U-Turns

Scripture link : Luke 17:11-19 CEV – Ten Men with Leprosy -On his way to – Bible Gateway

If you have ever driven at the mercy of Siri’s directions, you know that driving instructions are not always, shall we say, ideal.   While driving a few years ago,  we missed a right turn, and had to battle Siri’s earnest pleas for the next two blocks to “make a U turn, make a U turn”.   The suggested ‘U-turn’ would have involved going over a boulevard, through a tree, and into oncoming traffic. Sometimes we need to turn around.   Sometimes it’s not the safest thing to do.

But sometimes it’s both. And it’s the way we need to go.

A group of lepers with a contagious skin disease had asked Jesus to heal them.   By telling them to go show themselves to the priests of that day, the men would demonstrate that they had no new skin lesions, and the ones they had were healing.   This means they could possibly rejoin their families and communities and work..and resume life.

They went, following Jesus’ word.

Then, one did a U-turn. Maybe he was looking down at his hands or feet and saw lesions disappearing. We aren’t sure what made him know that he was healed.

He stopped.

He made a U-turn and went back to Jesus.

He was a Samaritan, a citizen who would have no standing in Jewish society (but in a leper colony, everyone was pretty equal). Healed, he would resume his place as someone who was despised by the Jewish people. He risked losing the approval of the priests and took the time to go back and thank Jesus.

Jesus says he’s done the right thing.   This turning around, this stopping the journey and realizing the source of healing and good things to come, this thanksgiving are all marks of faith.

Sometimes we need to turn around to say thanks.

Sometimes it’s risky, maybe not the safest thing to do.

Sometimes it’s both.

This weekend, we celebrate Thanksgiving.   We look around, we are grateful, we think how we can help Thanksgiving be a reality for all who need food, shelter, hope and healing.

I’d encourage us to take a moment to look back.  To ask ourselves some questions:

What things on our journeys do we still need to thank God for?   What has God done in the past day, week, year that we’ve taken for granted?  

Where would it be risky to stop and openly give thanks and credit to God for something that’s happened in our life ?

Dear God, Thank you for the ways you work in my life.  Maybe I don’t always understand what You’re doing until I’m in the middle of a miracle that You’re doing, but I know and trust that you are always working. When I do understand, when I do see what You’re doing, well, in that moment, teach me to stop and go back and say thank you.  Then, may we go on together. In Jesus name, Amen. 

Photo and content © Susan Kerr 2024.   May not be reproduced or circulated without permission of the author.

Faith in the fog

Bible reading:  Psalm 119:105  Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.

There’s beauty in autumn morning fog.  Not so much when I’m driving, perhaps, but if I’m walking in it, there is a surrounding freshness to the air, a glimpse of colour on the nearby tree, cool grey seeming to suddenly materialize into the precision of a droplet on a long blade of grass.

Look down, I can see my feet.  Look up, I can see a step or two ahead.  The further ahead I try to look, the more my surroundings resemble a wet on wet watercolour painting blending and shifting. Uncertain.

In some of these autumn mornings, just before the fog burns off, there are a few moments when the fog around glows gold.  It’s a bit harder to see ahead, but the moment makes me stop in wonder.  Then, trails of mist dissipate and we’re into the day. We  can see more clearly, and further ahead.

But in those moments when all I can see is a few steps ahead, I think about faith in the fog.

Faith is one of those things that’s hard to walk in when things aren’t certain.   I’ve thought sometimes that faith is easier when things are clearly good or clearly difficult; it’s the nebulous times that are harder to say, “Ok God, I can see You working in this moment, in my life’. It’s the waiting for test results, the holding out for a definite answer, the silent space in a conversation when truth and love have been spoken and the reaction is still coming.

This week’s scripture is a short one in the middle of a really long psalm.   The whole psalm talks about ways we see God’s word and follow, but this verse hits me every time.  God doesn’t say “I have lit up the entire way for you from start to finish” or “I’m going to keep you totally in the dark and alone”.   God’s presence is promised, and so is guidance, but it’s often not as clear as we’d like.

It might just be enough for the next step. Might be enough to see our toes inching forward. But even that limited vision of what comes next is a gift for our faith. In that moment, the biggest thanks that we can offer GOd is to say, ‘Ok, that’s enough for now, thanks’. The way we go further into God’s plans is to take the inching forward step with what we can see of God’s plan and trust for the next step until the fog burns off.

Psalm 119:105 says God’s word is a lamp to our feet and a light to our path.   Step by step.  Moment by moment.  Breathing in the immediate presence of God and watching as, through no effort of our own, the way forward becomes clear enough for the next step.

We don’t travel through fog by standing still.   We don’t travel in faith by saying “I’m just going to stand here and do nothing, believe nothing”.  We go, humbly looking as far as God guides, praying for the next step, knowing that for this moment, that will be enough until the fog clears.

Here’s a prayer for this week.   I hope it helps when you are in foggy faith times.

Dear God, I can’t always see your plan for me, but You’ve given me the next step, even if it’s a tiny one.   Give me the courage to take it, and to walk with You through certain and uncertain times.  Thank you for always being with me. Amen

May you see the beauty in your next steps, and my God guide you always.

Peace in Christ,

Susan

Photo and content © Susan Kerr 2024.   May not be reproduced or circulated without permission of the author.