Gnats, Frogs, Camels
Gnats. Frogs. Camels. Unclean things have a way of deceiving and defiling God's people.
Days before his death, Jesus pronounced woe upon the religious leaders of his generation:
“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint and dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the Torah: justice and mercy and faithfulness...You blind guides, straining out a gnat and swallowing a camel!” (Matthew 23:23–24)
Years later, John of Patmos would describe another unclean creature appearing before the Day of the Lord: the frog, coming from the mouth of a false prophet. (Revelation 16:13–14)
Gnats. Frogs. Camels.
Unclean things have a way of deceiving and defiling God's people. Some buzz around our ears demanding attention. Others leap around, spreading lies wherever they go. But sometimes a massive beast strolls right into the middle of the camp, and no one seems to notice.
Over the past week, several stories have caught my eye.
The Southern Baptist Convention's debate over women in church leadership has generated an astonishing amount of attention. National newspapers are covering it. Christian media is covering it. Social media overflows with opinions.
A steady stream of articles has also trickled across my desk. In them, Christian authors urge believers to reject Jewish interpretations of Scripture in favor of supposedly superior Christian readings.
Meanwhile, tensions once again reignite the Middle East, fueling a regional conflict that could affect millions of lives.
What fascinates me is the disproportionate amount of attention these items receive in the church. Like perpetual gnats, certain controversies buzz constantly within Christianity. Like frogs, opinions leap from one conference to another, consuming our energy and dominating our conversations, convincing us these are the most important issues our churches face.
But with all the gnats buzzing and all the frogs leaping, I believe we have, tragically, overlooked the camel.
The Camel in the Sanctuary
If you had asked me a few years ago whether Christians on a whole were antisemitic, I would have answered with a quick and confident no. Today, I am no longer quite so quick or confident.
Most Christians know antisemitism is evil. Faithful believers would never dream of hating Jewish people, and most would be offended at the mere suggestion. Yet I have become increasingly reluctant to defend the church from the charge altogether because I have noticed a different expression of Jew-hostility raging right inside it.
Many Christians who appear to have no problem with Jewish people are deeply suspicious of Jewish things.
The moment something is labeled Jewish, many believers instinctively reach for the brakes. A Jewish interpretation of Scripture? Suspicious. A Jewish practice in a church? Proceed with caution. A Jewish understanding of the kingdom of God? The Messiah? The New Testament? Better run it through a Christian filter first.
The specifics and vocabulary vary, but the pattern remains consistent. The more Jewish something appears, the more likely Christians are to view it with suspicion.
That should alarm us. Hostility toward Jewish people is not the only way Jew-hate manifests itself.
Sometimes it appears in a far more respectable form, sitting comfortably in church pews, mesmerizing us from the pulpits on our stages and lecterns in our classrooms. It publishes sophisticated books and records engaging podcasts that sound Jesus-centered. It speaks fluent Christian vernacular and regularly quotes Bible verses. And it’s very good at assuring believers that they are honoring Jesus while teaching them to distrust anything and everything from the texts, traditions, people, and world from which Jesus emerged.
We may wonder, how did generations of Christians become so wary of Jewish things while simultaneously believing they were honoring a Jewish Messiah?
The answer, I believe, is that a camel has been sitting in the sanctuary for a very long time.
While Christians continue debating questions that rest on a handful of disputed texts, few seem willing to confront the theological framework that has shaped how much of the church reads the entire Bible. And that framework has been doing far more damage than all the gnats and frogs combined.
The Platform Beneath the Camel
The theological term for this camel is supersessionism.
Supersessionism is often reduced to mean that the church has replaced Israel. Many Christians reject that quickly, but I believe that is far too narrow of a definition.
At its core, supersessionism is the belief that Christianity supersedes Judaism—that Christian beliefs and teachings replace Jewish ones. Once that assumption is accepted, replacement theology spreads quickly through nearly every corner of Scripture and faith-practice.
Israel is replaced by the church—or sometimes by Jesus himself.
The wisdom of Torah is replaced with grace.
The earthly temple is replaced by Jesus' body, the church, the individual believer—or some combination of the three.
Levitical sacrifices are replaced by Christ's sacrifice.
The promises made to Israel are reinterpreted through the church.
The Davidic kingdom is replaced by a spiritual kingdom.
