There’s a Room With Your Name on It

I’m the world’s worst vacationer. My wife is a travel agent. This is a source of ongoing tension in our home.

Every time we take a trip, before we even hit the end of the driveway, my brain goes directly to: when do we get to go home? It’s not that I don’t love time with my family. It’s that I’m a homebody. I love being home. I love knowing where everything is and what’s happening and how long the grass has gotten while I was away.

I think that’s exactly why John 14 hit me so hard when I was preparing this message. Because I think Jesus was writing this chapter for homebodies.

A Room With Your Name on It

It’s the night before the cross. Jesus is at the table with his disciples. He’s already told them he’s leaving. They’re scared and confused and don’t fully understand what’s about to happen. And Jesus, the one who is hours away from arrest and trial and death, looks at them and says:

“Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms.”  – John 14:1-2

The old King James translation says mansions, which gives you the image of everyone getting their own estate. That’s not actually what’s being said. The word is rooms. In a house. Because the picture Jesus is painting isn’t you alone in a palace. It’s you belonging in His home.

And then the detail that got me.

On a road trip years ago, I was driving an equipment truck through a storm in West Virginia when the windshield wiper arm flew off at 70 miles an hour. I drove the rest of the way with my head out the window trying to follow the tail lights in front of me. By the time we stopped for the night, every muscle in my body was done.

The host family met me at the church. One of them had a room ready. Just for me. And on the pillow there was a card with my name on it. She’d written a note, left a bottle of water, a Gatorade, some mints. She knew what the drive had been like. She knew I needed to rest. And she had prepared the room.

That’s what Jesus is describing. A room in God’s house with your name on a card on the pillow. Prepared for you. Specifically for you!

Not because you earned it. Not because you’ve been good enough. Because he went and made it ready.

Then Thomas does what Thomas always does. He says the thing everyone is thinking but nobody else will say.

Lord, we don’t know where you’re going. How can we know the way?

And Jesus gives him what I genuinely believe is the most important sentence in the New Testament.

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”  – John 14:6

Three claims. One sentence. And the thing I want you to notice is what Jesus actually said to Thomas’ question.

Thomas asked: how do we know the way to get there?

Jesus answered: you don’t need to know the steps to get there. You need to know how to live between the homes. Between your home here on this side of eternity and your home to come. And I’m going to show you how.

C.S. Lewis said something I keep coming back to. If you find yourself longing for something in this world that nothing in this world can satisfy, then perhaps you were made for another world. That ache inside of you is real. And Jesus says: I know what that ache is, and I’m the answer to it.

The Problem

Most of us try to manage our sense of righteousness by comparison. We look around at the people doing worse than us and feel okay about where we stand. I’m not as bad as that person. I’m trying harder than that one. I’ve done some good things.

Jesus says that math doesn’t work. Your eternity is found in your connection to me, not your comparison to the people around you.

Isaiah gets direct about why. All our righteous deeds before God are like filthy rags. Not the bad things we’ve done but our best stuff. The things we’re proud of. The religious acts. The good deeds. All of it is nothing more than smelly, used, inadequate.

That’s not meant to shame you. It’s meant to free you. Because what God gives in exchange for the dirty rags is Jesus’ robe of righteousness. You bring the laundry. He washes it. You walk away wearing what he earned.

You are declared holy and right and pure because of Jesus, not because of you.

One Way Is the Kindest Option

The part of this passage that makes people most uncomfortable though is the last line. No one comes to the Father except through me. Our culture hears that as exclusive and unloving. And I understand why. But I want to offer a different read.

Imagine Jesus had said, there are a hundred ways to the Father. Figure out which ones work for you and hope you’re on one of them. That’s not loving. That’s terrifying. You’d spend your whole life wondering if you got it right.

One way isn’t restrictive. It’s the kindest possible answer. You don’t have to guess. You don’t have to wonder. There’s one road home and his name is Jesus.

And here’s the thing about that one road. The only qualification to be on it is that you’re carrying dirty laundry. Which is all of us. He’s the only one who can wash it.

Imagine your worst day. The thing you’re afraid to say out loud. You take that to God and say: this is all I have.

And Jesus says. I know. I saw it. That’s exactly why I died for you.

His love for you isn’t contingent on you. It’s contingent on his death for you. And that already happened. The robe is already yours.

The way. The truth. The life. His name is Jesus. And there’s a room with your name on it.