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A Counterculture of Christian Commitment

A Counterculture of Christian Commitment, by Jeremy Beck

 

DIAGNOSING A PROBLEM

My title is taken partly from a recent Harvard commencement address by Pete Davis.  His title was “A Counterculture of Commitment.”  I Initially titled my writing “A Counterculture of Church Commitment” but decided against it for reasons that will be obvious when you finish reading.

There are all types of battles raging within Christianity and I don’t wish to add to any.  Some are new and many are very old: Calvinism vs. Arminianism – Covenants vs. Dispensations – Systematic Theology vs. Biblical Theology – City vs. Rural – Mega Church vs. Small Church.

I pastor a small congregation in a small town and there seems to be a growing problem that’s easy to identity when you’re in a smaller setting.  It’s not impossible to recognize this problem in a larger setting, but I do think it’s more difficult to diagnose.

Just to preface, this is not an attack on large churches.  I love large churches.  I wish my small church was a large church.  I wholeheartedly wish that more people heard the gospel week after week and I selfishly wish that more of those people worshiped at our church.  Most of my favorite preachers come from large churches.  My Mother works for a very solid mega church in Tennessee.  Not to mention there is much to be said for large churches pooling resources to fund and accomplish what could never be done through small, individual congregations with limited resources and people.  I love big churches.

So, what’s the problem? What’s the issue that smaller churches can see more clearly than mega churches?  Well, it’s not that Christians aren’t as committed as they should be – because everyone already knows that, and every statistic for the last twenty years bears witness to that already.  And really, I’m not as committed as I should be to Christ and probably neither are you.  So, that’s nothing new.

 

THE ILLUSION OF GREATNESS THROUGH PROXIMITY

So, what’s the problem then?  What disease is more difficult to diagnose in large, “successful” churches than in smaller, “less successful” settings?  I worry that many people are skillfully hiding behind a veneer of their local church’s greatness.  Sure, you can do this in a smaller church as well, but it’s much more difficult.  So many people are hiding their lack of desire, lack of growth, and lack of fruit behind a façade of mega church growth and greatness.

In an article by Stephen Whitmer, he writes, “As a small church in a small place, you won’t have access to the illusion of greatness through proximity.”  When I read this line a few months back, I remember thinking that it was the most profound sentence I had read all year.  I shared it with Heath and he wrote a wonderful little post about it in June.

The illusion of greatness through proximity.  Let that sink in.  Look around and ask how much of this Christian fluff that we see is nothing more than people wanting to look great and feel great about themselves through connectedness to a large, well-oiled-machine of a church.  It’s profound because it’s true.  If going to a small church doesn’t allow you to have the illusion of greatness through proximity (because usually nothing in a small church appears that great), it must mean that if you go to a large church that having an illusion of greatness is at least a possibility.  Especially, if you attend a mega church in a mega city.

I would go so far as to say that many people attend churches that serve Christ faithfully, so they themselves don’t have to. Seeing your church grow and thrive.  Feeling that it’s “relevant” and engaging can at least, in many situations, make you feel better about your own lack of effort, desire, and results– “Hey, at least my church is wonderful and growing. I may not be growing. But my church is growing so fast that at least I know I’m a part of something God is doing.”  Growing through osmosis, so to speak.

“My church runs a food shelter and helps with homeless people.  My church has a fund for the less fortunate.  My church is involved with kids and teenagers and reaching them for Christ.  My church has a 24-hour prayer line.  My church takes meals to shut-ins and visits the sick.  My church has a program for evangelism.  My church has a program for fellowship and hospitality.  My church has a discipleship ministry.  My church is associated with foreign missionaries…” Take almost any of those statements, and I’m afraid that many people could add “…so I don’t have to” at the end.

“My church runs a food shelter, so I don’t have to. My church disciples people, so I don’t have to.” You get the idea.

This isn’t an indictment on large churches.  The problem exists just as much (or more) in small churches. Apathy in small churches is rampant – but it’s easily seen and diagnosed, and often challenged.  People are just as uncommitted, but they’re forced in some ways to admit, “I’m not doing anything towards discipleship…and I know it.” Or they’re at least forced to internally acknowledge the fact that they don’t help with foreign missions because they’re not really all that interested in foreign missions. It’s a problem, but it’s a problem that’s easily recognized.

 

WHAT PROGRAMS DOES YOUR CHURCH HAVE?

