There are few moments in life more dangerous than opening a large cardboard box and discovering that it contains both 247 pieces and an instruction manual.
Particularly if the words, “Some assembly required” appear anywhere on the packaging.
Now, those three words are among the great understatements of the modern age.
“Some assembly required” may mean attaching two pieces with a screwdriver.
Or it may mean devoting an entire Saturday to a project that eventually causes you to question your engineering abilities, your eyesight, and possibly your vocation.
There is often no way to know.
Grace abounds.
Now, summer seems especially rich in these opportunities.
A new barbecue arrives.
A lawn chair needs replacing.
A bicycle requires adjustment.
A gazebo appears in the driveway in a box approximately the size of a small refrigerator.
And before long, an otherwise sensible adult is sitting cross-legged on the grass surrounded by bolts, washers, brackets, and instructions that appear to have been drawn by someone who firmly opposed the use of words.
I have always admired those diagrams.
A smiling stick figure points confidently toward Part A.
Part A bears no resemblance whatsoever to any item actually contained in the box.
Yet somehow we persevere.
Now, I should confess that I approach such projects with tremendous optimism.
At the beginning.
The first five minutes are magnificent.
I am confident.
Hopeful.
Certain of success.
Then comes the moment when I discover three identical-looking pieces that are apparently not identical at all.
This is usually followed by careful study of the instructions.
Then re-reading the instructions.
Then turning the instructions upside down.
Then seeking divine guidance.
Now, what fascinates me is that very few things in life arrive fully assembled.
Furniture does not.
Relationships do not.
Communities do not.
Faith certainly does not.
Much of life involves becoming.
Growing.
Learning.
Adjusting.
Being shaped over time.
Yet many of us secretly wish for an instruction manual.
We would like clear diagrams.
Step-by-step directions.
A guarantee that if we follow the proper sequence everything will work perfectly.
Instead, life tends to unfold somewhat differently.
We learn as we go.
We make mistakes.
We backtrack.
We occasionally discover that Part B should have been attached before Step 4.
And then we begin again.
The Christian life is remarkably similar.
God does not call finished people.
God calls ordinary people.
People who are still growing.
Still learning.
Still becoming the people God created them to be.
The disciples themselves were hardly fully assembled when Jesus called them.
Peter was impulsive.
Thomas was skeptical.
James and John seemed remarkably comfortable with conflict.
Yet God worked through them all.
Not because they were finished.
But because they were willing.
Now, I think one of the great gifts of grace is that God seems remarkably patient with unfinished people.
Which is fortunate.
Because every one of us is unfinished.
We are all works in progress.
Still learning how to love.
Still learning how to forgive.
Still learning how to trust.
Still learning how to follow.
God, thankfully, does not wait until the assembly is complete before claiming us.
Instead, God loves us while the pieces are still scattered across the lawn.
And perhaps that is good news worth remembering.
Especially on a Friday.
Because by the end of the week many of us become acutely aware of our imperfections.
The things we intended to accomplish.
The conversations we wish had gone better.
The goals we have not yet reached.
The ways we still fall short.
Yet grace reminds us that God has never required perfection before offering love.
The work continues.
The growth continues.
The assembly continues.
But God’s love is already present.
Now, if this weekend finds you staring at an instruction manual, surrounded by mysterious hardware and wondering why there are apparently six screws left over after completion, take heart.
The project may not be perfect.
You may not be perfect.
But God has always done remarkable things with unfinished people.
Alleluia.
Companion Prayer
Gracious God,
Thank you for loving us exactly where we are.
When we become discouraged by our imperfections,
remind us that you are still at work within us.
Give us patience with ourselves,
grace toward others,
and trust in your guiding hand.
Help us to remember that growth takes time,
wisdom is learned gradually,
and faith is formed day by day.
And when life feels confusing,
remind us that you remain the Master Builder.
Through Christ our Lord.
Amen.