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God Is Throwing a Banquet—and We Are Invited

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By Larry Short

As Elim moves into the next season, God has been directing us to focus our attention on “rolling out a red carpet of Gospel hospitality.” Pastor Ryan even pivoted his sermon this past weekend away from Ecclesiastes and into the scene at the Last Supper where Jesus “showed the full extent of His love” to His disciples by taking on the role of a humble servant and washing their yucky feet—and then urging them (and us, by extension) to do likewise to one another, showing God’s love by serving each other in humility.

While reflecting on this topic of Gospel hospitality, another parable of Christ’s has been demanding my attention. In Luke 14, we find Jesus at the home of a ruler of the Pharisees, invited to a fancy dinner. This was “ordinary hospitality”—invite someone to dinner, and perhaps you will get something out of it: a return invitation, a chance to learn and observe, etc.

But Jesus was also observing. He saw many of the guests vying for the best seats at the table, the seats of honor closest to the host. He warned that in doing so they risked getting displaced by someone the host deemed more important than they and forced to sit shamefacedly in a lower position. He encouraged them instead to seek out in humility the low position, with the possibility that the host might then raise them up.

This principle of humility is one that of course syncs well with Christ’s teaching about washing His disciples’ feet. But it’s the very next thing Christ said, the parable of the great banquet, that really caught my eye:

12 He said also to the man who had invited him, “When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, lest they also invite you in return and you be repaid. 13 But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, 14 and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you. For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the just.”

15 When one of those who reclined at table with him heard these things, he said to him, “Blessed is everyone who will eat bread in the kingdom of God!” 16 But he said to him, “A man once gave a great banquet and invited many. 17 And at the time for the banquet he sent his servant to say to those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.’ 18 But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said to him, ‘I have bought a field, and I must go out and see it. Please have me excused.’ 19 And another said, ‘I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I go to examine them. Please have me excused.’ 20 And another said, ‘I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come.’ 21 So the servant came and reported these things to his master. Then the master of the house became angry and said to his servant, ‘Go out quickly to the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in the poor and crippled and blind and lame.’ 22 And the servant said, ‘Sir, what you commanded has been done, and still there is room.’ 23 And the master said to the servant, ‘Go out to the highways and hedges and compel people to come in, that my house may be filled. 24 For I tell you, none of those men who were invited shall taste my banquet.’”

I realized that the part of this parable that begins with Jesus’s words “A man once gave a great banquet” is less parable and more an actual prophecy. Because Scripture tells us of a coming day in which Christ Himself, the Bridegroom of the Church, will indeed throw a great banquet, which Revelation 19 calls the “marriage supper of the Lamb”:

 Let us rejoice and exult
and give him the glory,

for the marriage of the Lamb has come,
and his Bride has made herself ready;

it was granted her to clothe herself
with fine linen, bright and pure”—

for the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints.

And the angel said to me, “Write this: Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb.” And he said to me, “These are the true words of God.”

A couple of things that jump out at me about this end-times great feast. First of all, while all may be invited, not all will accept the invitation. The original invite list in Christ’s parable was full of people who sadly allowed “ordinary life and business” to get in the way of accepting the Master’s invitation. “Please have me excused,” they begged, and the Master did, even though it caused him distress to do so. God will never compel us to accept His invitation.

And if we do accept it, we must learn the lesson of humility. We cannot seek to seat ourselves at the place of honor, or else we risk being put in our proper place. It is far better to humble oneself than to be humbled.

In Christ’s final great wedding feast, we see that humility in the way the Bride has prepared herself. “It was granted her to clothe herself with fine linen, bright and pure.” That fine linen, we are told, is “the righteous deeds of the saints,” but those saints have been freely granted the privilege of attendance, as that righteousness comes not by our own doing, but at the cost of the blood of God’s sacrificial Lamb, the Bridegroom of the feast.

