Chapter 10. Reaching a Decision
That a decision is necessary in order to become a Christian is an idea quite foreign to many people. Some imagine that they are already Christians because they were born in a Christian country. "After all," they say, "we are neither Jews, nor Mohammedans, nor Buddhists; so presumably we are Christians!" Others suppose that, having had a Christian upbringing, and having been taught to accept the Christian creed and Christian standards of behavior, nothing further is required of them. But whatever his parentage and upbringing, every responsible adult is obliged to make up his own mind for or against Christ. We cannot remain neutral. Nor can we drift into Christianity Nor can anybody else settle the matter for us. We must decide for ourselves.
Even agreement with all that has so far been written in' this book is not sufficient. We may concede that the evidence for the deity of Jesus is compelling, even conclusive, and that he was in fact the Son of God; we may believe that he came and died to be the Savior of the world; we may also admit that we are sinners and need such a Savior. But none of these things makes us Christians, nor do all of them together. To believe certain facts about the person and work of Christ is a necessary preliminary, but true faith will translate such mental belief into a decisive act of trust. Intellectual conviction must lead to personal commitment.
I, myself, used to think that because Jesus had died on the cross, by some kind of rather mechanical transaction the whole world had been put right with God. I remember how puzzled, even indignant, I was when it was first suggested to me that I needed to appreciate Christ and his salvation for myself. I thank God that later he opened my eyes to see that I must do more than acknowledge I needed a Savior, more even than acknowledge that Jesus Christ was the Savior I needed; it was necessary to accept him as my Savior. Certainly the personal pronoun is prominent in the Bible:
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want."
"The Lord is my light and my salvation."
"O God, thou art my God."
"The surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord."
One verse in the Bible, which has helped many seekers (including myself) to understand the step of faith we have to take, contains the words of Christ himself. He says: "Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me."[1] Revelation 3:20.
This verse was illustrated by Holman Hunt in his well-known picture The Light of the World, painted in 1853. The original hangs in the chapel of Keble College, Oxford, and its replica (the artist's own work 40 years later) in St. Paul's Cathedral. Although the pre-Raphaelites are out of fashion today, this picture's symbolism remains instructive. John Ruskin, in a letter to The Times in May 1854, described it in these words:
On the left-hand side of the picture is seen this door of the human soul. It is fast barred; its bars and nails are rusty; it is knitted and bound to its stanchions by creeping tendrils of ivy, showing that it has never been opened. A bat hovers about it; its threshold is overgrown with brambles, nettles and fruitless corn.... Christ approaches it in the night-time. He is wearing a royal robe and a crown of thorns, holding a lantern in his left hand (as the light of the world) and knocking on the door with his right.
The context of the verse is illuminating. It comes at the end of a letter addressed by Christ through John to the church of Laodicea, situated in what is now Turkey. Laodicea was a prosperous city, renowned for its manufacture of clothing, its medical school where the famous
Phrygian eye powder was made, and its wealthy banks.
Material prosperity had brought in its wake a spirit of complacency which had even contaminated the Christian church. Attached to it were professing Christians who proved to be Christian in name only. They were tolerably respectable, but nothing more. Their religious interest was shallow and casual. Like the water from the hot springs of Hierapolis which was piped to Laodicea by conduits (the remains of which can still be seen), they were (Jesus said) neither cold nor hot, but lukewarm, and therefore distasteful to him. Their spiritual tepidity is explained in terms of self-delusion: "You say, 'I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing'; not knowing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked."
What a description of proud and prosperous Laodicea! They were blind and naked beggars— naked despite their clothing factory, blind despite their Phrygian eye-salve and beggars despite their banks.
We today are no different. Perhaps we say, as they did, "I need nothing." It would be hard to find any words more spiritually dangerous. It is our self-contained independence which, more than anything else, keeps us from committing ourselves to Christ. Of course we need him! Without him we are morally naked (with no clothing to fit us for God's presence), blind to spiritual truth, and beggars, having nothing with which to buy God's favor. But Christ can clothe us with his righteousness, touch our eyes into sight and enrich us with spiritual wealth. Apart from him, and until we open the door to admit him, we are blind and naked beggars.
"Behold, I stand at the door and knock," he says. He is no figment of the imagination, no fictitious character from a religious novel. This is the man of Nazareth, whose claims, character and resurrection warrant the conclusion that he is the Son of God. He is also the crucified Savior. The hand that knocks is scarred. The feet which stand on the threshold still bear the print of nails.
And he is the risen Christ. John has already described him in the first chapter of Revelation, as he saw him in a highly symbolic vision. His eyes were like flaming fire and his feet like burnished brass. His voice thundered like the breakers on the rocks and his face was radiant like the sun shining in full strength. No wonder John fell at his feet. It is hard to understand how a person of such majesty could ever deign to visit poor, blind and naked beggars like ourselves.
