It is a fearful thing to lie down at night with the dread of dismissal hanging over your head, to feel the ground that held you so firmly yesterday may shake loose tomorrow, all because of a single misstep. I know that churning in the stomach, that rehearsal of what you might say if called in, that desperate wish to undo a poor choice. You are not the first of Christ’s own to stumble in a way that threatens your place, and you will not be the last. But what I want you to hear right now is this: your broken cry for mercy has already reached the ears of the One who delights to give it.
You say it was a poor choice, and you are right. But do you also see that, in a measure, you did not know what you were doing? I do not mean you were innocent, you knew it was wrong, but you did not yet see all that was bound up in that act. You did not foresee the shame that would follow, nor taste the full bitterness of the cup. In that hour, your eyes were held, as the eyes of all sinners are held, from the real horror of rebelling against light and love. And this is precisely the ground on which our great Interpreter takes His stand. He looks upon us in our worst moments and pleads, “They know not what they do.” He does not make our sin light, he bore it, and it crushed him, but he does make our ignorance a reason for his tenderness. Let that tenderness cover you now. Do not run from him in your guilt; that would be the bigger mistake. Run straight to him with it, and let him be your one Advocate.
You are afraid you will be asked to leave. I understand that fear. But consider this: the same God who opened the door for you to come to this place, who led you there by the secret hand of his providence, has not suddenly lost interest in you because your foot slipped. His compassions are not a cistern that you can drain dry by a single failure. They are a fountain, fed from an infinite deep, and this very morning they rise fresh as the dew. The sun did not climb over the hills and say, “I will shine on every sinner but that one.” No, it shone as bright and warm as if you had never erred, and in that sunshine is a quiet sign that God is still for you. Even if every earthly authority should say, “Go,” there stands One who has the last word over your life, and he says, “Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.” That is the solid anchor in this storm: not your ability to undo the past, but his promise to hold you fast in the present.
I want you to take courage from this, your very sorrow is a proof that you are among the called, the beloved of God. The man who is truly lost does not weep for a chance; he is content in his chains. But you are crying out to be kept, to be redeemed before the eyes of others, to have your life become a witness that God can restore the one who fell. That holy longing is not born of yourself. It is the Spirit’s own work, breathed into your heart, and he who began it will not leave it incomplete. You long to prove God’s power to redeem. Then know this: he is already redeeming you, right here, right now, as you tremble at your folly and cling to his feet. The world may see only a man who broke a rule, but heaven sees a child learning, with tears, to prize obedience more than ease.
So, what are you to do? Go to the Mercy Seat with this very plea. Tell your Father what you have told me. Hide nothing, smooth over nothing, but spread the whole sorry story before him. Then remind him, oh, with holy boldness remind him, that he has already bound himself to you in Christ. Say to him, “Lord, you have redeemed me with blood; you have called me to be a saint; you have brought me to this place by your hand. Now, for your own name’s sake, let it be seen that you do not cast off a broken, trusting sinner. Move the hearts of those who hold my future in their hands, that mercy may be shown, and that I may walk the rest of my days sober and joyful before you. Let this stumble become a mile-marker of your faithfulness, not my ruin.” That is a prayer which moves the arm that moves the world. We have a God who keeps appointments; he did not send his Son to be a Savior who turns away at the first sight of his child in the dust.
And if, for reasons hidden in the depths of a wisdom we cannot yet trace, the door does shut and you must go elsewhere, still, his mercy will not have failed. The mountains themselves are bid to sing for his redeemed, and the forests to clap their hands, because redemption is not a fragile thing that the verdict of a man can overturn. His redemption is by blood, and it stands forever. Take heart, then. Whether you stay or go, you are held in a grip from which nothing can wrench you, not your past folly, not the judgment of others, not all the accusations of the enemy. Wait on him, walk softly, and watch for the fresh tokens of his goodness that are already on the way.
Let us pray.
O Lord Jesus, you who are the one Messenger sent from the Father to seek and save that which was lost, draw near to this soul that trembles before you and before men. Look upon this poor choice with those eyes that pitied the ignorant and prayed for the cruel. You know all the tangled threads of this hour, the fear, the regret, the earnest wish to honor you henceforth. Stand as Interpreter for your servant. Speak peace where no earthly voice can speak it. And if it please you, move the hearts of those in authority to deal gently, to grant a space for repentance to bear ripe fruit, that a life set free may sing your praise in that very place. But above all, bind up the wounds of a contrite spirit, and let the inward assurance of your love be stronger than any outward sentence. You have loved this one with an everlasting love; let that love be tasted and known through every dark hour. Guard from the tempter’s whisper that this fall is the final word, or that all is lost. Show yourself as the God who makes even the lame to walk and the outcast to dwell in his house, through your own abundant mercy. We leave this whole matter in your scarred hands, confident that you will do all things well, and we bless you that your compassions are new every morning. Amen.