It takes true humility to realize that we are invited to the wedding not because of how holy we are, but because of how God (at His own expense) has made us holy. And the proper response to such an act of grace is deep gratitude and highest praise!

The third and final aspect of our response (humble acceptance and gratitude and praise being the first two) is shown clearly in Christ’s closing words to His listeners. Once we have accepted God’s Gospel hospitality in humility and thankfulness, we must extend it to others. The Master’s command in Luke 14:23 was to “go out to the highways and hedges and compel people to come in, that my house may be filled.” But God never forces people to accept His invitation. The basis of their acceptance will be love! Thus His mandate in John 13:34 is that we must “love one another just as he has loved us.” It is only and precisely this love and service that will make Christ’s love compelling to others.

Elim is on a journey to learn how to roll out a red carpet of Gospel hospitality to all in our community. Humble acceptance, thankfulness, selfless love, and service will be required of each of us in this priesthood of believers in order to fulfill Christ’s purposes for Elim. Are you on board?

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What Does God Expect from Us?

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By Larry Short

“We don’t need your money.” After reflecting on Ryan’s fascinating sermon on Acts 5 this past Sunday, that’s what I considered titling this blog. But then I realized the story of Ananias and Sapphira really isn’t about money at all, and so titling what I wrote in that manner could actually be a distraction from what God really wants us to get out of this story.

And what, exactly, does He want us to walk away with now that Ananias and Sapphira are dead and buried?

Certainly, what it isn’t is that somehow we owe God (or our church, or a ministry, or fill in the blank) our money. We’re not told what happened to the money Ananias and Sapphira brought before Peter, but it was probably a sizeable amount (even if they weren’t being honest about the final sales price), so from Peter’s perspective, why rock the boat?

This may be a spoiler, but I also thought about this in the context of Acts 8, where Philip visits Samaria and the Holy Spirit does a major work to form a new church there. One of the new converts is Simon the Magician, who previously wowed everyone with his magic arts. When the apostles come to convey the baptism of the Holy Spirit upon the new converts through the laying on of their hands, Simon observes this and really wants this new “power” for himself. So, he offers Peter a big donation to give him the ability to lay hands on someone and so convey the Holy Spirit to them.

You may recall Peter’s powerful response in verse 20: “May your silver perish with you, because you thought you could obtain the gift of God with money!” In saying this, Peter is no doubt turning away a very hefty donation, but he doesn’t hesitate. His core values are, once again, clear. (And no doubt the painful memory of Ananias and Sapphira falling dead was still in his thoughts!)

So, what core values do each of these stories demonstrate? If God’s not after our money, what is it He really expects from us?

One interesting facet in both accounts is envy. Simon envied Peter and John’s ability. Ananias and Sapphira envied the respect that Barnabus (“Son of Encouragement”) gained through his generous contribution. They, too, wanted to be thought well of, even if they really didn’t have the love and faith required to “give it all” or to tell the honest truth about what they were able to give.

So, they chose to lie about it in order to hopefully bolster their own reputation and gain respect. And as Peter points out, the lie wasn’t merely to the church or its leaders—it was to the Holy Spirit!

It’s clear that money is a tool we sometimes use in ways that might seem good, but are really designed to make us appear different or better than we really are. I think this is a temptation to envy that we all experience. We all want to be seen as generous, kind, and caring individuals. The question is, do we invest the resources God has given us (money or otherwise) in being generous, kind, and caring, or do we invest them so that we may be seen as more generous, kind, and caring? See the difference here? It really matters.

Elim is a family of generous people. A couple of times I’ve been blown away when someone made a truly generous—and anonymous!—gift. For years I’ve wondered, “Could it have been so and so? Or perhaps so and so?” The humility in anonymity raised the tide that raised all boats, so to speak.