The land of Israel is replaced by the new creation.
A restored Jerusalem is replaced by heaven.
Notice the pattern. Concrete Jewish expectations become spiritual, Christian truths. What God promised to do in history becomes something he is presumed to have fulfilled symbolically through Christ.
Whether Christians recognize it or not, many of us practice this hermeneutic every day. We quote the prophets' promises and apply them to ourselves. We print them on coffee mugs, write them in journals, and preach them as take-away points.
Yet when those same prophets speak of Israel's restoration, her land, kingdom, Messiah, or Torah instruction flowing to the nations, suddenly we become experts in symbolism. God’s positive promises are universalized, but his warnings remain stubbornly aimed at the Jew. It is an astonishingly inconsistent way to read Scripture.
More importantly, it has trained generations of Christians to view Jewish expectations as inferior versions of misunderstood truths rather than as the hope the biblical authors proclaimed.
Replacement theology is not merely a theological debate, but a respectable false prophet in the church—a camel sitting in the sanctuary. Christians have grown so accustomed to its presence, most no longer notice it at all.
The Camel Breeds Anti-Judaism
There are different expressions of hostility towards Jews and Jewish things. The church confuses them, straining out one while swallowing another.
· Antisemitism is hostility toward Jewish people. It is hatred, prejudice, discrimination, or violence directed at Jews because they are Jews. Christians should reject it unequivocally. Most do.
· Anti-Zionism is opposition to Jewish national restoration and Jewish self-determination in the land of Israel. Today it’s common to hear: "I'm not antisemitic. I'm just anti-Zionist,” as though anti-Zionism is the morally superior ground on which to stand. But for millions of Jews, Israel is not a political project. It is the only Jewish country in the world, and increasingly, the only place a Jew can exist without being persecuted. Nevertheless, anti-Zionism is socially rewarded, and often, quite welcome in the church.
The form of hostility that concerns me most, however, is anti-Judaism.
· Anti-Judaism is hostility and opposition toward Judaism itself—its Scriptures (what Christians commonly know as the Old Testament), its worldview, traditions, expectations, and engagement within the story of God.
Unlike its cousins, anti-Judaism rarely announces itself. It does not march down crowded streets or shout slurs. It does not usually hate Jews. That is precisely what makes it dangerous.
Anti-Judaism often disguises itself as Christian orthodoxy. It fools sincere believers into thinking they are honoring Jesus while teaching them to distrust the texts, practices, and interpretations Jesus embraced.
Anti-Judaism says...
Jewish interpretations of the Bible should give way to Christian ones.
Jewish hopes for the Messiah and his kingdom were misguided.
Jewish covenants have been surpassed.
Jewish practices and teachings are suspect.
Jewish identity is ultimately irrelevant.
The Jewish story and its gospel finds its true fulfillment only after it ceases to be recognizably Jewish.
In anti-Judaism, the Jew may be welcomed, Israel may be admired, the Old Testament may be respected. But Jewishness is not.
Anti-Judaism is where the camel of replacement theology leads.
The Deception Facing the American Church
I find this camel so troubling because it deceives Christians about what matters most.
Jesus said remarkably little about many of the issues that dominate modern Christian discourse. He said nothing that prohibited women from leadership positions within the messianic community he left behind. He certainly did not spend his ministry debating whether future Christian interpretations of Scripture should replace Jewish ones. The apostles did not spend their time defending Christianity against Judaism, nor were they trying to persuade anyone to abandon Jewish identity or practice in order to follow Israel's Messiah.
What occupied their attention instead were themes much of the modern church has little interest in: the restoration of Israel, the coming kingdom, the ingathering of Jewish exiles, the repentance of the nations, the judgment of the world, and the renewal of creation under Israel's Messiah. These topics saturate the Old Testament. They dominate the preaching of John the Baptist, stand behind Jesus' announcement that the kingdom of heaven was at hand, fill the disciples' questions, and remain the urgent expectation of the apostles.
Yet the church often treats these subjects as curiosities—interesting but secondary. Instead, we devote enormous amounts of time to debates built upon a handful of verses while neglecting themes that appear thousands of times throughout Scripture.
“You neglect the weightier matters of the Torah...You strain out the gnat but leave the camel!”
