“I tell you, not one of those who were invited will get a taste of my banquet.”

 

– Luke 14:15–24

 

I had to read this passage twice. Then I read it a third time with my coffee getting cold, which is usually a sign that either the Bible is saying something important or I’ve gotten distracted by something on my phone. In this case, it was definitely the Bible.

Jesus tells a story about a man who throws a huge dinner and invites a bunch of people. The food is ready, the table is set, and the host has done all the work. Then the excuses start coming in. One guy bought some land and needs to go look at it. Another bought five yoke of oxen and needs to test them. Another just got married and can’t make it.

And honestly, I had to laugh at the first two. The guy bought land, and apparently the land was going to disappear if he didn’t go stare at it that evening. The other guy bought five yoke of oxen and suddenly this dinner was competing with an ancient version of a test drive. “Sorry, can’t make it. I’ve got to see if these oxen have what it takes.”

But then I realized something that made the story a whole lot less funny.

None of their excuses were really bad.

That’s the problem.

They weren’t doing anything terrible. They weren’t out committing crimes. They weren’t shaking their fists at God. They were doing normal things. Buying property. Working. Getting married. Taking care of life.

They just had something else they considered more important.

And suddenly Jesus wasn’t talking about them anymore.

He was talking about me.

The Problem With “Later”

I don’t think most of us ever consciously decide to put God second. We don’t wake up in the morning and say, “Today I’m going to make sure God gets whatever is left after everything else gets taken care of.”

We’re much more subtle than that.

We say, “I’ll pray when I have a minute.” We say, “I’ll get back into the Word when things settle down.” We tell ourselves we’ll deal with the thing God has been putting on our heart after we finish the project, get through the trip, solve the problem, make a little more money, or finally get life under control.

The problem is that life doesn’t really do “under control.”

There’s always another deadline. Another meeting. Another problem. Another opportunity. Another reason why today isn’t the best day.

I’ve done this in my own life. I’ll make a decision, sign the contract, send the money, hire the person, book the flight, or start the project, and then remember to pray. That’s when I give God the wonderfully spiritual invitation to participate in the plan I’ve already made.

“Alright, Lord. Here’s what we’re doing. I’m going to need You to make this work.”

That’s not really asking God for direction. That’s asking God to put His name on something I already decided.

I’ve prayed that prayer more times than I care to admit.

And I think that’s why this passage bothers me. The people in Jesus’ story weren’t necessarily rejecting God. They were simply letting other things take priority.

That’s a much easier trap to fall into.

We can put God second without ever saying, “God, You’re second.” We just keep giving our best time, attention, energy, and thought to everything else.

Eventually, the calendar tells the truth for us.

Are You Treating God Like a Friend?

Here’s where the title of this devotional started bothering me: Would I want a friend who treated me the way I sometimes treat God?

Think about one of your closest friends. You don’t only call them when your life is falling apart. You talk when things are good. You ask their opinion before making major decisions. You listen when they tell you something you don’t want to hear. You make time for them because you actually value the relationship.

Now imagine a different kind of friend. They disappear when everything is going well. They don’t return your calls. They never ask how you’re doing. They don’t want your advice. But the moment their truck breaks down, their business hits a wall, or their life catches fire, your phone rings.

“Brother. I need you.”

We’d eventually figure out that this isn’t really a friendship. It’s a subscription to emergency services.

And sometimes I wonder if that’s how I treat God.

When business is going well, I’m busy. When the family is doing well, I’m busy. When the plan is working, I’m busy. But let something go sideways and suddenly I’m praying with the urgency of a man who just realized he left his wallet at the restaurant.

“God, I really need You right now.”

And preferably, I need an answer by lunch.

But God isn’t interested in being my emergency contact. He doesn’t want to be the person I call only when my plans stop working. He wants a relationship with me.

That means I need to talk to Him before I make the decision, not after. I need to listen when His answer isn’t what I wanted. I need to trust Him when He closes a door I was determined to walk through. I need to seek Him when life is good, not just when life is on fire.

And that’s a much harder kind of faith.

Because saying “God First” is easy.

Actually putting Him first is where the rubber meets the road.

Don’t Miss the Invitation

There’s another part of Jesus’ story that I don’t want to miss. When the invited guests kept making excuses, the host didn’t cancel the dinner. He sent his servants out to find other people—the poor, the hurting, the blind, the lame, the people who probably weren’t expecting an invitation at all.

That’s grace.

And before I get too comfortable judging the people who turned down the invitation, I need to remember that I didn’t earn mine either.

Neither did you.

I’ve made enough bad decisions to fill a filing cabinet, and I’m not entirely convinced the filing cabinet needs to be opened in public. You probably have a few folders of your own.

None of us gets to walk up to God and say, “I earned my seat at the table.”

We didn’t.

The invitation is grace.

That’s what makes the story so beautiful. God doesn’t only invite people who have their lives together. He invites people who don’t. People who have failed. People who have wandered. People who have spent years putting the wrong things first.

People like me.

People like you.

So the question isn’t whether we deserve the invitation. We don’t.

The question is whether we’re going to keep making excuses once we’ve received it.

That’s the part I don’t want to miss.

I don’t want to spend my life asking God to bless plans I made without Him. I don’t want to hand Him the itinerary and tell Him where we’re going. I want to ask Him where He’s going and then figure out how to follow.

That sounds simple.

It isn’t.

Following God has a funny way of interfering with plans I’ve already gotten very excited about.

But maybe that’s the point.

Maybe “God First. Life Next.” isn’t about putting a religious label on the life I already want.

Maybe it means letting God have the first word before I decide what the rest of my life is supposed to look like.

So here’s the question I’m sitting with today:

If someone treated you the way you sometimes treat God, would you believe they actually wanted a relationship with you—or would you assume they just wanted something from you?

That’s uncomfortable.

Good.

Maybe it needs to be.

Because the people in Jesus’ story didn’t miss the dinner because they hated the host.

They missed it because something else seemed more important.

I don’t want that to be my story.

I don’t want to be so busy building my life that I miss the invitation God keeps putting in front of me.

The table is set.

Grace has made room.

The invitation is there.

Maybe it’s time to stop saying, “I’ll get to it later.”

God First. Life Next.

Something to Chew On

Take an honest look at your week. If someone could see your calendar, your decisions, your attention, and the things you consistently make time for, would they see that God is actually first—or simply hear you say that He is?