Faultless

Faultless. “Free from defect or error”. Many of us wish that word could be attributed to us. But one quick look at our lives shows us that we are far from faultless. We fall short all the time-of expectations and responsibilities. Our days are plagued with sour attitudes, mistakes, and regret. Sometimes the shame from our mistakes is so terrible that we can’t even look at ourselves in the mirror.

What would it be like to be able to look at ourselves at the end of the day and say, “I stand faultless”? Sounds pretty impossible, right? As much as we would like to tell ourselves that, we all know that at least once during the day we’ve fallen short by snapping at someone, entertaining ugly thoughts, or disregarding sound instruction to satisfy the desires of our flesh.

But we don’t have to be defined by our sin. This is a story that God laid on my heart and enabled me to write one day…

My mind seemed to be straining against the thoughts that bombarded it as much as my wrists strained against the chains that bound them. I could hardly get my feet to move as they called me up to the witness’s chair. They shoved me into the chair and I glanced helplessly from face to face in the crowd. Absolutely everyone refused to meet my eyes. Unable to find comfort in any face that I thought I knew, I cast my eyes miserably upon the shackles that seemed to burn a hole in my wrists. The prosecution attorney’s chair skidded across the tile as he shoved himself away from the table. His eyes glinting at me, he snatched up his folder and practically stalked up to the podium.

I couldn’t look at him; not with his mouth curled smugly in a sly grin, not with his eyes blazing at me, not with his chest heaving up and down in victory. I barely heard him address the judge and the jurors. My eyes were fastened miserably on the thick folder he clutched in his hands. I knew what it was even before he opened it.

He pried open the folder and slammed it onto the podium. The pages inside were overflowing with writing. I recognized the words because I had written them…with every action I had made and every thought I had thought. A wave of terror rushed over me and regret clutched at my throat. Then he started to read, in a voice echoing in the courthouse and ringing in my ears. He was practically snarling at me with each hateful word. His fists were slamming on the podium as he screamed. All I wanted to do was run, run away from all the pointing fingers, the accusing eyes, the lips that sneered at me.

The prosecuting attorney was reading off every moment of my life, the bad, the terrifying, the unspeakable. He was presenting his case to the Judge who was listening with apt attention. The gavel in the Judge’s hand was trembling as His hands were quivering. The graphic detail of my life—all the wrongs I had committed, all the laws I had broken, all the moments I had ignored righteousness and goodness—caused the Judge’s eyes to cloud over and for a fleeting moment I couldn’t tell if they were cloaked in anger or sadness.

The evidence the prosecution presented was horrifying. Yet I couldn’t deny it. It was my life. Overwhelmed by the weight of the evidence, my shoulders collapsed and they shook with rage and misery. The courthouse erupted in sneers and shouting. “Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!”

The Judge slammed his gavel down in order to silence them. The crowd quieted down but my soul wouldn’t. They were going to condemn me to death and even the evidence my own attorney presented (all the good things I had done) wasn’t enough to save me from their sentence.

The Judge looked at me and His eyes were suddenly filled with something that I couldn’t deny. They were filled with tears of sadness…for me. For me and my wretched life. Still, He couldn’t wave away the evidence that the prosecution had presented. With heavy, slow movements, the Judge lifted his gavel and was about to pronounce me guilty to death when the courthouse doors swung open. All eyes turned to the entryway and I heard a murmur ripple through the crowd. My face was still buried in my hands and I refused to glance up. What was I going to see besides another face clouded in hatred and condemnation? Despite my hopeless thoughts, I somehow pried my hands away from my swollen red eyes and glanced at the newcomer.

My breath caught painfully in the lodge that had formed in my throat. I knew who He was, He who was walking slowly down the entryway, not even glancing at the murmuring crowd. His eyes were fastened on me. It was Jesus. I couldn’t look back. Instead my expression broke again and my body heaved with the pain that seared mercilessly through me.

With one glance, Jesus silenced the protests from the prosecution. Their trembling lips clamped shut and they watched helplessly as Jesus made his way towards me. I couldn’t look into His eyes, the eyes that poured forth such love and acceptance. The power of His very presence caused me to erupt in choking sobs once again. The absolute horror of my life compared to the absolute glory He possessed was enough to cause me to bury my face in my hands.

The room was utterly silent except for my shuddering gasps. Jesus placed a hand on my trembling back. He leaned over and whispered, “It is I. Do not be afraid.” Then He turned to the prosecution’s table where the attorney was snatching up his folder and stalking towards me. Jesus held out His hand, which I suddenly noticed bore a scar, the scar that a nail had made. Unable to defy Him, the prosecuting attorney handed over the folder, yet his eyes blazed menacingly at me. The smug look that he shot me seemed to say, "What can He do about it? You’ve done too much. You’ve messed up too many times. You’re not worth it. See what He says when He finds out who you really are."

