I can’t remember the first time I read C.S. Lewis’ mud pies in the slum analogy, but I will never forget the imagery:

It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased. -C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

That paragraph awakened me, but gently. It became a rock in my shoe. A bothersome itch I couldn’t quite reach. I was already a Christian, but I had the dirt of the slum on my hands. I had yet to experience the “fullness of joy” and “pleasures forevermore” of Christianity. For me, infinite joy proved elusive. I was like the blind man Jesus healed in stages. “I saw men like trees, walking.” I could see, but not clearly. I was stuck.

Maybe you’re stuck too. Maybe your life felt like a lockdown before COVID-19. Taking your spiritual inventory only left you feeling defeated. This is not how you hoped your life would turn out. And I don’t think Lewis had financial hardship in mind when he wrote that paragraph. You don’t have to be poor to experience the half-hearted life. In fact, the wealthy are often the first to watch their hope collapse.

John Cheever wrote, “The main emotion of the adult American who has had all the advantages of wealth, education, and culture is disappointment.” He’s right. Shattered dreams is a common experience. It really is lonely and empty at the top. Just ask Jim Carrey. He said, “I think everybody should get rich and famous and do everything they ever dreamed of so they can see that it’s not the answer.” 

They’re both saying the same thing. When you finally catch what you’re chasing and discover the end of the rainbow, you don’t find a pot of gold—you often find disappointment. Then comes depression, regret, resentment, and a despondent resignation. You look up one day and find yourself making mud pies in the slum. 

If it takes hours of mind-numbing Netflix binging to help you cope with reality, you are in a slum. If your eyes stay glued to your smartphone, or if social media is holding you hostage…If every night requires an additional drink to kill the noise, or a few more risqué clicks to deaden the pain…If you’re emotionally dependent on others; fumbling from one relational conflict to another; living with radical insecurities and addictions…you’re making mud pies.    

If you’re there, making mud pies, it’s not over. But to experience real, lasting change, you must do something difficult. Face reality. Take inventory. Feel your misery for a moment. Acknowledge the pain. Then open yourself up to God again. That’s how Lewis helped me.          

He reminded me that God’s offer still stands. A holiday at the sea awaits those who can hear the music. So how do we get in on this? I have a sneaking suspicion that Lewis was tipping his hat to Isaiah 55. 

There, God makes one of the most unblushing and shocking promises to slum-dwellers in captivity. That was Isaiah’s audience: God’s people in Babylonian bondage. Suffering in exile. Lonely. Empty. Miserable. But God shows up with a surprise offer—a holiday at the sea! Listen to how he begins: 

Come, everyone who thirsts, 

come to the waters; 

and he who has no money, 

come, buy and eat! 

Come, buy wine and milk 

without money and without price. (Isaiah 55:1)    

God doesn’t come at us with “I told you so.” He doesn’t taunt us with “serves you right.”  That may be our response to those who betray us when they hit bottom, but it’s never God’s. And besides, it wouldn’t work. Sarcasm never produces repentance. It only fosters resentment. God’s not snarky. He is always serious about our joy. 

Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, 

and your labor for that which does not satisfy? (Isaiah 55:2)

That may be the most gripping question in the Bible. I can’t get over it. God is asking His people, “What are you still doing here? Why are you working so hard at being miserable?” He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t need to. Our plight is obvious. This path is not working for us. Idolatry is exhausting—and expensive. It promises us a good time but leaves us tired, broke, and hungry. We’re dried up. Empty. Done. 

And that’s the secret of change, really. If you haven’t yet faced your failure, you’re not ready. If you still have hope of success in the slums, you can’t receive this appeal. You won’t. There’s only one qualification: desperation. That’s why God begins with the strange condition of thirst.  

If you are longing for change, you qualify. God sees you in your misery. And he comes with hope and promise. He changes the subject. He doesn’t come to scold us. He doesn’t come to pity us. He comes with a better deal: a holiday at the sea, freely offered.  

Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good, 

and delight yourselves in rich food. 

  Incline your ear, and come to me; 

hear, that your soul may live; 

and I will make with you an everlasting covenant, 

my steadfast, sure love for David. (Isaiah 55:2–3)

Those verbs are all intense. But none of them are burdensome. “Listen! Eat! Delight! Incline your ear! Come! Hear!” God wants our attention like a mother calling in for supper her distracted child. It’s time to forsake your mud pies. A feast awaits you! Fresh water. Sweet wine. Milk. Bread. This isn’t 7/11 box wine or skim milk. It’s not saltine crackers either. This is the good stuff. But only the hungry will come.  

We were made to feast with God! We don’t have to remain in exile during a famine. We don’t have to settle for mud pies in the slum. However, we do have to admit our need.  

Only one thing keeps people from experiencing this “holiday at sea.” They refuse to open themselves up to God. I’m not talking only about unbelievers. Christians do this. We get stuck. Then we get hardened. We forget that Jesus is the most understanding person in the universe—and the most approachable. He draws near to sinners and sufferers with a surprising offer.  

“My door is open. My table is prepared. Come. Sit. Eat. Drink. Enjoy my feast. Your need is deep. My provision is rich. My invitation is too good to refuse and too urgent to delay.” This is the heart of God. It’s how he closes out the last chapter in the Bible: 

The Spirit and the Bride say, “Come.” And let the one who hears say, “Come.” And let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who desires take the water of life without price (Revelation 22:17).

God is inviting. This is the message he wants every member of the human race to hear—right now. Don’t you dare forget this: God is wonderfully attracted to your need. He’s not afraid to come to you in the slums. Stretch out your muddy hands to God.

God’s feast—this holiday at the sea—is FREE to you. But it cost God dearly. Jesus paid the price. Jesus covered all the expenses. That’s the beauty of the Gospel. That’s why it’s truly “good news” to slum-dwellers. Jesus paid it all, and this feast is all about his goodness and love.

"I am the bread of life. whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst…If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink” (John 6:35; 7:37).