Ever since I was a little girl, I have dressed up for church on Sundays. I think the first time I ever wore pants was just a year or two ago. It was snowy outside, however, and pants and flats seemed like a more intelligent option than a skirt and heels. This felt so strange to me, wearing pants to church. The church I'm a part of is quite casual, so even though most people are always in pants, I felt so dressed-down.
For anyone raised in church, there is this idea that we must dress up for it. There is this idea that an effort must be made. We don't have to bring out our finest clothing, but most do dress up for a Sunday service more than they would during any day of the week.
I think that perhaps this idea of dressing up for church has gone beyond just clothes. I know for me it has. Not only have I felt the need to look my best on the outside everytime I step through the sanctuary doors, I have also felt the need to look my best on the inside. I have spent so much of my relationship with Christ feeling unworthy and dirty.
I felt both feelings strongly recently. In so many cases, my heart has grown so calloused to certain sins but recently I actually felt the weight of my wrongs. I felt gross. I felt undesirable. I felt as if anyone with any personal value would wash their hands of me. Usually when I feel like this, I make an attempt to fix the problem. I analyze it, I might even talk about it, or I write about it. A few days pass and suddenly I feel better. But this time, I went to Jesus and told Him that I was ugly and dirty and covered in shame. My prayer made little sense; it was really just mumbled words. But I believe that God would take a honest mumble over a grandiose speech any day.
I didn't immediately feel the relief of forgiveness or the freeing release that mercy brings with it. I woke up this morning still feeling restless, like even though I was forgiven, I was somehow not loved in the same way.
A couple of months ago, a dear friend of mine was talking with me and told me she had something she needed to talk to me about. I knew something was going on with her, but I didn't know what. She had seemed stressed and tired, very different from her usually sunny personality. She called me on a Thursday and we agreed to meet for ice cream later that night. I went to meet her and when I got there, I could see how nervous she was. It took her several tries and eventually she told me she was pregnant. Her wedding was in June and she told me this news in April. She felt ashamed that she had given in to temptation and confessed to me her fear that I might not be able to forgive her. I was surprised at her pregnancy, but I felt even more shock that this friend of mine ever thought for a second that I would stop loving her because of it. I told her there was nothing she could ever do to make me not love her, no crime too severe or sin too harsh. I meant that and hugged her, rubbing her belly and saying hello to her precious baby girl.
I was thinking about this the other day and suddenly it hit me: My love is shaky and human, trapped in bonds of mortality. Even still, there is nothing any of my friends could do that could kill that love. I might be disappointed in them or hurt because of their actions, but nothing would take my love away. So how foolish of me to presume that Christ, who is love incarnate, could ever stop loving me, His chosen bride, because of my sins.
When I sin and come to God, filthy and burdened, it is not a chance for Him to scold me and push me away; it is a chance for Him to pick me up, a chance for His glory and amazing redemption to shine through my stains and brokenness.
For so many years now, I have been trying to get clean before enterting the presence of God. I have been "dressing up" every Sunday, trying to make myself presentable before the Almighty. But I didn't realize that by doing this, I was only making myself more and more dirty. I am not able to cleanse myself because I live in a fallen world and I own fallen hands. But Jesus promises that those who come to Him might have life and have it to the full, that they will not know condemnation but His eternal love.
I went to Starbucks this morning and was sitting in a chair reading through some Scripture before I went to work. I wanted to read something showcasing the love of God so I turned to the book of Hosea, which contains one of the most beautiful portraits of love. Here is the section that struck me most in my reading:
"Therefore, behold, I will allure her, will bring her into the wilderness and speak comfort to her. I will give her her vineyards from there, and the Valley of Achor as a door of hope; she shall sing there, as in the days of her youth, as in the day when she came up from the land of Egypt. And it shall be, in that day,” Says the LORD, “ That you will call Me ‘My Husband,’ and no longer call Me ‘My Master.’"I have always thought of God as Father rather than husband. Fathers love their children because they are simply their children. Fathers do not choose their children; they just are. But husbands
choose their brides. Husbands
puruse their brides. They
romance them and
woo them and
invite them into a wonderful journey of love. A father's love often comes automatically, but love from a husband takes time.
Thinking of God as a husband makes me feel like I haven't in a long time. I feel beautiful and captivating to Him. I feel secure in His devotion to me. I feel free for the first time in so long. No longer must I come before Him bearing my penance. Instead, I must come as a wife might come to her beloved, confident in His love and in His acceptance, ready and willing to be vulnerable, to show Him all the hidden places so that He might come inside and heal them. I must come ready to take off the dress.
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