On Rounds with Jesus

Tag: gospel of Luke

  • Vital Signs

    Vital Signs

    Scripture reading: Mark 11:12-14, Luke 13:6-9

    You can listen to this devotional via Spotify or YouTube.

    Have you ever visited a clinic where a healthcare professional checks your temperature, pulse, blood pressure, or respiratory rate? Ever wondered why? These measurements are called vital signs, basic indicators that reveal how well your body’s essential systems are functioning. Think of them as the body’s quick status check: the warning lights on a car’s dashboard, or even your bank balance, if you catch my drift.

    In today’s reading from Mark, we encounter Jesus performing a quick “status check” of His own, on a fig tree. He was hungry and saw the tree from a distance. It had leaves. That was promising.
    When a fig tree has leaves, fruit should follow. Jesus knew this. It was expected. The vital signs pointed to a healthy, fruitful tree. Yet when He approached the tree, He found nothing. No fruit. Only leaves. How disappointing!

    Luke records a similar moment in the parable of the barren fig tree. The owner of the vineyard, God, comes expecting fruit from His tree: us. He expects it. And rightly so. Considering the immense investment of His only begotten Son, Jesus, the keeper of the vineyard, who tends, nourishes, and intercedes for us, how could He expect anything less?

    The owner says to the keeper of the vineyard, “Look, for three years I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree and find none. Cut it down; why should it use up the ground?”

    But the vinedresser pleads, “Sir, let it alone this year also, until I dig around it and fertilize it. And if it bears fruit, well. But if not, after that you can cut it down.”

    The question presses itself upon us: Are we bearing fruit?

    Fruition is the natural outcome of a branch’s connection to the vine (John 15:4–5). Fruit does not come from striving, but from abiding. The presence, or absence, of fruit is a vital sign that reveals the health of our relationship with God. Are we bearing fruit?

    Fruit is what the world experiences when it encounters us. It is the visible result of the inward work of the Holy Spirit (Galatians 5:22–23): love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Are we bearing fruit?

    Fruit is the quiet but irresistible light your good deeds give off, the savour of Christ your life exudes, causing others to glorify God (Matthew 5:16). Are we bearing fruit?

    Biologically, fruits exist to carry seeds to ensure continuation and multiplication, even under harsh conditions. Spiritually, fruit looks like witness and disciple-making: lives transformed and faith reproduced (Matthew 28:19–20). Are we bearing fruit?

    One remarkable thing about fig trees is that they advertise their fruit by producing leaves. Which leads to a sobering question: if we profess Christ, what evidence do we offer to support that claim?

    In today’s scripture, we find Jesus’ heart-warming plea when the owner of the vineyard asked for the unfruitful tree to be cut down: “Sir, let it alone this year … until I dig around it and fertilize it…”

    This is mercy. But it is mercy with an expectation. Jesus has allowed us the opportunity and mercy of the present to get things right: to abide closely, love Him more dearly and follow Him more nearly. Christ’s sacrifice must count for something!

    “That [we] may walk worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing Him, being fruitful in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God” (Colossians 1:10).

    Let us pray

    Father,
    We come before You with open hearts and unguarded lives.
    You see us as we truly are, beyond appearances, beyond leaves and language.
    You search for fruit.

    Lord, we confess that there are seasons when we look alive,
    yet inwardly we have grown barren.
    We have mastered the form, but neglected the flow.
    We have worn the leaves, but withheld the fruit.

    Thank You for Your patience.
    Thank You for the mercy that digs around our roots,
    for the grace that fertilizes tired soil,
    for the Son who intercedes when judgment feels deserved.

    Teach us to abide in You,
    To remain close to You, the true Vine.
    Let Your Spirit work deeply within us,
    producing love where there was indifference,
    peace where there was restlessness,
    and obedience where there was resistance.

    Make our lives a blessing others can taste.
    Let our words, our actions, and our presence
    quietly point the world back to You.
    May our lives proclaim Your glory
    without needing to announce it.