The American church appears largely unbothered by the magnificent unclean beast that has wandered into our sanctuaries, stinking up our understanding of Israel and blocking our vision of our Messiah’s kingdom, land, and people.
Perhaps those are the conversations demanding our attention. Perhaps that is the weightier matter.
Following the Rabbi
Long ago, a crafty beast of the field snuck his way in asking, "Has God really said?" The question has echoed through the human imagination ever since.
“Has God really chosen the Jews?” asks antisemitism.
“Has God really set apart the land of Israel?” asks anti-Zionism.
“Has God really instructed all these things?” asks anti-Judaism.
The forms and voices change. The pattern doesn’t.
Attack the Jewish people.
Question the legitimacy of the land.
Teach people to distrust the Jewishness of Scripture, remains of a failed faith rather than the fabric of God's redemptive plan—a fabric Gentile believers entered the moment they pledged their allegiance to Jesus.
I am a disciple of a Jewish rabbi from Nazareth. I believe Jesus is Israel's Messiah, David's Son, and the King of the Jews. Because of that, I defend the Scriptures he taught, the people and land he loves, and the kingdom promised by the prophets that he proclaimed. And I believe he is returning to those people and land to complete everything Israel’s Scriptures teach.
Because I follow a Jewish Messiah, I cannot afford to become suspicious of Jewish things.
I do not idolize Judaism, accept every rabbinic tradition, abandon every Christian one, or throw critical thinking and discernment out the window. The antidote to supersessionism is not converting to Judaism, but knowing and honoring the God of the Jews, who remains faithful to what he said.
I pray, earnestly, that the American church will repent. I pray for eyes to be opened and hearts to be soft. But I fear the woe awaiting us if we continue straining the gnats and chasing the frogs.
I believe we ought to start in the sanctuary, and get to work shooing out the camel.
NOTES
I am indebted to author Daniel Lancaster for helping make the distinctions between antisemitism, anti-Zionism, and anti-Judaism so clear. I refer my reader’s to his article The Three Frogs: Antisemitism, Anti-Zionism, and Anti-Judaism. https://www.theemmaustable.world/inkwell/three-frogs
For a further discussion on the faith-practices of the earliest believers, see chapter seven of my book, The Forgotten Gospel.
The Gospel in Stars and Sand
On a quiet night in the ancient Near East, an old man stood beneath a sky filled with stars he could never count and staked everything on a promise he could not see.
On a quiet night in the ancient Near East, an old man stood beneath a sky filled with stars he could never count and staked everything on a promise he could not see. The silence broke with God’s voice: “Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them… so shall your offspring be” (Gen. 15:5).
Abraham could not number them. Who could? Yet beneath the stars, he relied on God's promise that he and his barren wife would have a family so abundant, it would bless all others. Scripture records it simply: “And he believed the LORD, and He counted it to him as righteousness” (Gen. 15:6).
That was the gospel Abraham heard.
Not a three-step formula.
Not an altar call or a fiery warning to avoid hell.
It was the announcement of God’s intention to bless the nations through his family, and the invitation to believe that promise.
The Gospel of Personal Salvation
The message that first brought me to faith sounded very different:
Admit you are a sinner. Believe in Jesus. Commit your life to serving him.
I am deeply grateful for that message. It pointed me to Jesus and started me on the path of following him. But it is not the same gospel Abraham believed.
Throughout the New Testament, Abraham is held up as the model of faith. Again and again, the apostles return to him as the benchmark of righteousness. Abraham was counted righteous not because of who he was or what he did, but because of his belief.
Which raises the question: What, precisely, did Abraham believe?
The Gospel Preached in Advance
It was not belief in Jesus as we know him. Abraham did not pray to Jesus, worship him, or believe in his future sacrifice. Yet God counted him righteous.
Why? Because Abraham trusted the promise God proclaimed to him: that through his family, all the nations of the earth would be blessed. He believed God would do what he said.
Paul later reflects on this moment in Galatians:
“The Scripture, foreseeing that God would justify the Gentiles by faith, preached the gospel beforehand to Abraham, saying, ‘In you shall all the nations be blessed’” (Gal. 3:8).
Paul is unmistakably clear: Abraham heard the gospel.
