The Woman with the Issue of Blood – The Story Behind the Story

I love it when I find something that I have never heard taught before.

In my studies of Israelite marriage and betrothal customs and laws, I was reading the Kehati Mishnah Commentary of Tractate Ketubot. Tucked away in Chapter 4, Mishnah 9 was a remarkable passage about the rights of a man to divorce his ailing wife and the various opinions of scholars on the subject, most notably Rambam and Ravad, both 12th-century commentators on the Mishnah. The Mishnah (finalized in 200 CE by Yehudah haNasi) contains Sanhedrin rulings and opinions gathered over the course of several centuries related to Torah Law – it is not much different than the formal written proceedings of the United States Supreme Court in that we have basic laws, and it is the job of the Courts to interpret those laws when disputes and cases come before them. The Sanhedrin, the “supreme court” of the Jews, served in that function as outlined in Exodus 16, as well as Deut 16, and 17.

As with the “right to privacy” here in America, which originally meant limitations on the right of the government to illegal search and seizure without probable legal cause, yet was later twisted into the right of a woman to terminate her pregnancy – we also have cases of the Law of God being twisted out of its original purpose of commanding us to love our neighbors.

I believe that the “woman with the issue of blood” mentioned in Matthew 5, Mark 9, and Luke 8 suffered under just this type of twisting of the intention of the Law by men who were very much the products of their time:

Mark 9:25 And there was a woman who had had a discharge of blood for twelve years,26 and who had suffered much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was no better but rather grew worse. 27 She had heard the reports about Jesus and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his garment. 28 For she said, “If I touch even his garments, I will be made well.” 29 And immediately the flow of blood dried up, and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease.30 And Jesus, perceiving in himself that power had gone out from him, immediately turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my garments?” 31 And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing around you, and yet you say, ‘Who touched me?’” 32 And he looked around to see who had done it. 33 But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling and fell down before him and told him the whole truth. 34 And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”

Kehati Mishnah Tractate Ketubot 4.9:

“If she was taken captive, he is obligated to ransom her. And if he said, “Here is her get (her divorce document) and her ketubah (the money owed her by contract if divorced), let her ransom herself!” – he is not allowed. If she fell ill, he is responsible for her healing. If he said, “Here is her get and her ketubah, let her heal herself!” – he is allowed.” (Pinchas Kehati, translated by Edward Levin, Mishnah Seder Nashim Vol 1, Ketubot pg 63-4)

Although this may sound confusing, when taken in context with the rest of the Tractate, and especially the whole of Chapter 4, it states that a man was not allowed to refuse to ransom his wife if she was taken captive. He could not simply take the opportunity to get rid of her by saying, “Wow, what a stroke of luck, I’ll just divorce her and give her the 200 dinars (if she was a virgin when he married her, otherwise 100 dinars) and she can ransom herself!” It was a literal court order that no matter what was written in the ketubah, he was in fact required to ransom his wife. In fact, it has been eye-opening learning exactly what was in a ketubah originally – it made divorce prohibitively expensive.

If the wife was sick, however, that was a different situation which was subject to much commentary. Healing was a part of the maintenance a husband owed his wife, in exchange for her acting the part of a wife – but a divorced wife was entitled to no such care from her husband. The question became: when can you divorce a sick wife?

RAMBAM (Maimonides aka Moshe ben Maimon d. 1204) interpreted this ruling as saying that if a woman had been ill for a long time and it was going to be too costly to care for her, a man could, in fact, divorce her if he was willing to give her the get and ketubah – however, in Hilcot Ishut 14.17 he plainly stated that “this is unfitting and improper behavior.” In other words, they may have ruled that this was kosher, but Rambam didn’t approve. As Rambam is the most respected commentator in history, his view is going to reflect the overwhelming majority view among Jews today.

RAVAD (Abraham ben David d. 1198) claimed that the case law applied only to a woman who was not bedridden. A bedridden wife had to be cared for until she healed or died. Therefore, a woman who was sick but not bedridden could be given a divorce and her inheritance money and forced to fend for herself. This interpretation brings us to the woman with the issue of blood.

