Willing, Not Worthy
A Pastoral Reflection
If you’ve spent any time at Christ Church lately, you’ve probably heard a certain small human wailing from the nursery or joyfully galloping down the hallway after coffee hour--hands full of tic-tacs! That would be Judah—our two-and-a-half-year-old son—who we lovingly refer to as our “adorable tiny toddler terrorist.” Two is the most adorable and difficult of ages it seems…
Judah is absolutely obsessed with trains. But like many toddlers, he’s at war with his own limitations. He wants to connect the train cars himself, but he doesn’t yet have the coordination to do it. And asking for help isn’t exactly his strong suit. So what we get is drama. Frustration. Trains flung across the floor. Wailing. Sometimes on repeat.
But lately, Judah has learned something of a new strategy. He’s discovered that if he simply brings the broken trains to me—over and over and over and over again—I’ll fix them. Every time. No lecture. No shame. No frustrated face. Just connection. Restoration. Until I eventually have to get up and do something else… or (true confessions) hide the trains for a little while so we can all recover our sanity and emotional regulation.
That, friends, is a parable.
We are often like Judah with his trains. Something in us is broken. We want to fix it. We try. We fail. And instead of bringing it to God, we feel ashamed, stuck, or unworthy. But here’s the truth of the Gospel: God is not waiting for us to show up put-together and polished. God is simply waiting for us to show up.
The grace of God is not a prize for the worthy—it’s a gift for the willing. And Scripture bears this out again and again.
The prodigal son (Luke 15) wasn’t sure he’d even be welcomed home. But he was willing to return. The woman at the well (John 4) tried to avoid being seen. But she was willing to engage with Jesus when he met her there. Peter (Luke 5) fell at Jesus’ feet in shame, saying, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” But he was willing to fall before the one who saw him completely—and still called him anyway.
And then there’s this encouragement from Hebrews 4:16:
“Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”
When I ask Episcopalians of all ages what their favorite part of the liturgy is (besides the sermon, of course!), the most common answer I get is Confession and Absolution. That might surprise some people. We tend to think of confession as a solemn, heavy moment. But it’s actually simple. Sacred. Even satisfying.
Confession is not about beating ourselves up. It’s about being willing to name the mess—to bring it to God so it can be put back together. Kind of like taking out the trash: it’s not glamorous, but it clears space for something better.
So this week, let me encourage you: don’t strive for worthiness. God’s already handled that. Just be willing. Willing to be seen. Willing to be honest. Willing to bring the broken parts of your heart and your life to the God who never tires of making things whole.
And best of all? God never hides our broken pieces in a cabinet when he gets tired. He never says “enough already” or “fix it yourself.” He just keeps putting us back together—with love, with mercy, and with joy.
Pax et Bonum!
Fr. Ben +
