Why I Attend a Messianic Synagogue

Several readers have written to ask me if–since I’m Jewish–I believe in Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. So I thought I should write a post to explain all those pictures of pies and cakes I bake for my synagogue service every Friday night.

Mango crepe cake.

First of all, I’m not Jewish. Not even a little. I’m Scot-Irish, British, and a wee bit of Congolese, according to Ancestry.com. But when I was in high school, I played in a handbell choir led by Rev. Jim Whitmire, who announced one day that our handbell choir was going to play at a Jewish synagogue. “God blesses those who bless the Jewish people,” he said. “So we’re going to play for their service next Friday night.”

We did. I don’t remember much about the service, but that night the Lord awakened a deep love for the Jewish people within me. I bought a Star of David necklace and began to wear it after learning that thanks to the mercy of God, as a believer in Yeshua (Jesus), I had been grafted into the Jew’s olive tree. I was adopted into the family of Promise, the chosen people of God.

I didn’t actually know many Jewish people. I had one Jewish friend at school, but lost contact with her after graduation. But I loved Jewish music, sang along with Jews for Jesus, and started to read the Bible and appreciate the Jewishness of Jesus and the early church.

Lemon pound cake, my go-to when I’m rushed.

In college, I was privileged to be able to go to Israel as part of a singing group, and there I walked the land Jesus walked. When I began to write, I interviewed Moshe Rosen, a leader in the Messianic movement, who pointed out a lot of things about Jewish people I’d never noticed. (Ever wonder why there aren’t many Jewish football players? That sort of sport just isn’t common among the Jews.)

I began to read novels by Jewish writers–Chaim Potok is a favorite. I learned a lot about Jewish sects that were completely foreign to me.

And all this time, I was a youth pastor’s wife, laboring by his side in a couple of mega churches, helping him minister to young people. After he was pushed out of his ministry at age 65, he established an independent youth program, and we moved to another neighborhood. For nearly five years, every Friday night he went to his youth activity, and I stayed home, usually working, but I couldn’t help thinking about the Messianic synagogue only a couple of miles away.

Flourless (gluten-free) chocolate meringue cake.

I had visited two other Messianic synagogues–one in Philadelphia, where I went with friends to a vibrant service that was almost Pentecostal in its fervor. I loved it, and couldn’t help thinking that it was a preview of heaven, where we will sing and dance around the throne of God. My husband and I went to another messianic synagogue in St. Petersburg that was more like a typical church service. And finally, after watching the online services for several months, I worked up the courage to go to the synagogue near our house.

I sat in the back and watched, listened, and tried to follow along in the siddur (akin to a hymnal). Most of the “songs” were in Hebrew, though the words were spelled out phonetically for anyone to follow along. In the bulletin I read that this synagogue was very traditional, and the service was very similar to what Yeshua would have experienced.

The Drash (sermon) was in English, thank goodness. But I loved seeing the reverence with which they unrolled the Torah scroll and the rabbi read, in Hebrew, from the text, then translated it into common English.

Chocolate crepe cake. It’s supposed to look like a rose . . .

When the final blessing had been given, I slipped out the back door, but the rabbi caught me before I left. He introduced himself, and I gave him an abbreviated version of the story above. While everyone else went to Oneg (the time of fellowship and food), I went home.

But I came back, again and again, and decided that in return for blessing me as they did every week, I would bless them by baking something special–a cake, a pie, cupcakes, or something. Hence the food posts on Facebook.

And then the man who lead sheerim (praise and worship) had open heart-surgery. And when he returned, I went over, wished him well, and told him that I’d been a music major once, so if he ever needed help–

Pumpkin cheesecake. This thing was HUGE!

He held up a piece of sheet music. “Can you play this?”

Gulp. “Maybe.” Honestly, I hadn’t touched my piano in months, and it had been YEARS since I’d played in public. But I ran through the song quickly, and before I knew it I was playing nearly every service. And just a few weeks before, I’d told the Lord that I really missed music, and would love to exercise that gift again . . .

I don’t attend a synagogue because I write about Jewish events and characters, but hearing the Scriptures from the Jewish point of view has certainly opened my mind and heart to things I had never considered before. And, to be honest, the Jewish people have a lot of writings from rabbis who wrote long after Christ whose words were not necessarily God-breathed. So while some of those stories and thoughts are educational and inspirational, others leave me shaking my head. If they are biblical, I accept them. If extra-biblical, I weigh the teaching carefully . . .

Close up of my croquembouche at Christmastime . . .

I discovered that I wasn’t the only Gentile in the synagogue. Several of the folks have a Jewish mother or grandmother, and after being raised in church, they’ve come to this synagogue to learn about their Jewish roots. There are LOTS of Gentiles in our synagogue, but the bond of affection is so strong that you can’t tell who’s Jewish and who’s not. And isn’t that what matters?

I am delighted that the Lord has led me to this synagogue and these people. They bless me every week, and I hope, in some small way, that I am able to bless them. And with them, I am praying for the peace of Jerusalem.

Have you ever attended a Messianic synagogue? You should search for one in your community and visit! You’ll learn a lot, and you don’t have to bring a cake.