Gate-Checked by the Gospel

Me and all my baggage.

I saw a headline a while back that made me laugh: "Woman Wears 9 lbs of Baggage to Avoid Baggage Fee." I'm a sucker for these kind of viral news clickbait articles, and this one described a woman who was about to depart on an all-inclusive trip and didn't have barely a dollar to spend on a tacky souvenir, let alone a baggage fee.

I relate to this woman. I have done my share of traveling, and you can often find me the night before a trip packing and repacking just to get the zipper to close. I've made a habit of avoiding the check-in desk and all the shame of putting my bag on a scale and seeing the number creep up dangerously close to the maximum. How can such a little bag hold so much stuff? And how do clothes weigh so much? I don't get it.

But I also relate to this woman's fierce commitment to not paying this fee. $85 for 9 extra pounds? No way, Jose. That's like, $10 a pound - for stuff I already own! Not happening. I can imagine her rifling through her piles of clothes, trying to guess how much this dress or that sweater weighs, doing the mental math. I imagine the customers in line behind her, mildly peeved at the delay but mostly curious as they watch her display the full breadth of her wardrobe. I can hear the chuckles of disbelief from the desk attendants. I wonder if the thought ever crossed this woman's mind, "Maybe I don't need this stuff. Maybe I don't need these nine extra pounds."

I relate to this woman because even if I am slightly more strategic at packing than she is, I live my life trying to avoid the $85 baggage fee. We all do.

We see the Gospel, that glorious all-expenses paid vacation, and we desperately want to go. Could it be true? Is it really all-inclusive? Could it really be for me, too? There must be a catch. So we pack up our bags like we know how to do, because surely we will need these things to get on the plane.

We approach the check-in desk and they tell us we can't take our bag the way it is. It's too heavy. In our efforts to avoid the dreaded baggage fee, we load ourselves down with nine pounds of Law. We think we need to bring all this stuff with us, to prove we are worthy to go. We start pulling out our nicest, cleanest, best-looking apparel. Look at my achievements! Look at my kid's college application! Look at my church attendance! Look at my well-decorated home!

But it's not enough. We need to load on a few more pounds. So we start pulling out what we've packed and find it's smelly and wrinkled. It's not the pressed, dry-cleaned, living-my-best-life layers. Now it's the layers of addiction, apathy, and all our failed diets. It's the bitterness towards our parents and the aching disappointment in our relationships. All of our deepest, truest selves we're most afraid of showing.

Sweaty and disheveled, we look down at all our layers, and we think, "Now they'll never let me on the plane, not with all this." We're wearing it all on our sleeves, the good, the bad and the ugly - and the just plain tacky.

The Good News is: we can't take it with us anyway. They don't allow bags on this trip. Standing by watching us while we unpacked all our junk is One who already took a very different kind of all-inclusive trip - a full cultural immersion in an earthly body to show us what God is like. He tells us to just leave it all at the door, that everything we need is awaiting us. He gently grabs our heavy-laden arms and places our ticket in our palm, and assures us the ticket is already paid for. No catch, no fine print, no terms and conditions.

I don't know about you, but sometimes I don't know if I actually want to leave it all behind. Even though these nine pounds of layers are starting to feel heavy (not to mention sweaty), it's comfortable, familiar. If I take it off, that means it's just me...is that enough? Do I even trust this guy, this Jesus, telling me that there's literally nothing I can bring? Will I even like this place we're going? Is sunscreen provided?

But looking in His face, I know He's telling the truth. Or maybe it's just that He is the Truth. I start to peel off every layer and give them each to Him, and I don't know how, but somehow He just makes them all disappear, all of my attempts at earning love, proving worth, or seeking joy - all of it. Eventually, I'm standing there empty-handed and there's nothing left to do but just say yes to this invitation, and thank Jesus there's no baggage claim in the Kingdom of Heaven.