It’s a scary thing when someone asks me, “What program does your church have for ________________?”  Because the answer to almost all those types of questions is “We don’t really have any.”  We have many people in our church who serve.  We have many that are passionate about serving Christ.  But we have very few structured programs.

  • They help in serving food every week to the homeless and needy.
  • They take up food and supplies for the Way of The Cross soup kitchen.
  • They deliver MANNA meals.
  • They have served with the Gideons passing out Bibles.
  • They serve on Young Life boards and help raise money for kids to go to camp.
  • They serve on boards for orphanages in Mexico.
  • They serve with Habitat for Humanity
  • They take up love offering and gifts for families in need or going through tough times.
  • They offer meals when a family is sick or hurting.
  • They’ve paid large sums of money out of their own pocket to help pay off other church members’ school loan debt.
  • They personally support foreign missionaries both prayerfully and financially.
  • They write articles for the local Christian magazine.
  • They’ve personally hosted bible studies for inner city children at their business office and paid for the meals out of their own pocket.
  • They help teach kids during the summer who are suffering with addiction.

But programs? We have very few.  We host Young Life for Etowah County because several years ago they needed a place – I guess that’s a program – and we love them being here.  We have a Women’s Prayer Breakfast – I guess that’s a program.  But we don’t have very many committees and almost no programs.

So many times I’ve heard, “Well, I really like the teaching. I’m really growing in the gospel and everyone is super nice and loving and has welcomed me, but…”  I always know that the “but” means, well, there just isn’t much going on here.  Sure, I’m seeing the glory of Christ, I’m growing in grace and I feel loved, but…No programs.  Not a lot for kids.  I get it.

Sometimes this “but” means they want to do more.  But, that’s what’s so confusing to me after ministering for the past 9 years in this setting.  What is keeping them from serving?  When someone asks me, “What do you have in place for Evangelism?”  I always explain to them what I have personally done and people that I am currently discipling.  Then I ask, “What do you have in place for evangelism?”  Usually I hear crickets.

If you want to serve, there are plenty of opportunities.  Everywhere!  But it’s hard to hide here.  People in our church know who does the work and who doesn’t.  They know who attends frequently and who only shows up once a month giving recommendations.  They separate those who actually do the real ministry from those who only recommend that others do ministry.

I preach and teach and try and disciple a group of men, that’s pretty much my life.  In the scheme of things, their work (the people) totally dwarfs mine (the pastor) and they don’t even get paid.  Not to mention that so many tell me of how they took some of the sermon and relayed it to someone at their office who was struggling or needed encouragement.  They are true ministers of the Word, yes. But we don’t have any real programs, not really any to speak of.

But the only thing scarier than when I’m asked about programs is when I ask a person what they’re passionate about.

 

PASSION AND PROGRAMS

They ask me, “What can I do to get involved at your church? Are there any programs?”

Then I say something like, “We don’t have a lot of set programs. But if you could do anything, anything that excites you, to serve Christ, what would you do?” Then I offer, “Whatever that thing is, I will try to help you. I will do my best to link you up with people and support you in any way I can.  Just tell me what you want to do.”

Then they look back at me like they’re trying to figure out the square root of 47. They usually respond with something about a program.  It’s as if they want permission to serve.  They’re worried they might mess up, so it’s less scary if they just join into a program – even if they have no passion about the program.  Or better yet, they might just wait, browse a little longer.  Wait for the perfect opportunity.

I have even talked with men who wanted to work for a salary at the church and said, “If I could pay you to serve Jesus and you could do whatever you desire, what would you do?”

They usually respond with the same square root stare.

 

REBELLING AGAINST BROWSING MODE

I want people to rebel against this.  I don’t want people to rebel against big churches or small churches.  I want people to rebel against this false notion that because your church is big and successful that it’s okay for you not to have any idea how God wants you to serve Him or the people around you.  Rebel against having an illusion of greatness through proximity to a church, whether large or small.

In his recent Harvard commencement speech, Pete Davis said,

“I am sure many of you have had this experience — it’s late at night and you start browsing Netflix looking for something to watch. You scroll through different titles — you even read a few reviews — but you just can’t commit to watching any given movie. Suddenly it’s been 30 minutes and you’re still stuck in Infinite Browsing Mode, so you just give up — you’re too tired to watch anything now, so you cut your losses and fall asleep.  I have come to believe that this is the defining characteristic of our generation: Keeping our options open. There’s this philosopher, Zygmunt Bauman — he called it “liquid modernity” — we never want to commit to any one identity or place or community… so we remain, like liquid, in a state that can adapt to fit any future shape.”