But money isn’t the only asset we sometimes use to puff ourselves up. Recently I was discussing with someone online who had raised a question about the meaning of Matthew 23:8-10, “But you are not to be called ‘Rabbi,’ for you have only one Master and you are all brothers. And do not call anyone on earth ‘father,’ for you have one Father, and he is in heaven. Nor are you to be called ‘teacher,’ for you have one Teacher, the Christ.” One conclusion after reflection was that there was nothing wrong with titles like rabbi, father, or teacher (or pastor, for that matter). When Jesus says “you are not to be called [insert title here],” I think what He’s really saying is that you are not to seek such titles of distinction in order to exalt yourself. This falls clearly in line with His instruction throughout the Gospels not to seek the places of honor, but to humble yourself as a servant. Even when two of His disciples asked to sit at His right hand and at His left in His coming kingdom, He made it clear that such a privilege came at the cost of service and suffering (Mark 10:35-45).

As Ryan mentioned, Jesus decried the Pharisees for doing things in order to be seen by others as somehow “more holy”: “They do all their deeds to be seen by others. For they make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long” (Matthew 23:5).

We don’t do phylacteries or fringes, but what is the equivalent for us? Is it our generosity? Ministry position or title? Praying profound public prayers or writing brilliant Last Words?

What does God expect from us? Humility. Honesty. Service. Seeking to build others up before building ourselves and our own reputations. Bringing glory to God rather than to ourselves. Lord, this is our desire, but such things are all much harder for us and go against our “natural” grain, so please help us as we struggle to become more like You in love, humility and service!

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Failure Isn’t Final—It’s Fragrant

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by Jeff Foerster

What is the fragrance of your failure?

Failure feels awful. Anxiety, panic, shame. What if I missed my deadline? What if I didn’t pay my bills on time or, worse yet, didn’t have the money because I spent it on impulse purchases? What if I got a bad grade on my test? What if I shared a secret I wasn’t supposed to or lost my temper with a loved one or a stranger? What if I broke my promise to God? Quite frankly, at our best, we’re still a mess. “There is none righteous, no, not one” (Romans 3:10). We all fail. Sometimes these are moral failings, sometimes these are mistakes, sometimes these are poor decisions rooted in some variety of fear.

As bad as it feels to fail, it feels even worse to admit failure. It’s a declaration that I’m not enough. I am not the captain of my ship nor the driver of my destiny. Circumstances and outcomes are not firmly within my control. My desire is to hide failure, even from myself, if it were possible (Garden of Eden, anyone)? But hiding is simply a place of darkness.

By admitting failure, I am presenting the facts before court and entering my weakness into evidence. I plead guilty. That’s a very vulnerable place to be. At that moment I have placed myself in the hands of a judge. Mercy or condemnation is coming, but in recognizing and admitting my failure, I have submitted control of the outcome. No defense, only an admission of weakness or guilt.

I would feel all alone in such a courtroom, but for this fact: I have a friend in Jesus, my Advocate before the Father!

We don’t enter into the presence of the Lord with shouts of victory and triumphant success. We enter through sorrow, through failure. When we fail, when we admit it, we enter into a position of humility. And that is a great place to be—a fragrant offering to God. It’s a place of mourning, of sadness. A place of blessing.

So, what is the fragrance of your failure?

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Dust, Ashes, and Joy

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By Jason Comerford

Have you ever noticed any patterns to when you experience joy? Does it come after a Sunday-morning service? Or after singing a timely worship song? Maybe it’s after an evening with your community group studying the Bible, or perhaps in praying with a close friend.

Well, after being a Christian for 13 years, I’ve really started to notice one peculiar pattern for when I experience joy: it’s when I discover clearly that I’m wrong about something. Usually, something significant.

The first time I can remember this happening to me was when I got saved. I was reading a book about how God as Father deals with His sons. The picture was of such a loving, good, kind, and faithful parent that, in a moment, it struck me how my view of God had been horribly twisted my entire life. The cruel, overbearing bully in my head gave way to an incredibly patient, good, tender, and loving friend. I literally got to my knees and wept in apology to my Heavenly Father, confessing how wrongly I had been thinking of Him.

