A Mirror Dimly: The Holy Land and the hope of Heaven

He was here; He taught here. I wish I could have been there…

It didn’t look like much—just the ruins of a small village synagogue, perhaps 25 feet square. It was modest, unassuming. If I didn’t know what it was, I might have passed by it, shrugging it off as just another ancient site—one of many in Israel.

But this site was special.

Our guide, Adrian, had told us again and again that this was one of his favorite sites in Israel. This was one of the few authentic first-century synagogues left in the country. But that wasn’t all.

“I can tell you with 99.5% certainty that Jesus would have taught in this synagogue during his ministry,” Adrian told us, gesturing to the site, which was covered by a wooden roof that protected it from the winter rains.

Migdal (Magdala in Greek) was a first-century fishing town located on the coast of the Sea of Galilee. This was Mary Magdalene’s village. Mary Magdalene was one of three women mentioned by name in Luke’s gospel as having “provided for [Jesus and his disciples] out of their means.” Mary must have been wealthy and probably held a high status in her village. Surely Jesus, who spent much of His ministry traveling throughout Galilee to teach in the synagogues, would not have neglected this one.

Perhaps Jesus read from the scroll of Isaiah, as He did in the synagogue at Nazareth.

I could picture the scene so clearly.

He would have received the scroll and laid it on the special grooved stand designed to hold the Torah scrolls, unrolling it to find the right passage. When He finished reading, He would have returned the scroll and sat down in the place reserved for visiting rabbis. Then He would have turned His attention to the people, teaching them in His own words, looking at them one by one.

As I gazed at the ruins, I was overwhelmed by an unexpected longing—the longing to see Him and audibly hear His voice.

It came as a surprise. I expected to encounter Christ in a new way during my time in the Holy Land. But this was something I hadn’t thought about.

How could I miss so much someone whom I had never seen?

It reminded me of a verse from 1 Peter: “Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.”

It can be so easy, as 21st-century American Christians, to feel distanced from our Savior. After all, we don’t speak the same language He spoke, wear the same clothes He wore, or eat the same food He ate.

We are removed from His incarnate self by space, time, and culture. We know and believe that He humbled Himself by taking on human flesh. ... but sometimes we forget His humanity. We’ve never spoken with Him face to face, so we forget that we should look forward with eager anticipation to the day when we will finally see Him.

In many ways, the Christian life is a relational paradox. We know and love Christ, although we have not seen Him, laughed with Him, conversed with Him, or eaten a meal with Him. Somehow, without seeing Him, we experience a relationship that is just as real and tangible as those we have with other physical beings. We have not yet experienced the benefit of sight, but we believe that one day, we will.

“For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face,” Paul wrote to the Corinthians.

That’s what the hope of heaven is ultimately about. Yes, we look forward to the day when sin and its consequences will be no more. But ultimately, the hope of heaven is about the anticipation of looking upon our Lord Jesus and being joined with Him in a perfect and permanent union.

It was that longing that struck me that day in the synagogue of Migdal and returned again and again during my time in Israel. By giving me a taste of the tangibility of Christ, the Holy Land helped me to rediscover my desire for a real relationship with Him and my excitement for the day when I will be reunited with Him.

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