Micah Bales reflects on wealth and work in this morning’s Fruit of the Vine: “We’re terrified that we’re not doing enough, having enough, being enough. We . . . [hide] from the reality of our limitations, our weaknesses, and even death; longing to be forever young, strong, and healthy.”
Last night I read a chapter from Grace for Shame: The Forgotten Gospel by John Forrester, and he writes about what I think fuels my work (if not yours). In a culture that values productivity, failing to produce creates shame, and “the shamed person fears separation or abandonment.”
I don’t want to be alone.
Micah agrees. We need each other in order to survive, and our fear that we aren’t enough keeps us from being able to love. “Jesus shows us a new reality altogether in which we don’t need to be fixated on our own survival anymore. We can experience freedom to love others.”
Where do we find this freedom?
First, we have to give up, Micah writes. “As we embrace . . . surrender, we discover that the heart of the gospel is love – a release from the fear that has gripped us. . . . Despite all of the darkness, uncertainty, and even suffering, the path of Jesus is marked by radiant joy and passionate love.”
The problem is that our fear forces us to strive, and our striving separates us from the very people whose love and acceptance we want to earn. So we are never enough.
We can’t win that race, Micah argues, so we might as well give up. After all, Jesus is already with us, and “we don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
Eric Muhr
Justice or mercy?
Michael Chapman shares on Micah 6:8 in this morning’s Fruit of the Vine, a verse that his wife, Melissa, cut out and hung “on our wall while we lived in Guatemala. It is a reminder of God’s call to service that we hope to live out in our lives.”
He has told you, O mortal, what is good;
and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?
Michael writes that he remembers reading this passage with his oldest daughter “and reflecting on the words. I realized how hard it is to hold all of the pieces of this verse in equal tension.”
There is a tension between justice and mercy, for instance: “If we act justly, we can become consumed in that pursuit . . . and this can overshadow our need to be loving and merciful.” Michael writes of “helping communities fight for their land” or of trying to help “people devastated by drought.” The work “can be all-consuming,” an end in itself.
How do we resolve that tension?
Michael suggests that the answer is “to walk humbly with God . . . bringing those issues of justice to God through prayer.” Because God isn’t asking us to pursue justice, but not too much. God isn’t asking us to be merciful, but only to the point that justice isn’t impeded. And God doesn’t ask us to do the work on our own. God wants to do it with us.
“Reading this verse aloud with my kids helped me to see,” Michael writes, “that God’s heart is to see all three of these things carried out in our lives.”
Justice and mercy go together. If we are willing, God shows us how.
Eric Muhr
On touch
Chris Friberg shares in this morning’s Fruit of the Vine a story about her husband’s father, Carl, who had “agreed to join a small group from our church.” The group was exploring what it means to be a Christian, and at one meeting the question up for discussion was, “If you could have anything in the world, what would you ask for?”
“Carl said, ‘I’d get a drink.’ When he saw their puzzled expressions, he went on to explain that he was an alcoholic – so desperate for a drink, he felt like he was on fire.’”
Members of the group surrounded Carl and prayed for him. Some “put their arms around him, praying earnestly.”
That’s what we do when we’re overwhelmed. We pray. Or we offer to pray. It can feel empty. But sometimes it’s all that we have. And something happened to Carl.
“He confessed to me,” Chris writes, “that the group’s physical touch moved his heart as much as their prayers. Although he was kind, hospitable, and generous, he was also very lonely. ‘Other than your family,’ he said, ‘I can’t remember the last time anyone has actually reached out and touched me.’”
Being together is such an integral part of being human that we don’t necessarily think about how we do it or why. It just is.
Unless it isn’t.
There's this pendulum that swings through our lives. Acceptance and rejection. Belonging and isolation. Love and loneliness.
Jesus touched lonely people with his words. Jesus also touched them: “the blind man, the children, the woman who touched the hem of his robe – even the leper.”
We can do the same for each other.
Chris offers this prayer for us: “Lord Jesus, give me wisdom for the right words when I’m encouraging a hurting person, and when it’s right, remind me to put my arm around them.”
Eric Muhr