and meditation, but nothing held an answer for me.
I was still alone in the universe with no purpose, no direction, and no hope--and about to be drafted into the Army to be sent to Vietnam.
-In a state of desperation, where I thought I would lose my mind if I did not find the meaning of my life, I met another young university student.
He was actually interested in discussing life, the meaning of life, and all the things I was searching for the answers for.
-As we talked, it was obvious that HE HAD FOUND what I was looking for!
There was something in his countenance, a light in his eyes, a joy in his smile, a peace in his demeanor that I wanted for myself.
-He began to tell me about Jesus, but I really didn't understand what he was telling me.
He spoke of sin, salvation, atonement, redemption, the need for a sacrifice for sin--all concepts I was not familiar with.
He told me Jesus died for my sins, but as a Jew, I had not been taught about sin. All I could figure out was that this must be related to the Ten Commandments. I could only remember a few of them. "Thou shalt not kill." I hadn't killed anyone. "Thou shalt not steal." I hadn't stolen anything.
Why would Jesus have to die then? It made no sense to me at all.
But, I WAS FASCINATED by the obvious life in this young man. He seemed so happy, so at peace, and so confident that God had purpose and plan for his life.
I wanted that for myself. I wanted that happiness, peace, and sense of purpose in my life!
I tried reading the Bible, but it didn't make sense to me. I went to Bible studies and church services, but none of it seems to help me have this LIFE that he had.
Finally, after several weeks of reading the Bible, Christian books and tracts, and hearing testimonies from other Christians, someone suggested that what I needed to do was to ask God to HELP ME BELIEVE.
This person said, "Look, next time you have some time alone, just talk to God and tell Him what you are going through. Tell God how you want to believe but don't know how. Ask Him to reveal Himself to you in a way you can understand."
-Later that evening, I did just that.
I went outside for a walk and lifted my eyes toward the sky and spoke to God.
I said, "God I hope you are really there. I hope you really care about me and are listening to me now. If you are, help me to believe in Jesus. Reveal yourself to me. I am open if you are willing."
Well, there was no great voice from heaven saying, "Jeff, this is God." Nothing like that happened. No angels appeared. There was no burning bush. But, there WAS a peace that came into my heart at that moment. I can't explain it , but somehow I finally KNEW that Jesus was for me and was my Savior, my Messiah. It still made no sense to me --it wasn't logical--I had no PROOF that Jesus was the Messiah. I just found that there was FAITH deep down inside of me. It wasn't something I had worked up or thought up--it wasn't from me. I still didn't know HOW to have faith, how to believe. I just found that God had given me faith--simply because I had asked Him for it.
-That was 29 years ago. That gift of faith (I really believe that faith is a gift from God) has lasted all these years through some times that I thought, "Maybe I have talked myself into this Jesus stuff. I am a pretty good salesman. Maybe I have sold myself on Jesus."
--But even in times when I doubt that this Jesus stuff is real, I find that that faith is still there like that first day 29 years ago. God holds us by the right hand of His righteousness. Even though we stumble, He keeps us from falling.
This "Jesus stuff" is real. It can't be proved and it may not make sense, but I stand before you today as living evidence that Jesus IS THE MESSIAH OF ISRAEL. YES, A JEW CAN BE SAVED--YOU ARE LOOKING AT ONE.
And just like in the time of Elijah that Paul speaks of in Romans 11, there is a remnant of believing Jews in the world today.
In America alone, there are 50,000 to 75,000 Jews who believe in Jesus and there are over 200 churches which are Jewish churches (Messianic congregations). In Israel there are as many as 6,000 Jewish believers in 50 Messianic congregations.
Some hangover, huh? One that lasted over 30 years. So, now you know the story of how I wandered into Christianity during 7 days in May, 1970. I want to fast-forward a bit here and relate the story of how my wandering led me into a war for independence in southern Africa. But first we need to wander to Houston. My "California girl" wasn't in California--she was in Texas.
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