Yet Jesus Christ says he is standing knocking at the door of our lives, waiting. Notice that he is standing at the door, not pushing it; speaking to us, not shouting. This is the more remarkable when we reflect that the house is his in any case. He is the architect; he designed it. He is the builder; he made it. He is the landlord; he bought it with his life-blood. So it is his by right of plan, construction and purchase. We are only tenants in a house which does not belong to us. He could put his shoulder to the door; he prefers to put his hand to the knocker. He could command us to open to him; instead, he merely invites us to do so. He will not force an entry into anybody's life. He says (verse 18) "I counsel you." He could issue orders; he is content to give advice. Such are his condescension and humility and the freedom he has given us.
But why does Jesus Christ want to come in? We know the answer already. He wants to be both our Savior and our Lord.
He died to be our Savior. If we receive him, he will be able to apply to us personally all the benefits of his death. Once inside the house, he will renovate, redecorate and refurnish it. That is, he will cleanse and forgive us; our past will be blotted out. He promises too to eat with us and allow us to eat with him. The phrase describes the joy of his companionship. He not only gives himself to us but asks us to give ourselves to him. We have been strangers; now we are friends. There has been a closed door between us; now we are seated at the same table.
Jesus Christ will also enter as our Lord and Master. The house of our lives will come under his management, and there is no sense in opening the door unless we are willing for this. As he steps across the threshold, we must hand him our whole bunch of keys, granting him free access into every room. A fourth year Canadian student once wrote to me: "Instead of giving Christ a whole set of different keys to the many rooms of the house... I have given him a pass key to the whole lot."
This involves repentance, turning resolutely from everything we know to be displeasing to him. Not that we make ourselves better before we invite him in. On the contrary, it is because we cannot forgive or improve ourselves that we need him to come to us. But we must be willing for him to do whatever rearranging he likes when he has come in. There can be no resistance and no attempt to negotiate our own terms but rather an unconditional surrender to the lordship of Christ. What will this mean? In detail I cannot tell you. In principle, it means a determination to forsake evil and follow Christ.
Do you hesitate? Do you say it is unreasonable to submit to Christ in the dark? Surely it is not. It is much more reasonable than marriage. In marriage a man and a woman commit themselves to each other without condition. They do not know what the future holds for them. But they love each other, and they trust each other. So they promise to take each other, "to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part." If humans can thus trust humans, can we not trust God's Son? It is more reasonable to commit oneself to the divine Christ than to the finest and noblest of human beings. He will never betray or abuse our confidence.
So what must we do? To begin with, we must hear his voice. It is tragically possible to turn a deaf ear to Christ and drown the insistent whisper of his appeal. Sometimes we hear his voice through the prickings of the conscience, sometimes through the gropings of the mind. Or it may be a moral defeat, or the seeming emptiness and meaninglessness of our existence, or an inexplicable spiritual hunger, or sickness, bereavement, pain or fear, by which we become aware that Christ is outside the door and speaking to us. Or his call can come to us through a friend, a preacher or a book. Whenever we hear, we must listen. "He who has ears to hear," Jesus says, "let him hear." Next, we must open the door. Having heard his voice, we must open to his knock. To open the door to Jesus Christ is a pictorial way of describing an act of faith in him as our Savior, an act of submission to him as our Lord. It is a definite act. The tense of the Greek verb makes this plain. The door does not happen to swing open by chance. Nor is it already ajar. It is closed and needs to be opened. Moreover, Christ will not open the door himself. There is neither handle nor latch on the door in Holman Hunt's picture. It is said that he omitted them deliberately, to show that the handle was on the inside. Christ knocks; but we must open.
It is an individual act. True, the message was sent to a church, the nominal, lukewarm church of Laodicea. But the challenge is addressed to individuals within it: "If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him." Every man must make his own decision and take this step himself. Nobody else can do it for you. Christian parents and teachers, ministers and friends can point the way, but your hand and only yours can draw back the bolts and turn the handle.
It is a unique act. You can take this step only once. When Christ has entered, he will bolt and bar the door on the inside. Sin may drive him into the cellar or the attic, but he will never altogether abandon the house he has entered. "I will never fail you nor forsake you," he says. This is not to say that you emerge from this experience with the fully grown wings of an angel! Nor that you will become perfect in the twinkling of an eye. You can become a Christian in a moment, but not a mature Christian. Christ can enter, cleanse and forgive you in a matter of seconds, but it will take much longer for your character to be transformed and molded to his will. It takes only a few minutes for a bride and bridegroom to be married, but in the rough-and-tumble of their home it may take many years for two strong wills to be dovetailed into one. So when we receive Christ, a moment of commitment will lead to a lifetime of adjustment.
