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Have You Heard the
Clanging Door?
by Max Lucado
by Max Lucado
Nine-year-old
Al trudges through the London streets, his hand squeezing a note, his heart
pounding with fear.
He has
not read the letter; his father forbade him to do so. He doesn’t know the
message, but he knows its destination. The police station.
Young
boys might covet a trip to the police station. Not Al. At least not today.
Punishment,
not pleasure, spawned this visit. Al failed to meet the family curfew. The fun
of the day made him forget the time of day, so he came home late and in
trouble.
His father, a stern disciplinarian, met Al at the front
door and, with no greeting, gave him the note and the instruction, “Take
it to the jailhouse.”
Al has
no idea what to expect, but he fears the worst.
The
fears prove justifiable. The officer, a friend of his father, opens the note,
reads it, and nods.
“Follow me.” He
leads the wide-eyed youngster to a jail cell, opens the door, and tells him to
enter.
The officer clangs the door shut. “This is what we
do to naughty boys,” he explains and walks away.
Al’s
face pales as he draws the only possible conclusion. He has crossed his
father’s line.
Exhausted
his supply of grace. Outspent the cache of mercy. So, his dad has locked him
away. Young Al has no reason to think he’ll ever see his family again.
He is
wrong. The jail sentence lasts only five minutes. But those five minutes felt
like five months.
Al
never forgot that day. The sound of the clanging door, he often told people,
stayed with him the rest of his life.
Easy
to understand why. Can you imagine a more ominous noise?
Its echo wordlessly announced, “Your father rejects
you. Search all you want; he isn’t near. Plead all you want; he won’t hear. You
are separated from your father’s love.”
The
slamming of the cell door. Many fear they have heard it. Al forgot the curfew.
You
forgot your virtue. Little Al came home late. Maybe you came home drunk.
Or
didn’t come home at all. Al lost track of time.
You lost
your sense of direction and ended up in the wrong place doing the wrong thing,
and heaven knows, heaven has no place for the likes of . . . Cheaters.
Aborters. Adulterers. Secret sinners. Public scoundrels. Impostors. Church
hypocrites.
Locked
away, not by an earthly father, but by your heavenly one.
Incarcerated,
not in a British jail, but in personal guilt, shame.
No
need to request mercy; the account is empty. Make no appeal for grace; the
check will bounce. You’ve gone too far.
The
fear of losing a father’s love exacts a high toll. Al spent the rest of his
life hearing the clanging door.
That
early taste of terror contributed to his lifelong devotion to creating the same
in others. For Al — Alfred Hitchcock — made a career out of scaring people.
You
may be scaring some folks yourself. You don’t mean to. But you cannot produce
what you do not possess. If you aren’t convinced of God’s love, how can you
love others?
Do you
fear you have heard the clanging door? If so, be assured. You have not.
Your
imagination says you did; logic says you did; some parent or pulpiteer says you
did. But according to the Bible, according to Paul, you did not.
And I
am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from his love. Death can’t, and
life can’t.
The
angels can’t, and the demons can’t.
Our
fears for today, our worries about tomorrow, and even the powers of hell can’t
keep God’s love away.
Whether
we are high above the sky or in the deepest ocean, nothing in all creation will
ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ
Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:38-39).
...
Paul was convinced. Are you? Are you convinced that you have never lived a
loveless day? Not one. Never unloved. Those times you deserted Christ?
He
loved you. You hid from him; he came looking for you.
And
those occasions you denied Christ? Though you belonged to him, you hung with
them, and when his name surfaced, you cursed like a drunken sailor.
God
let you hear the crowing of conscience and feel the heat of tears. But he never
let you go. Your denials cannot diminish his love.
Nor
can your doubts. You’ve had them. You may have them even now.
While
there is much we cannot know, may never know, can’t we be sure of this? Doubts
don’t separate doubters from God’s love.
The
greatest discovery in the universe is the greatest love in the universe — God’s
love.
“Nothing can ever separate us from his love” (Romans 8:38).
Think
what those words mean.
You
may be separated from your spouse, from your folks, from your kids, from your
hair, but you are not separated from the love of God. And you never will be.
Ever.
Step
to the well of his love and drink up. It may take some time to feel the
difference. Occasional drinks won’t bedew the evaporated heart. Ceaseless
swallows will. Once filled up by his love, you’ll never be the same.
The
fear of love lost haunted young Al. But the joy of a love found changed the
disciples. May you be changed.
The next time you fear you hear a clanging door,
remember, “Nothing can ever separate us from his love” (Romans 8:38).
Excerpt adapted from Come Thirsty: No Heart Too Dry for His Touch by
Max Lucado (W Publishing Group, October 2004). For more information on
Max Lucado, visit www.maxlucado.com.
Max
Lucado is a preacher with a
storyteller's gift — a pastor's heart and a poet's pen. Max's message is simple:
God loves you; let him. Max serves the people of Oak Hills Church in San
Antonio, Texas. He preaches and writes to the hurting, the guilty, the lonely,
the discouraged. Learn more about
Max
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