Why don’t we run to God? Why don’t we come to our Father all the time, bringing our struggles and questions into his throne room? Why do we so often avoid praying to the only one who can help us?
Too often we hear an internal whisper that says, “He doesn’t really want you. Not now. Not like this. Not with that argument you just had dragging along like a heavy chain behind you. Not with the rotten thought, the lazy streak, the lustful glance, the bolt of anger that ignited your words. He doesn’t want that.”
And so we avoid him, pretending there are world-changing things we need to do on our phones or dishes that are essential to wash at this very minute. We wait the self-defined allotment of time until we think we can quietly sneak back into his presence; if we’re lucky, he won’t notice we were gone.
And so go the lies.
It’s true that God is holy and we are not, and this is a tragic circumstance created by our willful rebellion. It’s true that God sees it all: the vainglorious thought, the judgmental word, the selfish choice. Hebrews 4:13 tells us the terrifying truth that “no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account.” What hope do we have in light of those words? They’re enough to finish us all.
The writer of Hebrews seems to read our thoughts and continues, “Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin” (Hebrews 4:14-15).
This is the truth that towers above all others, shining its beacon of light over the shadowlands of our hearts. God became man, took our form, trod our earth, felt our pain, and battled the same temptations that we do, except that instead of giving in, he fought them with a zeal of righteousness foreign to this planet. He won every single battle.
Jesus understands our sins in a more personal and heart-breaking way than we can imagine, having looked each one in the face and shouldered each one on the cross. There, they called forth the damning judgment of God which rolled onto Jesus in waves of agony that finally, ultimately, washed our sins away.
Hebrews shows us this superior High Priest who has clothed us in righteousness, thrown open the throne room door, and welcomed us to a place we were made for yet could never enter on our own. So complete was the mediating work of this Priest on our behalf that the writer of Hebrews urges us not to hide or run away, not to shuffle or creep, but to “with confidence draw near to the throne of grace…”
Draw near, sister. Come close. Yes, closer, with a confidence commensurate to the strength of his victory.
Let’s stop hiding, lurking in the shadows, and assuming that God doesn’t want to meet with us; he did the unthinkable to show us that he does. In Christ, we are warmly welcomed into the presence of the Almighty God whom we now call Father. What are we waiting for?
