The King is in His castle, in His throne room. The castle is fortified against unauthorized entry, maybe even with a moat surrounding it. No one is getting in unless they are invited in.
I'm on the outside--filthy from the effort of living outside of the castle. I am clearly not mistaken for royalty. I belong outside.
Yet I want the King's attention. Am I screaming toward the castle? Maybe I've fashioned some fancy billboard to catch the King's attention. How can I know if He sees?
And if He does see, it's not because I made a giant sign, but because He chose to look out His window. All the effort, all that work that I just expended can't make Him come to the window.
He looks because He wants to. He sees me and my efforts, in spite of my efforts. Perhaps He sees me trying to communicate.
I understand He is the King. I am not.
There are some who are building mud huts and calling them castles. They declare that they are their own sovereign. They don't care to communicate with the King. He sees them too, and their efforts to be their own king.
I would guess it makes Him sad. Maybe even mad.
He sends out a messenger to tell us about the King, to tell us about the splendor of the throne room and all that is required to gain an audience with the King. His messenger invites us to the castle.
But how can I go? How can I enter that majestic place? I know I can't buy royal robes to cover the filth. The messenger tells me there is a way. "Come."
There are others who've been invited and they scour the village for robes suitable, for a way to make themselves acceptable. Don't they realize they can't do it?
There is only the way being offered by the messenger.
As I approach the castle, the Prince appears. "Take my robe. The guards will not stop you. You can enter all the way into my Dad's inner chamber."
"But I'm just a peasant. The King will know I don't belong there--I'm not royalty."
"But with that robe on, you will be."
And so I enter, trusting that all I need to be admitted into the throne room is that robe I now wear. And it is. I am ushered into the very presence of the King.
I fall on my knees in gratitude. On my face in awe and reverence.
"Rise, my child. I am here to listen."
"But I am not your child, I only used the Prince's robe to come near, to see you."
"My Son put that robe on you and with that made you part of our family. You ARE my child. Talk to me, tell me what is on your heart..."
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