That same gospel runs like a thread through Israel’s story—reiterated at Sinai, expanded in David’s kingdom, and carried forward as hope through the many exiles the Jewish people have endured. Jesus himself tied Abraham’s faith to his own mission:
“Your father Abraham rejoiced that he would see my day. He saw it and was glad” (John 8:56).
Abraham never saw Jesus of Nazareth. Yet he rejoiced in the day—the era when God’s promises would reach fulfillment. He trusted the one who spoke, without knowing every detail of how the promise would unfold. That lack of detail did not diminish his joy.
Abraham’s faith rested in the confidence that God’s word could not fail.
When the Gospel Gets Too Small
The standard Evangelical gospel of salvation is sincere and well-intentioned. It has transformed countless lives, including my own.
But it reduces the story of God to begin and end with the individual. In this telling, Jesus appears almost out of thin air, detached from Israel’s identity, offering a faith centered primarily on personal improvement—Jesus as a motivating best friend, God as a life-coach, Scripture as a self-help book.
Severed from Abraham’s promise, Jesus is reduced to past accomplishments, as though dying for sin and improving our lives is the total sum of his mission.
That gospel collapses under the weight of Scripture’s story.
If our gospel no longer begins with the God of Abraham—the God who bound himself by covenant to people, land, and the restoration of all things—then we are falling for a different gospel and placing our faith a God Abraham never knew.
God alone cut the covenant with Abraham, passing between the pieces of flesh severed beneath the oaks of Mamre, in the shadow of Jerusalem—God’s holy hill. From that moment forward, the future of the world was tethered to a promise God alone swore to keep. And when Jesus arrived announcing the closeness of that promise, he taught of a specific kingdom—a kingdom anchored fully in Israel’s covenant story and eschatological hope. He commanded this good news be proclaimed from Jerusalem, to Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.
Any message that ignores that kingdom’s covenantal center has drifted from the gospel Jesus preached and misrepresents the God it claims to reveal.
Through Abraham’s seed, on Abraham’s land, Abraham’s blessing would heal the world. Even Ishmael and Esau stood within the horizon of that mercy—brothers invited to reconciliation, blessed by the promises sworn to their fathers.
Justified by Trust in God’s Promises
No one is declared righteous by bloodline, legal status, or even vague belief in Jesus. What does it mean to “believe in Jesus as your personal savior”? Savior of what? Salvation to what? Evidenced by what? This is why Paul grounds justification in faith like Abraham’s.
The apostles’ taught that like Abraham, we are counted righteous not by who we are, but by trusting in God’s promises. We believe God will do what he said. Today these promises are still unfolding, moving toward ultimate fulfillment in the reign of Messiah, Abraham’s seed, through whom the nations will be blessed. And we cannot believe these things if we do not first know them.
Jesus is not the conclusion of these promises. He is their guarantee.
His resurrection stands as living proof that God’s word to Abraham cannot fail. Faith in that is the faith Scripture calls righteousness.
Recovering the Full Gospel
A gospel centered on God’s enduring oath to Abraham substantiates our faith. It declares—without apology—that God will keep his covenant and that the promised descendant will lead Abraham’s family into faithfulness.
That message carries a sharpness disciples of Jesus desperately need as we divide truth from error in a world struggling to locate its hope.
The standard gospel, though familiar and winsome, collapses under the weight of Abraham’s story. It leaves large portions of Scripture unopened and has little use for the oath God sealed by blood beneath the stars of Canaan.
Worst of all, it teaches us to believe salvation is about us—that Jesus exists primarily to meet our needs and carry us to heaven when we die.
But the gospel is not about us.
God’s promise was not given to me. It was given to Abraham. Real faith trusts that God intends to keep all his promises—to Abraham, to Israel, and to the nations. Not vaguely. Not merely “spiritually.” Not in some distant world foreign to the prophets and apostles. But here—through the people God chose, in the land he named, led by the Messiah he promised, who will raise his people to immortality and lead the restoration of all things.
If this is not the message we are proclaiming to our friends and neighbors, we must recalibrate toward Abraham’s hope. Otherwise, we find ourselves bearing false witness to the Most High God and having so quickly deserted the truth for a different gospel.
Under the Starry Sky
Beneath the stars, with nothing to his name and no proof to go on, Abraham believed—not only in Messiah’s birth, death, or resurrection, but in the day when God would do what he said.
