On Saturday as I walked home from the farmer’s market, I stopped in a church to pray. I put my big bag of apples and chard and Kabocha squash on a pew and smiled at the thought of ten minutes of unexpected quiet time.
Almost without thinking I said silently, “Jesus, I am here to be with you. I want to be your slave.”
My thoughts unexpected exploded in revolt. Slave? No, I didn’t want to be Christ’s slave–I wanted to be his servant. But as my brain flipped through Bible verses I knew being a “slave of God” is a thoroughly Biblical concept. So why did it give me such pause?
“I’m not sure I want to be your slave,” I told God, bluntly.
“Maybe you should think about why,” came the reply.
“Okay,” I said, and did.
Here’s what I found: I prefer to think of myself as a servant of God (also a Biblical concept) because being a servant seems to mean I’d have greater autonomy. One could have stuff of one’s own as a servant. Maybe even some time off from time to time. That wouldn’t happen as a slave.
In my mind, being a slave is like being a servant to the nth degree. It’s complete servitude, with no loopholes.
So I decided that I did want to be a slave of God after all. I knelt, and prayed, and said thanks for the insight. Then I took my apples and chard and Kabocha and left, to serve God in whatever ways he wanted that day.
