On My Way to Walk

After the Old Church, we headed back to the airport terminal in Amsterdam, where we had some "dinner" (not really sure on what meal it technically was due to the constant time changes) and coffee. We just kind of took some time to talk to each other, get to know each other, and most importantly, reflect on our day in Amsterdam. For me, it was my first exposure to an international culture, and without a doubt, this was a lot different than the Midwestern culture I'm used to. However, there were a lot of things about it that I liked...as well as a lot of things about it that I didn't like. 

We got on the plane, and this time, I was ecstatic to find out that I was given a window seat! It was sad that it was pretty dark out, but I was able to see a lot with the lights on the ground thankfully, as well as get a lot of sleep, due to me being able to use the window for head support.

I woke up mid-flight as we were travelling over a small village. I regret not waking up Trevor and Amanda (two fellow pilgrims), who I didn't really know all that well at the time, to grab my camera and get a picture. It was amazing how clearly you could see the outline of the village just by seeing the lights. Then, as the flight continued, I started seeing fewer and fewer lights...

And that's when it really hit me...that's when I realized where I was. I was in a completely different country, completely different culture, completely different environment, thousands of miles away from home (much to the dismay of my mother and grandmother). But most importantly, I was about to embark on a pilgrimage, not just some vacation, not just a trip...I was going to the place where Christ walked.

I snapped this picture of Zachary, my brother (on the right with the blue covering), at his Christmas program this past December. Four shepherds walking up towards the birthplace of Christ...four kids with completely different reactions. One serious, one excited, one terrified, and then there's Zachary...looking like he knows what he's doing. I can't say that I didn't felt the same way while on the plane...like I was ready for this journey.

I was on my way to walk in the same places where I literally believe Yahweh walked in the flesh. 

I'm not sure why we so easily glance over that statement. We hear "in the flesh" so often, but have we ever taken a second to realize what that means?

Personally, I think I used to view Jesus as someone like George Washington, or Abraham Lincoln, or Christopher Columbus...I wholeheartedly believed that these people were alive in the flesh. I had no doubts within me that Lincoln never existed or anything like that, and I fully agreed that by calling my home state the Land of Lincoln, that we actually rest assured in the fact that he did live there for a while.

But Jesus is a bit different...

Because Jesus is God, Jesus is Yahweh, the Lord of Lords, the King of Kings, the Almighty. Yeshua. The Indescribable Creator.

The Redeemer. The Savior.

My Redeemer. My Savior.

Can you honestly fathom living in the apostles' shoes? I'm not so sure that I can. I mean, this is huge. This is God.

If you look at that picture of Zachary closely, you can see a little bit of fear in his eyes...appearing to have it all together, appearing to fit the part, but deep down, I know his heart's beating fast, his mind is jumping from thought to thought, he's full of anxiety and excitement and fear all at the same time.

And as we landed in Tel Aviv, Israel, as I sat on the plane waiting to get off, I realized that deep down I was the same way....just like my little brother.

Attracted to the Brokenness

We finally walked around the Old Church to the main entrance, walking inside the remains of what once was the largest church, the church of Amsterdam. During the Reformation, the Church was greatly destroyed, and nothing remains but large, empty spaces, broken windows, cracked ground...

A continual remembrance of what once was...

But even remembering what once was, I was still greatly troubled. The large organ loomed above, intimidating all who walked below it.

Clearly full of beauty...architecture...I'm not saying that place didn't look impressive. It just felt empty. For once in my life, I think I understood what juxtaposition meant, and I'm hoping that my 11 AP English Teacher would be proud. Once again, how do we become an active church that actually goes out and seeks social justice?

I'm not sure why we have the idea that being welcoming means that we also have to be completely tolerant.

Although I'm sure a service at the Old Church would have been very spiritual, holy, and powerful, how welcoming would it have been? Would it have been something that people did because they felt that they had to? Or was it a church that people wanted to go? Furthermore, are our churches today places that people want to go to?

The remains of extravagant stained glass, attempting to display the glory of God...I try to think of what it would have looked like back then

Is it wrong to say that I think it looks more beautiful now? Am I wrong to say that I'm attracted to the "brokenness"? This imperfection?