The woman in the Gospel accounts was obviously not bedridden, as she was able to approach Yeshua and reach out for the hem of his garment. She had also spent “all that she had” in trying to be cured. I submit that this woman, sick for twelve years, had probably been cast off and paid off by her husband once it became clear that her disease would render her unable to provide him with children. A woman who was constantly bleeding, as per Torah Law, could never be approached sexually – it was an abomination (Lev 18:19). Because he could no longer derive that benefit from her, he divorced her and gave her the (probably) 200 dinars owed to her by the ketubah.

As Rambam rightly declared, “unfitting and improper behavior” indeed.

The woman who approached Yeshua committed no sin in doing so, as it was no sin either to be unclean or to render someone else unclean via an issue of blood (excepting in the case of sexual contact) as long as it was not done within a sacred area – in fact, anyone who wished to go to the inner Temple Courts would have had to mikvah and wait until after sundown anyway, and this changed nothing. If I am correct, then this was an ailing woman who had been handed a divorce by her husband, along with her inheritance money, and booted from her home. Her father and brothers owed her nothing once she was married, so she was probably on her own and had spent all of her money in a desperate attempt to be cured. At this point, her life was pretty much hopeless. She could not marry, or earn a living; she had no access to modern medicine and no money left for it anyway – this prophet from Galilee was her only hope in the world. And she believed with all her heart that merely touching his garment would heal her.

So she reached out and touched the hem of his garment – the hem of the firstborn son which traditionally carried the authority of the family. (If you are interested in the ancient context of the hem of the firstborn son, check out www.rootedintorah.com “The Hem and Garment Concept Block”)

I find it interesting, this phrase, “Who touched my garments?”

As a divorced woman, unattached to her father, her brothers, or a husband, she lacked identity in that world. She couldn’t say that she was X, wife of Y or mother of Z. Because of her issue of blood, she had been deprived of her identity as a woman – that of wife and mother – and when the Word says that she “told Him the whole truth,” I am pretty sure that she probably told Him a story akin to the one I just laid out for you.

How does Yeshua respond?

“Daughter, your faith has made you well….”

Did you catch that? He gave her an identity again. Yeshua gave her life back, her health, her identity, and her honor as well. He reminded her (and the entire crowd) that even though her husband had abandoned her, she was still a daughter of Abraham. Yeshua had ushered her back into the realm of the living. Her husband unjustly cast her aside, while the Bridegroom, in an act of compassionate justice, healed her and gave her honor back.



Juicio en el Tercer Cielo: Mi Testimonio

My grateful thanks to my dear sister Lisa Velazquez for translating this faster than I actually wrote it. She is a marvel! Her teachings can be heard regularly on teshuva.tv

Esta es una historia que rara vez comparto pero mi amiga Dinah me animó hace un tiempo, y en el interés de mantener la levadura fuera de nuestras casas esta semana voy a seguir adelante y compartirla aquí. Esta no es una historia de cortesía sobre mí – no me hace especial; creo que sucedió porque era un caso tan desesperado y una persona tan peligrosa – y, sin embargo, Dios todavía tenía un plan para mi vida.

(FYI: me tomó una eternidad ponerle a un título a esto y todavía no estoy contenta con él – suena pretencioso, pero si sigue leyendo entenderá por qué no tengo razón para estar orgullosa de lo que pasó)

Yo estaba viviendo en un pequeño pueblo de Nuevo Mexico en 2008  – mis hijos estaban en primer grado, y era otoño – lo recuerdo porque estaba en el patio trasero rastrillando hojas. Hace unos meses, ore un tipo de oración que sólo la gente desquiciada ora: “Señor Jesús, júzgame en esta vida mientras todavía tengo tiempo de cambiar”.

Dije esa oración con todo mi corazón. Yo estaba enojada, herida, hecha un desastre de persona. Confiaba en Dios, amaba a Jesús y no veía cómo evitar ese conflicto inherente, pero aunque desconfiaba de Dios, deseaba desesperadamente que me amara. No voy a entrar en las razones por las que me sentía de esa manera sobre Él. Hay demasiadas, y ese no es el punto.

