A Roadblock Called Condemnation

Tom and I drive down summer roads and come across many roadblocks. Summer time is road repair time and we've taken many a detour or just sat in the hot car waiting for orange-vested crews to wave us through.

On the dusty road of my own journey, I have been halted by the Condemnation Roadblock and have camped out there most often, not just for hours, but for weeks and years. I have pitched my black tent there in the road and crawled inside the stuffy darkness so that I could meditate upon my failures.

That's what you do at the Condemnation Road Block.

You unzip your sleeping bag and slither inside and hide so that you won't make other dreadful mistakes. You count your failures one by one. You compare yourself with people who appear to have it all figured out. And when you peer into the future, you see yourself making only more mistakes, so you vow to not even try again to help anyone, at least, not until you act a whole lot better than you do now.

You twist godly conviction into tormenting, clinging condemnation.

And when God tries to unzip the door of your tent, you call from the darkness inside, "No! Don't look at me right now. I'm ugly. I've sinned. I've failed you. Come back later when I get better. When I do some good things to make up for the bad things."

So God stands outside of your tent waiting. And waiting. Waiting while you waste His time and yours and the time of all the people you could be helping. Waiting to continue the friendship He so enjoyed sharing with you.

There's only so much God can do for people wallowing in Condemnation Tents. In fact, He's already done it. He sent His Son to die for us...to pay for our sins...to make us holy through Him. We cannot pay. Either Jesus paid or He didn't.

My stays in the Condemnation Tent are shorter now than they used to be. What brings me out sooner? The banner on the blood-red paper God manages to slip inside the tent: "There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit."

I can step out into the light now, not after weeks and months, but moments. In fact, the tent is rarely used now at all because I've learned to repent...to ask forgiveness...and receive forgiveness. I've realized the folly of trying to pay for something which was already purchased.

I've realized it is not a holy thing to sit inside the Condemnation Tent and feel horrid about myself. The holy thing is to meditate upon how good God is--not upon how bad I am.

And now I move on down the dusty road. The journey continues...the road is long...but the sun is shining and the trees are reaching their arms toward God.

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