Monday, January 17, 2011

The Room

A couple of things - the picture is a painting by Maka Batiashvili, and what follows has an unknown origin. I modified it heavily for use in a sermon yesterday, but it is not my work.

The Room

I don’t quite understand whether it was real or a dream. I only remember that it was late and I was sitting in my favorite chair with a good book in my hands. I was tired and I began to doze. In that world between asleep and awake I found myself in a huge room with a wall full of drawers like you find in a library, from floor to the ceiling, with no end on sight.

Each drawer had a different name. When I got close, one of the titles caught my attention: “Girls.” I opened the drawer and started to read the files inside. All of the sudden I realized that I recognized some names - girls I had lusted after or touched inappropriately. There were files that recorded all of my visits to internet sites where I had sinned. The file was huge. I slammed the drawer shut. I was so ashamed.

I started to realize where I was. This huge room with its endless drawers represented my existence. There was a record of everything I have ever done, large and small, good and bad. Some of the records made me happy and brought sweet remembrances. Others gave me a sick feeling of shame and guilt that was so intense.

I saw file drawers labeled, “Books that I have read,” “Lies that I have told,” “TV shows I’ve Watched,” “Jokes that I have told.” I was amazed by the volume of the information that I have compiled about my life. How could I have had the time to write each one of these millions of files? Each file had my signature; they were records of my life.

When I arrived to the drawer “Impure thoughts,” I trembled. I only opened the drawer a few inches… I was ashamed to discover its depth. Randomly I took a file out and read it. I felt sick knowing that moments hidden in obscurity and secrecy had been recorded.

I didn’t need or want to see any more… A single thought dominated my mind. No one should ever see these files. I have to destroy the evidence! I had to burn the files! But I couldn’t; they would not come out of the drawers.

I started to cry. Hopeless. Lost. Full of shame, I cried and cried. Then suddenly through my tears I saw Him. Oh no, not Him! Anyone but Jesus. I was so ashamed because these files revealed my hypocrisy and betrayal. Helplessly, I watched as Jesus opened the drawers and read each file. I could not stand to look at his reaction. He read file after file.

With sadness in his eyes he looked into mine. I lowered my head with shame. I put my hands on my face and started to cry again. He came near, put his hands on my shoulders. He did not speak. He simply stood next to me in silence. He wept with me.

Returning to the drawers, he started to open them and one by one, on each filed he signed his name over mine. I told him in protest, “No, those sins are mine, you shouldn’t have to take them.” But there it was–written in crimson–His name written over mine; written in his own blood.

He quickly went through all the files, as I watched in shame mixed with indescribable relief and gratitude. As he finished, He gave a tender look and said to me: “It is done, it is finished, I am carrying your shame and guilt.” At that moment we both left the room. The room is still open, because there are more files to be recorded.

I still don’t know if it was a dream or a reality. . .

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