On Being Worthy

I walk up the sidewalk towards the chapel, admiring the beautiful flowers in the Prayer Garden. It is a tempting invitation to turn aside and experience the peace and presence offered there, but I cannot for I am playing for service today. The weather is gorgeous, a light breeze ruffling the leafy greenery of the graceful trees and rippling the deep green grass. Birds sing, locust sing, the whole of creation seems alive and vibrant.



I hesitate a moment before entering the glass doors and stepping into the hush of the sanctuary. The stained glass windows seem to pour Jesus himself into the well appointed space. The green of the ordinary season altar linens bring creation inside gently, the lighted candles cheery and filled with hope.



How is it that I, one riddled with disease and death, am allowed to enter here? Truth be told, the fancy wig, the careful makeup, the coverings that hide the devastation of the cancer, are doing a good job. People ask me how I can look better with cancer than before cancer! But they cannot see the truth.



In the Old Testament, people with diseases such as leprosy were not allowed anywhere near public places much less into the synagogue or Temple. People with deformities could not serve before the altar. Deformed or diseased animals were certainly not acceptable as sacrifices! These regulations were strictly enforced.



God is not fooled. He sees my bald head, the black spots of cancer with which my body is riddled, the marks of bruising and blood where the chemo has left damage. He knows how unwhole I am. I can do no more than simply bow before Him, sans excuse, to wait, fully aware on another level that the disease consuming my body is nothing in comparison to the disease ravaging my soul.



In His presence, how totally aware I become of my shortcomings, my mistakes, my wrongdoings, my bad attitudes, my sins. I am riddled with the black spots of wickedness so displeasing to the very One who loves me most. I wait, knowing there is no reason He should allow me to enter His house in such a state.



In another time, another culture, I would simply be rejected, turned away. But as a daughter, I am covered by grace, I am not turned away. I am allowed not only to enter, but to serve. I do not take it lightly, this privilege extended. I am grateful, both now, and when I will come to the final gate where I will once again wait to be invited in. What joy to find then the black spots, the devastation, disease and sin gone and full restoration a done deal!