>>>SUBMITTED BY ALYSE MERRITT
To this day, wherever I go, people ask me how I can be Jewish and profess to believe in Jesus (Yeshua) as my Messiah. In response I simply say, “Because I know He lives.”
With a chuckle, a sneer, or perhaps a dubious glance, I usually hear a follow-up question sounding much like, “So what made you convert to Christianity?” Belief in Jesus as Messiah does not involve an act of “conversion,” but rather requires the truth of completion. I believe the Spirit of the living God longs to make this known to all humanity, especially the Jewish people.
The journey which led me to discover the truth about Jesus began when I was a child, kneeling in my north Jersey backyard. It was there, beneath the shadow of an outstretched apple tree, I first sensed God in my life. It was also there, gazing up toward the heavens, that I knew there had to be more beyond the clouds than the blueness of the sky. I was not more than three years old at the time, and I had not understood His love yet, nor His omnipresence. It simply was a brewing hunger for God that He alone placed within the depths of my heart.
Looking back, I vividly recall praying, in my own childish way, by blowing tiny kisses toward heaven. I was sealing my words to God in what I envisioned to be a “prayer bubble” because I believed He would somehow hear my prayers faster that way. I thought my questions about who I was, why I was, and how I could draw closer to Him would be answered instantly. As the years went by and I discovered more about my family, my religion, and my role as the younger sibling of my household, I ceased running to that quiet place of refuge. I stopped asking God questions I once longed for Him to answer. I became very involved with activities of childhood, running to various acting classes, gymnastic lessons, and dance events. When I finally did have spare time to seek God, it was always done at a synagogue, surrounded by Hebrew school teachers. I was taught that I was Jewish and about the Torah which contains the story of my people. The most important thing I remembered of all I was taught, however, was that I was “chosen.”
Having a Bat Mitzvah at 13, followed by the requisite gala reception, studying at a Hebrew high school, and learning of the lurid suffering my relatives had to endure, all left me with a feeling of great empathy for my people and closeness with my culture. Although, as I continued to grow, I could not help but wonder if my childhood questions had been answered. I could not help but feel there was something more I had yet to grasp. Perhaps it was something more intimate than reading words on parchment that I could not fully understand, or perhaps it was someone more personal I envisioned God to be, the God who met me in my youth under an apple tree.
Still feeling this way my second year of college, I acquired a job at a frozen yogurt shop. With no thought of having a life-altering experience, a peculiar man entered my life. His name was Alan, and the day he strolled into my store all eyes were on him, especially mine. His awesome stature was breathtaking as he towered over the other customers and, without exaggeration, he stood close to seven feet tall. He had the most brilliant pair of icy blue eyes planted in the middle of his fair-skinned face. As he gazed my way, his eyes seemed to penetrate right through me.
“You must be new here,” he said beaming with delight, “what’s your name?” His voice was warm, and compassion seemed to flow freely from his heart. Though I do not recall the details of that initial conversation, I knew there was something so genuine about Alan, and I longed to see him again. I was not attracted to him, nor envisioned him as a potential companion, yet something so comforting about his presence drew me in. As the weeks went by, Alan became my most consistent customer and our conversations lasted for hours. One evening, Alan took me completely off guard by walking in with a large, white Bible. This was strange to me, so when all was quiet in the store I finally asked him about it. His response was simply to open the Book and start reading!
“Alyse, did you know God numbered every one of the hairs on your head and loves you with an everlasting love?” Alan questioned. “Oh great, a religious freak!” I thought. Alan continued, “Did you know God has a destiny and plan for your life.” “Alan!” I interrupted. “Before you go on reading your New Testament Bible, please know I am Jewish!” Alan exclaimed, “That’s wonderful that you are Jewish! Did you know Jesus, also known as Yeshua, was Jewish?” I said, “Jesus? Jewish! What a blasphemous contradiction!” Alan replied, “That’s right Alyse, Jewish Jesus! In fact He was so Jewish that He perfected the Jewish law as no other Jew could! Jesus was, and is, the Jewish Messiah, who came to earth over 2,000 years ago to redeem the nation of Israel from their sins. Now He remains the Savior of the world, and it is only by faith in His atoning sacrifice and identification with His death, burial, and resurrection, both Jew and Gentile (non-Jew) may be granted eternal life in heaven!”
As I was digesting the intensity of Alan’s statements, I could almost hear my mother’s warning echo in my mind. She had explained that Christians would try to brainwash me into believing in “J.C.” but that I should never listen. After taking a moment to regain my composure, I stammered back, “Jesus can’t be Jewish – He’s Catholic! Besides, in all my years of Jewish studies nobody ever mentioned anything about Jesus being Jewish, let alone being the Messiah! I’m sure if Jesus was of ANY importance to the Jewish people, somebody would have told me by now!”
In response Alan calmly explained the Torah (Jewish law) required an atonement be made for sin, and the Holy agent God used to complete this process was blood (see Leviticus 17:11). “You see, what the blood of bulls and goats was powerless to do, God did through the eternal blood of His Son Yeshua, once and for all! By this He proved every sacrifice made for sin, from the blood of the Passover lamb to the blood of atonement on Yom Kippur, was just a foreshadowing of what was to come in the Messiah!” Alan continued, “Ironically, the Scriptures tell us the Messiah WILL be rejected by His people: ‘He was despised and rejected of men…’ (Isaiah 53:3, NIV), and ‘He came unto His own, and His own received Him not’” (John 1:11, KJV).
