trip to damascus

The mosque was incredible. That doesn’t begin to express its beauty. It is hard to tell about the atmosphere of a mosque – it is one of those things in life that has to be experienced. It can’t be told in words, but alas that is what I have been given to communicate – so I will try. The white walls stretched into the sky where the minarets towered even higher. They stood as a fortress between me and the life inside. I went and put on a brown sack (literally, it was a sack – but note that this did not keep guys from trying to hit on me! I must really have “it” because even in a sack I am a show stopper around here J) And breached the fortress. As I made my way in with one of my best friends here, I was blown away by the beauty. Every wall in the courtyard was dripping with gold and blue mosaics. They covered every wall and made the courtyard a place of exquisite color and light that I think can’t be matched anywhere by man made creation. People peppered the courtyard, all getting ready to go and pray. We pushed our way in even further – walking carefully as if we knew we were on enemy soil. AS we made our way into the prayer room, I was hit with intense color and light. All the arches – and there were at least 30 were rimmed in multi-colored stain glass. The ceiling was mosaic and would take every breath away. The chandeliers were of crystal falling in the light – and the dome, it was incredible -reaching far above as if to dwarf you just by looking into it. And there she was, at the foot of the dome. Dressed in black from head to toe. She was dutifully facing Mecca as she went down on her knees, then she stood, bowed and started over again. Tears crowed into my eyes. I was struck by the thought that Jesus was delaying His return so that He could show His grace in this mosque, to these people. That He loved them so much that He wanted them to be apart of His body – but that there was no one there to tell them. There are so few “workers” in Syria that the 2.75 million people in Damascus alone most likely will never meet one – much less receive a Bible or hear the story of His love. My heart broke at the immensity of His grace and the challenge before us. I walked carefully, praying for every face, every heart – begging God to send people to this place. And then I was met by my friend, he too in tears and we stood there – in that place of false worship – and called on the True God to bring people to Him. To bring worshippers in that place. To shine His light in their hearts and allow them to understand the Gospel. Tears falling, voices cracking – we begged God to be gracious to them.
I will never forget that hour in that mosque.