My mother has had a self-cleaning over for umpteen years, that would be southern speak for a whole lot of years, and she has only recently discovered that her appliance had the aforementioned capabilities. Mama is delighted. On one hand, this is confusing because Mama’s oven has never gone that long between one of her rigorous cleanings. On the other hand, Mama is a certified neat nick who never stops aiming for another level of clean. I so wish that trait had been genetic.

My oven could use a good scrubbing right about now and it’s a self-cleaning machine, too. Unfortunately, I’m bad about forgetting to program it until it’s time to cook again and the remains of dinners gone by are staring me in the face. You’d think the thing could show a little initiative and launch the system by itself when it senses spilled spaghetti sauce. Now, that would be progress! As it is, the self-cleaning function fails to live up to my expectations. Always has.

I remember how sorely disappointed I was the first time I used it. The timer went off and I found, to my dismay, that yours truly was still going to have to wipe leftover soot and ash off the sides and bottom. I realize this sounds silly, but I’d actually been under the impression that my help wouldn’t be required at all.

Here’s something even sillier, and immeasurably more disappointing. There was a time when I tried to approach God in prayer with a self-cleaning attitude. I’d try to clean myself, scrub myself, and examine myself for anything that could hinder our fellowship. I always failed. I never could rid myself of all the soot and ashes and neither can you, friend. Our hearts will deceive us, and our memories will fail us.

It isn’t our prayer, our fasting, our Bible study or our confession that makes us fit for His fellowship. It is only Jesus who makes us worthy. It’s when we start there, with a celebration of the finished work of Christ, that we begin to discover the joy of prayer.