When Jesus is Knocking

Well, land sakes, friend, come up them steps and set beside the fern before that screen door on this ol’ front porch snaps shut like an ol’  turtle chasin’ after a lil’ ol’ June bug. There’s a lil’ ground squirrel under the woodpile storin’ its supper like the grocery stores are fixin’ to be closin’ forever, and a sleepy ol’ hound dog beside the steps that plum looks like it hasn’t answered a knock on the door since Eisenhower was in office. Which brings us to a mighty important question.

What are we doing when Jesus knocks?

In Holman Hunt’s famous paintin’, The Light of the World, Jesus stands outside a vine covered door carryin’ a glowin’ lantern. One strikin’ detail is that the door has no visible outside handle. The image beautifully suggests something about Revelation 3:20, which says, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.”

Jesus knocks. But He doesn’t bulldoze the door.

And remember, Jesus originally spoke these words to the church at Laodicea. These were mighty religious people that had become spiritually comfortable and self-sufficient. Jesus wasn’t askin’ strangers merely to know about Him. He was sho’-nuff’ callin’ His own people back into genuine fellowship.

Mercy, that there lands real close to home.

We can sho’-nuff’ know hymns, quote verses, attend church, and still downright keep Jesus standin’ out in the foyer while we holler, “Just a minute, Lord, I’m straightenin’ things up in here!”

But real intimacy begins when we quit managin’ appearances and open the door. Jesus says in John 14:23, “We will come unto him, and make our abode with him.”

God don’t merely want an occasional visit. He downright wants residence. He wants the locked rooms, too. The worry closet. The resentment cupboard. That attic where we’ve stored things we’d rather nobody inspect.

And, yet, still He knocks.

Father, help me open every part of my heart to You. Forgive me for keeping You at a comfortable distance. Come into the places I guard most carefully and make Your presence at home in me. Teach me to know You, trust You, and enjoy fellowship with You. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Now, unlatch that there door and wander right on back into your day, friend. A lil’ ol’ mink can circle a henhouse till moonrise and still remain outside. A lil’ chimney swift can inspect every rooftop in the county without ever buildin’ a home. Don’t git to settlin’ for standin’ near Jesus when He invites you to fellowship with Him. Open the door real wide, clear Him a special place at the table, and discover that the Guest at the door was the One your heart had been waitin’ for all along.

With joy,

Gwen