Rejection

Jesus’ heart, Jesus’ life, Jesus’ words, revealed God’s very nature to the world around him. Every person who took hold of that, every person who fully accepted him, was better for it.

But not everyone did.

We know this, in theory, at least. We go on our doctrine-preaching spiels from time to time and when people turn their backs on us, we talk about how Jesus was rejected, so of course, we will be, too. If you stop to really consider, though, most of the time when Jesus was preaching, crowds were gathered round, and even the Pharisees enjoyed his sermons, in a way. It wasn’t his preaching that got him in "trouble." He got in trouble when he revealed God’s heart through his life.

I say we know this in theory, because although we’re often quick enough to preach, and are usually relatively calm if our preaching is rejected, we are most hesitant to let our hearts show—and I’m talking about our new, New Covenant heart—and when our hearts are rejected … look out, world! Or else we put our heart back into hiding. "They don’t want my heart," we’re inclined to say, "so I won’t let it out again.’ We understand rejection in theory.

Perhaps we don’t entirely realize—no, I know we don’t entirely realize—that after God has written on our hearts, everyone who glimpses our heart and accepted what they see, is better for the experience. We’re quick to live from and reveal our minds, which still are in a daily renewal process, while we hide our hearts, as though they’re a shameful thing. And in the rare event that we do show our hearts, only to suffer rejection, we take it personally, completely forgetting about Jesus.

This all comes up because of a conversation that took place this morning. I was having a thoughtful conversation with a friend, who shared some unusually personal thoughts. It seemed that the mood was suited to opening up my own heart, and giving a glimpse into what the lord had been saying to me.

My comments weren’t rejected, as such, or mocked. Instead, more like, "Oh, look at the time!" I noticed that I didn’t feel hurt, exactly, or rejected, exactly, or put off … I felt, rather, an odd sort of aching, or emptiness. Perhaps like you’d feel if a butterfly hovered around your outstretched finger, but didn’t land, or as if a skittish kitten touched your finger with her nose, but wouldn’t let you pet her. This time, you see, I knew it wasn’t me. I opened the door, but intimacy is frightening, and my friend wasn’t ready to come in.

This is what our hearts are meant to be: an invitation. Jesus put it this way: "Come to me." He was always welcoming and always inviting, regardless of how many people refused his invitation. I can’t close the door of my heart to my friend, either.

An open, loving heart is not rejection-proof.

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