When Did the Invitation Become an Obligation?

I heard an illustration recently that I haven't been able to stop thinking about.

Imagine someone hands you tickets to a Nebraska football game. (And if you're reading this and you're NOT from Nebraska, I'm sorry. 😂 Kidding. Just imagine it's whatever event gets you ridiculously excited.)

OK--so--You're excited. Of course you are. It's Husker football. 🌽🏈

We only get six or seven home games all year, and there is something about game day in Nebraska that just feels different. You put on the red, you make plans, you count down the days, and we call it an opportunity.

But think about what we're actually signing up for. Depending on where you live, you might drive hundreds of miles to get there. You might need a hotel room—which apparently now requires a small personal loan. 😂 Then you get to Lincoln and pay $20, $30, maybe $50 just to park your car somewhere that still requires you to walk what feels like another three miles, and you're still not there.

Now you walk and walk and probably walk some more. You finally make it inside, pay $6 for a bottle of water and $12 for a Runza®, and then squeeze yourself onto an aluminum bench that I'm fairly certain was never designed for the human body to occupy for four hours and pray that the person seated next to you isn't the hot and sweaty guy who has had 20 beers before kickoff 😂

Yet somehow? WE LOVE IT. You know you do.

We don't think, Ugh, look at everything I have to do to go to this game.

We think: I GET TO GO TO THE GAME.

We don't complain that the invitation asked too much of us. We feel lucky that we got invited, and that's the part I can't stop thinking about.

Because then Sunday comes and someone says, "Hey, what are you doing tomorrow? Want to come to church with us?" And suddenly the invitation feels different.

I don't know, I'm tired.

It's my only day to sleep in.

We have a lot going on.

Maybe next week.

And listen...I'm guilty of it too. But look at the difference: nobody is asking me to walk a mile from my car. There's free parking. 😂 The seat is cushioned. The room is air-conditioned. Nobody is charging me $6 for water. And the worship is beautiful. There are people there who would love to see me.

And most importantly...I have been invited into the presence of God.

Ouch😖.

Yet somehow the invitation to a football game can feel like a privilege while the invitation to worship can start feeling like an obligation.

How did we get there?

Maybe It Isn't About Church

I don't think this is really about checking the church-attendance box.

Because you can sit in a church every Sunday and still have a heart far from God.

I think this is about what we treasure.

We make room for what we're excited about.

We tolerate inconvenience for what we value.

We rearrange schedules for what matters to us.

We'll drive hours.

Spend money.

Stand in lines.

Lose sleep.

And we'll be excited about it.

So maybe one of the hardest questions we can ask ourselves is:

When did being invited into God's presence stop feeling like an invitation?

Because God isn't simply asking us to occupy a seat for an hour on Sunday morning.

He's inviting us to know Him, to worship Him, to hear His voice, to live in relationship with Him, and sometimes I wonder if we've had access to that invitation for so long that we've forgotten how extraordinary it actually is.

We've Become Comfortable With Access

There are places in this world where following Jesus carries a cost I cannot fully comprehend.

There are Christians who gather knowing there could be consequences simply for being there, and here I am living somewhere I can openly carry my Bible.

I can worship publicly.

I can talk about Jesus.

I can be baptized.

I can drive past church after church after church.

And sometimes I still treat access to God like an inconvenience.

That realization bothers me.

Not because I think God wants me living under guilt, but because I don't ever want familiarity with the invitation to make me forget the One who invited me.

Then I Started Thinking About Noah

We make Noah's ark into one of the sweetest children's stories.

Animals walking two by two.

A giant boat.

A rainbow.

Nursery walls are covered with it.

But when you really think about Noah's story, it isn't cute at all...It's sobering.

Humanity had become deeply corrupt, and Noah and his family were preserved through the flood.

There was an ark.

There was a way through.

And eventually, the door closed.

That's the part that stopped me because Scripture is filled with invitations from God.

Come.

Follow Me.

Return to Me.

Trust Me.

Abide in Me.

And ultimately, Jesus gives us the greatest invitation of all: Come to Me.

Jesus offers something infinitely greater than escaping a temporary storm.

He offers salvation, forgiveness, reconciliation with God, eternal life, and somehow, despite everything Jesus has already done, humanity still struggles with the invitation.

We hesitate.

We postpone.

We tell ourselves we'll deal with God later.

We want Him when we're scared.

We want Him when someone is sick.

We want Him when the marriage is struggling.

We want Him when the diagnosis comes.

We want Him when we need the miracle.

But what about when everything is fine?

Do I still want Him?

Not what He can fix.

Not what He can give me.

Not what He can rescue me from.

Him.

The Invitation Is Still Open

Maybe that's what has been sitting so heavily on my heart. We will inconvenience ourselves tremendously for something we love and call it a privilege. But sometimes we give God whatever is left and call His invitation an obligation.

And I'm not writing this from some place of having figured it out.

I'm guilty too. I've chosen convenience; I've been distracted; I've treated time with God like another thing on the list. That's probably why this convicted me so deeply, because I don't want to simply turn to God when I need Him. I want to want Him.

I don't want to only want what God can do for me; I want Him simply because He's Jesus. I want to recognize the magnitude of the invitation I've been given. The God who created me wants me to know Him. Jesus made a way for me to come near. And I don't want to become so comfortable with that truth that it stops amazing me. GOD SENT ME THE FRIEND REQUEST--he wants time with me!

Maybe it's time I stop thinking:

"I have to go to church."

And start remembering:

I get to.

I get to worship.

I get to gather freely.

I get to open my Bible.

I get to pray.

I get to know Jesus.

Maybe the question isn't:

"Do I have to go?"

Maybe the better question is:

"How did I ever stop realizing that I get to?"

Reflection

What do I gladly rearrange my life for? What inconveniences am I willing to tolerate because something matters to me? And when God invites me closer—through worship, Scripture, prayer, church, obedience, or simply quiet time with Him—do I receive that invitation with excitement? Or have I started treating access to God as something ordinary? I don't want Jesus only when I need something. I want to become someone who simply wants Jesus.

Prayer

Jesus,

Forgive me for the times I have treated Your invitation like an obligation. Forgive me for the times I've gladly rearranged my schedule for everything else while giving You whatever time was left. I don't want to seek You only when I'm hurting, afraid, desperate, or in need of something. I want You because You are You.

Remind me what an unbelievable privilege it is that I can come into Your presence.

Don't let familiarity make me casual about something that cost You everything.

Change what I treasure.

Change what excites me.

Change what I make room for.

And when You invite me closer, help my heart remember: I don't have to come.

I get to come. And I never want to lose the wonder of that invitation.

Amen.