Yo era un racista, y mi marca específica de racismo estaba en plena alerta viviendo en un pueblo que era en su mayoría extranjeros ilegales con sus hijos y nietos. También ayudo el hecho de que, en esa ciudad, había una calle bidireccional definida.

Pero tampoco sabía nada acerca de cómo ser una persona cariñosa – sabía ser una persona crítica, desagradable. Yo sabía cómo justificar mi dureza como la “verdad hablada en amor”. En resumen, yo era una experta en llegar con las razones por que todo lo que hice y pensé que estaba muy bien, y esas justificaciones subieron rápidamente, y sin un pensamiento cada vez el Espíritu Santo se acercaba a mí sobre lo que estaba haciendo.

Yo era el tipo de creyente más peligroso: era increíblemente inteligente, leía bien, era celosa, confiada en lo que estaba haciendo en mi “unción”, pero por dentro era tan asesina como Pablo lo fue. Desgarraba a una persona que no estaba de acuerdo conmigo sin mirar hacia atrás. El problema era esto: yo también tenía sueños de estar rodeada de niños, y durante esos momentos en que mi guardia estaba baja, el Espíritu me estaba impresionando urgentemente que yo no estaba en modo alguno preparada para ser el tipo de persona que los niños necesitarían.

Esa es la parte fácil de la historia para contar – la parte que nadie tiene problemas para creer. Eso en realidad no es embarazoso hablar más de lo que Dios tenía que hacer para que yo comenzara a cambiar y es por eso que estoy llorando ahora mismo.

Como dije, estaba rastrillando hojas. Entonces, de repente, ya no me encontraba en mi patio. Supongo que tal vez estuve en lo que Pablo llamó el “tercer cielo” – no lo sé. Para ser honesta, no miré a mí alrededor, estaba consciente de que la Shekinah estaba en el trono frente a mí, y un hombre de pie a mi izquierda, vestido de blanco. Nunca vi su rostro; nunca miré hacia arriba. Nadie nunca habló. Cuando te juzgan, no te das cuenta de nada más. Simplemente no puedes. O al menos yo no pude.

Hay un versículo sobre ser juzgado por cada palabra descuidada y otra que explica que la Palabra juzga los pensamientos e intenciones de nuestro corazón.

Quiero que imagines todas las cosas terribles que hayas pensado y dicho, no las cosas que sabías que estaban equivocadas y que luego te arrepentiste de ellas, pero las cosas que rápidamente te disculpaste y mentiste acerca de las cosas que hiciste para herir a la gente porque querías ser hiriente, querías que supieran que eras un mejor creyente o superior; piense en las intenciones reales y las motivaciones ocultas en sus palabras y las acciones que te mentiste a tí mismo, y mentiste tan a menudo que realmente comenzaste a creerte tus propias mentiras. Aquellas mentiras que trabajaron para protegerte de la verdad acerca de lo cruel que realmente eras e incluso tuviste la intención de ser – verdades tan dañinas que no te atreves a enfrentarlas una a la vez, y mucho menos todas a la vez.

Nadie, y especialmente yo, nunca dije una palabra. Estaba en una agonía que no puedo describirla. Estamos acostumbrados a nuestros propios egos que vienen a nuestro rescate cuando nos comportamos de una manera malvada; esos mecanismos de defensa aparecen antes de que lo sepamos y son tan hábiles en engañarnos que rara vez recibimos una punzada en nuestra conciencia después de un tiempo. Queremos las mentiras, no la verdad. Es fácil decir lo contrario antes de estar delante de Dios para enfrentarlos a todos a la vez.

Ahora me doy cuenta de que fui llevada allí, no porque merecía una vislumbre de la sala del trono de Dios, sino porque ese era el único lugar donde mi ego se pondría de pie. En presencia de pura luz y verdad, no sólo mi boca estaba cerrada, sino también mi voz interna. No tenía abogado de la defensa en esa habitación – estaba expuesta completamente sin capacidad de justificar nada. Lo que me di cuenta fue la verdad acerca de todo lo que había dicho o pensado o hecho – y la verdad acerca de por qué dije y pensaba y hacía esas cosas. Simplemente no puedes imaginarte viéndote a ti mismo como quien realmente eres.

