But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his possession, so that you may proclaim the praises of the one who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. —1 Peter 2:9
I spent the first five years of my life attending a little church where my dad was the minister. The Fairview Avenue Brethren in Christ church was a plain and simple place with few adornments. There were no tapestries, no hand-painted icons, and no gold-leaf trimming. We didn’t even have an organ or a piano. Church was on the ground floor, and Sunday school was in the basement. Parking was on the street, and a small cemetery was on the property. That was about it.
In the years since then, I have had the privilege of experiencing many different forms of worship—from the formality of Presbyterian and Anglican services to the spontaneity and informality of Pentecostal and Holiness celebrations. But having grown up with my own father standing up front, I have always been drawn to the role of the person conducting the service.
Regardless of their personal style, isn’t it nice to know that some people are called to be professional ministers, shouldering the responsibility of bringing their flock into the presence of God? Aren’t you glad you and I can go ahead and specialize in something else? Well, if you’re a dad, not so fast.
The apostle Peter has some news for us. We are priests. We are individuals. “As you come to him, a living stone—rejected by people but chosen and honored by God—you yourselves, as living stones, a spiritual house, are being built to be a holy priesthood to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” (vv. 4–5).
In ancient times, during worship, priests did two interesting things. First, they faced their congregation and told them what God had to say to them. They became God’s spokesmen: “This is what the Lord says,” they would say to open their remarks. Imagine being so close to God that you knew what He wanted to say and could speak for Him.
Then the priests faced the altar and spoke to God on the people’s behalf. “Hear their prayers, O Lord—bless them, guide them, protect them, and forgive them, and forgive me, too.” Being a priest is a sober calling.
Years ago I met with a megachurch pastor who told me of a time when he was preparing to enter the worship center to conduct a service for thousands of his pa- rishioners. Just next to the door that led to the platform was a full-length mirror. He paused, drinking in his own striking appearance, wearing a cool outfit. My, what a fine-looking pastor I am, raced through his mind.
At that moment, he caught the image of a cross stamped on the cover of his preach- ing Bible. “I fell to my knees,” he told me. “Who did I think I was? I was on my way to be the shepherd of this congregation, and I needed God’s grace more than any of them. The shed blood of Jesus makes my life possible.” Pouring his heart out to his heavenly Father, this contrite man confessed his unworthiness, sought forgiveness, and embraced the peace with God he had because of this cross. In a few moments, my friend stood to his feet, ready to be the pastor once more.
This is God’s picture of us: we’re to know His Word and listen to His voice so we can say to our family, “This is what God is saying to us.” Then we must be the ones who stand in the presence of a holy God and plead our families’ case—beginning with our own inadequacy and sin.
You’re a card-carrying priest. Your family is your congregation, and your home is your sanctuary. And now you know exactly what to do.