This morning I went with a group to experience the scenery of the Temple Mount again. The place was a bit more crowded: muslims gathering for study in their circles of plastic chairs in the garden, tourists snapping photographs, soldiers texting in a nonchalant pose at every gate. I went to sit at the northern end of the Dome complex looking into the tress, rose bushes, and grasses that are just beginning to faint from their spring green luster in the heat of the dry sunshine.
I was thinking back to my earlier surmise that the rocks are crying out in this place that seems so foreign to Christians, Zionists, and the few Jews that are allowed on the premises. The silence that seems like it should have the busy bustle of Temple activity was again what I expected to hear, but I noticed something else. There were birds chirping for all they were worth. Those crazy little creatures couldn't be stopped from singing their praise. Even the skeptical crow and the sneaking cat didn't stop them. They chirped away as if God was still in complete control of the land. And I thought to myself, maybe He is.
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