Back in October when I went on a fall retreat with Iron Sharpens Iron, we had some time of worship and were singing "Like a Lion". When we came to the bridge, the worship team forgot how it went and started singing a bit too early. For a good 15 seconds, the song was a complete mess...everyone was struggling.

But we were struggling together...sure, the song was a mess, but we were all fighting to get through it. I have always been made aware of the power of grace when there is a mistake in worship music. It helps us realize that we are broken, that we do need God, that we couldn't get through this alone.

And I wonder if this church ever showed that brokenness until now. I wonder what the priests looked like, what everyone was wearing. Did they seek to show their brokenness?

I'm going through St. Augustine's Confessions for my class with Fr. Dunne, and in the first few pages, he presents this idea that all glory should be considered shameful...

Talk about conviction...

This idea that we shouldn't be putting on a show, that we shouldn't be hiding our true selves, that we should be open with our struggles, vulnerable in our conversations, humble in our confessions...

Otherwise, it'll just be fake...it'll just be empty. We don't need an empty church...we need a broken church.

Because we are broken.

I walk across the stone floor and see the name by which I'm called, by which I'm identified with...

And I connect with the Jacob within the Old Church...realize that I could have been born in that time, that I could have been one of the people in this church...

It's hard to not be pious, and possibly even harder to "market" the Gospel. I always think, "Who would want to join a broken community?"

But then I think deeply about it, and when I really start thinking about it, I think a broken community is exactly what we need.

I Couldn't Stop Looking

We headed out of the museum, and we walked towards the Old Church...

I had thought I had seen the Red Light District...but my heart was not prepared for what I was about to see.

We walked through different alleys, and the signs started appearing again...

XXX...

Sex Shop...

Gay Movies...

Porn...

But then it got worse. The signs didn't get worse. It was just that other things started appearing.

We walked down a road: the back of the Old Church on one side, on the other...

Store windows...

Just like any other store...people walked by window shopping...but this was a different type, for there weren't toys on the other side, no musical instruments, no works of art...but there was lingerie.

And it wasn't displayed on mannequins.

It was displayed on women...real women.

Most people looked the other way, focusing on the Old Church, but I couldn't resist. I wasn't drawn to their attraction, their looks...lust was not a focus of the mind.

I was drawn to the brokenness. I looked one of the women in the eye, and she motioned for me to come closer. Motioned to me, a teenager...it was so explicit, so present, so there, and I couldn't stop looking into her eyes...

I saw Christ.

This isn't something to be taken lightly, but we act like it is...we tell jokes about the Red Light District, we joke about rape culture, we joke about all of this...but this is real.

I couldn't focus on anything else I saw...I just remember those eyes...

I saw right through hers, and she saw right through mine.

My heart continually breaks over the stories of the Red Light District. The women of that district are always in my prayers. The place is broken, but don't be deceived into thinking "that place needs Christ". That place has Christ. It just needs us.

We shouldn't be questioning where God is in all of this. We should be questioning where the People of God are in all of this. We should be questioning where we are in all of this.

For more information on human trafficking, particularly the Red Light District and sex slavery, visit enditmovement.com and join the movement.

Appreciative of the Past

As the afternoon approached, we walked over to The Museum of Our Lord in the Attic. Basically, when Catholicism was made illegal shortly after the Reformation, a group of faithful Catholics completely renovated the inside of three apartments and made a church. I was pretty amazed with the place...how elegant they made it look, and even more amazing, how they managed to pull it off. This wasn't just a room in an attic...in fact, it looked absolutely nothing like an attic. From the inside, it appeared to be a church, but from the outside, you would have no idea...

Although the church is no longer active, the museum gave you a lot of information about how the church used to function. It was a pretty interesting tour...you walked around with these little speakers, and then it would give you a two-minute spiel...it was funny because we just all looked like we were talking on the phone:

Talking on our "phones"



I was realy impressed by the church...just the idea of a group of people acting solely on faith, choosing to stand up for what they believe in and go against the laws of the country. I just wish that the church was still active...it's great looking upon the Church that once was, but what about the Church today. If all we have left are museums of churches that are just seen as tourist spots, how are we evangelizing to the people of Amsterdam?



