Confidence Man

welcome and be happy

Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need. (Hebrews 4:16)

Sounds like a set up to me.

Lure us with promises of mercy and aid into the vortex of infinite power? Entice us into the man-eating maelstrom of the divine glory where we’ll shriek in terror and wink out like fireflies? Invite us to approach the eternal throne and the face the One who warned the great prophet Moses point-blank: “No one may see me and live”? Approach that? Are you kidding me? Might as well ask up front if I prefer instant incineration or slow roasting.

Look, the whole point of being God in the first place is that your mere presence vaporizes everything in sight. You are so freaking awesome that nobody can even take a peek at you without their skin bubbling off their skulls and the rest blowing away like so much chalk dust. When I was a kid, I once experimented by sticking a paper clip in a wall outlet. I still remember the alternating torrent screaming through my body like a maddened swarm of crank-crazed hornets. I could taste the metallic rumble in my mouth for days afterward. I swore never to do that again (though I did recommend the experience to this one kid I didn’t like very much). Now multiply this times infinity, throw in a few supernovas, add a dash of flowing lava, and stir with a category 17 tornado, and you’ve got a good start on what the undiluted divine vibe is like. Being God means having a thermonuclear personality. Take that away and all you’ve got is a dude with a lot of real estate.

So I’m supposed to come before His Royal Fission with confidence? Confidence in what? My Kevlar Bible cover? My dim admiration for Mother Teresa? My membership in National Public Broadcasting? My Lily of the Valley tattoo? I don’t think so.

According to our author, this confidence is based on two things, neither of which is about me. First, we’ve got ourselves a spokesman who has streaked through the heavens like a bat out of hell. Jesus took his hits in the basement then skyrocketed to the penthouse suite even before they had time to remodel. This feat of celestial acrobatics won him a perfect score from the Judge, and as a prize he was handed a bunch of free passes to the incombustible section at the Majestic Glory Show.

Second, this Jesus guy had to jump through all the hoops we do. That means he knows what a pain in the ass life can be. He also knows what dorks we are since he became a dork too (except for the dorkiness part). The result is that he actually gets it; he gets what half-baked dough we’re working with here and he sympathizes with us! Combine that with the fact that he’s the spitting image of his Daddy-o and we’ve got ourselves some serious moxie.

So I think I’m going to take my chances and head on up to that Throne, though I’ll probably close my eyes just to be safe. I figure the risk of erasure is worth it if I can secure myself a hefty grant to send my kids to college.

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