Guilt

Guilt

The Lord is compassionate and merciful, slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love. He will not constantly accuse us, nor remain angry forever. He does not punish us for all our sins; he does not deal harshly with us, as we deserve. For his unfailing love toward those who fear him is as great as the height of the heavens above the earth. He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west.

 The Lord is like a father to his children, tender and compassionate to those who fear him. For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust. Our days on earth are like grass; like wildflowers, we bloom and die. The wind blows, and we are gone — as though we had never been here. But the love of the Lord remains forever with those who fear him. His salvation extends to the children’s children of those who are faithful to his covenant, of those who obey his commandments. (Psalms 103:8-18)

Some time ago we had a Christmas cookie swap at church. The plan was very simple – the price of admission to the party was a tray of cookies. And your tray entitled you to pick cookies from the trays that the other attendees brought. In fact, as I recall, you could leave with as many cookies as you brought. Sounds simple . . . if you know how to bake.

But what if you can’t? What if you can’t tell a pot from a pan? What if, like me, you are culinarily challenged? What if you’re as comfortable in an apron as a bodybuilder in a tutu? If that’s the case, you’ve got a problem. And I had a problem. I had no cookies to bring; hence I would have no place at the party. I would be left out, turned away, shunned and dismissed. Okay, well that’s a little melodramatic, but that was my plight. And it reminded me that, as plights go, yours and mine are a lot worse.

You see, God is planning a party . . . a party to end all parties. Not a cookie party, but a feast. Not laughter and chitchat in a room at a church building, but wide-eyed wonder in the throne room of God. And the guest list is very impressive. For instance, your question to Peter about walking on the water? You’ll be able to ask him. And that’s just one example. But more impressive than the names of the guests are the natures of the guests: no egos, and no power plays. Guilt, shame and sorrow will all be checked at the door. Disease, death and depression will be the Black Plagues of a distant past. What we now see on a daily basis, there we will never see.

And what we now see vaguely, there we will see clearly. We will see God. Not by faith. Not through the eyes of Moses, or Abraham or David. Not by way of Scripture or sunsets or summer rains. We will see not only God’s work or words, but we will see Him. He’s not the host of the party; he is the party! His goodness is the banquet. His voice is the music. His radiance is the light, and his love is the endless topic of discussion.

There’s just one catch – the price of admission is pretty steep. You see, in order to come to the party, you need to be righteous. Not good. Not decent. Not a taxpayer, or a churchgoer. No, citizens of heaven are righteous, as in “R-I-G-H-T”ous.

Granted, all of us do what is right occasionally. Maybe even a few of us predominantly do what is right. But do any of us always do what’s right? According to the apostle Paul we don’t. “There is none righteous, no, not one.” (Rom. 3:10) In fact, Paul is pretty adamant about it, because he goes on to say, “No one anywhere has kept on doing what is right; not one.” (Rom. 3:12).

Some may beg to differ, of course, like the one who might say, “I’m not perfect, but I’m better than most folks. I’ve led a good life. I don’t break the rules. I don’t break hearts. I help people. I like people. Compared to others, I think I could say I’m a righteous person.” Well, I used to try that one on my mother. She’d tell me my room wasn’t clean, and I’d ask her to consider my friend’s room across the street. His was always messier than mine, and she knew it because Patrick’s mom and my mom were friends.

Never worked. She’d walk me down the hall to her room. And when it came to tidy rooms, my mom was righteous. Her closet was just right. Her bed was just right. Her bathroom was just right. Compared to hers, my room was . . . well . . . just wrong. She would show me her room and say, “This is what I mean by clean.” And God does the same. He points to himself and says, “This is what I mean by righteous.”

Righteous is who God is. Need proof? Consider these verses: “Our God and Savior Jesus Christ does what is right.” (2 Pet. 1:1) “God is a righteous judge.” (Ps. 7:11) “The Lord is righteous, he loves justice.” (Ps. 11:7) God’s righteousness “endures forever” (Ps. 112:3), and “reaches to the skies.” (Ps. 71:19) Isaiah described God as “a righteous God and a Savior.” (Isa. 45:21) And on the eve of his death, Jesus began his prayer with the words, “Righteous Father….” (John 17:25)

Get the point? God is righteous. His decrees are righteous. (Rom. 1:32) His judgment is righteous. (Rom. 2:5) His requirements are righteous. (Rom. 8:4) His acts are righteous. (Dan. 9:16) Daniel declared, “Our God is right in everything he does.” (Dan. 9:14)

God is never wrong. He has never rendered a wrong decision, experienced the wrong attitude, taken the wrong path, said the wrong thing, or acted the wrong way. He is never too late or too early, too loud or too soft, too fast or too slow. He has always been, and will always be right. He is righteous.