Lo irónico – fue estar en la habitación con Padre y el Hijo y no oír sus voces, ni condenación. Ninguna instrucción, ninguna revelación de la doctrina, ninguna corrección a lo que ya creí. Sin calendarios, sin nombres, sin retos sobre lo que estaba comiendo o haciendo en mis sábados. Todo era sobre mi carácter, que era muy, muy malo. Esa fue la razón por la que estuve allí – evidentemente, esa fue mi cuestión más importante – el mayor problema.

Todavía estoy sorprendida de que yo era capaz de soportar, pero a veces me pregunto si sólo estaba congelada en ese lugar. No lo sé; todo lo que sabía era la agonía de verme a mí misma como yo, sin tregua ni refugio. No sé cuánto tiempo tomó – la eternidad es diferente. Lo que cada vez más me di cuenta de que sucedió fue que el Padre y el Hijo no estaban allí para condenarme, sino para exponerme y apoyarme. Empecé a darme cuenta de que si no estuvieran allí, probablemente habría muerto por la tensión. Ni siquiera puedo empezar a relatar lo horrible que es verte sin el filtro autodestructivo y protector del ego.

Cuando terminó, estaba de vuelta en mi patio – con el rastrillo en la mano como si nada hubiera pasado. Me sentí avergonzada; de alguna manera me sentí muy vacía, y de otras maneras, me sentí muy llena. Por lo que recuerdo, en realidad fue una semana o dos antes de mi ego trató de retroceder y empezar a mentirme a mí de nuevo – pero nunca tan exitoso como solía ser. El ego se fortalece cuando estoy enojada, herida o traicionada – pero mi éxito en engañarme ha sido obstaculizado – cuando estoy actuando como una idiota, generalmente estoy muy consciente de ello y tengo que forzarme a creer lo contrario – el engaño ya no es fácil. Estoy constantemente frente a mis defectos.

No, no puedo decirte de qué color es el Mesías, si vi las manos, pero no fue así – color como lo pensamos. Blanco pero ciertamente no blanco, y, sin embargo, blanco. Nunca levanté mis ojos más allá de las manos. No, tampoco vi agujeros de clavos, sólo las manos de la vista lateral donde no estarían visibles de todos modos. Yo estaba consciente de mucho pero vi poco; la experiencia fue demasiado abrumadora y terrible. También fue lo mejor que me ha pasado. Drásticamente el mal carácter requiere medidas drásticas de parte de Dios. Tenía un llamado para trabajar con niños – por eso oré esa oración en primer lugar – sabía que no estaba lista. Ministrar a los adultos es bastante difícil, pero con los niños, no hay espacio para estar en la carne todo el tiempo.

Odio compartir esto porque alguien podría pensar que estoy jactándome – pero créanme, esto no era como cualquiera de los viajes de los profetas en el trono. No estaba escuchando el consejo secreto de Dios o viendo las cosas gloriosas allí. No comí una comida de convenio, ni escuché Su voz ni escuché a los ángeles cantando. Yo no merecía nada de eso. En términos muy humanos, fui llevada a la oficina del director y despojada de mi falso orgullo, privada de toda excusa y pretensión que – todavía es difícil de explicar. Cuando volví, estaba sin una pizca de fe en mí misma. Nunca he confiado en mí desde ese día, y es por eso que constantemente me cuestiono a mí misma, especialmente cuando siento que estoy en lo correcto. La mayoría de la gente no tiene ni idea de las profundidades del autoengaño de qué son capaces, pero ese conocimiento fue el regalo de Dios para mí. Es una verdad innegable. La conciencia se hace más profunda con cada año que pasa – lo que enfrenté en la sala del trono fue sólo la corrección, no fue el final. Me anima a parecerme más a Él, porque permanecer como soy es demasiado doloroso para contemplar.