Jesus said nothing as He studied the folder reading every word. He walked slowly over to the fireplace that blazed in the corner. Gesturing to the scars that penetrated His hands, feet, and side He said, “She is covered. You will remember this folder no more because her debt has been fulfilled. She stands faultless.” Then He tossed the folder thick with my wrongdoings into the blazing fire. The flames engulfed it and there was nothing left of it besides dark ashes and curling smoke. The crowd’s muttering seemed to cause an air of disapproval to ring in the air but I could hardly hear it.

My breath was still lodged in my throat as Jesus walked over to me. He produced a key and gently but firmly placed it in the lock on my chains. When He twisted the key, the chains released my wrists and I shook them off. I couldn’t hear the noise of the chains as they clattered to the floor because the crowd suddenly roared. In the midst of the chaos going on around me, I stared in awe at Jesus. His eyes shone lovingly at me. Behind the tears that were glistening in His eyes, I glimpsed memories of the sorrows and horrors He must have faced to save me. But then the love in His eyes engulfed all those memories and He extended His hand towards me.

“Come and follow me, dear one.” His voice was strong and sure compared to the din going on around us.

My lips trembled and my eyes would have flitted nervously around the room if I could have willed them to move. I couldn’t. The beauty of Jesus overwhelmed me and our gazes met for what seemed like forever. “Oh, Lord…” I stammered, fumbling for words. The image of the folder flashed through my mind and I broke into tears once again. I wasn't worthy!

I realized I was suddenly faced with a choice. Through the tears I could still see Jesus’s hand extending towards me. I could see the soft smile of the Judge as He gazed upon me. I could see the flames of the fire and the curling smoke. I wanted with every fiber of my being to follow Jesus, to be found in Him. But what about all the wrongs I had committed? What about the times I had ignored sound advice to quench my own sinful desires? What about the times I had found my worth in other things? What about the accusing fingers, the shouts of condemnation? Wasn’t that what I deserved?

Then I remembered Jesus tossing the folder into the fire. He had chosen to forget the wrongs of my life. So why couldn’t I?

With trembling fingers, I grasped His hand and He led me down from the witness seat and into the crowd. I found myself leaning solely on Jesus as we walked slowly out of the courthouse. The prosecution attorney snarled at me and his eyes once again blazed at me. To my surprise, his hate didn’t impact me like it had before. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as the image of the burning folder leapt once again into my mind. I turned away from the furious gazes that the crowd gave me and I gazed up at Jesus. His eyes met mine and they seemed to smile at me despite the roaring crowd around us.

In that moment I knew one thing. No matter how thick that folder of my wrongdoings was, it was gone, quenched by fire. I knew no matter how ugly my mistakes had been, no matter how shameful they had been, I had been judged NOT GUILTY. Jesus had paid my debt with His own life. I knew it was no easy feat to deem me faultless, especially after all I’d done. I knew Jesus had done more for me than I could ever imagine, more than I could ever do for Him. And I hardly did anything but choose to believe that what Jesus did was enough to cover the multitude of my sins. I had chosen. I had chosen to take Jesus’s hand; the hand that bore the scars, the hand that had removed the wrongs of my life forever, and the hand that would always be there for me to grasp.

I wrote this story one day this past summer when God laid the idea on my heart. It was His way of showing me how amazing His salvation really is. Many people hear the typical gospel presentation hundreds of times and they end up not REALLY recognizing what Jesus did for them. But when you picture yourself in that witness chair, when you picture yourself being set free from the chains of your past, it suddenly becomes more meaningful. The good news of God's salvation should always amaze us.

I was in my room one day when God whispered to me, “Hannah, you stand faultless.” At first I didn’t grasp the meaning of what He meant. I had never thought of it that way before. “You stand faultless.” Suddenly, the realization of what God was telling me overwhelmed me. The image of me standing at the end of my life before the throne of God flashed through my mind. I realized that through the blood of Jesus I could stand before God completely faultless-despite the sins I had committed against Him. What love God has for all of us! It AMAZES me that because of Jesus’s sacrifice and because He rose again from the dead, showing the world that He was God and that His sacrifice was enough, I can stand, not as a guilty sinner but as someone who-although has sinned-has been deemed faultless by God. Faultless. Free from defect or error.

“To Him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you before His glorious presence without fault and with great joy-to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen.”

~Jude 1:24-25