And that’s what really struck me: my wrongness about what God is like. And I felt awful about it—all the ways I had resented God, hated Him, delayed in obeying Him. He deserved none of that! In prayer, I apologized and apologized again and again.

I felt so awful.

And yet, I also felt really happy.

Sure, I had discovered how terribly I had lived and behaved. But the sorrow of such behavior only struck me because I discovered how GOOD God is. Guilt and shame had never produced any kind of faith or obedience in me. But discovering how good God is? That did it. Let me tell you, discovering for the first time how wonderful God is? That’s a very happy moment.

But don’t miss this. My first real taste of joy came through a tiny death. A lifetime of religious learning and the accompanying ego were struck down to bring me this newfound happiness.

 In our culture, we feel ashamed to admit we’re wrong. We spend hours on social media trying to prove to others that we are the right ones. We will fight and argue for the right to be right.

But when we recognize we’re wrong about God, He doesn’t shame us. He shows us He is so great that we can’t fully know Him. And He’s so good, even when we thought otherwise, so much better than we can fully understand.

Job spent most of his book defending his righteousness, and he technically was righteous. He never cursed God, even when his children, wealth, and health were torn from him. But even in the midst of his uprightness, the Lord enters into the conversation and shows him that he does not even begin to understand his God. God speaks to him for several chapters, revealing how little Job actually knows. And Job’s response?

I know that you can do all things,
    and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted.
“Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?”
Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand,
    things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.
“Hear, and I will speak;
    I will question you, and you make it known to me.”
I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear,
    but now my eye sees you;
therefore I despise myself,
    and repent in dust and ashes. (Job 42:1–6)

And God responds by blessing him. He defends Job against his unloving friends. He restores Job’s wealth and family even beyond what he’d originally enjoyed. (Job 42:7–17)

I’m not saying that when you realize you’re wrong, God will give you material riches. But I am saying that God means good for us when He shows us we’re wrong about Him. He means to bring us joy, not shame.

 But we have to recognize we’re wrong before we can find joy in knowing God better.

I challenge you to ask God to expose the ways that you’re wrong about Him. Ask Him how you’ve misrepresented Him and how you’ve misunderstood Him. Be willing to be wrong, that you might find joy in believing what is right.

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The Right Question at the Right Time

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question-markBy Brian Sharpe

Have you ever been in a situation as a parent, boss, coworker, or friend where you didn’t know what to say or do when giving advice? You knew what the person should do, but you were sure they weren’t going to do what you thought they should. As a parent, as a friend, as a leader, and as a mentor, I have been in that situation so many times. My modus operandi is to just tell people what to do. The problem is, that usually ends up not going the way I think it should go.

I don’t know if you are like me, but I often think that if the world just did things the way I think they should be done, it would be a better, more functional place. I know that is arrogant, and most likely not true, but it is a thought I have.

I was recently in a situation where I was in conflict with someone that I respect. We both had different ideas of how something should be done. During this meeting, it was obvious that we weren’t seeing eye to eye. Martin was at this meeting, and he brought me and this man together to talk through and figure out what was going on. Before this meeting, I wanted to spend some time alone in prayer, seeking God and asking for understanding on why this other leader and I weren’t seeing eye to eye. As I prayed, I wasn’t getting any clarity to what was going on in this relationship. I could understand where I was coming from, and I thought I understood where the other man was coming from … but boy, was I wrong!!!

While praying, I called a mentor of mine, Jim. We usually meet once a month, but I needed his advice and his outside perspective. While on the phone with Jim, I explained the situation. I explained the reason for the meeting. Jim’s first response wasn’t to tell me what he thought I should do. His first response was to empathize, then to asking questions. He has a framework that he works though in situations like this, and the first thing is seeking to understand by asking questions. As he asked questions, he better understood the situation.

