Nearly ten years ago now, I wrote a blog post explaining why, despite my Jewish heritage and faith in Jesus Christ, I do not call myself a Messianic Jew. It went semi-viral, and not in a good way. I received – and still do, on occasion – many emails criticizing my reasons, which mostly had to do with language and how certain words or expressions (“completed Jew,” for example) sound to a Jewish audience (spoiler: not good).
For the most part, I stand by my original thesis: that the expression “Messianic Jew,” while fitting for some, is generally off-putting to traditional Jews, and tends to shut down conversations rather than open them. I think it’s important to understand that while Jesus didn’t intend to start a new religion, following Him today does mean being set apart from a spiritual Jewish community.
Often, this doesn’t happen by choice. Jewish friends and family members may feel alienated, even betrayed, and shun the new believer. I know, because it happened to me. I’ve found that I’ve been able to maintain friendships – and make new ones – with Jewish people by clarifying that my ancestry is Jewish, but my faith is Christian. It may sound pedantic, but language does matter.
I haven’t made many friends in the MJ/Jews for Jesus community (who, curiously, are mostly gentiles, not ethnic Jews) by having this stance. Quite the opposite, in fact: I’ve gotten many blog comments over the years accusing me of sowing division and spreading heresy. Many times MJs will approach my inbox after finding some of my content on Google, and think they’ve found an ally. They generally end up disappointed that I don’t affiliate with them.
That wedge is about to spread even wider as my journey leads closer to Rome. Throughout my liturgical journey, I have realized that the most accurate depiction of “fulfilled Judaism,” as Christians understand it, is in Catholicism.
The Eucharist, which was something that captivated me in the Anglican Church, is the culmination of the sacrificial system that was established in the Hebrew scriptures. The more I study and learn, the more obvious this becomes.
My experience in MJ communities is, admittedly, limited. I can be fairly accused of not giving them a proper chance, perhaps. I do want to point out that I did briefly participate in two Messianic synagogues (churches? church-agogues?) in two different states, and was turned off by what I saw in each, which effectively killed any desire I may have had to seek out more.
In any case, MJ communities are pretty few and far between. The closest one that I know of here in my part of Colorado is at least an hour’s drive away. When I lived in Ohio, the closest one was 45 minutes away. So there’s that.
Here’s what I observed during both experiences: the format of the services honestly looked no different than that of an evangelical or non-denominational service, except that most of the women were clad in head scarves and long skirts: the garb of traditionally Orthodox Jews. Men and boys wore kippot on their heads. The worship songs were familiar, but “Yeshua” was sung where “Jesus” would have been.
One service included the blowing of a shofar, even though it wasn’t Rosh Hashanah.
Perhaps you are an MJ and your church services aren’t like this. I just remember feeling put off by the whole thing, as if people were trying too hard to shoe-horn Jewish practice where it just felt clumsy and awkward.
Jesus and the disciples were already Jewish, I thought. Surely, there’s something more organically Jewish in Christianity than what they’re doing?
As it turns out, there is. It can be found in a place that many Protestants are scared to look, due to a genius campaign of misinformation that greatly twists what is actually taught.
Author Brant Pitre says,
There are many parallels between ancient Jewish liturgy and the Mass, especially the Jewish Passover and the Jewish hope for the new manna of the Messiah. Both these aspects of ancient Jewish practice and belief can shed light on Catholic eucharistic practice and belief, revealing that there is much more in common between ancient Judaism and present-day Catholicism than there might seem at first glance. (The Jewish Roots of the Mass, Brant Pitre, PhD, Notre Dame Seminary)
Many Christians desire to connect with the Jewishness of Jesus: a side of Him that is quite foreign to them. This is a very good thing! But when that includes practices like hosting Passover seders in churches (which Jews tend to find offensive), reading from a prayer book that didn’t even exist in Jesus’ time, those good intentions lead to a strange place. It’s misguided, at best, and at worst it alienates the Jewish people that Christians desire to reach.
Many Christians don’t understand that the Judaism of today – even Orthodox Judaism – is not the same as it was in the first century. It makes sense why they would have trouble accepting this, since Jesus Christ is the same today as He was yesterday, and our doctrines (the essential ones at least) have remained unchanged in 2000 years.
By contrast, the Judaism of Jesus and His Jewish audience collapsed with the destruction of the second temple in 70 AD.
If Christians want to understand the Jewishness of Jesus, they are better off studying ancient Judaism. And if they want to participate, the most historically accurate way to do it is to participate in the very first church that originated with the Jewish apostles.
Photo by Taylor Flowe on Unsplash
