Faith in Focus #17
A reflection from Connection Church and other spiritual events from the week
Faith in Focus is a weekly reflection on what God has been teaching me throughout the week regarding my faith. Whether it’s personal interactions, reading, or the Sunday sermon, God speaks through it all, and I hope this helps you focus on His mission.
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Sermon Reflection: The Table of the Lord or the Table of Demons? Paul’s Stark Choice
Based on the sermon by Jonathan Land, Connection Church Sioux Falls, March 1, 2026.
It’s hard to believe we are already in March. At Connection Church in Sioux Falls, our walk through 1 Corinthians continues, and this week Pastor Jonathan led us into 1 Corinthians 10:14–11:1. The passage continues the apostle Paul’s response to questions the Corinthian believers had sent him in a letter. Questions about freedom, culture, and what faithfulness to Christ actually looks like in everyday life.
Paul opens with a command that lands with urgency.
“Therefore, my beloved, flee from idolatry.” 1 Corinthians 10:14 (ESV)
The word flee matters. It doesn’t describe a casual step aside or a quiet avoidance. It evokes the image of someone running for their life from something that is actively chasing them.
This Scripture drew a compelling parallel from the Old Testament. When Joseph was tempted by Potiphar’s wife, he didn’t linger, debate, or negotiate. Genesis 39:12 tells us plainly that “he left his garment in her hand and fled and got out of the house.”
Joseph ran because temptation was not neutral territory. Paul suggests idolatry functions the same way. It isn’t merely a philosophical mistake; it’s a spiritual force that competes for allegiance. And if that sounds dramatic, it’s because Paul intends it to be.
The World Behind the Text
To modern readers, Paul’s warning may initially feel distant. We don’t generally encounter temples filled with carved statues where people bow down in worship.
But in first-century Corinth, idolatry was woven into daily life. The city was filled with temples dedicated to Greek and Roman gods. Religious festivals included sacrifices, communal meals, and social gatherings. Participation wasn’t just religious, it was social, economic, and cultural.
To refuse these gatherings could mean isolation or even financial loss.
This is why Paul’s instruction is so careful. Earlier in the chapter he reminds the church that idols themselves are nothing. Merely objects. But participation in idol worship isn’t neutral because spiritual realities stand behind it. Paul writes:
“The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ?” 1 Corinthians 10:16 (ESV)
In other words, worship always involves participation. It forms allegiance.
To share the Lord’s Supper is to declare loyalty to Christ. To share in pagan sacrificial meals was to signal loyalty elsewhere. So Paul delivers a stark conclusion.
“You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons. You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons.” 1 Corinthians 10:21 (ESV)
The language is deliberately sharp. Christianity is not a hybrid system where Christ is simply added to existing loyalties. The gospel demands a decisive allegiance.
Walking the Passage
Paul’s logic unfolds with remarkable clarity. First, he calls believers to run from idolatry. Not manage it. Not flirt with it. Flee. Second, he explains why. Christian worship isn’t merely symbolic. The Lord’s Supper represents communion with Christ and unity with the body of believers.
“Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread.” 1 Corinthians 10:17 (ESV)
To take communion is to declare where you belong. This is why Paul insists believers cannot sit at two tables. Worship shapes identity. Participation forms loyalty. The imagery is powerful. A table represents fellowship, belonging, and shared life. When Paul speaks of “the table of the Lord,” he is describing the place where believers gather under Christ’s grace.
But the rival table, the one associated with idolatry, represents allegiance to other powers. Paul’s point is simple. You cannot belong fully to two opposing kingdoms.
Jesus taught the same principle during the Sermon on the Mount:
“No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other.” Matthew 6:24 (ESV)
Both Jesus and Paul confront the same illusion that divided loyalty is sustainable.
It isn’t.
A Fair Counter-Reading
Some readers interpret Paul’s warning more narrowly. In this view, the apostle is addressing a specific cultural situation in Corinth rather than making a broader theological statement about idols in every age.
After all, believers today rarely attend pagan temple feasts. This reading rightly reminds us that context matters. Paul was indeed speaking to a church embedded in a particular Greco-Roman environment. Yet Paul’s argument reaches deeper than cultural practice. He frames the issue in terms of spiritual allegiance, not merely social participation. His warning that idolatrous practices involve communion with demonic forces suggests the principle extends beyond ancient temples.
In other words, the specific forms may change but the underlying danger remains.
The Turn
Here’s where Paul’s words collide with modern life. Most of us do not kneel before statues. But idols have not disappeared, they’ve simply evolved. In the modern world, idols often appear as good things elevated to ultimate things: success, political power, financial security, influence, reputation, even personal autonomy.
None of these are inherently sinful. But when they begin to command ultimate loyalty, they function exactly like the idols Paul warned about. An idol is anything that captures the devotion that rightly belongs to God.
Paul anticipates a question that had been circulating in Corinth.
“All things are lawful,” but not all things are helpful. 1 Corinthians 10:23 (ESV)
Christian freedom is real. Believers are not bound by the ceremonial regulations of the old covenant or the superstitions of pagan religion. But freedom has a purpose.
Paul continues.
