Ordinary Folks

“As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them;” (Luke‬ ‭24:15‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

Some sermons keep us chewing long after Sunday’s done. My husband’s Easter message yesterday has proved to be one such sermon. He spoke on the Emmaus experience and said “The miracle is that Jesus still walks with ordinary, insignificant people.”

Jesus didn’t appear to the the Big Three (Peter, James and John) at the empty tomb. He appeared to women. He didn’t blow into a roadside conversation of teachers and high priests or even Pontius Pilate and Herod. He walked quietly alongside Cleopas (a follower not mentioned before or after this singular experience) and some other unnamed believer. It seems He spent hours with them along the seven mile journey to Emmaus.

Who were they and why were they going to Emmaus? It doesn’t matter. It’s not important to the story. It’s our interaction with Christ that makes our lives matter, that makes them take on meaning. The intertwining of our story with His story, the gospel story, is the singular intersection that marks significance.

How? Here’s where it gets miraculous.

The moment the conversation turned to Jesus, He was there.

“For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.”” (Matthew‬ ‭18:20‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

We can bring Jesus into any and every conversation if we are willing to redirect. When we turn our hearts toward Jesus, He shows up. The question is, why don’t we invite Him in more often?

Any ordinary route can become a holy route when invite Christ into our journey.

The Son of God wants to walk with us along the roads of life and partake in our every day conversations. We are the limiting factors. He doesn’t go where He’s not invited.

What can we say and do to invite Him in today?

Lord, we see how You long to spend time with ordinary folks. We are those plain Jane people. May we be quick to invite You in today. Reign in our hearts, our thoughts and our journeys today. Be welcome and present in all of our circumstances. We want to go where Your going and walk alongside You every step of the way. Amen.

Grief will freeze us completely if we allow it. We can get stuck in sorrow and lose our way altogether. We have to move forward in grief or it won’t resolve.

“As she wept, she bent over to look in the tomb.” (John 20:11b NIV)

Even in her grief, Mary is still looking for Jesus. She is searching Him out through tear-filled eyes. She doesn’t yet know that He is risen, but she is there, at dawn, visiting the last place He lay. She is determined to connect with Him one more time.

We must seek Jesus in our grief. We must use whatever strength and determination we still possess to bring our sorrow to Him. I can only imagine what energy Mary must have mustered to pull herself from her bed of sorrow and manage the poorly lit path to the tomb.

When we seek Jesus in our grief, He meets us amidst it.

“He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?” (John 20:15 NIV)

Jesus cares about the wounds that inflict us. Our hurts hurt Him, too. He doesn’t brush Mary off or blithely press the solution into her palm. He hears her tear-filled story first.

And then He says her name.

“Jesus said to her, “Mary.” And she turned to Him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” which means ‘Teacher.’” (John 20:16 NIV)

With one spoken word, Jesus turns our grieving moments into teaching moments. He takes us from great sorrow to greater understanding, and ultimately, greatest joy.

Beloved, if you are still grieving; keep seeking.

If you have the Savior’s ear; keep telling your story. He’s listening.

And when He finally says your name, let His word heal your heart completely.

Lord, may we seek You in our sorrow. Even on Easter morning, we might be reaching out to You through tears. We might be stumbling along the pre-dawn path still-drunk with sorrow. Please meet us. Hear our stories. Heal us with a single word. And let us hear and see just how good You are. Amen.

“Then they went home and prepared spices and perfumes. But they rested on the Sabbath in obedience to the commandment.” (Luke 23:56 NIV)

“There is no grief as deep as grief that does not speak.” (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

My heart always goes out to the Marys when I think about Black Saturday. These faithful women were forced to sit still in their sorrow while their minds and fingers ached to find ways to work out their pain. They had twenty-four full hours to grieve and no distractions to keep them from it.

Was it necessary? Wasn’t Jesus about to erupt from the grave and set all things right? Why did He wait three days, and one of them a Sabbath; a day of physical stillness and quiet reflection?

Perhaps grief is good for the soul? Maybe it’s helpful, even healthy to take the time to consider what we’ve lost and what it was worth to us? It’s possible that we can’t quite get to Easter without first addressing the aching places in our heart.

Black Saturdays must serve some purpose, or God wouldn’t allow for them. Perhaps it is only in the inky depth of Saturday that the marvelous light of Easter morning shines brighter? Beloved, one day joy will eclipse all grief, joy so pure and brilliant that we’ll barely be able to set eyes on it.

“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.” (1 Peter‬ ‭2:9‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

Lord, sustain us through black Saturdays. May the darkness not overtake us, but instead serve to remind us of the glorious light still on it’s way. Sunday is coming. No tears, no burdens, no sorrows, no loss. Lord, we live for that day, the day when our hearts are healed and we hurt no more. May today’s lack of light only stoke our longing for the day when Your light will chase away the darkness forever. Amen.

“All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away.” Isaiah‬ ‭64:6‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

I read it in Dr. Wood’s book early this morning, “Little do I realize such sin perverts my personality so much that I am no longer of discerning or desiring good.”

If we are designed to live as a pure, white piece of paper; sin has crumpled us up. Sin perverts our personality. Sin steals us away from the Garden, from walking and talking with God. Sin wads us up tight and rearranges our priorities, sin makes self loudest and largest.

But Jesus undoes this. He slowly, skillfully unwads the paper. He smooths out the folds and steams out the hard creases. He gently, patiently reminds us of who we are meant to be, who we’re designed to be.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” (2 Corinthians‬ ‭5:17‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

More than twenty years ago, this was my verse. So much so that I had it scripted in crystallized sugar on my graduation cake. I believed it was true. I had rededicated my life to Christ my junior year and my world seemed new, I seemed new.

Now I look back and I can see how 2 Corinthians 5:17 is a promise still unfurling. Two decades later, He is still making me new. He is slowly, faithfully working the stubborn creases of sin out of my heart and life, remaking me into the child of God I was always meant to be.

Sin twists us and only Jesus can untwist us. Only He can return us to original design. And original design is far more satisfying that sin. Living according to original design is perfection; heaven. Original design is Christlike.

For some reason I keep thinking of the Velveteen Rabbit and how loving made him shabby, but it was also what made him real. I think of Christ and how on this day, Good Friday, loving made Him shabby. Loving us fully meant fully bearing our transgressions, meant allowing the weight of our sin to twist Him all ugly on the cross for a time. Loving us meant going through hell and back on our behalf. Our Jesus was crumpled and torn for us. And somehow He gave thanks in it. He took the bread, gave thanks and broke it. Then He went to cross and broke for us. And somehow, it made Him beautiful again.

If we can give thanks in the midst of our uncrumpling, perhaps we’ll be made real, and maybe even beautiful, too?

“He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”” (Revelation‬ ‭21:5‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

Lord, thank You for uncrumpling us. Thank You for working endlessly to return us to original design. Lord, give us the guts to give thanks in the midst of our ugly. We believe You can make it beautiful. We believe You are redeeming all things. Amen.