CONFESSION: VENDING MACHINE JESUS

Lord Jesus, I confess.

I’ve made you a machine in my own mind. Crafted of metal, plastic, and glass. Predictable. Filled with fatty treats. Exact-change certain. Hand-delivered cheap.

I’ve designed you for my leisure. My convenience. I’ve been impatient. Wanting ready-made-sweet-treats and pick-me-up distractions that feel-good-in-the-moment. Immediate results. Fleeting as they are.

Lord Jesus, forgive me.

Like a child, I’ve been picky. Following whims and cravings. Living hour by hour. Seeking out cheap substitutes of maturation and formation. But you are not my vending machine. You aren’t there for my consumption. My pocket-coins can’t buy your love or quicken your work.

Lord Jesus, help me.

I am malnourished. Starved for sustenance. My soul craves for more.

Give me strength to knead.
Patience to bake.
And hunger for your bread of life.