Come As You Are
“For since our friendship with God was restored by the death of His Son while we were still His enemies, we will certainly be saved through the life of His Son. So now we can rejoice in our wonderful new relationship with God because our Lord Jesus Christ has made us friends of God.” - Romans 5:10-11 NLT
I really used to be into the band Nirvana, which I’m sure probably doesn’t come as a big surprise. (Flannels and combat boots anyone?) It’s been a good many years since I’ve listened to them but ever since I heard “Come as You Are” playing at a restaurant I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. It starts out, “Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be, as a friend, as a friend, as a known enemy.” (At least that’s how I always sung it, there seem to be differing views online as to whether the line is “known enemy” or “old enemy” but either way the message does not change.)
As I was sitting there waiting for my food it struck me, I was a known enemy of God. All that I was, all that I did stood in direct opposition to all that He is, and yet He invited me to come anyway. Not only that, but Jesus died for me anyway! He died before my life was surrendered and transformed. He died knowing the mistakes that I would make, the sin that I would wallow in. He died and offered for me to come while I was still in sin, while I was still at my lowest point. God knew that I was His enemy and invited me to come just as I was.
The problem was I too was aware of my enmity with God and didn’t want to show up the way was: dirty, busted, broken, weak. I knew, deep down when I got alone, I knew that I was an enemy of God. I carried so much shame and condemnation and guilt. No matter how many justifications I could think of and put on like armor--when things got quiet I knew where I stood. I wanted to at least clean myself up a little bit before I came knocking, before I sat in a pew, or went down to my knees. Looking back I know that was pride. I was believing the lie that I could fix myself. I was trying to bathe in mud. I had no ability to clean myself off, to remove the guilt and shame that branded me. But still, my Savior beckoned, “Come.”
Written by Amanda Strauser