Holey, holey, holey

I don’t wear a suit every Sunday. When I do, it usually means I’m scheduled to preach that day or perform some other “pastoral” function. Last Sunday I dressed up because I had a funeral at another church that afternoon. I arrived at Riverbend early, got things ready for my 8:30 class, sat down to have a donut, crossed my legs…and that’s when I noticed that my fine suit had a hole in it. On the right shin, some moth—from another denomination, no doubt—had chewed a spot about the size of a pencil. I was peeved. Still, it was a small hole and probably no one would notice it. I resolved not to think about it.
Yeah, right. I couldn’t think of anything else. When folks commented on me being dressed up—“Wow, what’s the occasion?” “Hey, you clean up pretty good!” “Lookin’ sharp!”—I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying, “You don’t understand! There’s an enormous gaping hole in my suit!” By 11:00am I began to slip; I actually pointed out the defect to someone and mentioned how it bothered me. But I made it through the morning, went to the funeral and did my pastoral duty.
On the way home, it occurred to me that this is how I feel when I approach God. Embarassed, ashamed because of the hole in my “perfect” persona, self-conscious about the flaws and failures in my character. I want to look good, but there is This. Giant. Flaw.
And then God says, “Wow, you clean up really nice!” I protest and say, “But what about this hole?”
“I didn’t notice it. I think you look beautiful.”
What can I say about love like that, love that overlooks my faults and only sees me at my best?
Suits me.