Again, I had been confronted by the truth of a song.
I was sitting in the Church Library this morning in between services with a CD player in front of me trying to scoot through all the music collection as I plan out the worship services the coming quarter. In the last few days I have looked through the sermon topics for the next three/four months; gleaning ideas from it and prayerfully formulating worship themes. Having established the themes, listening to both old and new music, flipping through songbooks and octavos pretty much occupied my time.
(My sister-in-law walked into the library with my nephew, Jared who had just come out of Sunday School. Jared asked if he could stay with me, read some kiddie books while his mom worshipped. He complained of hunger so I gave him money to get a burger and coke, which he gladly ate with me joining him sitting on the library steps. He finished, and read on.)
For a particular worship theme, I chose Sandy Patti's God of All of Me which I intend for our Music Director, Jai to sing. Again, I found myself confronted by the truths it contained. Surrender and Sacrifice.
Surrender.
Surrendering implicates one's inability to go on alone- a problem which many people don't think they have to begin with. But in God's economy of things surrender is a fruit of another lovely word is grace. Even the cognate words of grace are all positive: gracious, graceful, gratis, gratitude, Graciás, graced. Who could not like grace? But an experience of grace should always result to surrender- not defeat, but surrender and sacrifice.
Accepting grace implies helplessness, paralysis, inadequacy. Many people have a hard time admitting they need Prozac to hold depression at bay or that they need food stamps and some welfare to help make ends meet. Shame often attends those who are on the dole, who are dependent instead of independent. That's true even when the assistance being granted through medication or some government program is restricted to just one area of life. Embracing grace, however, says something about the whole sweep of our existence. And for some that's just too big a load of shame, disgrace, and dependence to accept.
Sacrifice.
Ultimately, the courage to be requires the courage to let go. To let go is to sacrifice. The word sacrifice literally means to render sacred.
When we give up our life we render it sacred unto God, and Jesus returns it to us, but with a difference: what we get back from Jesus is a cross-shaped life in which service and the doling out of cups of cold water in his name mean more than the sum total of the rat race ever could. We receive from Jesus a life which, to some people, looks like "no life" whatsoever. We live a gospel which offends those who refuse to surrender. "But don't be afraid of those folks," Jesus gently says. "If you've surrendered to me, then I've got you. I've got you, and I'm not letting go. Ever."
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