Without Price

 

“Come to me all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." 

~Matthew 11:28

"Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy, and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money on that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourself in rich food."

~Isaiah 55:1-2

When I first developed a solid rhythm of prayer, God taught me the importance of discipline. Many times in a moment I would rather watch another episode of a show, work on a hobby, spend time with a friend, get some extra sleep than I would take time with God, but the next morning I would wake up feeling dissatisfied because my deeper desire was for time with God and I'd missed that moment of connection. In developing a rhythm, I could choose the deeper desire of my heart when lesser desires cluttered my mind. But a rhythm did more than that; it showed me where I was relying on myself for the value of my time with my Father. 

Many times I would draw into God and feel Him so experientially. I'd praise God for how He moved. For the insights He gave. For the intimacy I felt. But just as many times I would draw into God and feel disconnected and unaffected. Words came slowly. Insights stayed at bay. And in my flesh I was tempted to see those times as lesser. And the next day I'd find my desire to draw into God abated, making it easier and easier to stay away. But as I fell into the discipline of seeking God daily, He began to teach me that our time together has never been dependent on me. That even when I feel unaffected by time with Him, He is still using it. He is still working in it. He is the One who brings value to our time, and all He asks me is to "come." Come and find His rest.

Sometimes that means coming with our strengths--with the giftings He has given us to flourish--but sometimes that means coming in our weakness and our inability. This is a lesson He taught me profoundly this past Fall when my energy and ability had been swallowed up in a place of deep grief. I couldn't do my normal patterns of devotion; I was incapable. The first few days I honestly didn't even think about it, but that first Sunday my pastor mentioned God's faithfulness, and I was struck by a realization: God felt near.

I hadn't been drawing into God, but He had been drawing into me. When I had no ability, He kept me.

A few days into my grief, I found myself wanting to pray. Part of that was fear of getting out of the habit and struggling to start it back up, but a lot of it was because I genuinely had areas I wanted to pray into. But every time I tried, the words left me. I felt so tired. One afternoon I went to pray, but I felt God prompting me towards a nap instead. And when I woke up, I felt God's nearness and intimacy. My heart felt filled, and He showed me in that moment that I needed rest and He could turn even a nap into a time of devotion.

Because there is no prerequisite to time with God. No ability. No money needed to partake in the feast of His presence (per the Isaiah passage). 

In the span of two weeks where I was so stripped down, God taught me lessons of receiving His rest, of depending on Him for my faith, of trusting Him to keep me. Lessons He had been teaching me for years but which I had never felt so deeply and experientially. 

Still in this time I would wrestle on occasion. The question would rise up, am I choosing lesser things instead of chasing after God?

Even Isaiah 55 warns us about this. Yes, there is no cost to time with God, and yet we also see how often we have the money, we have the ability, and we spend it on lesser things. On "that which does not satisfy." How would I know when I crossed the line? 

God was faithful to answer me and to abate my fears, drawing me back into His rest every time I tried to stray into the fear of self-reliance and striving instead of receiving His strength and devotion. His lesson was so simple: a sink full of dishes. 

Many times I pass a sink full of dishes, wanting them done but not wanting to do them. Groaning a little at the responsibility of it all, deciding whether to put it off for something I'd rather do or to steward my home well and give myself the peace and future convenience of clean dishes. But in this season I kept passing a sink full of dishes, and I not only wanted them done but also I actively wanted to do them. Yet I couldn't bring myself to the sink. As much as I wanted to wash its contents, I had no capacity to do so. The mere thought made me want to collapse on the couch.

And God showed me that in this moment of grief, that was where I was in my faith. I was genuinely wanting God and longing for Him, not placing a thousand lesser things above Him, but I lacked the capacity to draw in. I couldn't pay the price of entrance, and He was reminding me that I didn't have to because He already had. That in this moment of sorrow, all I needed to do was to receive Him because He would keep me, He would pour into me, He would draw near to my heart when I couldn't draw near to Him.

And while patterns of devotion are important--we don't want to be spending our money on that which is not food (Is. 55)--our patterns are not our payment. Nothing we can bring affects our time with God; rather, they are a response to Him and the gifts He uses to bless us in that response. Our devotional time is always an act of rest. It is always a time of receiving. It is always about God drawing into us, God choosing us, God keeping us, God giving us His rest, His presence, His nearness, His revelation, His heart. 

Our faithfulness is only a response to the rest He pours out over our lives and the love we drink deeply in our time with Him.

It's good for us to know our hearts, to test ourselves for idols that can creep in, but none of that compares to knowing His heart. To drawing into His presence and trusting that He is the One who moves in our time, in our hearts, in our devotion to Him. It is all His outpouring. It is all a feast we could never afford and which He has freely given. 

"Come, buy, and eat;" He's already paid the price.