At this point, if I were Jim, I would have moved into telling me what to do. Instead, he started asking more questions about why I was responding the way I was. By the end of our conversation, it was clear to me all the ways I needed to own my improper leadership. I thought I knew what was going on, but I was blinded by my own biases. Jim was not; he was able to help me understand the blind spots in my life. He did this by asking questions, not by making statements.

I really am learning that this is the best way to help people. We need to become master question-askers. As a pastor, I see this. As a parent, I see this. As a husband, I see this. How often could an argument (I mean if Tomina and I argued . . . which of course we never do! JK) have been stopped if I would had asked a good question instead of making a statement? Asking good questions means you are seeking to understand, not make a point. This takes humility and intentionality. But in the end, I think it leads us down the path we want to go down, and that is to help others.

I have seen where someone asking good questions has helped me. I have seen where good questions have helped others. Leading through questions is hard, but worth the time it takes. In the future, when people are seeking your help or you are trying to help a family member or a friend, stop, think, and ask yourself what question needs to be asked, instead of what statement needs to be made.

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Moses Anyone?

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By Jeff Foerster

Have you ever pretended to be Moses when you were younger? Standing there before the water (gutter stream), arms held high with a staff (tree branch) in hand, holding back raging waters while a multitude of Israelites (ants) crossed through the sea. Maybe you became David facing a giant with a sling and a few smooth stones, or Esther, about to risk your life before the king.

Maybe this wasn’t you as a child, but have you as an adult imagined yourself in the role of a famous biblical character and wondered if you would have made the same choices? What might it have been to experience those “mountain-top” periods of victory or encounter with the power of God?

So, I find myself considering Moses. What was it like to see that bush aflame and then to hear the voice of the living God? What awe was inspired when standing before Pharaoh, lord over the ancient world, and proclaiming judgment upon him, watching God display power through plagues? And what of the adrenaline-junkie experience of walking between walls of water?!

That’s not my life. Mine is much more ordinary, filled with routine and repetition. Over a period of time, one week looks like the next with little to mark its passing save for a seasonal change in weather or holiday celebration. I can begin to wonder what God has for me and if my “adventure” will be coming soon. In this mode I long to have my days filled with experiences rivaling those named in Scripture. Where is my adventure? How can I achieve greatness in life? How can I actualize the skills God has given me, doing something no one else can do? All of this is a longing for significance. And all of this is focused on me.

There was but one Moses. What of the Israelite slaves? 400 years of dust, and mud, and searing sun, and burning muscles, throbbing veins, generational hopelessness and death. Hundreds … thousands … likely millions of Israelites lived and died with not even mention of their name handed down to us. They made bricks, they served their masters, they had children, and they were no more. There was no glory for them, no tales of bravery to be recounted.

The story of centuries of Israelites under Egyptian slavery seems a waste. It’s a depressing thought to consider each individual life, born in slavery and dying under the same. Some were likely gifted as artists, others craftsmen. Some skilled as leaders and statesmen. None of these talents could be fully actualized, having been crushed under the weight of slavery. Whatever dreams might have been, would not see the light of day.

As the story of my life unfolds I can make the mistake of evaluating it by varying measures of success – financial, career, or otherwise. If I choose this path I make one primary and critical error – focusing on myself. It’s easy to take this focus; even our American culture celebrates the importance of the individual.

The narrative of this life, rightly understood, is much larger than the one, starring myself, I often have running through my head. This story is much greater, for it belongs to God. He will accomplish His purposes. I may play a role, but the plot does not pivot because of me. God decides what prominence my character takes; He decides that with infinite wisdom. My mission, should I decide to accept it, is to yield in faithful obedience to the commands of God. He does not hide these, but openly proclaims them in His Scriptures. Though, even these good things can be diversion if I think that through obedience I gain His acceptance and love.

The sun neither rises nor falls because of me. I do not change the seasons, nor do the rains heed my presence. But I do know and rest in this: whatever my lot in life, whatever my accomplishments, whatever my experiences, whatever my trials, God has placed me securely into His family. My significance is born of no other substance than this relationship with Him.

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