Judgment in the Third Heaven: My Testimony

This is a story I rarely share but my friend Dinah encouraged me to a while back, and in the interest of keeping the leaven out of our homes this week I am going to go ahead and share it here. This is not a complimentary story about me – it doesn’t make me special; I think it happened was because I was such a desperate case and such a dangerous person – and yet, God still had a plan for my life.
(FYI: It took me forever to come up with a title to this and I am still not happy with it – it sounds pretentious but if you keep reading you will understand why I have no reason to be proud of what happened)
 
I was living in a small town in New Mexico in 2008 – my kids were in first grade, and it was Fall – I remember because I was in the backyard raking leaves. I had, a few months earlier, prayed the kind of prayer that only insane people pray, “Lord Jesus, judge me in this life while I still have time to change.”
 
I meant that prayer with all my heart. I was an angry, wounded, hot mess of a person. I distrusted God, loved Jesus, and saw no way around that inherent conflict – but although I distrusted God, I desperately wanted Him to love me. I won’t go into the reasons why I felt that way about Him. There are too many, and that isn’t the point.
 
I was a racist, and my specific brand of racism was on full alert living in a town that was largely illegal aliens and their children and grandchildren. It was also helped along by the fact that, in that town, it was a definite two-way street with all too many people.
 
But I also didn’t know anything about how to be a loving person – I knew how to be a critical, unpleasable person. I knew how to justify my harshness as the “truth spoken in love.” In short, I was an expert at coming up with reasons why everything I did and thought was really okay, and those justifications went up quickly, and without a thought every time the Holy Spirit approached me about what I was actually doing.
 
I was the most dangerous kind of believer – I was incredibly intelligent, well-read, zealous beyond belief, confident in what I was doing and in my “anointing” – but on the inside, I was as much of a murderer as Paul ever was. I would tear a person who disagreed with me down without so much as a look backward. The problem was this – I was also having dreams about being surrounded by children, and during those moments when my guard was down, the Spirit was urgently impressing upon me that I was in no way prepared to be the kind of person whom children would need.
 
That’s the easy part of the story to tell – the part no one has any trouble believing. That actually isn’t embarrassing anymore to talk about – what God had to do to me to get me to begin to change is why I am crying right now.
 
Like I said – I was raking leaves. Then all of a sudden I wasn’t in my backyard anymore. I guess maybe I was in what Paul called the “third heaven” – I don’t know. To be honest, I didn’t look around, I was aware of the Shekinah enthroned in front of me, and a man standing to my left, wearing white. I never saw His face; I never looked up. No one ever spoke at all. When you are being judged, you don’t notice much of anything else. You just can’t. Or at least I couldn’t.
 
There is a verse about being judged by every careless word and another which explains that the Word judges the thoughts and intentions of our heart.
 
I want you to imagine every terrible thing you have ever thought and said – not the things you knew were wrong and repented of, but the things you quickly made excuses for and lied to yourself about – the things you did to hurt people because you wanted to be hurtful, you wanted them to know you were a better believer, or superior; think about the real intentions and hidden motivations  in your words and actions that you lied to yourself about, and lied about so often that you actually began to believe your own lies. Those lies that worked to protect you from the truth about how cruel you really were and even intended to be – truths that hurt so bad that you dare not face one at a time, let alone all of them at once.
 
No one, and especially not me, ever said a word. I was in agony that I cannot describe. We are used to our own egos coming to our rescue when we behave in evil ways – those defense mechanisms pop up before we know it and they are so deft at deceiving us that we rarely even get a twinge to our conscience after a while. We want the lies, not the truth. It is easy to say otherwise before you stand before God to face them all at once.
 
I realize now that I was taken there, not because I deserved a glimpse of the throne room of God, but because that was the only place where my ego would stand down. In the presence of pure light and truth, not only was my physical mouth shut – but so was my internal voice. I had no defense attorney in that room – I was exposed completely with no ability to justify anything. What I became aware of was the truth about everything I had ever said or thought or did – and the truth about why I said and thought and did those things. You just can’t imagine seeing yourself for who you really are.
 
Funny – to be in the room with Father and Son and not to hear their voices, or condemnation. No instruction, no revelation of doctrine, no corrections to what I already believed. No calendars, no Names, no challenges about what I was eating or doing on my Saturdays. Everything was about my character, which was very, very bad. That was the reason I was there – evidently, that was my most important issue – the biggest problem.
 
