It was a quiet Sunday morning service last spring when, during church announcements, my ears suddenly pricked up. 

Tickets had been donated for the church youth group—of which my two teenage sons are a part—to attend a performance of Handel’s Messiah by the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra.  

The performance would happen in the late fall, before which the youth group would spend time studying the scriptures of the 284-year-old oratorio. Every youth who participated in these studies would have their entire ticket cost covered.

Handel’s Messiah has long held a special place in my heart, ever since I was a young child and my mother took me to see it performed by the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra. I had been deeply moved to hear God’s word so powerfully displayed in voice and instrument. 

To this day, one of my favourite Christmas traditions is to spend the season listening on YouTube to performances of Messiah by orchestras from around the world. 

I loved the idea of my own sons attending the performance in person with their youth group. My boys seemed excited too—but then they chose not to attend the Youth Sunday School classes, where the Messiah studies would happen. 

They did, however, continue to attend the fun, active youth group activities—trips to a bowling alley and roller rink, a banana-themed scavenger hunt that ended with banana splits, tobogganing, and serving a meal to people experiencing poverty and hunger.

But come Sundays when the other teens would head off to Youth Sunday School, our boys would sit beside my husband and me in the adult service, refusing to go. One would cling tightly to my arm at the mere mention of heading off.

We didn’t insist they go; allowing kids developmentally and age-appropriate choices for self-determination over aspects of their lives is something we value. It’s especially critical in a family like mine, where the kids are neurodiverse, in various stages of emotional healing, and learning to build attachment, connection, and a sense of safety after having been adopted at an older age.

Still, as the summer months passed and fall began, I felt a little sad when I thought about how our boys wouldn’t be able to attend the big symphony trip. 

September came, and one of the youth leaders sent out an email to all the families, outlining the next several months of youth group activities, including the evening at the symphony. I emailed him back about which of the activities my boys would or wouldn’t be available to attend. On the list of those they would be unable to attend, I mentioned the symphony trip, given my sons had not attended Youth Sunday School in well over a year. Surely, they wouldn’t qualify for the free tickets.

The next day, the youth leader emailed me back. I was astonished by his words.  

“For Handel’s Messiah, they are certainly welcome to come to the symphony and are not required to do any extras if they don't feel comfortable or don't want to,” the youth leader wrote. “Just like God's grace, there are no hoops to jump through to receive it!” 

He added that if we were interested, he could provide us with the study material to go over with our boys at home. 

Tears filled my eyes when I realized that my boys would have the opportunity to go to Messiah with the youth group after all. 

However, even more so, what struck me was the simple depiction of grace being freely offered without hoops to jump through.  In that moment, I suddenly understood more clearly than ever what God’s grace looks like.

God’s grace isn’t based on what we do for him or what we do (or don’t) achieve in our lives. It’s not about how hard we work or any merit we earn. We don’t have to start practising hopscotch so we can become champion hoop jumpers; God’s grace is freely given—with abject love.

It helped me understand in a new light Jesus’ Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard, found in Matthew 20:1-16. In this parable, Jesus tells the story of a landowner who goes out early in the morning and hires workers for his vineyard, agreeing to pay them a day’s wage. As the day passes, he sees folks lollygagging around the marketplace, so he hires them, too. The final people he hires get in just one hour of work before the end of the workday. 

Astonishingly, after the day’s work is done, and it’s time to pay the workers, each worker receives the same wage, whether they worked the entire day or just one measly hour. Of course, grumbling ensues among those who had worked hard all day long. 

The landowner basically tells them to take their pay and shove off, asking, “Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?”

This parable always used to rub me the wrong way. Why should those who worked hard—all day, no less—receive the same as those who did little work? I used to wonder: why should those who devote their lives to God be treated the same as those who don’t, and skid into Christianity at the last moments of their lives?

Following this line of thinking—why should my boys, who missed all the Sunday School classes and only attended the fun youth events like roller skating—be given the same symphony tickets to attend Handel’s Messiah at the symphony as the other teenagers who attended the classes and studied faithfully?

Fairness would be to exclude my kids. Grace is to welcome them with open arms.

Grace isn’t fair, especially not in the way the world thinks of fair. Grace is extravagant, generous, and freely offered without hoops. Grace is gentle, like our Saviour.

Grace is at the heart of Jesus’ invitation to us to “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

Note that this grace-filled invitation is not to work more, try harder, run faster, create extra, or impress extravagantly—but to simply come.

Photo by Pexels.