    Lord, while there is still time,
    Do Your work in us.
    Prune what must be removed.
    Strengthen what is weak.
    And let us be found fruitful,
    fully pleasing to You.

    We ask this in the name of Jesus,
    the faithful Keeper of the vineyard.

    Amen.

  • Ankwanoma

    Ankwanoma

    Scripture reading: Luke 7:11-17

    Death is such a painful thing. In this week’s scripture reading, we witness the heartbreaking scene of a burial procession, the only son of a widow being carried to his grave. You can feel the weight of it.

    Then came news of Daddy Lumba’s passing this weekend, the beloved Ghanaian highlife legend, who died on the morning of Saturday, July 26, after a short illness. The same morning, I was grappling with my own ‘personal’ loss. Life is so short. Indeed, how brief and fleeting it is.

    Jesus sees the mourning crowd and is deeply moved. He approaches, touches the coffin, and the dead young man rises.

    Death scorches. And there are things we may never understand, like why we lose someone despite doing everything possible to prevent it. Or why the ones who go are those we feel didn’t deserve it — too young, too kind, too full of promise. Yet even though death feels mysterious and final, it is not the end.

    It may feel like the end, stirring deep grief and sharp stabs of guilt, but as Jesus shows us today, it isn’t. There is more. There must be. Jesus Himself had to die, but He rose again. And He promises the same for all who believe:

    “I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.” (John 11:25)

    This life isn’t all there is.

    Still, we must make every moment count. Grieve, yes. Count the losses. But don’t stay down too long. Rise. Shake off the dust. Go after the next win. Because, like Charles Kwadwo Fosu (Daddy Lumba) once sang, a time will come when each of us will have to ‘fly’ away. Like the bird…

    Ankwanoma

    Mede me kra abɔ afɔreɛ o
    Mereyɛ nea mɛtumie
    Me mmerɛ so a, na mekorɔ o
    Ankwanoma, anoma ei, boo, na anoma ei
    Mm, Ankwanoma ei
    Me mmerɛ so a, na mekorɔ o

    Translation

    Lonely bird
    I have laid down my life as an offering,
    Doing all I can while I can.
    And when my time comes, I will go.
    Lonely bird, bird ei, dear birdie,
    Mm… lonely bird,
    When my time comes, I will go.

    Until then, we press on.

    “As long as it is day, we must do the works of Him who sent us. Night is coming, when no one can work.” (John 9:4)

    Let’s pray

    Lord Jesus,
    You are the Resurrection and the Life.
    You looked upon a grieving mother and brought her son back to life.
    You entered into our sorrow, and You overcame it.

    Today, we bring before You the ache of our losses —
    The people we’ve loved and had to let go,
    The dreams that died too soon,
    The questions we still carry in our hearts.

    Yet in the midst of pain, we declare our hope:
    Death is not the end.
    Because You rose, we too shall rise.
    Because You live, we can face tomorrow — with courage, with peace, with purpose.

    Lord, breathe new strength into our weary souls.
    Help us live with meaning —
    To love deeply, to give generously,
    To rise from our grief and walk boldly in our calling.

    Teach us to number our days and make each one count.
    Let our lives be offerings poured out in service to You.
    May we press on, even through the tears,
    Knowing that a time will come when we too will take flight —
    Not into emptiness, but into eternal joy with You.

    Until then, we will live fully,
    Love deeply,
    And walk faithfully in the light You’ve given us.

    Amen.

    Reflection

    Grief whispers that death is final, that everything beautiful is now buried and gone. But Jesus shows us otherwise. He steps into funeral processions and rewrites stories. He doesn’t just comfort the grieving, He conquers the grave.

    Loss hurts. It confuses. It breaks. But it does not win.

    Because Jesus rose, there is hope beyond the grave. Because He lives, we can face even the darkest days with the confidence that this — this pain, this ending, this goodbye — is not the end.