I am still shocked that I was able to stand, but sometimes I wonder if I was just frozen in place. I don’t know; all I was aware of was the agony of seeing myself as I was, with no respite and nowhere to hide. I don’t know how long it took – eternity is just different. What I became increasingly aware of as it went on was that Father and Son were not there to condemn me but to expose and support me. I started to realize that if they were not there, I probably would have died from the strain. I cannot even begin to relate how horrible it is to see yourself without the self-deceptive and protective filter of ego.
 
When it was over, I was back in my backyard – rake in hand as if nothing had ever happened. I was ashamed – in some ways I felt very empty, and in other ways, I felt very full. As I recall, it was actually a week or two before my ego tried to kick back in and start lying to me again – but it has never been nearly as successful as it used to be. Ego gets stronger when I am angry, hurt or have been betrayed – but my success at deceiving myself has been hampered – when I am acting like a jerk, I am generally keenly aware of it and have to force myself to believe otherwise – self-deception is no longer effortless. I am constantly faced with my shortcomings.
 
No, I can’t tell you what color Messiah is, I saw hands, but it wasn’t like that – color like we think of it. White but certainly not white, and yet, white. I never lifted my eyes past the hands. No, I didn’t see nail holes either – just hands from the side view where they wouldn’t be visible anyway. I was aware of much but saw little; the experience was too overwhelming and terrible. It was also the best thing that ever happened to me. Drastically bad character requires drastic measures from God. I had a calling to work with children – that’s why I prayed that prayer in the first place – I knew I wasn’t ready. Ministering to adults is bad enough, but with kids, there is no room to be in the flesh all the time.
 
I hate sharing this because someone might think I am bragging – but believe me, this was not like any of the throne room trips of the prophets. I wasn’t hearing the secret counsel of God or seeing the glorious things there. I didn’t eat a covenant meal or hear His voice or listen to the Angels singing. I didn’t deserve any of that. In very human terms, I was taken to the principal’s office and stripped of my unearned false pride, deprived of every excuse and any pretense of – it’s still hard to explain. When I returned, it was without a shred of faith in myself. I have never trusted myself since that day, and that’s why I am constantly questioning myself – especially when I feel like I am in the right. Most people have no clue the depths of self-deception they are capable of – but that knowledge was God’s gift to me. It is an undeniable truth. The awareness goes deeper with each passing year – what I faced in the throne room was just the correction, it wasn’t the end. It spurs me on to be more like Him because remaining the way I am is just too painful to contemplate.


Question: “How Do I Find Meaning in the Feasts of the Lord?”

How do I find meaning in the Feasts of the Lord?
 
(I won’t accept any comments about Christmas and Easter, or digs at our mainstream Christian brothers and sisters or Christianity because that is not the point of this message and never should be. We have spent too much time looking in the rearview mirror and not enough focusing on our Biblical heritage.)
 
One of the most common questions I get before the Feasts – and I am not making fun or anyone or criticizing here because I struggle with this as well – is the result of a mindset that was trained into us in mainstream Christianity and therefore is entirely understandable and natural. In fact, it is terribly difficult to break out of because we don’t even realize that the question itself is not the right question but instead a symptom of a much larger problem.
 
“How do I find meaning in the Feasts/how do I make the Feasts meaningful for X.”
 
Now that didn’t seem like a strange question, did it? Of course not. We were brought up in a commercialized mess around Christmas and Easter, and the slogans abounded – “don’t forget the true meaning.” We therefore just naturally learned to think about modern Christian observances in those terms, because it really was hard to think about the “true meaning” in the midst of an incredibly secular holiday that bore little resemblance to anything that Yeshua (Jesus) or the apostles would have done in their lives. As individualists, it is vitally important to us that we find personal meaning in what we do, and we don’t like doing things that don’t have meaning to us – as though God should only be acknowledged in praise if we are in the mood, despite our need and obligation to acknowledge His glory even when we don’t “feel it.”
 
