Does God Want to “Use” Us?

Brief reflections on a seemingly-innocent phrase

Photo by Tuva Mathilde Løland on Unsplash

(A four-minute read.)

I know it’s a fairly innocent expression, and one that’s well-intentioned, but I’ve been making a concerted effort lately to omit a specific phrase from my vocabulary that—at least in my mind—gives a wrong impression of God and the way he wants to relate to me.

Simply put, I’m not sure God wants to “use” me.

I’ve said it a lot and I regularly hear others say it as well. It often pops up in prayers, along the lines of something like, “God, use us today to be your hands and feet,” or “Father, use us to bless others.”

Again, perhaps it’s just semantics. And no doubt my aversion to the idea is heavily influenced by my egalitarian assumptions, being from America such that I am.

But, I don’t know: does God really want to use me?

In my ears, it sounds like God has ulterior motives when it comes to his attitude toward and purposes for me. I’m merely a dehumanized tool in his hands, stripped of personhood and objectified for his larger agenda.

He doesn’t relate to me for me. He doesn’t delight in me as me. I’m only valuable to him insofar as I’m “useful” to him, serving simply as a means to an end.

I don’t think this is God’s attitude toward us, though. We “use” inanimate objects—cars, curling irons, money, musical instruments.

The moment we “use” people, however, we’ve stripped them of their humanity—and surrendered some of ours.

Nobody wants to feel like they’ve been “used.”

And I don’t think God wants to “use” us either.

He has no interest in having a #metoo moment with us.

Instead, he honors our agency and delights in our freedom.

We’re not merely a means to an end for him; we are the end. We’re the supreme object of his unceasing love. We’re the sons and daughters in whom he delights—always and forever.

Eternity, I do believe, will be a never-ending communion between us and God, a give-and-take that has no other purpose than to pursue mutual satisfaction and joy.

I see it and hear it in the poetic words of the prophet Zephaniah:

The Lord your God in your midst,
The Mighty One, will save;
He will rejoice over you with gladness,
He will quiet you with His love,
He will rejoice over you with singing (Zephaniah 3:17)

Such imagery turns my mind to my children. I recall many nights when they were just infants or toddlers, and I’d quietly sneak into their bedrooms and just stand over their crib. I’d marvel in the glory and beauty of their little bodies and big hearts.

They had captivated my heart and I was left speechless in their presence, amazed that God had invited me into the wonderful symphony of parenthood—of just relating to these little people in all their innocence and potential.

I would literally just stand there, shaking my head, mesmerized by the miracle of it all.

I had no thought of “using” them. To be sure, I long to see them succeed in life and to find their purpose and calling, stepping into the joy of pursuing “useful” labor.

But I don’t want to “use” them in any way.

I want my relationship with them to ultimately be defined by mutual delight and joy. I don’t want them to be servants whom I use but children (and friends) whom I love.

This is, I do believe, the way God seeks to relate to us.

This isn’t to say, of course, that he doesn’t place callings on our lives—inviting us to step into a higher purpose and a greater mission. He has visions and dreams and hopes for us, but not at the expense of our agency and personhood. Instead of “using” us, he invites us to “partner” with him.

As Jesus said to his disciples, “No longer do I call you servants, for a servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all things that I heard from My Father I have made known to you” (John 15:15).

Amazingly, astoundingly, God has brought us in as “senior partners.” We’re in on the plans and even get to share in the decision-making process (see 1 Corinthians 6:3 and Revelation 3:21).

The God of Scripture is thus not a God who wants to “use” anyone. That’s the last thing he wants to do.

Instead, he wants to delight in us as the end, inviting us to the table as partners and friends.

Recognizing such a beautiful reality liberates us from wanting to “use” others, by the way. And it liberates us from wanting to “use” God—but those are stories for another day.

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Shawn is a pastor in Maine, whose life, ministry, and writing focus on incarnational expressions of faith. The author of four books and a columnist for Adventist Review, he is also a DPhil (PhD) candidate at the University of Oxford, focusing on nineteenth-century American Christianity. You can follow him on Instagram, and listen to his podcast Mission Lab.