The room

A few weeks ago at church I heard something said that hit me so hard in my mind, so deep in my gut, I can't stop thinking about it. The words spoken were so on point, my soul stood still, riveted by the love and the truth that was so bravely spoken.

"Jesus, does not subject you, to the room."

I know. What?

But let's think about it. Let's really go deep for just a few minutes (because any more than that and I would be a bawling mass of jelly) and digest this statement.

"Jesus,
(God. Our Redeemer. The one who knows everything about us; what is seen and not seen, including our secret motives we bury with ten shovels under mounds of dirt because they stink so bad)
does not subject
(open or expose)
you,
(me, all of us)
to the room."
(the room meaning - the people who are lunging at you while gnashing their teeth, salivating with their claws out, in anticipation of ripping you to shreds for an act they want you to pay for)

Have you ever been subjected to the room?

Have you ever been judged, condemned, banished, because of something you have said or done?

Have you ever once been loved, and then, not loved, because you made a mistake?

Have you ever had to stand and try to explain to someone who won't listen, or doesn't care, who refuses to see you at all, and the panic rises in your belly, because you know no matter what comes out of your mouth, or your eyes, it won't make a difference?

(An even harder question - have you ever been the room? But that's a whole other blog post.)

Yes.
I have.

The room is ice cold.
The room leaves you very alone.

It can, and often will, bring you to your knees, with your face to the floor, water leaking out of squeezed-shut eyes, and with every breath, every thought...

shame. guilt. humiliation.

And you will claim them as your own.
You will pick them up,
tie them around your neck,
embed it across your forehead,
pin it to your clothes.
You will declare to the world, to yourself, what others have declared to you.

The room can leave quite an impression.

And you know what you did.
We always know, don't we? We know what we did, what we said, what we thought.
We know it was bad.

Sometimes the room gets the particulars right.
Sometimes the accusations are correct.
Sometimes the list is long.


We know sometimes we get away with it.
Sometimes
the room never knows.

But we know.

Jesus knows too.

But unlike the room that is filled with upturned noses and arrogant stares, a room bent on penalties and retribution, a room seething in hypocrisy and double-standards, without the slightest hint of grace or redemption; Jesus gives love.

Jesus says, "Here, I'll take that."

And he lifts the shame off of your face and places it on his forehead like a crown.
He takes the guilt from the depths of your heartbeat and holds it tight in the palms of his hands.
He gathers the humiliation that drapes over you and allows it to be whipped into him.

He tells the room to get out of His house.

And then he looks at you, he looks at me, with mercy swirled in compassion, grace dipped in love, and says, "Go. Sin no more."

Go.
A new moment, a fresh breath, a clean house.
Go forward, and with each step, know, you don't have to be what you thought you were or do what you have always done.
You are new.
No longer subjected to the room.


Let it sink in; what He did, what He does.
You.
Free in Jesus.

XOXO