It is a deliberate act. You do not have to wait for a supernatural light to flash upon you from heaven or for an emotional experience to overtake you. No. Christ came into the world and died for your sins. He has now come and stood outside the front door of the house of your life, and he is knocking. The next move is yours. His hand is already on the knocker; your hand must now feel for the latch.
It is an urgent act. Do not wait longer than you must. Time is passing. The future is uncertain. You may never have a better opportunity than this. "Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring forth." "The Holy Spirit says, 'Today, when you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.'"[2] Proverbs 27:1; Hebrews 3:7-8. Do not put it off until you have tried to make yourself better or worthier of Christ's entry or until you have solved all your problems. If you believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God and that he died to be your Savior, that is enough. The rest will follow in due time. True, there is danger in rash and precipitate action; but there is equal danger in procrastination. If in your heart of hearts you know that you should act, then you should not delay any longer.
It is an indispensable act. Of course there is much more to the Christian life than this. As we shall see in the next chapter, there is getting into the fellowship of the church, discovering and doing God's will, growing in grace and understanding, and seeking to serve God and man; but this step is the beginning, and nothing else will do instead. You can believe in Christ intellectually and admire him; you can say your prayers to him through the keyhole (I did for many years); you can push coins at him under the door to keep him quiet; you can be moral, decent, upright and good; you can be religious; you can have been baptized and confirmed; you can be deeply versed in the philosophy of religion; you can be a theological student and even an ordained minister—and still not have opened the door to Christ. There is no substitute for this.
A university professor describes in his autobiography how he was traveling one day on the top of a bus when without words and (I think) almost without images, a fact about myself was somehow presented to me. I became aware that I was holding something at bay, or shutting something out. Or, if you like, that I was wearing some stiff clothing, like corsets, or even a suit of armour, as if I were a lobster. I felt myself being, there and then, given a free choice. I could open the door or keep it shut; I could unbuckle the armour or keep it on. Neither choice was presented as a duty; no threat or promise was attached to either, though I knew that to open the door or to take off the corset meant the incalculable... I chose to open, to unbuckle, to loosen the rein. I say "I chose", yet it did not really seem possible to do the opposite.
So Professor C. S. Lewis describes his experience in Surprised by Joy.
A titled lady responded to Billy Graham's invitation to go forward at the end of an evangelistic meeting. She was introduced to an adviser who, discovering that she had not yet committed her life to Christ, suggested that she should pray there and then. Bowing her head, she said, "Dear Lord Jesus, I want you to come into my heart more than anything else in the world. Amen."
A boy in his later teens knelt at his bedside one Sunday night in the dormitory of his school. In a simple, matter-of-fact but definite way he told Christ that he had made rather a mess of life so far; he confessed his sins; he thanked Christ for dying for him; and he asked him to come into his life. The following day he wrote in his diary:
Yesterday really was an eventful day!... Up till now Christ has been on the circumference and I have but asked him to guide me instead of giving him complete control. Behold, he stand at the door and knocks. I have heard him and now he has come into my house. He has cleansed it and now rules in it.
And the day after:
I really have felt an immense and new joy throughout today. It is the joy of being at peace with the world and of being in touch with God. How well do I know now that he rules me and that I never really knew him before. These are extracts from my own diary. I venture to quote them because I do not want you to think that I am recommending to you a step which I have not taken myself. Are you a Christian? A real and committed Christian? Your answer depends on another
question—not whether you go to church or not, believe the creed or not, or lead a decent life or not (important as all these are in their place), but rather this: which side of the door is Jesus Christ? Is he inside or outside? That is the crucial issue.
Perhaps you are ready to open the door to Christ. If you are not sure whether you have ever done so, my advice to you would be to make sure, even if (as someone has put it) you will be going over in ink what you have already written in pencil.
I suggest that you get away and alone to pray. Confess your sins to God and forsake them. Thank Jesus Christ that he died for your sake and in your place. Then open the door and ask him to come in as your personal Savior and Lord.
You might find it a help to echo this prayer in your heart:
Lord Jesus Christ, I acknowledge that I have gone my own way. I have sinned in thought, word and deed. I am sorry for my sins. I turn from them in repentance. I believe that you died for me, bearing my sins in your own body. I thank you for your great love.
Now I open the door. Come in, Lord Jesus. Come in as my Savior, and cleanse me. Come in as my Lord, and take control of me. And I will serve as you give me strength, all my life. Amen
If you have prayed this prayer and meant it, humbly thank Christ that he has come in. For he said he would. He has given his word: "If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him." Disregard your feelings; trust his promise; and thank him that he has kept his word.