Light into the Darkness
For the past two weeks or so, God keeps revealing to me the theme of light. I feel like my heart and soul have been mired in darkness for a couple of decades. Every now and then, usually event-based, light comes and I feel refreshed, free, and hopeful. Then, in short order, I close the door of my heart and soul only to slip back into decorum, religion, and darkness. Even in my darkness, I still try to “do” what is right. I try to honor God with my life. I work to love my family and friends well. But, those efforts, are always restricted because of the darkness of my soul.
I feel like my efforts are never enough. The voice of shame is so much louder than the voice of grace. Shame insists I am doing good out of wrong motives, to earn and to gain, of which I will never be able to earn nor gain. My efforts are never enough and it convinces me that I am a fraud. A fake. A charlatan. I am a pastor pretending to be in the light, but the door is closed, and the darkness reigns.
Meanwhile, Jesus is standing at the door and knocking. “Here I am,” he says. “Open up.” I usually react the same as I would to that annoying door-to-door evangelist who I see coming from a distance, then turn off the lights, hide behind the wall, and hope he didn’t see me and promptly takes the hint to go away. I don’t want his good news. I already know it. I already have it. Leave me alone! I choose to sit in the dark, mired in my shame, convinced that I am no good. And that good news is good for eternity, for sure, but for the here and now I am not convinced. Did he see me? I hope not. Did he leave? I hope so. Now I can get on with my ways and not be bothered by his.
What I am learning is that God’s ways are not actually a bother. I used to think this to be true. His ways used to be a long list of dos and do-nots. They were rules that if I follow, I earned something good and if I did not follow them I earned something bad. Either way, it was me getting what I deserved. To be honest, any good I ever seemed to earn, never proved to be that good. Or, if it was good, it never lasted long. The shame quickly came back and consumed my narrative. In my shame, I would blame. Then, I would keep hiding in the darkness. I don’t like being in the darkness, in fact, I really do not like the darkness. It is cold, hopeless, and lonely. But I so often thought I had no other choice. This is what I have earned and this is what I deserve.
Meanwhile, Jesus is still at the door, knocking, “Open up, it’s me, Jesus, the light of the world.” The light of Jesus is so bright that it is shining through the cracks of the door. Whenever, I taste that little morsel of light, it is so sweet, nourishing, and feeds my soul. Yet, I hide. I ignore the call. I insist I am undeserved. I am terrified that if I open the door, I might be exposed and God might be so disappointed in what he sees, he may close the door once and for all, and not even let the light shine through it at all. For decades, I have decided that I would rather have the light in tiny doses than open myself up to the possibility of losing it all.
These days, however, something is changing in my heart and in my soul. The voice of Jesus on the other side of the door is sounding much more like the voice of grace than the voice of shame. He sounds much more like a God who knows me and, get this, a God who likes me and wants me. A God who extends his grace upon grace upon grace. A God who truly knows who I am, where I have been, and what I have done, yet, he still likes me and he still wants me to open the door. A God whose light is limitless and wants me to open up my dark places so he can freely shine his light into them. I am starting to feel the light. And it feels really really good.
The light is bringing hope. The light is making me hopeful. The light is helping me to be willing to show my face to God. The light is making me realize I do not need to hide any longer. God, this is me. You already know that, but it is time to start letting myself be known. God, you already love me, but it is time to start thinking of myself as one who is lovable. God, you know what I have done, yet you still offer me grace upon grace upon grace. God, you are at the door knocking, wanting to come in. It is time for me to say, “come on in, it’s dark in here, but I have no doubt your light will quickly change that.”
