I had the opportunity to share some thoughts at a couple of recent Chapel services, once in my capacity as the band director introducing the worship songs, and once as a lay-person chosen for the week to share for a few minutes in a “whatever God puts on your heart” style.
Maybe I have a problem with food, but I thought about potlucks–a familiar theme in church settings.
Our praise team has been arranging pot luck dinners before practice for the last two months or so, giving everyone the chance to enjoy a meal together before we work out the details of the songs for Sunday’s service.
One Sunday, we were going to start the service with the old praise chorus, “Trading My Sorrows.” Yes, the one with the most repetitive chorus of all time:
Yes, Lord! Yes, Lord! Yes, yes, Lo-ord!
Yes, Lord! Yes, Lord! Yes, yes, Lo-ord!
Yes, Lord! Yes, Lord! Yes, yes, Lord! Amen!
I thought about how we come to potlucks, and how we draw near to God. As with all potlucks, there’s a little sense of pressure or propriety that drives me to bring something. After all, that’s how it works. Everybody brings a little to share–something good or necessary–and everyone is satisfied with the variety of wonderful contributions. It feels wrong to fill up your plate if you didn’t bring anything.
That isn’t how we approach Christ.
When we come to church, or when we go to God, sometimes I feel like I’ve got to show up with my best offering, something I’ve worked hard on as a gift, something I can be proud of. After all, it would be wrong to show up empty-handed, nothing to offer, expecting only to receive.
Yet that is the invitation God has made to all of humanity.
If I’m honest with myself (and with what Scripture says about me), I know that all I’m bringing to Christ is a bunch of baggage–burdens, sins, failures, weakness, frustration, and all sorts of other problems.
There’s this wonderful theological concept called “the Glorious Exchange.” We bring all our junk to Christ, and we get all His best.
He who knew no sin became sin for us, so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him (2 Cor 5:21).
He was pierced for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities. The punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His scourging we are healed (Isa 53:5).
For Christ also died for sins, once for all, the just for the unjust, so that he might bring us to God, having been put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the Spirit (1 Pet 3:18).
There’s a trade that takes place, and we get the better end of the deal.
We are coming to a feast, not a potluck.
Our part is to say, “Yes, Lord!” and show up.
The Kingdom of God isn’t a situation of obligation where each of us makes our finest dish and brings it as the cost of entry. It’s a feast laid out by the generosity of the Father, a lavish display of bounty available to all who respond to the invitation.
When I think about God, I get caught up sometimes thinking that I’ve got to earn His kindness by doing enough to deserve His provision… but that’s not the Gospel.
When we come to the feast of God, we come broken, empty, without merit, without right or demand. We come to behold that glorious exchange in action.
Where I bring all my weakness, He gives strength that is more than sufficient (Php 4:13, 2 Cor 12:9-10)
Where I have lack, He has abundance (Php 4:19, Rom 8:32).
When I am anxious, He gives peace (Isa 26:3, 1Pet 5:7).
For my ashes, He gives beauty. In my sorrow, He gives joy. (Isa 61:3)
He has put out a feast of blessings for those who simply respond to the call, and He is ready to dish out seconds, thirds, and then some to those who ask in faith.
Now we have received not the spirit that is in the world, but the Spirit who is from God, so that we may know the things freely given to us by God. -2nd Corinthians 2:12
When I shared these thoughts as a lay-person, we were about to sing a beautiful song called Spirit of the Living God.
We are meant to know all that God has given us through Christ. When I get this idea of God’s invitation and provision, it changes things for me. It’s not about working up some kind of fervor or working into some kind of favor. I’m not meant to work myself into the ground to show my dedication and prove I deserve some kindness from the angry God looking down at my pathetic plea.
When I think of God’s arms extended in welcome, and the Glorious Exchange, it changes what I’m looking for, what I think I need, what I want, what I even see as available to me. When His Spirit works in me to know what exactly He has done, what all He has taken off my shoulders and out of my hands, and what He has given to replace the trash and mess I didn’t even want anymore, then that makes anything seem possible.