Some things we need to do ourselves, and no one can do it for us. I see him out of the corner of my eye on a Sunday morning, as soon as we begin to sing, making a beeline down the aisle with his shirt tucked into khaki pants, dark hair combed neatly, eyes fixed on the front like a man fixing to make something right. He can’t be more than seven. Straight to the altar, and onto his knees, clasping his hands in front of him so naturally you can tell this isn’t the first time he has talked to God. Everyone keeps on singing, and I look around to see who he belongs to, but there are no signs of parental hovering. Just one small boy with a need, and I marvel at how completely unselfconscious he is, wonder what inner workings propelled him to the front. There is something innocent and holy right there in front of us all, Jesus’ words echoing: “Let the little children come to Me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” (Matthew 19:14)
Some things only I am accountable for, regardless of how I might squirm to escape that burden of responsibility at times: my thoughts, my emotions, my choices, my health and growth. Wise child to realize that this was something he needed to do himself, for his own good; wiser still to know where to go to fix it. Looking at the rows of a couple hundred adults standing in the auditorium, the contrast is striking; it makes me wonder if we are that much less needy, or if we only grow more skilled at covering up, as the decades pass. Or maybe it is just that stubborn self-sufficiency cropping up again.
Through the first two verses of Amazing Grace the boy stays serious on his knees. It is his choice to come, his space to make things right with God, and after an elder finally walks over to pray with him he goes up the aisle again; later I see him sandwiched between a young couple, the mother’s dark hair draped down as she whispers in his ear. Wise woman to understand that no amount of her own good intentions can accomplish real change in someone else’s heart. It’s a lesson all women have to learn at some point, that no matter how deeply we love someone or how far off the path he goes, how much he is hurting, there are some things we cannot fix. Only the one who is looking for change can come to the Cross and find it. Paul expressed that hope to his readers this way: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” (2 Corinthians 5:17)
This mid-Winter housecleaning is tough, making us face the grubby ragtag collection in our Thought Closet and take responsibility for it. This is something we need to do ourselves, and no one can fix it for us. Rooting out old prejudice and narrow assumptions, shameful memories that brand us deep…wrestling with the expectations of others we took to heart without even examining…looking honest at who we have grown to be after all these years, the bad habits we have cultivated in the dark. God’s Truth is like a lens focusing fresh on mental furnishings we were so used to seeing that we didn’t even notice how cluttered and shabby it had become. But once we have a clear view, our responsibility is also clear, and the choice. We can shut the door again and make our excuses about “too hard…too late…too ugly” or we can never mind what anyone thinks and make a beeline for the Cross….set our faces toward hope and let Jesus make all things new.
It’s really up to us.
“To the cross, I look, and to the cross, I cling;
Of it’s suffering, I do drink, of its work, I do sing.
For on it, my Savior, both bruised and crushed,
Showed that God is love and God is just.
At the cross, You beckon me;
You draw me gently to my knees,
And I am lost for words, so lost in love.
I’m sweetly broken, wholly surrendered.”
(Sweetly Broken, Jeremy Riddle)