Winning the County Fair
an analogy about Christ
What accomplishment fills you with satisfaction? A flower garden you planted, a car you repaired, a well-run party you hosted, an award you earned? Perhaps you aren't the type to share your achievements with others, but what things are you secretly proud of? What would you brag about to your best friend? Is it a wooden table you built, a delicious dish you cooked, an animal you trained, a deal you found at a garage sale, or a beautiful grandbaby that was recently born?
We usually attach a personal pronoun to these things. It's my garden or my Tiffany lamp or my grandchild. We might be equally delighted with a thing if it weren't ours but we wouldn't feel it belonged to us. Our accomplishments belong to us. And in a strange sort of way, our children and grandchildren belong to us too.
Likewise, Christ is ours. He belongs to us. He's like the accomplishment that we didn't do. If we put our trust in him and his work for us, God sees Christ as ours because we've given up our own accomplishments, our own life. We've seen our own works aren't going to pass the test.
It's like we've entered our work into a county fair and the judge is walking around surveying everyone's handiwork. We've entered our very best, but we're aware that it isn't very good. How could it be? We had no tools! Some pathetic wood carving or a poorly repaired vintage car or our best attempt at banana nut bread without ingredients.
The judge is critiquing each work as he walks alongside the table of gingham cloth. But before he arrives at our display, Christ comes up and offers us his perfect work.
"Use this instead," he says.
"What do you mean?" some ask. "You think mine's not good enough?"
You don't say that, however. You know your own isn't good enough. So you say, "Yes."
You give your lump of wood or blob of overbaked bread to him, and he puts his masterpiece on the table instead.
"Where is your work?" the judge asks.
And you point to the table. You point to Christ. "He is mine," you say. "What he did, I call mine."
And yet, we don't own Christ like we do a project or accomplishment. Rather, we are his. We put our feeble attempts at craftsmanship into his hands and he is now at his work bench, making something beautiful of our lump of wood.
And the judge took one look at what was presented on that gingham cloth under your name and went no further. He'd found the perfect work. He looks at you and shakes your hand.
"You won," he says.
Good analogy!
Yes! Thank you Lord!