Court Room or Throne Room?

During worship last night at small group, I thought, some of us feel we have a court date with God
every day. When we finished singing, and I shared that thought, several people laughed in recognition. 

We think we have to appear before the eternal Judge every night,
answering for our daily transgressions, fearing his judgment. Like so many
concepts in our life with God, we get it mixed up. Yes, keeping short accounts
with our Father-God is a good thing. Regular confession keeps us humble.
Agreeing with God regarding our hard hearts helps soften them.  

But we do not need to fear sentencing. At small group, I went
on to say, “Our case has already been adjudicated. The sentence has already
been served.” Several agreed, nodding. 

That’s easy to say, and it’s easy to nod our heads. To know it in our whole being—body, soul,
and spirit—takes time. And not just the passage of time—deep knowledge takes
experience. We meet with God not in a courtroom but a throne room. Hebrews 4:16 tells us to “approach the throne of grace
with confidence.” As we repeatedly draw close, we will gradually sense the golden
glow. We’ll notice the warm smiles of the attendants. We’ll lift our eyes to
the one raised on the throne to see soft eyes gazing at us. With boldness, we will
rush toward him, assured of his desire to see us. John the beloved, who knew
him best, says his “perfect love casts out fear” of judgment. (I John 4:18) As
we work together towards holiness, we have a standing appointment with Father-God—one
we need not dread.

Father, you love to see us rush toward you. Thank you for making it possible.

New Approaches

Walking west on Oregon street this spring, I’ve admired a
hanging planter hidden by its profusion of petunias, lobelias and baby’s breath.
Suspended from a small overhang shading the front steps, it completes the
inviting entryway to a frame house. This morning, walking from the other direction,
I noticed a bed of white daisies and purple dame’s rocket, neatly outlined in red brick,
against the east side of the butter-yellow house. Though appreciating the hanging
flowers many times in the last few weeks, the change in point of view added
to my enjoyment.

As creatures of habit, we often find ourselves approaching each
other from one direction. We keep seeing the same characteristics. Even if we enjoy
what we see there’s always more to notice. When we find someone who invites us
in, like a friend does, we can look forward to discovering new parts of them through
different engagements. With old friends, if all our time is spent doing craft projects
together, maybe it’s time to have a coffee and a chat. 

We also develop routines with our old friend, God. We sit
down, we read the Word, we ask him to bless our families. Or we walk through
the morning coolness, thanking him for his wondrous creation. Some do breath
prayers—“Jesus, have mercy,” or “Holy God”—as we fall asleep. Others preach the
word or feed the poor. Perhaps it’s time to do a new thing. Choosing an
unfamiliar path will give fresh views of God’s love. Approaching his company from
unfamiliar directions will give new pleasures. 

Father, lead us in new paths, where every trail leads to new
experiences of you.

 

Having It Our Way

In the story Jesus told about the prodigal son, from Luke
15, the father let the son go. The father did not run after him, begging him to
stay. The father didn’t send envoys to the tavern to bring him home. There’s no
indication of an entreating letter. But when the boy returned, the father saw
him a long way off. He had been often at the window gazing down the lane, waiting
to embrace his lost child. 

What did the son’s freedom cost the father? How many tears
did that father shed at the window? How heavy was his heart as he waited for
the uncertain return of his boy? What projects remained unfinished because the
father spent his time watching? 

If my child made such poor choices, I’d want to run after
her, control her, ground her forever. Had she become a drug addict, leaving a
child for me to raise, I’d have been deeply resentful. My love is shallow.
God’s is deep. God’s commitment to us includes letting us make self-destructive
choices. He understands that the built-in consequences of sin may be the only
way for us to come to our senses. 

Our sins may be more subtle than the wayward son’s. Our
fears that keep us in turmoil. Our unbelief that stops us from acting on his
still, small voice. Our pride that says we can handle things ourselves. But we
always pay a price for having it our way. What amazes me, though, is God’s
willingness to let us go and pay the price with us. 

Father, may we recognize again your deep, deep love.