Christ is the orchardist of my life by bringing peace with God to me. Christ’s love is proven to me year after year by reconciling what I was with what God knew I could be. In response I commit daily to ‘shout out’ that love to all I meet.
We have great reason to sing with joy, because our God is available. Incomprehensible and vast, much like the Andes Mountains. And yet here we read that we may enter the presence of God who is available to us. We may offer our praise, should we choose to enter. God is, was and will forever be standing there, our strong and dependable rock.
Trust and faith. The Israelites struggled with this a lot, and this is yet another account where we see the people of Israel failing to trust God.
It becomes so easy to think about change with negativity, sadness and fear. However, I have to stop myself. Tomorrow, and the change it brings, is a day not to worry about. The past has shaped each one of us to be the beautiful beings we are.
God’s words to the three disciples were not complex teachings about life and faith. It is easy to get into life’s rhythm and forget about the simplicity of faith, of listening to both God and to nature.
Paul’s appeal to Abraham reminds me that we find God’s righteousness through worship of God, in which we recount the narratives of God’s mercy, repent of our failure to enact God’s mercy towards others, giving thanks for the forgiveness and blessings we receive and praising God for God’s goodness and the goodness of God’s creation. We go into the world inspired to honor God and Christ by enacting their righteousness through acts of mercy and offering the blessings we have received to others.
Though I was met with continuous misfortune throughout the day, there was always a hand. Whether it was a hand pushing a gurney down hospital corridors or umpteen hands lifting me from the ground, I always had a hand.
But the most precious blessing anyone can receive or give is always love—the kind of love that kneels down before another and offers something of value with open hands.
During Lent, we join with God and with each other, asking, “What have we witnessed?” And we see clearly without a nightlight that God has been with us, even in the shade.
My comfortable lifestyle (and lack of discipline, to be honest) does not grant me a familiarity with this kind of hunger. But there’s another type of hunger I know very well. A hunger for love, vocational fulfillment, the safety of my family, financial security. First world hunger, the kind that goes with privilege. It’s a hunger of deficit – the space between what is, and what we want.