In this morning's Fruit of the Vine, Scott Wagoner reminds us that even though the joy of Easter focuses on an empty tomb and a living Christ, there's more to the story than we sometimes take time to notice. In this week's devotional journey, Scott intends to take us along the road to Emmaus, a road where "the lives of two men were transformed," a road on which those men "encountered both their human condition and the risen Christ," a road that was a physical journey for them but that, for us, "can also be a spiritual journey."
Last week, I was in a Mexican border town, San Luis Rio Colorado. There's a Baptist church there that for more than two decades now has been walking alongside families in crisis. This little church works with the local government to identify these families and each year assigns a care team to a handful of these families, visiting them once a month or more. Every year, a group of us from Oregon travel down to Mexico to join the members of this Baptist church in the work that they're doing. One year, we helped a young man negotiate a maze of government offices so that he might get the papers he needed for legal employment. Another time, we helped a single mother sort out proof of ownership for the home where she was living with her children. We stocked a clothes closet. We provided volunteer helpers for a vacation Bible school. For many of these families, we've helped build new homes.
Each year, we go on a physical journey, driving thousands of miles to be with our friends in San Luis. Each year, we also go on a spiritual journey, a pilgrimage of sorts. And just like he did for the men on the road to Emmaus, Jesus joins us. He breaks bread with us. He prays with us and over us. When we get to Mexico, surprisingly, we often find that Jesus is already there, walking alongside families in crisis, ready to welcome us into the work that he's already doing.
Here's the thing, according to Scott: "Jesus doesn't just rise from the dead, he also walks with us along life's journey and in real time." And just as Jesus rose again, we find "new life when we recognize his presence with us." Our lives are transformed, and the lives of the people we walk alongside - they're transformed too.
Eric Muhr
Why aren't we humble?
In his explication of John 3:25-36 in yesterday's Illuminate study, Phil Smith reminds us that "humility does not consist in thinking badly about oneself or putting oneself down." Phil points to John the Baptist: "Rather than envy or jealousy" in the face of Jesus's growing reputation, John "feels joy." And this reaction is an example for Christians who "have not always shared John's humility." When we see the success that other Christian groups are experiencing in their work, for instance, instead of joy, "we feel threatened."
This is not the way of Jesus.
In her Friendly Perspective at the end of the Illuminate study, Aj Schwanz points to a key moment in John's exchange with his disciples, a moment that illustrates how Christian humility should work. John said of Jesus, "He must increase, but I must decrease," and Aj elaborates that this reality - "having to decrease in my own life" - can feel threatening, like loss. "But it's actually the opposite," Aj writes. "As I am decreasing, the road to recovery and healing and life and truth may continue to grow, and I may continue to be a part of it."
Why, then, aren't we humble? Phil writes that the problem might be "an interior world of shame . . . a lie in the heart: 'I am a worthless nobody unless I am better than others.'" Jesus offers us freedom from that lie, for "'whoever believes in the Son has eternal life'–not just when resurrection day comes, but now."
Eric Muhr
As we swim our laps of life
In this morning's Fruit of the Vine, Hank Helsabeck tells the story of a simple connection he made with his daughter: "I spent many late afternoons sitting in the aquatic center watching my grade school daughter, Amy, practice with her swim team." Every time Amy "completed a set of laps, she would look up from the poolside and find me in the bleachers. She would wave and smile at me." And every time it happened, Hank would wave and smile back.
These interactions between Hank and his daughter were small, almost automatic. But Hank writes that this "practice of connecting did more than I know in strengthening the relationship between the two of us." Hank likens this series of small interactions to the kinds of connections God creates in our own lives: "Whether you are driving across town, waiting in a checkout line, taking a short break from work, or actually swimming laps in a pool, just look up and smile at God."
I find myself wondering, as I read Hank's words, whether these might also be the kinds of interactions God longs for us to have with one another "as we swim our laps of life."
Hank leaves us with this prayer: "Abba, help me remember to pause many times a day to affirm your presence and to smile at you and with you." My prayer is that God might also help me to remember to pause at least once a day and to make a connection with whomever God brings into my life. If I see you, maybe I'll remember to smile and wave. If you see me, maybe you'll wave and smile back. And in the meantime, I am praying for you.
Eric Muhr