special

I had a rough week. I was in Tulsa, trying to keep my calorie count under control, and it was a struggle. One night I had to settle for bourbon bacon chili. Another I ate Texas spring rolls, which are super-sized and stuffed with pulled pork. Last night it was four-cheese mac’n’cheese with jambalaya shrimp on top.

It occurred to me on the way home that I have an unusual problem with food: I can afford as much of it as I want, and really good food at that.

That bit of introspection struck me as I read through Isaiah this morning. In Isaiah 25:6 I read this:

“On this mountain the Lord Almighty will prepare
a feast of rich food for all peoples,
a banquet of aged wine—
the best of meats and the finest of wines.”

At first the only thing that seemed really good about this prophesy was the quantity – I noticed words like feast and banquet. I blew right past the terms “rich food” and “best” and “finest.” That’s a mark of how abundantly I have been blessed. To most people, those would be exciting words.

The fact is, this is a vision of inclusion. I forget constantly that I am among the most privileged, that many, maybe most in this world and even in this country don’t often get a chance to eat rich food. The best meats – how about a tuna steak or porterhouse? – aren’t unusual for me, but are pipe dreams for many.

And then there’s the fact that food in this passage can be taken as a metaphor for blessings of all kinds. All the people who are on the outside looking in because of their poverty or skin color or gender or primary language will, in God’s kingdom, be elbow to elbow with me and my kind.

This morning I’m grateful for the fantastic wealth of what we in America consider being middle class. Moreso, I have a renewed appreciation for the easy life I have because God chose to put me with a white family in Northwest Iowa.

Mostly, I’m grateful for the fact that, when it comes to my salvation, none of that makes any difference. God loves me for other reasons, the same reasons he loves the Azeri street sweepers and Ethiopian gem miners and Laotian immigrants and unemployed West Virginian coal miners. He loves us all because he decided to, in his grace. And he invites us all to the great banquet of his blessing in eternal life.

I’m nothing special, but I’m also something special: a child of God, saved as an act of grace by the sacrifice of Jesus out of God’s great mercy, for no reason except God chose to. It’s what God wanted for every one of his image bearers. How can I love them any less?