Snow White's Blush

Why have we allowed ourselves to lose our shame? What’s more, why are we proud to have no shame? What glory is there in it but the knowledge that we have been offered robes of white and yet choose to lounge in the revolting filth of our own creation?

Yes, I understand that “every saint has a past and every sinner has a future,” but when is it wise to revel in a past that withholds us from the promise of glory? Be it sexual sin or internal self-righteousness, Christians ought never to return to the slough from which they were rescued. Ought being the operative word. We struggle, we fall, we fail, but we ought not boast in falls or callous our hearts against the shame, lest we silence the voice of that “asphyxiating cloud” that so warmly whispers that we guard our hearts.

For to boast in sin is to tear down the brethren--for how hard is it to remain steadfast alone? To boast in sin is to reject the lost--for who seeks answers from one as lost as them? To boast in sin is to mock our salvation--for it is proof that precious pearls have been cast before swine. And I am a pig.

How often have I laid my palms at my King’s triumphal entry only to shout “crucify Him!” when the roar of the crowd swept me along?

Why do I not weep when my Savior is mocked---when I realize that I was the voice that mocked Him? I sin not even that grace might more abound, but simply because I seek to belong, because I want a story to tell, a moment to remember.

May I never let Snow White’s shocking blush fade from my face. Would that I be made unabashedly ashamed of my own unworthiness that I might seek to know the fullness of my Lord’s holiness and mercy. May the red of my shame burn brightly against the white of His cleansing purity, and may I always be granted the humility to fall at His divine feet in earnest repentance.

“My soul, bow down under a sense of your natural sinfulness, and worship your God. Admire the grace which saves you--the mercy which spares you--the love which pardons you!” - Charles Spurgeon

Flattery

"I have been used to consider poetry as 'the food of love,'" said Darcy.

 "Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."

Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice 

Speak not to me in measured numbers filled
With calculated praise; compare me not
To things soon dead and gone. Such words have killed
The mood that thou had sought to stir to thought.

Thou art too quick to speak and slow to think
Of all that love implies. Thy flow’ry tongue
Does drown thy good in faults as black as ink,
And make thy lusty youth look yet more young.

Oh, cease thy foolish flattery at once!
Thine outward praise is cold and sharp as rain--
For thou must think me an angelic dunce
Not to note that thy noble self is vain.

        But I beg, don’t stop on account of me,
        For with thine own words thou might happy be.

Churchgoing

I’ve been on the comfortable side of church for most of my life. Always at the same church, always with my family, always surrounded by familiar faces, always in the know. I may not be able to tell you everyone’s name, but chances are that I could describe who else they’re related to, where they stand on church matters, and whether or not they attend faithfully in the summer months. And of course the new people are always easy to spot.

For the past year or so, however, I’ve been given the opportunity to be the new person, the visitor. I’ve come to experience what it is to sit alone, to watch closely for cues as to what’s coming next, to walk quietly out after the service in hopes of avoiding the awkward aloneness of my state. Now, there's no need for concern; as a natural introvert and one who does not wish to draw attention, I easily manage this without a depressing thought, for I know that I’m headed back to a dorm full of friends and a room full of homework. But I realize that not everyone is so fortunate. For many, the simple act of setting foot anywhere alone is hard, and places of tightly knit community are doubly so. The act of breaking into an established group takes great courage, and the greatest battle comes not in choosing a pew but in deciding to step out of the car alone.

About four months after I started going to Sunday morning service alone, someone really said hello to me for the first time. Her simple introduction and invitation to sit with her family made my day a little brighter. A year after I began attending, a man deliberately tracked me down after church and introduced himself, inviting me to lunch with him and his wife whenever I had a free Sunday afternoon. He went a step further by giving me their phone number. Once more, his simple gesture of welcome made my day a little brighter. Even one who is content to be alone likes a little notice now and then.

Having grown up in a single church, I find it natural to look for the faces that I recognize, to speak with those I know share common interests, and I'm comfortable enough to keep to myself. I’m all too often blind to faces I don’t recognize, or I reason away why I, with many more qualified and friendly people surrounding me, should say anything--if I say nothing, surely someone else will. But I am no inventor of thoughts. I’m certain this same line of reasoning has passed through the thoughts of churchgoers for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. If I say nothing, chances are that no one will. The absence of welcome speaks loudly.

So, although I am not inclined to step out of my comfort zone and social circle, I am coming to the realization that I must open myself to the notion that the other person has already stepped foot out of his car, and perhaps I ought to congratulate him with a welcome.  What follows next is entirely up Christ.