A Grace at the Table

Is there anyone you're not willing to share this Table with?

We want to say no. We want to say that there are persons we don't think would share the Table with us, and that there are persons that we don't think should have a place at the Table, but we want to surrender our faith and display our righteousness and declare that if Jesus has made a space for someone, then of course, we will, too. 

I know we want to because I want to, and I'm sure that I'm not alone. In fact, I think I have very boldly said this: "I will share the Table with anyone. There's enough grace for everyone." 

But if I'm being honest, there are some persons in this world that would be harder to share a table with than others. And they're not the persons you might think. 

We've convinced ourselves that there's a certain righteousness in saying we would struggle to share the Table with certain groups of sinners, whatever sin it is that we deem more dastardly than the others. Murderers. Rapists. Pedophiles. Thieves. You know, Judases. We know there's no real righteousness in that, as we are all sinners, but we still feel a sense of (self)righteousness when we say it. 

I've had a challenging interpersonal week that has brought me to a place of thinking about this anew, and honestly, the persons I think I have the hardest time sharing the Table with...are the persons who think I don't deserve to be there. 

They are the persons who hold some kind of bitterness against me, some kind of grudge. They are the persons who judge my life and deem it less worthy. They are the persons that I know are looking down their noses out me, or out the sides of their eyes. The persons who are watching me because they think that in this whole grand picture of grace, I'm the piece that doesn't fit. 

Ouch. 

Not because they're right, but because...they're right. 

There are persons in this world who hold what I believe is a wrong opinion of me. But I'm at the point in my life where, when I encounter these persons, I'm not concerned with trying to prove them wrong any more. It doesn't do any good. I know who I am, and I know who the overwhelming majority of others in my life know me to be. Still, there's something that stings about these wrong impressions that a very few still hold. 

And what stings about it, as I reflect on my experiences this week with such things, is that they bring to my mind, to the forefront of my heart, the overwhelming amount of grace that it has taken for me to get this far. They bring to mind just how much saving God's really had to do in my life and how...they're right; I'm not as perfect a person as I'd like to think on my good days, on my regular days, on my normal days when no one is there to remind me, in stark force, that I'm not. 

It's hard to share the Table with someone who doesn't think I belong here because they remind me, even in their lies, that...I don't. It is only by grace that there is a space for me here. 

That's humbling. 

But then...it's supposed to be. We ought to be humbled by the grace that brings us to this Table. 

So, to my enemies...to those who think I don't belong here...thank you. Thank you for reminding me what a grace this truly is.  

A Life of Service

There's a difference between having the heart of a servant and having the faith of a servant, and it's a very fine but very important line. It's equally as important to be clear about what I'm not saying. 

I'm not saying you shouldn't serve in your church. I'm not saying you shouldn't serve in your church every week. I'm not saying you should never go into ministry. 

What I'm saying is...be mindful. 

This is something I've actually been wrestling with for a few years, as my church schedule continued to fill up and I took on more ministries and service opportunities. I heard others wrestling with their overextended selves, and I could feel that little bit of nagging in my own soul that something was off. 

But the truth is that I believe your spiritual growth and health are primarily your own responsibility. Churches come together to celebrate and to worship and to remember and to fellowship, which are all great things, but the edification of the spirit starts with your private spiritual devotion and practices. 

You are supposed to be reading and studying the Bible on your own. You are supposed to fill your home with worship music. You are supposed to carry a song in your heart. You are supposed to pray from your own heart when the Spirit moves you, or even at set hours. You are supposed to regularly commune with God and do what it takes to keep the spark aflame and growing in your own heart. No one else is as responsible for your spiritual life as you are - not even your pastor. 

As I started to feel the tension between ministry and personal spiritual health, I started to put into place more practices in my own life because I truly believe there is nothing wrong with serving in your church every week. I have heard the complaints that if you're always serving, there's no time to be fed, but I really do believe your primary place of feeding is at home. That's the way it has always been for the people of God, even back in the Old Testament.

That's not to say that there is no value in fellowship or in group discipleship, in growing together as we do in our churches. It's just to say that if you're feeling stifled and like you really need fed...the first question to ask is whether you're feeding yourself. One meal a week will never sustain the body. 

