Jesus Was Here

I remember writing "Jenna was here" on every dry erase board, every Camp Tahkodah cabin wall (oops!), at least one page in all of my friends notebooks, every fogged up window, and every pretty much any other surface that was able to be written on. I know it's lame and I'm not really sure why I thought that was cool, but I think it's probably safe to say that everyone did that at one time or another when they were in 5th grade.  I can't remember why I thought writing "Jenna was here" on everything was necessary, but I did it anyways.  Whether you physically saw me in those places or not, you knew that I had been there.  I left my mark.  That's kind of how the past four days have been in Israel. "Jesus was here".

It's very overwhelming to think that "Jesus was here." I can now say that I have walked all over Jerusalem, and I know that Jesus has too.  He walked on the same earth that I am walking on today.  It's not some made up story. He isn't a movie character. He is Jesus Christ, "who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death - even death on a cross."  He was here.

As I sat near the Garden of Gethsemane I couldn't help but think about Jesus being there.  His physical body was here.  This is where he lived.  He had friends here.  He walked down roads like the ones I walked down a few days ago.  He performed miracles here.  He probably took naps here.  He was tempted here.  He probably skinned his knee here.  He cried here.  He prayed here. He even prayed for me here (John 17:20-26). He loved me here.  He loved me enough to die for me, and days go by when I don't even acknowledge his presence.

Who am I that The Lord of all creation would die for me? There is absolutely way that I would have died for myself, but Jesus chose my soul over his own comfort.  As I was sitting in a possible spot for the Garden of Gethsemane, I expected to feel the weight of everything that had happened there.  I expected to hear Jesus crying out to God because his soul was "overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death" (Matthew 26:38). I expected to see how tired the disciples were.  Maybe I would even picture the multitude of men with clubs and swords walking up to arrest Jesus.  But instead of feeling the weight of the story, I felt an overwhelming peace.  Why? Because satan has been defeated.  The battle has already been fought and I know the winner.  His name is Jesus.  He didn't have to die, but he chose me over himself. He separated himself from his father so that I could have an eternal home in heaven.  He chose to love me even when I don't love myself. He chooses to love me even when I lie, even when I am disrespectful, even when I'm jealous, even when I lust, and even when I fail him over and over again.  He chose to love me and Im so glad he did.  That is a debt that I will never be able to repay.

The Garden of Gethsemane has been one of my favorite places that we have visited in Israel. All of the different places where people think that Jesus was born and crucified have churches built on top of them.  They are covered with beautiful and elaborate decorations and the garden is covered in rocks, grass, and olive trees.  That's more likely the way Jesus would have seen it and I like it that way.  I find the gaudy decorations to be distracting and kind of discouraging.  They are really pretty, but I still don't like them.  I like that the garden isn't decorated with things that men made. It's decorated with things that God made, and it's beautiful.