I’m afraid that while large churches have done a tremendous amount of good, their (the church’s) successes are being felt too personally by people who are still in an “infinite browsing mode” as Christians.  This illusion of success through proximity has allowed massive amounts of people to feel they’re successful and flourishing as Christians despite lacking real personal fruit or growth.

In one sense, many American churches have been too successful.  The church looks so healthy and is growing so fast that many of its members believe they’re just as healthy themselves as individuals.  It’s like they’ve joined Tom Brady’s Patriots as bench warmers and then start believing they’re Hall of Famers because they won a Super Bowl ring.

We all know commitment is lacking in most churches and in most people.  As I said earlier, small churches are probably guiltier of apathy and a lack of vision than large churches.  But we’re forced to constantly deal with it in ourselves and in our fellow members.  My passion for evangelism is weak.  I’m not doing a good job with explaining our vision.  My prayer life is struggling.  I know all these things.  It’s right in front of my face – when you have less than fifty people you can’t hide it.  I must admit it and pray for help.  There are no illusions of greatness through proximity in small churches.  But maybe there shouldn’t be illusions of failure through proximity either, and that’s important.  You aren’t a failure as a Christian just because your personal ministry doesn’t have a committee and a Facebook page.

That is why my title is “A Counterculture of Christian Commitment” and not “A Counterculture of Church Commitment.” Because it really isn’t about church size, whether big or small.  It’s about Christians in Browsing Mode.  It isn’t about what your church is committed to – the church is just made up of people – it’s about what you are committed to.  Your passions and desires drive the local church’s activities, not the other way around.

Your desires and passions will ebb and flow.  One day you’ll feel like you’re going to change the world. The next day you’ll want to quit everything and never speak to another person.  This is normal.  But God can lead you where he wants you.  Follow your God-given desires and let him steer you.  But pick something.  Start doing something.  There are a million needs.

See what your biggest hurts are. Maybe that would be a good place to start your ministry to help others.

Do, by all means, serve in your mega church programs.  That is a wonderful thing – please don’t misunderstand me.  But don’t let that hide your lack of passion.  And don’t say you are passionate about evangelism just because your church baptized twenty people last Sunday.

Don’t get an illusion of greatness through proximity to a church.  Get your greatness from being in proximity to Christ.  Connect to the one true vine apart from whom you can do nothing.  The only truly great one who was despised and rejected and was seen as an earthly failure, so we could be accepted by God.

It’s scary to depend on Christ for your ministry.  It’s a fearful thing to depend on God and not on man.  But we know that he is working in us and will produce fruit when we depend on Him.  By His power, we need not be afraid.  As Pete Davis concluded in his address,

“That is why, in this age of liquid modernity, we should rebel and join up with a counterculture of commitment consisting of solid people. In this age of Infinite Browsing Mode, we should pick a…movie and watch it all the way through…before we fall asleep.”

Commit.  Quit browsing.  Force yourself to start serving.  Be counter-cultural and actually commit to something.  Be counter-cultural and quit hiding behind someone else’s ministry.

So, your ministry won’t have a committee.  Who cares?  So, it won’t have a website or 10,000 followers on Twitter.  Who cares?  Maybe your ministry will even be messy and have problems and struggles.  So what?  Our entire faith is built upon grace, not works.  We serve a God who says it’s not about how good you are, you don’t have to have a perfect ministry, you weren’t saved because of your goodness – you were SAVED BY GRACE!

 

PERMISSION TO FAIL

Do you still need permission to fail?  As writer and writing coach Tom Spanbauer so wonderfully reminds us,

“Most of all, at the beginning, as a teacher, I must give the permission to do it wrong. In the wrongness there is a treasure. If a wrong note is played long enough, the dissonance can become the speech of angels.”

You’ve officially been given permission to fail.  Not by me but by Him.  By His grace.

Don’t let yourself be fooled into believing you’re committed when you’re really only browsing.  Watch the movie.

_______________________

-Jeremy Beck serves as pastor of Covenant Fellowship in Rainbow City, Alabama. His sermons are available here at Recognizing Christ.