We live on the other side of the cross, with more clarity than Abraham could have imagined. Yet God’s work in the world is still unfinished. We wait, aching for the peace envisioned by the prophets.
Different gospels will not survive these darkening days.
The world we inhabit—and our participation in the blessings still to come—requires more. It demands the kind of faith that stakes everything on a future yet unseen.
Our hope is in the day Abraham’s starry sky is split open, when the great Cloud-Rider comes bringing every promise with him.
Like Abraham, we number the stars and sift the sand. We order our lives around the certainty that God will keep his word.
That promise is very good news.
When Captives are Set Free
When captives are set free, we rejoice—but the silence that followed October 7 reveals how deeply the church needs repentance, courage, and faith.
Two years ago, in the final hours of the biblical holiday Sukkot—the Festival of Tabernacles—the nation of Israel was brutally attacked. More than 1,200 people were murdered, and 251 civilians were taken hostage.
One week ago, in the first hours of Sukkot this year, I gathered with a few others to pray for the peace of Jerusalem—and especially for the fate of those still held captive.
Today, in the final hours of Sukkot, all of the living hostages were released.
That is a miracle.
Praise be to the God who has not forgotten—and will never forget—his people.
“The whole company that had returned from exile built temporary shelters and lived in them. From the days of Joshua son of Nun until that day, the Israelites had not celebrated it like this. And their joy was very great.”
— Nehemiah 8:17–18
The Wounds That Remain
Two years of war have marred the land and the people who call it home. Though the gunfire may grow quiet, the wider war unleashed globally on October 7, 2023, remains unresolved.
Hamas’s attack left families shattered. Iran has attempted to annihilate Israel multiple times directly and through its proxies on every side. The entire civilian population has lived in-and-out of bomb shelters or displaced from their homes altogether, while the young soldiers of the IDF have faced unimaginable danger to bring the captives home.
While Hamas hid behind their own children—in schools, hospitals, and UN facilities—the IDF stood in front of them to defend their nation and innocent life. 891 Israeli soldiers have been killed. The grief is deep. And yet, in the midst of so much death, God has answered prayer.
When the war subsides, I pray that all who call Israel home—Israeli and Arab—can find some measure of rest. But the trauma will remain for a long time, and the ache of what was lost will not easily fade.
The Silence That Spoke Louder
It is the silence that will be most difficult for me to forget—the near-total absence of moral clarity from much of the Western world, and from mainstream Christianity, including Christian media and the voices of prominent leaders, both national and local. I wish it were not the case, but that silence only amplified the volume of death chants and calls for Israel’s annihilation, nourishing fertile soil for antisemitism’s resurgence across the world.
It grieves me to say that in the past two years, I have never been more ashamed to be connected with Christianity. At the same time, I have never been more committed to live faithfully within it.
I have prayed often for God’s forgiveness, that he would soften the church and draw us to corporate repentance. No one is beyond his mercy, but I fear many hearts have hardened against his word.
The Cost of Silence
In the past two years, Christianity has shown that it prefers private reflection to collective repentance, indifference to conviction, and solitary prayer to shared intercession. We are told to speak less, avoid controversy, and “focus on Jesus.” Yet to be the peacemakers our Lord blessed means stepping into places that are anything but peaceful.
I fear that much of Christian leadership has remained silent not out of a desire to lead well, but out of refusal to lead when it matters most. In the face of evil, many have stood speechless—some from ignorance, some from unbelief, and some from fear.
It has come at a devastating cost.
It has left Jewish believers feeling abandoned by the Body of Messiah that claims to be grafted into their story.
It has emboldened the wicked, convincing them that a weak-kneed Church will not contend for truth when truth is costly.
It has confused a watching world—people who do not know Jesus—who now see a faith unwilling to name evil unless it is fashionable or politically convenient.
And perhaps most tragically, it has profaned our witness to the God of Abraham—the God we worship—who hears the blood of Abel crying out from the ground.
On the matter of Israel, Christian leadership confused silence for virtue and neutrality for wisdom in the very place where God has spoken most clearly. The Prophets would weep. Like the complacent of Amos’s day, we were not “grieved over the ruin of Joseph” (Amos 6:6).
But taking a political or theological stance that has no place for Israel does not grant us license to avoid naming evil for what it is—especially when that evil wounds the very people through whom our faith first came, including many Jewish followers of Jesus.