Still, somehow, I crossed the line and brought the work of service home with me and made even my private study, that which I knew was meant to feed me, just the raw ingredients for the meal I was making for everyone else. That's the line we've been talking about. 

I am still known for my servant's heart, even while I focus on growing my own faith and not in giving it all away. It's the way I'm wired. I'm in a fairly new job, and I'm already known for "always going above and beyond," but to me, it's just taking the initiative to do things that need to be done because I can do them and it's helpful to others and to the organization when I do. 

I have visited with my church a couple of times in the past few months, thanks to catching a ride as I continue to battle my health issues, and every time I walk in, someone approaches me and asks if I can serve in such-and-such a way. Of course I can. And I do. But I have also learned not to give it all away - I'll take the headphones off and tune into the live service happening right in front of me. I'll go with the flow instead of needing to have an order of worship in my pocket. I won't worry about how many more slides the pastor has to go through.

As I recapture my own heart - as I grow that sense of God's love for me and my love for Him - I'm also recapturing balance in service.

And it's the difference between reflection and radiation. 

And I am so thankful for it.  

For the Love of God

So what about the heart of a servant vs. the faith of a servant?

As you may know, I have been separated from my church for about a year and a half at this point (by medical necessity, not by choice). Since the separation was neither planned nor chosen, it took a long time for my heart to let go of the faith of a servant. I would read something, hear something, sing something, think something, and immediately give it away - start thinking about how it would hit wrapped in a certain message or how I might present it the next time I had a chance or who in my circle of faith might need to hear it and in what certain way. 

Habits die hard. 

But as the time has worn on, as life has kept me removed from a place of service, something started to shift. 

I don't remember now exactly what it was, but I was reading my Bible - as I do every morning - and for the first time in a very, very long time, a passage hit me that felt like it was hitting deep at my heart. Not at my heart for service. Not at my heart for someone else. Not as a good morsel meant to pass right through me and pour out. But as a message meant just for me. 

And I realized how long it had been since I'd felt that way in my soul. 

I realized how long it had been since I felt that "strange, warm" sensation that the disciples talked about on the road to Emmaus. I realized how long it had been since I felt like God would talk to me just for me. I realized that I had come to a place where I even had a relationship with God where I believed He loved me for my performance, for the things that I did, for the way that I did them. For doing a good job in service that helped to bring glory to His name. 

I realized it had been so very long a time since I had felt like God loved me. 

That moment changed everything. 

Once I hit that moment, I have invested my spiritual practice deliberately in knowing God's deep love for me again...and deepening my love for Him. Not in ministry. Not in performance. Not in service. Just in existing, in being, in being a being created in His image and indwelt by His Spirit. By knowing the breath that is moving in my lungs is His breath of life. 

I've missed that. 

And oh, how I need that kind of faith that doesn't just pour right through me but sticks to my bones and puts a little meat on my being. 

It doesn't mean I don't still have the heart of a servant. I do. And it doesn't mean that my servant's heart isn't driven by my faith. It is. But it means that I'm reclaiming my faith so that when things do pour through me, they're touched by the essence of something greater. 

It's one thing if Moses's face was glowing because He was simply reflecting the Light in whose presence he was standing; it's another thing entirely that His face was really glowing because that light was coming from inside of him. 

Let us have a faith that does not merely reflect, but radiate. 

Faith of a Servant

One of the challenges of living your faith with the heart of a servant is that it's very, very easy to slip into a heart in which you have the faith of a servant. 

Read that again if you have to. 

I introduced the idea yesterday that this is more problematic than it sounds on the surface, and it really is. It sounds like it wouldn't be that big of a deal. Who wouldn't want to have the faith of a servant? Jesus was a servant, and we are supposed to be like Him. He is our Teacher, so we should be His servant. He told us that whoever wants to be first among us should be last, and whoever wants to be greatest should be a servant to others. There seems to be a strong biblical indication that having the faith of a servant would be a great thing. 

But...it's not. 

Because one of the things I've come to realize is how easily, when I'm constantly serving as an outward expression of my faith, everything I do for my spiritual health and growth becomes an exercise in preparation for ministry. 