The Illusion of Greatness through Proximity

Stephen Witmer on small churches:

Your weakness cannot hide behind an excellent band, or a beautiful new building, or the excitement generated by packing 1,000+ people into a big room. It can’t hide behind a large budget surplus, or big cash reserves. And if your small, unimpressive church is plopped down in the middle of an equally small, unimpressive town, you will also be denied the pleasures of what E.B. White once called (in his 1949 essay “Here Is New York”) “the excitement of participation” — the sense of belonging to something “unique, cosmopolitan, mighty, and unparalleled.” As a small church in a small place, you won’t have access to the illusion of greatness through proximity. Your church’s weakness will be evident to you and to all – and this is God’s gift.

One principle often spoken of about Billy Graham’s evangelistic campaigns was, “a crowd draws a crowd.” This is one of the reasons ‘flash mobs’ became popular a while back. Everything looks more impressive when a big crowd is involved. But the key word here is “looks.” It’s an illusion. It’s an illusion of greatness.

E.B. White’s idea of the “excitement of participation” rings true as well. I was a part of a worship service last week with several thousand people. At one point in the service we sang, In Christ Alone. I’ve sung that song with 40 people, with 800 people and with 4,000 people. It’s always the same song. But it feels different when you’re with 4,000 people than when you’re with 40. Remember that much of this is illusory.

Small churches can’t hide their weaknesses as easily as big churches. But they both have weaknesses. In a small church, you’re stripped of all illusion and get straight reality. Most of us can’t sing well enough to join the opera. And our sins are ever before us. Sometimes it’s good to see reality. To make a joyful noise that’s off-key instead mumbling the words and hoping the masses will drown out my voice so that God won’t notice how awful I sound. To look the preacher square in the eye instead of staring at the big screen and ducking down and hiding behind the 500 people sitting in front of me. To be forced to shake everyone’s hands instead of being able to sneak out without shaking anyone’s.

A Rationale for Their Misery

Formerly, if men were miserable, they went to church so as to find a rationale for their misery; they did not expect to be happy — this idea is Greek, not Christian or Jewish.

– Philip Rieff, The Triumph of the Therapeutic, p. 38

I heard this quote paraphrased by Carl Trueman in an interview recently. It resonated. Why? Because of my own testimony of how Christ called me to himself. It’s good to remind yourself of the mighty works of God in your life. So indulge me.

I wasn’t raised in a Christian home. My parents were divorced in my early teens. My dad and I were basically two bachelors trying to figure it out. I wasn’t ready for college life at 18. I failed big-time. And it was my own fault.

After a year of partying, skipping class, and getting put on academic probation, I came home with my tail tucked between the limbs I walk on. But, in God’s providence, I came home to find that my grandmother was ill. I came home in May. She died the following October. She asked me to come to her house and visit as often as I could that summer. She knew she wasn’t going to be around much longer.

I never heard my grandmother talk about Jesus. But I knew she went to church. I knew she read the Bible. She told me at some point that summer that she read the Bible through each year. She had a Bible reading plan. She was weak. Would I please read to her? So I did. Several times. It got my attention.

I didn’t know anything about the Bible. But now I wanted to read it for myself. So I started reading it on my own. What else could I do but begin at the beginning?

Again, I knew nothing about the Bible. But I remembered that when I was a child, my family took a trip to Natural Bridge, Virginia. While we were there, we went to their ‘creation’ show. They still do this. You can find it on YouTube. It involved a man and a woman playing the parts of Adam and Eve, with someone reading Genesis 1-3 over the public address system.

I remembered that, hearing those early chapters of Genesis, I asked my dad, “Why didn’t they know they were naked?” He didn’t know how to answer the question. He just shrugged and it was never spoken of again. [Note for parents: no how to explain sin to your child].

Fast-forward to something like twelve years later. I’m reading Genesis 3: “their eyes were opened, and they knew that they were naked.”

It was like sticking a paper clip into an outlet. Electricity. I understood it instantly. The Bible was talking about shame. For the first time, Adam and Eve experienced shame. And reading that, it was the first time I truly experienced shame. It gave a name to all that I had been feeling but couldn’t put into words or apply to my heart. It changed me on the spot. I was in church the next Sunday.

I had a lot of baggage from my parents’ divorce that I didn’t know how to deal with. I had a lot of pain from some things that happened in high school. And I was partying my way through those things. I was numbing myself. I was acting like an idiot. Only I didn’t know this. Reading that Adam and Eve realized that they were naked and hid themselves from God made me realize that I was naked and hiding myself too. I was looking for a covering for my shame.

