I think that so often, like the men on the Road to Emmaus, we can carry on life's journey somewhat oblivious to whom we are walking our journey with. This has been particularly evident to me, half way through a church internship, where God is the point and the purpose of my year's work, where what I do is (meant to) give him glory and help further his kingdom - loving God, loving my neighbour, making disciples, being blessed to be a blessing (I'm sure you know the drill).
And yet, in the middle of 'living for God', we can so easily switch our attention from whom we are serving to what we are doing: not to some works-based salvation, (which is a more obvious pitfall to avoid), but instead into a mindset in which we miss the point of why we run kids work, stack chairs, learn theology, live a simple life, proclaim the gospel and the like.
It has been said (somewhat cheesily, but nonetheless truly) that other religions are do, but Christianity is done - essentially that we, forgiven through Christ's sacrifice on the Cross, are no longer required to do anything to merit God's favour, but in Jesus the work is already done. This is not to say that there are no good works to be done (Ephesians 1 puts paid to this, as does all of James), but that they should flow primarily out of a sense of thanksgiving and thankfulness. At a recent conference in Leicestershire, I was helpfully reminded that without thanksgiving, our work for the church and for God becomes a labour, a burden to be borne, and utterly devoid of any joy. As one of my church leaders puts it, nothing sucks out our joy like duty or obligation. I find this to be manifestly true in my own life; I have signed up for a year of service, but if this service is rooted primarly in feeling that I have to earn God's love by 'doing things', then my work will not have the 'mark' of God's love on it. As 1 Corinthians 13 puts it so beautifully:
"If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing."
We, as Christians, have the unmerited and utterly bemusing grace of having the Holy Spirit dwelling within us (or "among us", as per some translations). In Galatians 5, we see how the Spirit leads us and how we live by it. We are indwelt by God himself, which is a bizarre and ever-so-slightly-unnerving thought. We also have "Christ in [us], the hope of glory" (Colossians 1:27). Like the men on the road, we have God right next to us, living amongst us, not more than an arm's-length away - as Paul tells the Athenians in Acts 17:27-28.
So often though, we forget this amazing fact. God feels far off, distant, slying ticking or crossing off boxes on our 'approval' sheet, waiting for the Day of Judgement so he can give us a piece of his mind. But nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, we will give account for our actions, and yes, we should serve the Lord with all we have and this gladdens his heart. But above all of this, one simple thing remains - God loves us. The theme of God's love permeates the Bible like a dye running through a piece of cloth, saturating it with a brilliant hue. God's love is the initiator to all salvation, all good things, and all grace. It's not the wimpy, melancholic, 'swoon at a bunch of flowers' love that Keats loves moaning about, but the daring, bold, courageous and all-encompassing love of a father who runs into a burning house to save his child's life at the cost of his own. John 3:16 may be over-quoted ad nauseum, but that's because it's so very true!
"For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, that whosoever believes in him should not perish, but have eternal life".
We have God's spirit within us. We have Jesus working powerfully in us. We have God showing his compassion and love for us. We are not alone.
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