So when we find out about the Feasts, we are very used to holidays that were tailor made to “have meaning for us” and were frankly designed to appeal to all our desires for fulfillment through entertainment, gift giving and receiving, celebration dinners, wonderful family times, lavish decorations designed to engage the senses, etc. We are used to “holy days” being a lot of fun by modern standards. We lost sight of why God’s holy days were actually enjoyable to His people in Yeshua’s day.
 
Feasts in Yeshua’s day were enjoyable because all the people in the Land, and some from far off Lands, had all come together to worship the King of kings and Lord of lords. That was a good enough reason for them to be joyful – it thrilled their hearts to hear the Levites sing Psalms and play instruments. It was meaningful for them to watch the daily Tamid offerings in God’s honor. The meaning of the Feasts was not about them, their enjoyment or personal fulfillment – they naturally felt enjoyment and were personally fulfilled because their God was being exalted. They heard His Name being praised and that was enough, they found joy in it. They saw the Temple ceremonies, and that was enough, they found joy in it.
 
Ancient people intrinsically understood that worship was not about themselves and they didn’t need to find deep meaning in it – they knew the God/god/goddess was deserving of all honor, glory, and praise and it gave them joy when that was being performed. They worshiped not as individuals but as a community, on the same day and doing the same exact things and that oneness gave their praise all the meaning it needed.
 
We, on the other hand, are just shamelessly individualistic and we seek out the meaning for ourselves, for personal reasons to get us in the mood. It is very important “what this means to me, ” and that feeling is amplified when we no longer have the shared cultural experiences of Christmas and Easter when even the secular world joins in the celebration to one extent or another; we still derive meaning and satisfaction and relief when we are joined with many other voices in what we are doing, as if that lends a sense of legitimacy in our psyche.
 
When we switch over to the Feasts, we find ourselves in a pickle with Biblical days that look incredibly foreign to us and are not designed to appeal to our traditional sensibilities of what it looks like to honor God; we often unconsciously seek that same sort of meaning in the new/old as we did in the Christian celebrations. Add to that the unfortunate tendency of too many to tear down absolutely anything “traditional” – often due to a lack of understanding – and people feel empty and drifting. On top of that, some desire to “only do what Scripture says” when Scripture gives us about 30 minutes worth of instructions and leaves us flat the rest of the day. I don’t know about you, but I can only eat and drink so much before I am not joyful anymore.
 
We have a problem – we subconsciously want to find meaning in the Feasts on Christian terms while pushing away Christianity and want to find our Hebrew Roots without looking at how the Jews do things. We end up, all too frequently, between worlds – turning our noses up at anything that looks Christian while still seeking out the kinds of joy we had at Christmas and Easter, and shunning anything Jewish while deeply desiring the obvious joy that they take in the Feasts.
 
End game: we are still approaching things the same old way we did as individualistic Western Christians, except that we no longer have the joy that they have and we refuse to move on to the way community-centered Jews do things and don’t have their obvious joy in worshiping God either. We denounce their traditions and “Halakah” and are forced to make up our own based on what little is written in Scriptures – and then lament that we find little joy or meaning in them. Food for thought, “Why is our Halakah, our made up traditions based on what we think the text is saying, any superior to theirs?”
 
Of course, we find no joy! – If our goal is to find meaning for ourselves when the meaning is and always has been the exaltation of God through community psalms, prayers, dancing, feasting and yes, traditions – then we will fail. If our goal is simply to not do things in a Jewish or Christian way and presume that what we come up with will be more “authentic” then again, the focus is on ourselves and our own efforts. We spend anti-holy days – days devoted to not doing this or that instead of days devoted to God. It feels righteous at first, but all too often our efforts are fear-based, and an exercise in futility – and they become self-righteous instead.
 
Feasts are not about us; they are about the worship we owe to the Creator, to come together as one on set days and be united in our praises. That is what we should take joy in, the way that collective praise thunders through the universe on set days. It isn’t about us – it’s a celebration of what He has done for us.
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Is there meaning in the Feasts beyond that? Of course – historically and spiritually, at the plain text as well as in the deepest mystical levels, there is a fountain of meaning deeper than the universe itself – but first, we have to learn to take joy in something that, at its most basic and profound levels, is all about Him. We must learn to worship without any part of it being about us.