Yet the silence of many has made the courage of a few all the more radiant. I am deeply encouraged by the pastors, leaders, and ordinary believers who have chosen to speak and act with both righteousness and compassion. They have endured opposition and public shame, yet have stood firm in calling the nations to bless Israel, pray for her peace, and intercede for her enemies and all innocents in the crossfire.
Faithful in the Face of Evil
As believers, we are not called to outrage, activism, or to turn our pulpits into political platforms. But we are called to condemn evil, to cling to what is good, and to take up the cause of the vulnerable as if it were our own.
Every generation faces the spirit of Amalek. In ours, it looks like Hamas. It looks like the attack on the Manchester synagogue on Yom Kippur. It looks like the emboldened darkness that now calls good evil and evil good. Yet even as we name evil for what it is, we must guard our hearts from becoming what we condemn.
You can grieve loss on every side.
You can pray for the peace of Jerusalem without condoning every political or military action.
You can mourn innocent lives and still believe God’s covenant stands.
And while we wait for his justice, our call remains the same: to love what God loves, to stand where he stands, and to hope in what he has promised.
The Deliverer Who Will Come
Today, I rejoice in the release of the captives and the glimpse of relative stability, prayerfully, returning to the land. I also grieve the tragic witness the church has offered in these days.
But the story of captivity is not over.
Jesus echoed the prophets, who foresaw a final day when Israel would again be surrounded by the nations. Just as God raised up deliverers in Egypt, we hold a blessed hope that he will send his Messiah once more—not as the suffering servant, but as the king who brings justice and peace.
When that day comes, it won’t be a peace deal brokered by pompous and fallen diplomats. It will be Jesus Messiah who sets free the captives and brings the Lord’s favor, forever.
Until then, we rejoice greatly in the God who never forgets what he swore.
Psalm 126
When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion,
we were like those who dreamed.
Our mouths were filled with laughter,
our tongues with songs of joy.
Then it was said among the nations,
“The Lord has done great things for them.”
The Lord has done great things for us,
and we are filled with joy.
Those who sow with tears
will reap with songs of joy.
Those who go out weeping,
carrying seed to sow,
will return with songs of joy,
carrying sheaves with them.
All scripture quotations are ESV.
What Does It Mean to Stand With Israel?
As bombs flew over Iran toward Israeli soil, the world watched, unsurprised, as the Iron Dome lit up the sky.
As bombs flew over Iran toward Israeli soil, the world watched, unsurprised, as the Iron Dome lit up the sky. The scales of the Middle East shifted again, deepening the political and humanitarian nightmare. Christians look on with questions:
How should believers respond to the events in the Middle East?
Should we pay attention, and why?
Are biblical prophecies unfolding?
Is Jesus coming back soon?
Do we take a side—and if so, which one?
Among Christians who “stand with Israel,” many do so from sincere compassion. They recognize Hamas’s attacks as evil and stand with the Jewish people because of their pain. Others are motivated by politics—Israel is our ally, so we defend her. Still others stand because Israel factors into “end-time” events, wanting to be on the Lion of Judah’s side when the Day of the Lord comes.
Covenant Connection
This relationship is central to Scripture yet often overlooked—or denied—in Christian teaching. If we stand with Israel only for politics, compassion, or eschatology, we risk missing the heart of the Father.
To stand with Israel as Gentile followers of Jesus means embracing a covenantal connection with the Jewish people.
As believers, if we only stand with Israel because we are politically motivated to do so, or because we don't want innocent people to get hurt, or because we have a static, eschatological-only use for the land of Israel and the Jewish people, then unfortunately, I believe we are standing for the wrong thing. Our sentiments may be well-intended, but alone they are alienating us from the Jewish people and from the heart of the Father Himself.
“Covenant” may sound vague or religious, but the Bible is clear: God is knitting believers from the nations together with His chosen people, Israel. For as much as we quote the book of Ephesians, it often seems as though we have missed it's central point:
“…remember that you [non-Jews] were once separated from Messiah, alienated from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. But now in Messiah Jesus you [non-Jews] who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Messiah. For he himself is our peace, who has made us both [Jew and non-Jew] one…that he might create in himself one new man in place of the two, so making peace…you can perceive my insight into the mystery of Messiah…This mystery is that the Gentiles are fellow heirs, members of the same body, and partakers of the promise in Messiah Jesus through the good news.
