I was walking outside the other day. I was traveling in a certain direction, going somewhere, placing one foot in front of the other. I could feel the sunshine and the breeze but didn’t give much thought to them. I was going into a building anyway, so the experience would soon be over. Then I stopped and wondered why I was wearing shoes.
I tried to think about how many trees I pass in twenty minutes driving down the parkway at seventy miles-per-hour. How many blades of grass? How many hurting people do I pass every single day, while I’m sitting obliviously in my little black box with wheels?
I live in a room, in a house, in a neighborhood. I don’t know my neighbors. My church meets twenty miles away. I connect to the outside world through instant messenger, cell phone, email, web stream.
I live a buffered life. Perhaps, in my desire to be civilized, I have become drunk with comfort. What kind of cloud has been pulled over my eyes?
My prayer is that I would see with eyes of love and act in faith. And, do you know what? I have permission. I will be the fragrance of Christ among the living and the dying. The command of Jesus, “Love one another as I have loved you,” was not given in vain. The Spirit has been poured out. Jesus reigns, and I am his brother, friend and co-heir.
God is good. His light shines in the darkness. The darkness will never overcome it.
“But since we belong to the day, let us be sober, having put on the breastplate of faith and love, and for a helmet the hope of salvation.”–1 Thessalonians 5:8