“Let no one seek his own good, but the good of his neighbor.” 1 Corinthians 10:24 (ESV)
Freedom in Christ is not permission for self-indulgence. It’s a gift meant to build others up. This reorients the entire conversation. Instead of asking, “Am I allowed to do this?” the Christian asks, “Does this lead me, and more importantly, others, toward Jesus?”
Paul’s conclusion sharpens the point even further.
“So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.” 1 Corinthians 10:31 (ESV)
The Christian life is not compartmentalized. Faith does not belong only to Sunday mornings. Every action, every decision, every allegiance is meant to reflect the glory of God.
Song of the week: First Things First - Consumed by Fire
In an age defined by accumulation. More money, more recognition, Consumed by Fire offers a pointed countercultural challenge in their song First Things First.
The track opens not with a declaration, but with a question, “What would I do if they all disappeared?” It’s a lyric that lands with uncomfortable clarity. In a society that equates identity with possessions and platform, the hypothetical loss of everything, through theft, disaster, fire, or flood, feels catastrophic. But the band presses deeper. If what you own vanished overnight, would your life feel ruined, or merely reset?
The song frames that tension as a spiritual litmus test. Material security, status, and even carefully constructed reputations are, by nature, temporary. They can be gained and lost in a moment. The band contrasts that fragility with the eternal nature of God. An eternal anchor in a culture obsessed with the immediate. Rather than moralizing, the song functions as a recalibration. Its message is direct and truth filled. Fulfillment cannot be manufactured through accumulation. The search for satisfaction in worldly success inevitably leaves a gap. What the song describes as a longing that cannot be filled by achievement or applause.
The chorus becomes both confession and commitment: “I seek Your will, not my own. Surrender all my wants to You. Keep the first thing first.” It is less a poetic flourish than a daily directive. An invitation to reorder priorities in a way that runs counter to prevailing cultural instincts.
In that sense, the song is not simply worship music. It is commentary. It challenges listeners to evaluate what truly defines them. What remains when everything else falls away? I pray that everyone would find the truth. The answer. Jesus.
Carry It Into the Week
Paul ends this section with a bold invitation.
“Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ.” 1 Corinthians 11:1 (ESV)
For Paul, discipleship is not abstract theology. It’s lived example. The apostle consistently laid down his own rights so that others might encounter the gospel. His freedom became a tool for mission, not self-expression.
This passage leaves us with a searching question. Which table are we actually sitting at? Some idols are obvious. Others are subtle.
A career can become a table.
A political identity can become a table.
Even reputation or approval can become a table.
None of these things promise what the table of Jesus offers. At the Lord’s table, the host is not demanding something from us. He is giving everything. Christ offers forgiveness instead of condemnation, belonging instead of isolation, and eternal life instead of temporary status.
That’s why Paul’s warning ultimately carries hope. The invitation remains open.
Leave the other tables.
Come sit with Jesus.
Week in Reflection
This week unfolded in a blur of highway miles, stage lights, and spiritual reflection.
A four-hour drive carried me from Sioux Falls to Minneapolis for back-to-back nights of live music. An itinerary that felt manageable on paper, if ambitious in practice. The lineup featured some of my favorite bands, and the experience delivered what shows are designed to provide: immersive visuals, chest-rattling sound, and the unspoken camaraderie that forms between strangers pressed shoulder to shoulder in a sea of people.
The concerts themselves were electric. Production value met performance precision, and the shared energy of thousands of fans created a temporary community bound by lyrics and light cues. For a few hours each night, the outside world dimmed. But spectacle comes at a cost.
Two consecutive nights on my feet proved to be a sharper physical test than anticipated. The reality of no longer being 20 announces itself most clearly the morning after, or, in this case, during the 12-minute walk back to the hotel following the second show. What should have been routine felt punishing. Each step carried a reminder that enthusiasm does not cancel out wear and tear.
And yet, it was in that discomfort that a quieter story unfolded. The walk, though painful, was completed. Strength came when it was needed. In a week defined by noise and motion, reliance on God’s provision became less abstract and more immediate. The contrast continued the next morning. In the hotel breakfast area, an environment typically filled with mainstream pop playlists, worship music blended seamlessly with Top 40 hits. It was a small detail that could easily be overlooked, but to me, was striking in its timing. In a largely secular public space, faith surfaced in an ordinary moment over coffee and an omelet.
The morning then took an unexpected turn when I returned to my car and discovered a flat tire. The inconvenience was immediate, and for a moment anger boiled up. But that reaction quickly gave way to a different perspective. The tire could just as easily have failed while traveling 80 miles per hour on the interstate. Instead, by what I can only describe as God’s grace, it happened while the car was parked, avoiding what could have been a far more dangerous situation. With that realization, the inconvenience felt minor by comparison. A quick stop at a nearby tire shop resulted in a fast and inexpensive patch, and before long I was back on the road and continuing the trip.
By the time I made the return drive home, voice strained, body sore, anger dissipated, but energy restored, the week had taken on a clearer narrative arc. What began as a concert excursion ended as a reminder of dependence on God. Physical limits acknowledged, spiritual strength renewed.
The weekend concluded not with encore lights but with community. The weekly Bible study and a dinner supporting a local ministry Cru. After the decibels faded, the quieter work of faith continued. Travel and concerts filled the calendar. But what defined the week was something less visible. The steady grace that carried me through it.
And remember, God loves you, and so do I.
