There has to be some kind of line. A place where the sympathy of God is exhausted, where he rolls his eyes as we — yet again — require rescuing from a mess of our own making. Surely God is pretty tired of us by now. Surely he’s ready to be done.
Most days, I think we could all admit how much we would totally deserve it. Humanity is remarkably adroit at careening into barrels full of natural consequences, and in the aftermath we somehow still have the temerity to insist that we’ve been treated unjustly. We’re pretty silly like that.
Tozer famously wrote that the most important thing about us is what comes into our minds when we think about God. And while the God I think of isn’t angry, he is often sighing. Often rolling his eyes. Often exhausted. Maybe he wishes that I would figure out just one of my problems on my own. Or that I would finally learn a few of those lessons he’s already taught me a hundred times over. That I would obey the first time, or without throwing an emotional tantrum first.
Yes, the God of my imagination will always rescue me, always save me, always redeem me... and he will always resent me as he does. Oh, he’s good all right; but he’s tired. He sighs as he saves.
This well illustrates why we should usually resist imagining God.
The question before us is really, “Does God care?” Does he care about the embarrassing parts of me? The desires that make me cringe? Does he care when I’m hurt and throw a temper tantrum? When I’m overwhelmed by a thousand little things I’m not good enough to manage and I just want to give up and cry instead? Does he care about that stuff?
Can he?
“Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession.”
Hebrews 4:14 ESV
We’re justified in asking the question. God is unimaginably high above our understanding. Why should a being like that care about my unfulfilled longings? My loneliness? The embarrassing dreams I don’t dare to tell anyone, afraid that they’ll wink out of existence like a soap bubble in the wind? Why should God care about the things that make me squirm?
Well for one, we have a great high priest.
At first, this doesn’t sound like the kind of person that’s going to do us much good. Great, high? We might picture someone distant, immaculate; someone with an impassive face and a mildly stern expression. He’s probably wearing rich robes and would get really upset if someone like us, dirty and unclean, were to approach him. What a great high priest, right?
The thing is, we’re not picturing a priest. We’re picturing a king.
The role of the king in Israel was to represent God to the people. He embodies the high attributes of God – his justice, authority, righteousness, and power. He is the one who is high and unstained, mighty and lifted up. But the role of the priest is just the opposite – he represents the people to God. He gets down in the dirt with us. He’s one of the people; he’s one of us.
In other words, the priest is so unbelievably on our side that he can stand before God in our place. He’s that near.
Picture instead a man stained up to the elbows, grim-faced, yes, but only in service to the task set before him. This priest does not fear the dirt and grime and blood: it’s his joyful duty to offer up sacrifices on our behalf. His grim visage, cheerful spirit, and ceaseless effort are far from the immaculate marble statues of our imaginations.
This man, our great high priest, has passed through the heavens. He is Joy eternally clothed in humanity, a man whose feet have left imprints in the dust, who has tasted bread and wine, who has heard music, loved deeply, stood against oppression, and battled sin. He has grieved, hugged, suffered, laughed, lamented, wept. He knew lonely nights and the sweet balm of friendship. Our great high priest knows what it is to hang before the doorway of despair and feel utterly forsaken.
So with the picture I have of God right now — someone austere, resentful, often sighing — I will never believe that he cares about the parts of me that most need his care.
But Christ as high priest shatters my expectations.
“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.”
Hebrews 4:15 ESV
When a parent rolls their eyes at their child’s ignorance and failure, it’s a failure of imagination. It’s an imperfect memory. The parent isn’t remembering what it was like to be weak, frail, limited by a diminished intellect and undeveloped reasoning capabilities. They only see and adjudicate with the eyes of a adult. They judge from their high maturity, instead of descending to the low viewpoint of the child.
But when Christ looks at us, he recalls with perfect memory what it was to be an unglorified human on earth. He knows our weakness and frailty in every way, because he shared it with us in his life. He does not look down on us, because his primary viewpoint is not from above, from a high and mighty seat distant from our trembling faces. He draws near, tenderhearted and sympathetic, and touches us. Our high priest is lowly, seated with the broken and destitute, and he lives with us.
With Christ, there is no failure of imagination.
Christ’s sympathy for you is comprehensive. Scripture never draws a line that says, “This much and no more.” And his sympathy is not endorsement. Jesus does not need to agree with your tantrum in order for his heart to extend to you in the midst of it. He does not need to validate your loneliness in order to tenderly love you through it. He does not need a rational defense of your anxiety before he will embrace you, nor require an apology for your embarrassment before his comfort can flow.
When you belong to Christ, he loves you without prerequisite, justification, or earning. He has fulfilled the requirement, provided every justification, and earned it all at his own cost. His heart is fully with you as the surest friend and nearest companion, no matter what weakness, shame, or embarrassment is troubling your heart.
He sympathizes with all your weakness. Because he shared in it, he can love and not despise you for them. Whatever you’re feeling, he knows what it’s like. For all the reasons you should apologize and repent before God, being a human born in weakness is not one of them.
“Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”
Hebrews 4:16 ESV
So approach the throne.
Because his mercy is comprehensive and the royal name enthroned is Grace, draw near to him with confidence. Trust the heart of Christ for you in your suffering. Trust his heart for you in your weakness. Trust him, and draw near.
His sympathy is as comprehensive as his humanity. In order to say that he cannot understand, you would have to say that Christ was less than fully human; in order to say that his sympathy is less than abundant, you would have to find some chamber of his heart where mercy and grace are lacking, dry and withered away.
You may search, but you will never find such a room.
When Jesus sympathizes with you, he doesn’t pick and choose the acceptable parts and leave you in the unacceptable ones. He is your full advocate. He loves you when you’re in a mess; he loves you when you are the mess. His love is near, because his love understands. This great high priest is so unbelievably on your side.
So have you made such a wreckage of your life that you aren’t sure there’s a miracle big enough to make you worthy again? Jesus is your great high priest, who stands on an altar stained with his own blood — for you. He has utterly saved you to the uttermost reaches of salvation. And his sympathetic heart carries you every step of the way towards sanctification. There is no part of you too embarrassing or shameful for him to reach out and embrace. No part of you he cannot tenderly understand with unending sympathy and boundless grace.
So no, there is no line. He will never sigh as he saves, except perhaps in relief. Our Savior is near, radiant in his joy, and eager to hold you near to his living, beating, eternally resurrected heart.
His sympathy is that comprehensive.