By Gary D. Myers

God delivered in a mighty way and the people quickly forgot. That’s the scene in Exodus 16 and that is the scene that plays out in my heart.

After years in slavery, God delivered His people from captivity in Egypt. With His mighty hand, He parted the waters of the Red Sea and His people passed to freedom on dry land. They saw a great miracle. No sooner than their feet hit the shore, they began to grumble.

I shouldn’t be too harsh, the complaining wasn’t immediate. They waited a month and a half before they started grumbling. How could they forget so soon?

Just a few days before the 10th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina’s landfall, I began to see a little bit of me in the story of the grumbling Israelites. It took me longer than a few months to get there, yet there I stood with my back to the Red Sea and my face toward the Promised Land complaining. Complaining about insurance costs. Complaining about tax. Complaining about potholes and red light cameras. Complaining about house maintenance. Complaining about the six or seven car windshields I have replaced in the recovery years. Stressing and straining. Not trusting … at least not fully. Not remembering … at least not fully.

It was easy at first. It was easy to remember and it was easy to trust to hand that protected us. God delivered us from the storm for a purpose and gave us a job. He brought us back to give the city of New Orleans a gigantic “bear hug” in His name. God brought us back to be the hands and feet of the gospel and witnesses of grace and forgiveness to our neighbors.

God sent armies of volunteers to work in our city and we joined them. It is as if the miracle continued for years. We got excited about our city again. We enjoyed the culture and the food. The Saints even won the Super Bowl. My family was so committed to the rebuilding efforts that we bought a house in 2008 (in a city that had flood just three years earlier). I still found joy in remembering all that God did.

Somewhere along the way  – 2010 or 2011 – we stopped talking about Katrina. We had all moved on. We were over it. But when I stopped talking about Katrina, I lost an opportunity to talk about the goodness of God. The Katrina experience was not fun, but I have to acknowledge that God was good to His Church and He has been good to this city.

So I have a confession to make – I have been a grumbling complainer for the past few years and I want that to end. I thank God for the way He has cared for me, for my church family and for my seminary during the past 10 years. On this 10th anniversary my face is still set toward the Promised Land, but the wilderness lies ahead. There will be big insurance bills, unfair taxation, pot holes, red light tickets, and busted windows. The mundane stuff of life happens even in New Orleans – the least mundane place I know. Life is tough, but I have seen a great miracle. I remember His deliverance. I know of His saving love.

I’ve lost count of just how many times I’ve been to Jerusalem, but one fact that is sure: Jerusalem never disappoints. The sights, sounds and smells overwhelm visitors to this ancient, complicated city. Jerusalem serves as the crossroads of three world religions: Christianity, Judaism and Islam. If you are an observer of people like me, you’ll enjoy the strange juxtaposition of exuberant religious devotion and rabid consumerism (of mostly religious-based trinkets and t-shirts with saying that aren’t quite right). In short, the history is captivating and so are the people.

We started the day on the Mount of Olives overlook and the traditional site of the Garden of Gethsemane, then on to the Western Wall. When we arrived at the Western Wall, large groups of Jewish men were praying and reading from the Torah (men and women are separated). I watched their outward show of devotion. Most were somber, rocking back and forth as they prayed. Others showed signs of joy as they sang upbeat songs. I approached the wall and prayed for the people who have stuffed notes in every crack and crevasse. I pulled out my phone and prayed the shema (Deut. 6:4-6) and Jesus’ retelling and expansion of the shema (Matt. 22:36-40). Shortly after I prayed through these scriptures, a rabbi surrounded by a group of young American Jews began singing the shema in Hebrew. Neat moment.

After the Western Wall, we followed portions of the Via Dolorosa as we made our way to lunch at Shaban’s shop. Pungent smells of spices, incense and tobacco waft through the narrow streets – most of which are closed to cars and packed with people coming and going. For lunch I ate a shawarma – hummus, turkey, lamb, fresh and pickled vegetables in a pita. Excellent. So good that I ate the extra shawarma the vendor sent by accident.

From Shaban’s we walked to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre – the traditional, and most likely site of Jesus crucifixion, burial and resurrection. Two large buildings, built shortly after 300 A.D., cover a rock outcropping which could be Calvary and the remains of First Century rock-cut tombs. Early Christian accounts connect the site with Calvary and Jesus’ burial tomb. The church is always packed with pilgrims longing for a chance to touch the place of the cross and to see the remains of Jesus’ tomb. Devotees often bow, make the sign of the cross over and over again as they shuffle through the church. Inside the largest room of the church is a small Russian Orthodox chapel covering the remains of the tomb. Pilgrims light candles all along the side of this enclosure which is covered in soot and grime.

It is cool to think that my salvation was secured through Jesus’ sacrifice at this place. But I don’t need this placeto believe. Christ lives in me. His grace is sufficient. The layers of brass, marble, and religiosity baffle me. I do enjoy going to see how the people react.

Something new happened during this visit to the church. As we waited for members of our group to go see the traditional location of Calvary, one of the small, narrow tractors used to deliver goods to the shops in the Old City pulled into the church. The driver wheeled the tractor past the worshippers who were laying their faces across the “anointing stone.” Drove right past us as we clung to the wall trying to avoid being hit. The driver stopped at a chapel door near where we were standing. Working diligently, but in no particular hurry, the driver and his helper unloaded a large shipment of candles. Then he fired up the tractor, backed up next to those at the anointing stone and drove out leaving a thick trail of diesel exhaust. My first thought was “Now, I’ve seen it all. A tractor in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.”  I doubt that I have “seen it all.” Not in the Old City. Jerusalem never disappoints. It is a busy place with many people seeking God. But many there miss THE POINT. Oh Jerusalem … I pray that you see Jesus.