A few months ago, I was away with a group of people and I felt hopeless. They needed the gospel, but I felt unprepared, unimportant, rejected, and lost. I felt like no one wanted to listen to me because I was a "nobody."
The next Sunday during worship, I was singing a song with the line, "He removed my sin and shame." I tried to name my specific sin—perhaps a lack of faith or courage—and my shame: having nothing to bring to the table.
I asked the Lord to take it away. You see, I was angry with people who I felt messed up what I was doing or took me for granted. But deep down, I was under the impression that I was the one bringing something to the table.
I was feeling the shame of being 38 years old and bringing nothing—neither worldly wisdom nor spiritual insight. I was feeling truly worthless.
But the words I sang, and the God to whom I sang, started working in me.
God was moving. He showed me that I was thinking of Church, and people, like a potluck. We are so often told to bring something to the table. Whether at the office or anywhere else, I often pressure myself to contribute.
I want to be useful. I want to be valued. But this is a misleading thought. Vincent Van Gogh was considered "useless" to the people around him when he lived; he hardly sold a handful of paintings. Today, The Starry Night is worth more than $100 million.
Being valued by people is subjective. This is not how God values us. I need to remember exactly where I am being invited. The idea of bringing value is good for a human potluck—where we say, "So-and-so brought the tasty dip," and it makes for wonderful conversation on the drive home.
But God is not like that. He doesn't invite me to a potluck. He brings me to His table. When we talk about communion, it is called the Lord’s Table, not the Church’s table.
You see, it is He who prepares the table. It is His table. It is a table where He cooks, cleans, arranges, lights the candles, sets the food, and then brings us in.
He is like the King who has the feast ready and wants us only to come and eat. It is like a last-minute invite where you cannot even rush to the petrol station to get flowers for the host. You arrive truly empty-handed, with no idea what to say, feeling lost—only to find yourself in front of the most amazing feast. So is it with Him.
He prepares the table. There is nothing He expects or wants you to bring. It is His pleasure, His work, His table. I can fret as I open the door to the dining room, but there is nothing I need to do.
Come to the table.
He prepares the table.
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