In this morning’s Fruit of the Vine, Deborah Climer shares an experience “teaching Sunday school at Silverton Friends Church.” The kindergarten lesson that morning was “about Jesus going out by himself to pray,” and in order to help children think about Jesus being alone, Deborah played a game with them, using a flannelgraph-like figure that was supposed to be Jesus. “After we talked about the story, I had someone hide Jesus and then the rest of us searched to find him.” There was an entire play kitchen in the classroom, and one child hid Jesus in the play microwave.
Deborah writes that “most of the children thought this was great fun.” But one child thought it was funny “for a different reason. ‘Miss Debbie,’ he said with a chuckle, ‘Jesus does not hide away, he is always with us.’”
This is what happens when we aim to teach others about our experience with God. We learn something new or are reminded of what we’ve forgotten: This child’s “understanding of who God is, and where he is, may seem somewhat child-like,” Deborah writes, “but he is wise beyond his years.”
I’m thankful, like Deborah, that Jesus is “available anytime, anywhere.” But I’m also curious. About the people in my life God is going to use to teach me (or remind me of) what matters.
And I pray that when they speak, I’ll be ready to listen.
Eric Muhr
To watch them go
In this morning’s Fruit of the Vine, J. Daniel Frost remembers his “hope – bright with excitement about the mission” to which God had called him, a call to pastor the Pelham (Ontario) Friends Church. “It was a bright day as I pulled away from my parents’ home in Delaware and headed north – alone.” In his contemplation of Jesus’ commissioning of the apostles in John 20:21, Frost wonders how it must have felt to send. Because even when we send someone out in obedience to a call, we are also sending them away. “I have thought about what might have been running through my parents’ minds and hearts as they watched me go down the road.... Did [they] feel an element of pain?”
It is good to name the gifts we see in others. But when they pursue their call, it can be hard – even in our hope – to watch them go.
If God calls someone we love, are we willing to let them go? And if God calls someone to serve with us, do we value the pain of those who, in obedience, released them?
Frost remembers how his ’57 Plymouth Fury “carried me safely to my destination and into my future life of ministry. And I have been the richer for it.” He also prompts us to consider “the pain and pride” felt by those who gave their “loved ones to the Lord’s service.”
Today, I’m thankful for people in my life who have been willing to let me go. I’m also thankful for the people and community God has given me – has always provided – no matter where I’ve been.
And I’m thankful for you.
Eric Muhr
Come closer
I woke up in Spencerville, Maryland, this morning. I’ve been here since Friday, worshiping alongside members of the Friends of Jesus, a Conservative Quaker gathering with meetings in Philadelphia, Detroit, and D.C. We had rain on Saturday – not much, but enough to keep us inside, sitting around tables in the wood-floored dining hall, talking about what it means to be a Friend, talking about our experiences with scripture, talking about where we’ve been and why we came this weekend, talking about all the things folks who care about Jesus talk about when there’s enough rain to keep them inside.
Some of the talk was good.
How does your view of the atonement affect the ways you welcome fellow wanderers? What’s an image that’s been helpful in thinking about what it means to be a gathered community? Where are you experiencing the power of the Holy Spirit? Are we prophetic? Are we willing to be?
Some of the talk was hard.
There were disagreements. There were times when people shared vulnerably and weren’t received, times when their experiences were questioned or corrected. There were tears of release, and there was also deep pain. Isolation. A sense that even here, where we are really trying, there might not be safety for those who need it most.
On Saturday night, I felt a leading to share out of Mark 3, a passage in which Jesus goes home, and a crowd gathers. Scribes come down from Jerusalem and accuse Jesus, “He has Beelzebul, and by the ruler of the demons he casts out demons.” Jesus “called them to him, and spoke to them.” For the next seven verses, we get a sense of what Jesus said to the scribes. And then his family shows up, “and standing outside, they sent to him.” But Jesus points to the people he’s been talking to: “Here are my mother and my brothers!”
There are gaps in the passage that invite additional interpretive work, but I have two noticings. The first is that Jesus appears to have conceded nothing in this conflict. He simply called them to him. And the scribes, also, as far as I can tell, conceded nothing. They simply came closer to Jesus.
And that made all the difference.
Eric Muhr