Day and night, even Sunday mornings when you’d think this guy would be preaching in church somewhere, Alan was in my store reading his Bible and telling me about Jesus! The weeks slowly turned into months and my thoughts turned into questions. Conversations with Alan would constantly linger in my mind and I could not help but wonder, “What if Alan is right? What if my mother was wrong about Jesus, and what if somehow the Jewish people missed their Messiah, and the gift of salvation was given to the Gentiles because of our rejection?”
Although it seemed Alan, his Bible, and his preaching would not get out of my life, I never grew annoyed completely, nor irritated enough to cease a conversation. I was always drawn to him, more so drawn to the message of God’s love within him. Alan seemed to follow me everywhere. My friends warned he was a stalker, arriving early and staying late at my store, yet I was never afraid of him. At the malls, at the local delis, even on my days off from work, wherever I went, Alan was there ready to share “The Word.” I can even vividly recall driving around town, spontaneously deciding to buy a sandwich at a sub shop, unprepared to see anyone, yet when I arrived, Alan was already there. He was always sitting at a two-seater, always by himself, and always with his big, white Bible opened, as if waiting for me to arrive. Each time I entered the locale, he’d look up from his seat, flash a smile my way and say, “Care to join me?”
After seven months of this ongoing dialog, things grew heated and I finally barked at Alan, “If this Jesus, this one you CLAIM is my Messiah, truly died for me, THAT’S NOT FAIR! He shouldn’t have to suffer and die for my sins, I SHOULD!” Alan became quiet. He looked at me with great sadness yet compassion and said, “Alyse, you can never pay that price. That price is too big for you to pay. The wonderful thing is you don’t have to…Jesus paid it for you.” Wow. I was speechless.
It wasn’t until months later, after my store closed down and I studied endless amounts of Scriptures, I reached the ultimate turning point. While on the phone with a Christian friend, I finally broke down and asked, “How do I get Jesus?” For the first time in 16 years, I knelt to the ground and prayed. I asked God to show me who I was, why I was, and how I could draw closer to Him, and in an instant I knew I was praying to Jesus. The God and Messiah who met me as a child under an apple tree, the personal Redeemer I knew, yet could not fully grasp, and the Heavenly Father who sent me the comfort of His Ruach HaKodesh (Holy Spirit). I just knew He was the Lord.
Longing to find the holy messenger Alan, I searched everywhere to tell him the good news – I opened my heart to Yeshua – but to no avail. I went back to the deli shops, the sub stores, and places where I found him towering over crowds of people, but he was no longer there. The weeks turned into months, and the months turned into years, and then, sadly I gave up my search. All I had were the memories of his smile and a small New Testament he gave me. Even the phone number I once reached him at no longer worked and it was as though he disappeared from the face of the earth. Until one day…I saw him again. It was there, in the center of a living room, a large painting of Alan was staring at me! I had just entered the home of a Christian couple for prayer one night when I was awestruck by this picture on their wall.
“That’s Alan!” I shouted, as the couple looked at me puzzled. “This is the man who told me about Jesus day and night for months and read to me from his big, white Bible! Where did you get this picture? Who painted it?” I needed to know all the details and couldn’t believe I was finally seeing him again. This time, however, he was wearing a white robe, not street clothes. Observing the awesome height of the man in the picture and gazing into those icy blue eyes, I knew in my heart whoever painted this picture was looking at the sweet face of Alan.
“So tell me! Where did you get this picture?” I was excited for their response, but they suddenly froze. After a long pause they said, “Alyse, this is a picture a friend painted years ago, when she said an angel visited her. It was during a difficult time in her life and this man, this angel ministered to her. This is what he looked like. She said that he was very tall and fair.” At that moment I was breathless and thought, “How could this be? That’s my friend Alan. He can’t be an angel; he’s just a nice, holy person. He talked with me and read to me, and he even ate real food!”
To this day, I don’t know whether or not Alan was an angel or just a great messenger of God delivering a message of salvation to a lost Jewish girl. I don’t think I’ll ever know until Olam Haba (heaven), yet one thing I’m certain of is by man or by angel, by day or by night, the message of Yeshua needs to go forth to both Jews and non-Jews…because He lives! Since those early days of salvation, I’ve lost both parents and experienced much pain, yet grown deeper in faith. I’ve found myself in messes and miracles, trials and tragedies, and hurts beyond the confines of words. I’ve heard the sweet voice of God call me by name and the whispers of darkness pierce through the night. I’ve felt the breath of death sweep over my body and the miraculous touch of God restore me to health. In all this, and so much more, I acknowledge I am nothing on my own. It is only through Him my life has purpose and meaning.
If you’d like more information on Alyse Merritt, check out Tender Shoot Films on the web or Facebook. You can learn how Alyse and her family reach Jews & non-Jews for the Messiah by making “Movies with a Message.” www.TenderShootFilms.com