Genesis 3 gave me a rationale for my misery. It cut open my chest and exposed the guilt and shame of my heart. Did joy come from this? Yes. Because it led me to Christ, who is my joy. But I needed my miserable condition explained to me. I needed to understand why I did the terrible things I did (and do). I needed to understand how sin, guilt, and shame were abiding in my soul and how to confront them. I needed to know that I was naked before Christ could clothe me with his righteousness.

People who downplay the necessity of talking about sin see it as something negative; something that will get people down and depress people. On that day in the summer of 2000, I saw it as the explanation for all that was going on in my miserable soul. It made sense of everything – my feelings, my actions, my confusion, my mistakes. It was a supreme act of God’s blessing that he showed me my guilt. It was a positive thing that God showed me my sin, guilt, and shame. It wasn’t a downer. It wasn’t depressing. It was the thing that made sense of my whole life.

I am a pastor now, but I still go to church each week seeking a rationale for my misery. I need God to remind me week by week that I am deeply sinful. And then I need him to show me what Christ has done as the ultimate remedy. Then I need him to show me how I am still continually rebelling against the lordship of the one who saved me. And I need to be reminded that indwelling sin is the cause of that rebellion. Then I need to be reminded of Christ’s cross once again.

And it’s only through this – the rationale of my misery – that I am driven back again and again to the rationale for my joy – the love of Jesus Christ. Skip the rationale for misery and you have no rationale for joy.

Rise Up and Walk

…St. Dominic, even more than St. Francis, was marked by that intellectual independence, and strict standard of virtue and veracity, which Protestant cultures are wont to regard as specially Protestant. It was of him that the tale was told, and would certainly have been told more widely among us if it had been told of a Puritan, that the Pope pointed to his gorgeous Papal Palace and said, “Peter can no longer say `Silver and gold have I none'”; and the Spanish friar answered, “No, and neither can he now say, `Rise and walk.'”

-G.K. Chesterton, Saint Thomas Aquinas: The Dumb Ox, p. 23

My studies this week about the smallness of Bethlehem brought this quote to my mind. Bethlehem went from being the least among the clans of Judah (Micah 5:2), to ‘by no means the least’ (Matt. 2:6) simply on account of the presence of the newborn Christ.

Don’t be deceived into thinking that Christianity, or even the local church, is a movement. It survives movements because it is not a movement. It survives fads and fashions because it is not a fad or fashion. Spurgeon says, ‘he who marries today’s fashion is tomorrow’s widow.’ He is right.

The church is a rock that grows. A vine that sprawls. It is a family that reproduces. Not a bus, but a bush. Not a fad, but a family. Not a movement, but a miracle. Don’t be deceived into thinking that it will be the size, strength, health, wealth, high culture, politics, or general influence of the church that will save the world. The church’s message is ‘Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have give I thee. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk.’ It is the healing, blessing, saving presence of Christ that makes us; nothing more, nothing less.

In Matthew’s Gospel, John the Baptist sent messengers to Jesus asking him, “are you he who is to come, or should we look for another?” (11:3). Why are you out in Galilee? Why aren’t you in Jerusalem, Jesus? Why aren’t you standing before the politicians? Why aren’t you seeking the overthrow of Rome? Perhaps you’re not the Messiah after all.

Jesus’ response is simple and plain:

‘And Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: 5 the blind receive their sight and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up, and the poor have good news preached to them. 6 And blessed is the one who is not offended by me”‘ (11:4-6).

He may not have stood before Caesar, but he was the Christ. His glory may have been a cross, but that was true glory. Therefore,

Hear Him, ye deaf; His praise, ye dumb,
Your loosened tongues employ;
Ye blind, behold your Savior come,
And leap, ye lame, for joy.

Worship: Are We Coming to Give or Get?

Most evenings, during my drive home from work, I listen to a certain preacher on the radio. He’s a well-known, well-respected, and good preacher. This past week the sermons have focused on the subject of worship. As he preached through a few Old Testament texts in order to set forth his theme of worship, one of his regular refrains was something to the effect of ‘We don’t come to get in worship, we come to give.’

This theme was driven home again to me in my reading this week. I was revisiting a book on worship that I had read several years ago. The author made essentially the same point.