In fact, when it comes to righteousness, God runs the table without so much as even a bank shot. And when it comes to righteousness, we don’t even know which end of the pool cue to hold. Hence, our plight.

So, will God, who is righteous, spend eternity with those who are not? Well, let me ask you this: Would Harvard admit a third-grade dropout? If it did, the act might be benevolent, but it wouldn’t be right. If God accepted the unrighteous, the invitation would be even nicer, but would He be right? Would He be right to overlook our sins, or lower His standards? No. He wouldn’t be right. And if God is anything, He is right.

He told Isaiah that righteousness would be his plumb line, the standard by which his house is measured. (Isa. 28:17) If we are unrighteous, then, we’re left in the hallway with no cookies. Or to use Paul’s analogy, “we’re sinners, every one of us, in the same sinking boat with everybody else.” (Rom. 3:19) Then what are we to do?

Carry a load of guilt? Well, that’s what many of us do.

Just think. What if our spiritual baggage were visible? Suppose the luggage in our hearts was literal luggage on the street. You know what you’d probably see most of all? Suitcases of guilt. Bags bulging with binges, blowups and compromises. Look around you. See that fellow in the gray suit? He’s dragging a decade of regrets. Or, how ‘bout the kid with the baggy jeans and a nose ring? He’d give anything to take back the words he said to his mother this morning. But he can’t. So he tows them along. Maybe the woman in the business suit, or the mom at the grocery store? She’d rather run for help, but she can’t run at all. Not hauling that carpetbag of guilt everywhere she goes.

Here’s the point. The weight of weariness can definitely pull us down, and self-reliance can certainly mislead us. Disappointments may very well discourage us, and anxiety might plague us. But guilt? Guilt absolutely consumes us. So what do we do? Because our Lord is right, and we are wrong. His party is for the righteous, and we are anything but guiltless. So, what do we do?

Well, I can tell you what I did. I confessed my need. Remember my Christmas cookie dilemma? This was my reply to the e-mail invitation I received: “I can’t bake, so I can’t be at the party.” No mercy. But a saintly sister had mercy on me. How she heard about my problem, I don’t know. Maybe my e-mail went viral, or my name found its way on to an emergency prayer list. But I do know this. Only moments before the cookie exchange I was given a gift: a plate of cookies. And by virtue of that gift, I had a privileged place at the party.

Did I go? You bet your cookies I did. Like a prince carrying a crown on a pillow, I carried my gift into the room, set it on the table and stood tall. And because some good soul heard my plea, I was given a place at the table.

And because God hears our plea, we’ll be given the same. Only, he did more — so much more — than bake cookies for us. It was, at once, history’s most beautiful and most horrific moment. Jesus stood in the tribunal of heaven. Sweeping a hand over all creation, he pleaded, “Punish me for their mistakes. See that murderer over there? Give me his penalty. And that adulteress? I’ll take her shame. The bigot, the liar, the thief? Do to me what you would do to them. Treat me as you would a sinner.”

And God did. “For Christ died for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring you to God.” (1 Pet. 3:18)

Yes, righteousness is what God is, and, yes, righteousness is what we are not, and, yes, righteousness is what God requires. But “God has a way to make people right with him.” (Rom. 3:21) David said it like this: “He leads me in the paths of righteousness.” (Ps. 23:3 NKJV)

The path of righteousness is a narrow, winding trail up a steep hill. And at the top of the hill is a cross. And at the base of the cross are bags. Countless bags full of innumerable sins. Calvary is the compost pile for guilt. Would you like to leave yours there as well? You can, you know.

One final thought about the Christmas cookie caper. Did everyone know I didn’t cook the cookies? If they didn’t, I told them. I told them that I was there because of someone else’s work. My only contribution was my own confession.

We’ll be saying the same for eternity – as far as the east is from the west.

Grace,

Randy