I read the Bible, but I'm thinking about who else might need to hear that. What it might sound like wrapped into this message or that one. I'm praying, but I'm praying more for how other hearts will be impacted than for God's impact on my own heart. 

I'm listening to the worship through headphones to get the balance of sounds and levels just right, but I'm not hearing the words or the melodies. I'm following along with the words on the screen so that I know when to advance the slide show, but I'm not really reading them. 

Everything I'm doing is done with an eye and an ear toward how those I'm serving will experience it. I'm focused so much on others having a technologically flawless, inspirational, motivational, instructive, awe-inspiring, truth-ingesting experience that I'm no longer having an experience at all. 

I have become just a vessel - a thing through which the goodness of God pours, but doesn't stick much. Because the faith of a servant is a faith that thinks more about who it is serving than it does about itself. 

Again, this sounds like a good thing. Selflessness. Un-self-consciousness. True sacrifice.

But it's not really a sacrifice if you don't hold it first to give it away. 

And thinking of yourself not at all is not an act of un-self-consciousness; it's an act of self-diminishment, which is never what God asked of us. 

I'm not alone in this. This is a sentiment that other ministers in various capacities have shared with me over the years, especially worship ministers and pulpit ministers who sense they are expected to be on stage every weekend, giving their worship away as a gift to everyone else. It's this really fine line, but it's so easy to cross in that, without even recognizing it, your faith becomes a practice instead of a presence; something you do for others instead of something that nourishes you. 

This is how, I think, so many pastors become enamored by the admiration of the flock. They have given away their faith as a gift to those they are serving, so the only thing they have to bolster their own hearts is the praise of those who receive that gift. As long as the congregation loves it, your faith must be doing something good...even if you no longer feel it in your own heart. Even if it's been a long time since you've had a moment with God just for yourself. 

Such is the faith of a servant. 

So...what now? 

Heart of a Servant

For 24 years, I have been an active servant in my church. 

I started as a youth group member who was there every time the doors opened, went on all the trips, stood in front of the congregation and gave the mission reports. I became the audio-visual technician, nearly every Sunday for almost six years. I was a member of the Vacation Bible School cast and an activity leader. I was the church webmaster and undertook a major redesign of our digital presence. More recently, I have monitored our livestream services. I tended the nursery. I taught a Sunday School class. I was a member of a small group, often leading some conversations therein. I worked with our benevolence ministry, providing funds to those in need.

I have spoken routinely for more than ten years, offering Communion devotionals or, as I like to say, setting the Table. I have prepare the Communion elements. I have cleaned them up. I have passed the plates, and I have stood at the doors to greet. I have coordinated the volunteers who do these things. I have preached one sermon. I have been part of the praise band and have even added vocals a few times here and there. 

For more than a decade, I changed the furnace filters in all 28 units in the building. I have replaced a couple of broken toilet parts and one faulty water valve. 

When I say that I have been an active servant in my church, I mean it. 

This stems from a servant's heart that God has put in me, well before I knew Him or the church. It's just the way I'm wired. 

As a young kid, outside of the church, I volunteered to deliver the fluoride treatments to the other students in the school. I worked in the library, shelving books and dusting shelves. I spent a good deal of my time in the essential skills classroom, helping the kids with greater physical and mental needs. I was out in the heat helping to build what we called the Friendship Bridge on the ground that separated my elementary school from the one next door, and I learned to lay block so I could help with the foundation for a historic one-room schoolhouse that was being moved to our grounds. 

If there is something to be done, I am wired to simply do it. I have always been this way. I rarely count the cost to myself. 

But...there is one. 

It's something I didn't realize or recognize or understand until very recently. Having been separated from my church now for almost 18 months (by force of medical realities), I'm not serving like I used to. There's not some task that I have to accomplish every Sunday, not something I am responsible for making happen. 

It took a long time being away, a long string of Sundays without duties for me to come to the realization that I did, but when I finally saw it, it broke my heart. It broke my servant's heart. 

See, yes, I have the heart of a servant; I always have, I always will. But somewhere along the way, that servant's heart led me straight down the path to a servant's faith. 

And that's not as good a thing as it sounds. 

*Stay tuned.