Now, back to the preacher. His contention was that, in worship, you come to give your best to God. As King David put it, ‘I will not offer burnt sacrifices that cost me nothing.’ Bring your best in worship, be prepared to give your whole heart to him, be prepared to reach deep into your soul, and deep into your pockets, and leave it all on the altar. You come in worship to give your best to God. That’s the idea, as I conceive it, that I am dealing with. And I intend to brush back against it a bit.

First, let me be clear that I believe that our primary focus in worship should be that God is glorified. No worship is true worship that does not glorify God. But, the question then turns to How is God glorified? Is he glorified by my singing my heart out and emptying my pockets out? Is he glorified by me, like a football player, leaving it all out on the field and pouring myself into acts of worship? Perhaps. But that depends.

The Pharisees, one might contend, laid it all on the altar. They tithed the mint and cumin. They offered long prayers. They always dressed in their Sabbath best. But all the while, according to Jesus’ story (Luke 18:9-14), among those long prayers were those that said, ‘Lord, I thank you that I am not like this publican.’ The publican didn’t do it right. He didn’t tithe the mint and cumin. He didn’t dress the part. He didn’t worship properly.

But he was the one who went home justified.

The intentions of this idea that worship is about giving to God are good. We want to brush back against the modern notion of church as entertainment, of church being catered to meet the pleasures of men. We want to brush back against a ‘buffet’ style of church that says ‘Come and get what you want, what you need.’ And so we say, ‘It’s not about you.’ And that’s right. It’s not about us. It is about God. But how do we make it about God? By putting on our best? By giving him all we have? By singing our hearts out? Again I say perhaps, but it depends.

What did the publican have to give? Nothing. He beat his breast, and begged for mercy. That’s worship. No greater statement of worship was ever given than ‘God have mercy on me, a sinner.’ That statement acknowledges that God is God, that man is fallen, and that God is a merciful God who shows compassion to the contrite. He is high and lofty, making his abode in the highest heavens, but he is meek and merciful, taking up residence with those who are sorry for how they have defamed him.

Toplady’s great hymn captures the essence of a worshiping heart:

Nothing in my hands I bring,
Simply to thy cross I cling.
Naked come to thee for dress.
Helpless look to thee for grace.

So, in fact, our view that in worship we come to give to God is quite wrong if taken on its own. We come to get in worship. We come to confess that we have nothing to give. We come with empty hands to a merciful God. We come in the spirit of Psalm 81:10:

  • I am the LORD your God, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt. Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it.

That verse is written in the context of worship, and it invokes the image of a baby bird. The little bird has nothing to offer its mother. It only opens wide its mouth and looks up. And, as a good mother, she provides food. So, we must come to worship, as Toplady says, with nothing in our hands. We must come, as the psalmist says, with open mouths like a hungry baby looking to be fed.

Do not therefore think that you have anything to give to the Lord of the universe. Do not think that you have anything even to offer. God says,

  • If I were hungry I would not tell you, for the world is mine, and all that is in it (Ps. 50:12).

He doesn’t need to be sustained by your songs. Neither his belly nor his coffer are empty. Your money does nothing for him. He is no fashion cop. He doesn’t say, ‘My doesn’t old so and so look good today.’ He doesn’t care about your hair, or how much fiber gum or moose you have in it. He doesn’t care about your fancy Bible cover, or about how you lifted your hands at just the right part of the song. He doesn’t care about your techno lights or how great your praise band is. He doesn’t care how eloquent your prayer was.

Instead, he says, ‘Open your mouth, and I will fill it.’ He wants you to come to him empty, seeking food; dead, seeking life; lost, seeking direction; orphaned, seeking a Father; damned, seeking a Savior; godless, seeking God. He wants you to come to get.

Contrary to the prosperity preachers, he doesn’t want you coming to sow your seed and get your bills paid. Contrary to the motivational speakers, he doesn’t want you coming to get worldly encouragement. But he does want you coming to get – coming to get God himself. And the cross of Jesus Christ is the great proof that God is willing to do just that – to give himself for, and to, poor sinners with no means of ever repaying him.

So why do we worship? We worship to get God through Jesus Christ. To seek his presence, to seek his providence, to seek his provision, to seek his prescriptions. And when we come in that way he is glorified. Here, like in so many other of the teachings of Scripture, we have a paradox. If you want to live, die. If you want to glorify God, then realize that you have nothing to offer. Come hungry. Come thirsty. Come empty. Come expecting. Open your mouth that he might fill it. Be the baby bird in the nest, and nothing more.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God.