Still Room!

Have you ever eaten dinner in a large family?

Mealtime can become a competition. If there’s a favorite dish on the table, you’d better get some while you can. More for your brother might mean less for you.

That’s how scarcity works.

But that’s not how God’s table works.

In Jesus’ parable of the Great Banquet in Luke 14, invited guests begin making excuses. A field. Some oxen. A marriage. None of these things is bad. They’re ordinary blessings of life.

And maybe that’s precisely the danger.

The things we can see and touch have a way of feeling more real than the things God has promised. The tournament is on the calendar. The vacation is paid for. The project has a deadline.

Resurrection doesn’t send a push notification.

So the urgent crowds out the eternal.

But Jesus’ warning isn’t simply, “Get your priorities straight.” It’s more like: Do you realize what you’re missing?

Because the feast God has prepared is extraordinary.

There is forgiveness for things you cannot go back and undo. There is grace that doesn’t run out because you needed it again. There is life that death itself cannot take from you.

And resurrection isn’t wishful thinking about something God might do someday.

It has already started.

Jesus Christ has been raised from the dead. Paul calls Him the “firstfruits” of those who have fallen asleep. The first of the harvest has already come in. Jesus went first. Those who belong to Him are waiting their turn.

God has promised a restored creation where death is gone, tears are wiped away, and His people live in His presence. We haven't seen it yet.

But unseen doesn’t mean unreal.

And there’s no scarcity in what Christ gives.

When Jesus fed the 5,000, everybody ate. Everybody was satisfied. And afterward the disciples gathered twelve baskets of leftovers.

Christ didn’t run out.

He still doesn’t.

Another sinner receiving forgiveness doesn’t mean less forgiveness for you. Another person receiving mercy doesn't leave less mercy for you. Another person receiving eternal life doesn't diminish yours.

There is more than enough Christ for everyone.

That changes how we think about coming to worship. Instead of, “I really ought to go to church,” perhaps the better thought is:

“Christ has good gifts to give me today. Why would I want to miss that?”

And it changes how we see the person who doesn’t yet have a place beside us.

We don’t grudgingly scoot over because Christians are supposed to be welcoming.

We can grab them by the arm and say:

“Sit here! Dig in! You’ve got to taste this. There’s more than enough for both of us.”

There is still room.

There is still Christ.

And there is more than enough.