Migrants of Messiah: An Ethnography
I could almost feel Jerusalem as I walked into the small cabin-like church made of wood for the very first time. Hebraic praises kissed the air softly. All were turned to the left—bowing suddenly, each one neatly as if they’ve practiced it all their life. The sun’s light illuminated the stained glass windows which shined heavenly light upon each of their faces. Their heads, covered by colorfully vibrant prayer shawls, were bowed in reverence. I snuck inside just minutes after the start of service. The wide wooden door creaked as I opened it. Eyes quickly glanced my way.