A close encounter with God, ultimately means a close encounter with ourselves. And maybe not surprisingly, it's this latter meeting that may intimidate us the more. Because we remember what's there. And maybe worse, what's not there.
We may be terrified by the general sensation of intimacy and revelation, particularly if in the conveniently buried parts of ourselves, we carry an ID card, of sorts, of avert-the-eyes, shrink-and-clench shame. After finding them hiding in the garden, post-forbidden fruit, God said to Adam and Eve, "how come you're now embarrassed about your bodies?" After all, A&E were running around naked for who knows how long, having a great time. The shame didn't come from God or from their created state; vulnerability about all we are doesn't have to bring shame. But shame was the silent partner in the sin that snared 'em.
Shame is a self judgement, a giant, ugly bleeping thing that is tied around our neck. It is opportunistic, taking advantage of any convenient sin around you; not just your own. Many of us bear shame that came to us as little kids through adult messes around us. It's hard to get rid of.
A man at the dog park recently told me how he taught his puppy to stop chewing his rubber slippers. He took the one she chewed and fitted it over her head so that it was tight around her neck and couldn't come off and she had to wear it around all day; after that she wouldn't come anywhere near slippers.
I don't think shame works in the same way although some religious types imagine it does; rather, I think shame gets noosed around our neck when we chew on sin and God actually wants us to come to him and let him take the stinking, aggravating slipper off. I don't know if we are as smart as the dog to connect the shame to the sin; we tend to just ingest that we ourselves are giant, ugly bleeping things and we might as well do crap to ourselves and others (sin) since we have such little worth. The truly grave consequence of Adam and Eve's sin was that death entered humanity; but shame is the haunting pre-stench of that rot. And both sin and shame work cruelly to separate us from the kindness of our God.
This is why the good news of Jesus is all that. He has not only closed the dripping maw of eternal death with his own beautiful, immortal life but he has radically and kindly lifted us by the chin to say "Neither do I condemn you. Have peace." Jesus, motivated by the joy of our rescue, himself "scorned the shame" of the cross (Heb 12.2), and uprose against all mortal gravities, taking us with him to sit in the Father's perfect favor. He wore our skin and bones as if to say to us in the hearing of all the universe, angels and demons, defenders and accusers alike: "See, I'm not in the least ashamed of YOU. I really LIKE you. In fact, I AM now LIKE you. You have nothing to fear."
Jesus approaches us without hesitation. He grabs us warmly by the arms and says, "Come into the great house, I have so much for you but we can talk on the way." He is not big on prepping us to be "just so" before he brings us home. We come into the Father's blindingly good presence with sandy feet and not knowing which fork to use first, and it's okay because we're beloved friends that His son just brought home from the neighborhood.
Don't run. You are already known beyond your knowing. And you have been aggressively sought after for true love's sake. The cost has been no barrier to him because His affection is beyond your human reason. Let it be so; to insist on human reason at this point would be the saddest and deadliest poison of pride, the devil's last and trusted device. If we trade our "oh hell, it's just not possible for ME" for "I would believe", Jesus will restore to us the most beautiful glory of vulnerability that ever graced Eden: innocence. As strong as the One it leans on, fertile in its power, and untroubled in its peace.
So then, when you are invited to come close in your heart and encounter God, give your shy soul's hope a chance and say to both God and yourself, "Ok, I'm coming."
