If we claim we have no sin, we are only fooling ourselves and not living in the truth. But if we confess our sins to him, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all wickedness. [1 John 1:8-9 (NLT)]
My grandmother lived in a beautiful large house. To the left of the foyer, behind closed French doors, was an elegant room she called the “drawing room,” but it wasn’t an artist’s studio where people drew. With its grand piano, silk draperies, formal furniture, and crystal chandelier, it was a room saved for entertaining special guests. Strategically placed near the front door, guests could go directly into it without passing through the rest of the house. As splendid as the room was, I never saw anyone in it; family and close friends always gathered in the “library.”
Instead of a drawing room, Aunt Ruby’s large farm house had a front parlor reserved for special guests (like the pastor). Close friends and family, however, always gathered on the front porch or around the farmhouse table in the kitchen. When I grew up, our special room for guests was called the living room even though we really lived in the den! Whether it was called a drawing room, parlor, living room, salon, or just the “good” room, many homes had a room set apart with the best furniture (sometimes covered in plastic) for company. This room was off-limits and kept pristine for special occasions and honored guests.
While we might conceal unfolded laundry or dirty dishes from guests, what do we keep hidden from God? Do we keep Jesus out of the dark corners of our lives and only allow Him into the “good” room? Do we hide our faults and weaknesses from Him the way we would unmade beds from a guest? Are we so ashamed of things both done and left undone or of the scars left by things done to us that we keep them hidden behind closed doors? Or, are we humble enough to open those doors, turn on the lights, and show Jesus everything there is, including our lapses, laziness, and lies? Do we trust Him enough to let Him see the mess left by our impatience, anger, and every stupid selfish decision we’ve made?
If our sins are forgiven, why do we need to confess them? Why do we need to let Jesus out of the parlor to see the real us? It’s not that He doesn’t already know what’s in the rest of our messy lives. Our sins were forgiven at the moment of salvation but it’s through confession that we lay claim to that forgiveness! By keeping Jesus in the pristine parlor, we’re denying, diminishing, concealing, excusing, or blaming others for our sins. Confession is trusting Jesus enough to let Him all the way into the house—into the dirty corners and locked rooms of our lives. Confession is how we build a relationship with Him and begin to be the people Jesus wants us to be. Don’t keep Jesus in the fancy drawing room; let Him into your heart!
Our pastor recently did a sermon series called “Following Jesus” which reminded me of our first time backcountry skiing in Colorado more than forty years ago. As novices, we knew enough not to venture into the wilderness by ourselves so we hired Wyatt to be our guide. Insisting we delay our trek several days until we’d acclimated to the high altitude and were ready for such a trip, he gave us a long list of items we had to carry in our packs. When I asked why we needed all the survival gear along with additional food, water, and clothing, he said we had to be prepared to spend the night. Protesting that I didn’t want to spend the night out in the cold and snow, he explained, “Neither do I, but we better be prepared to do it.”
In a recent Pearls Before Swine comic (drawn by Stephen Pastis), Rat asked Pig if he would be getting out of bed that day. Replying no, the sweet little swine explained, “I fear the big bad world and want no part of it.” When Rat told him he couldn’t stay in bed forever, Pig disagreed. “I have a bed, a bathroom, and a food delivery app that I’ve asked to just throw my food through the window.” In the next frame, we see Rat snug in bed with his friend and asking to borrow a pillow. I understand. There certainly are days in this crazy world of ours that we’d all prefer to just snuggle under the covers and never have to get up to face the challenges of the day, especially if DoorDash would deliver bedside. That, however, is not an option.
Knowing that God’s people must be fully committed to their cause in battle, Deuteronomy 20 provided several exemptions from combat. An anxious man wouldn’t have his mind on battle and could make blunders that might endanger the entire army. Because men too preoccupied with concerns at home wouldn’t fight wholeheartedly, those who were engaged to be married, had built a house and not yet dedicated it, or planted a vineyard and not harvested it were released from service. Moreover, anyone who admitted to being afraid was also sent home. This was done to keep their negativity and fear from infecting the entire army’s morale. A small army of faithful men was better than a large army of worried, frightened or fainthearted ones.
When we spent winters in the mountains, our early morning walk took us by a gourmet restaurant. Occasionally, we’d get a whiff of a delectable mouth-watering aroma as we passed. What we smelled was a large pot of roasted beef and veal bones that had simmered on the back burner overnight. In this day and age of microwaves, Instant Pots, mixes and prepared foods, it’s difficult to understand a chef simmering stock for over 12 hours to concentrate it into a rich demi-glace. That, however, is how the restaurant’s chef gets the flavorful base she uses in her delicious sauces.
Two disciples, Philip and Andrew, are mentioned in John’s account of the day Jesus fed over 5,000 with a boy’s lunch. When Jesus asked Philip where they could find food enough for all of the people, the right answer would have been, “Lord, you have the power to feed them all.” Instead, Philip, who may have been the first century equivalent of an accountant before following Jesus, immediately did a feasibility study and figured the massive expense. Ignoring the solution standing in front of him, he only saw impossibility.
Devotions of the Heart 