Ephesians 2:12-16, 3:4-6 (paraphrase)
God, in his great wisdom, is unveiling a new man made up of every tribe, nation, and language, that originates in Jesus, the Jewish Messiah, and grows from the root of the Jewish people.
It's easy to translate this to "Jews accept Jesus, get saved, convert to Christianity, and join the body of Christ." But that is a backwards understanding of the text.
Instead, it is Gentile believers who join themselves to Israel’s God through her Messiah. God has a plan to redeem the nation of Israel and the Jewish people and reveal himself to them by his timing and design. God has always invited non-Jews to play an intricate part in that plan while retaining their unique ethnic identities.
God Has Not Forsaken Israel
Israel is precious to God—the apple of his eye, his firstborn, the people on whom he set his love. Nothing has changed since the days God spoke those words through Moses and the prophets. It didn't change at the cross or the resurrection, and it remains unchanged today.
But many Christians have not been taught this. We’ve been taught that the Bible’s story centers on us and our sin, with Jesus offering forgiveness and heaven. Yet on Israel and her Messiah, the Bible presents a far bigger story—one many of us are unprepared to receive.
Paul warns Gentile believers not to become arrogant:
“Israel has experienced a hardening in part until the full number of the Gentiles has come in…what will their acceptance be but life from the dead? … Do not consider yourself superior to the other branches. You do not support the root, but the root supports you” (Romans 11, paraphrase).
This is not a “free pass” for Israel. Paul trusts God’s plan to bring them to redemption and warns Gentiles to honor the root that supports them.
The prophets echo the same call. Amos rebuked those who “do not grieve over the ruin of Joseph” while living in comfort (Amos 6). The Psalms call us to “pray for the peace of Jerusalem” (Psalm 122). Like Ruth cleaving to Naomi, or Jonathan binding himself to David, those who fear God seek the good of his people, even in their darkest hour.
A Covenant Stance
To stand with Israel as believers means committing ourselves to God’s purposes for his chosen people regardless of their nation’s current condition. We can adopt shoulder-to-shoulder stance of covenantal loyalty—honoring Israel’s suffering now and proclaiming her vindication to come. This is not blind support for every government policy or military action. Compassion and covenant are not enemies; we can still be moved for the innocent and believe in God’s covenant.
In great faith, we can step forward into the role of preparing the bride saying, "I'm going to join myself to you. I'm going to stand in truth and love for you when you are crumbling and burden by your mistakes. I'm going to cry out for you when you are too weak to whisper and intercede when you are too rebellious and arrogant to see the One who holds your victory. And I'm going to do this because your Messiah took compassion on a dog like me. I'm going to honor you as the greatest of all the brothers because your brother honored me. And he has not forgotten you."
Isaiah foresaw the day when Egypt, Assyria, and Israel would together be “a blessing on the earth” (Is. 19:24). The nations will stream to Jerusalem to learn God’s ways (Is. 2:2-3). We are invited to participate in that future now—by aligning our hearts with his covenant plan.
Our Choice
We can ignore this message and stay comfortable—scrolling past headlines, singing our worship songs, and congratulating ourselves for theologically explaining away the blessing that belongs to our brother.
Or we can humble ourselves. We can remove our Christian-centric lenses, thank God for the message that brought us this far, and take the next step—asking him to give us ears to hear what he is saying through his Word, seeking its wisdom to make sense of the world’s stage today.
We can join ourselves to his people: stand with them in truth and love when they are weak, pray for them when they cannot pray for themselves, intercede when they are rebellious, and to love in the face of hate. We can honor them because their God had compassion on us.
To stand with Israel this way will be a steep learning curve—a rollercoaster of faith. But our Lord promises: “The one who endures to the end will be saved.”
“Who is a God like you, who pardons iniquity and passes over the rebellion of the remnant of His possession? He does not retain His anger forever, because He delights in unchanging love. He will again have compassion on us…You will give truth to Jacob and unchanging love to Abraham, which You swore to our forefathers from the days of old” (Micah 7:18-20).
May we have ears to hear the Spirit, humility to seek the truth, and endurance to stand in courageous love.