Inside of Our Lord in the Attic



Looking upon the idea of an active faith that once was makes me appreciative of the past, but I want to be hopeful for the future.

Why is This Place So Empty?

After getting some food, we began heading over to the other side of Amsterdam over to the Basilica of St. Nicholas. However, on the way, we passed by a part of the Red Light District. Having recently become a part of the End It Movement, and having recently read Rob Bell's Sex God, the Red Light District seemed all too familiar.

X-Rated Films...Sex Shop...Gay Movie Watch...XXX...

The signs were everywhere, and I'm not really sure why I thought that the Red Light District would be "clean", but I assure you...it's not the case...shabby warehouses, broken off paint, cracked paths, scratched windows, torn-off doors...

But alas, we arrived at the Basilica of St. Nicholas, a fairly large church and also fairly close to to the Red Light District. I used to see churches like that as having somewhat of a "morbid holiness"...this kind of darkness to it that helped me connect with Christ and my spirituality...the candles, the deeply moving hymns...much like what the Tenebrae Service was.

But when I walked into the Basilica, what once would have came off as that "morbid holiness" seemed more like a dead faith. Huge pillars made the place seem mysterious, but not in a spiritual sense. The large and fear-provoking organ cast down a shadow. This dark gloom loomed over the church...the deep marble, having no choir to bring it alive, only added to this feeling of intimidation.

I was upset, frustrated, confused. How can we call this the Church? This doesn't seem warm and inviting, but dark and foreboding. And if I, a believer of Christ, even feel intimidated, how then shall the non-believers feel? How can the sinners not feel ashamed, not feel guilty, not feel worthy to walk in...no wonder we have this expression of getting "struck by lightning" if we walk into a Church as a sinner.


How would the prostitutes feel? Shouldn't this church have rehabilitation programs? Classes to bring people closer to Christ, not large and dark architecture to keep them away. It's time such as these when I want nothing more than to shout out, "God, where are You in all of this?...Why is this place so empty?" But I can't speak falsely...I know He's there.

God isn't missing...the people of God are missing...we are missing, for is not a Church with no believers just a building? God needs His believers, the people that fight for justice, the people that will fight for Him. Hearing of the "sanctity" of the place made me bitter and distressed. I wasn't sure what to think...

All I could do was pray.

Meant to Be Cherished

We arrived in Amsterdam for a 12-hour layover, and for the most part, the world felt pretty surreal. We went through customs and I got my first passport stamp!

First passport!

Afterwards, we went into the terminal where I got my first euros :D

First Euros!

Amsterdam's airport looked really futuristic and clean to me...it was just really different than what I thought it would be. However, Amsterdam itself, was more of what I was expecting...beautiful walkways alongside rivers. 

A beautiful view of Amsterdam

Unfortunately, it was a bit rainy...but it really wasn't all that bad. Our first stop was the Anne Frank House...I got a really deep look into something that I wasn't expecting to get into. The deep feelings of Anne, seen through her diary entries forced me into a world that I knew little about...ignorance truly is bliss. Unfortunately, no pictures were allowed, but I will always remember the things that I saw...what it must have been to live in such a small place for such a long period of time....I can't even imagine.

After the Anne Frank House, we walked through the wet and rainy streets until we found The Pancake Bakery, a delicious and home-cooked, local-style restaurant. Huge pancakes were served...what looked like almost 14" in diameter! I got an omelette that was roughly the same size...let's just say that I am a big fan of Amsterdam's serving sizes :)

My huge omelette

In addition to this, I am a big fan of European coffee in general. You get the weirdest look when you ask for your coffee to-go. It's like it's meant to be cherished, like it's meant to be sipped along with a deep, spiritual conversation...not to mention that it tasted so good! We definitely had fun eating together somewhere local...not like an airport or on the airplane, and it definitely helped us get to know each other better. I'm liking Amsterdam more and more...

A very delicious coffee