The Fuzzy Coat of Shame

Sometimes seemingly cozy, sometimes determinedly itchy

One of my favorite Christian songs right now is “The Father’s House” by Cory Asbury.

It is one that I never skip and always turn up to full volume in my car.

The chorus is as follows:

Ooh, lay your burdens down

Ooh, here in the Father's house

Check your shame at the door

'Cause it ain't welcome anymore

Ooh, you're in the Father's house

Let’s focus in on that third line.

Check your shame at the door

I like this phrasing because it reminds me of checking a coat. Of walking into a fancy restaurant, wedding reception, etc., and being asked to remove my jacket—which in this daydream is a fuzzy, faux fur coat. Expensive. One I might hesitate to take off and hand to a stranger and might occasionally eye the coat room to look after. One that might make me feel exposed to remove.

And I think the same can be said about shame.

We are all collectors of shame. Shame for things we’ve done, haven’t done, or feel we should have done. Shame for things we are, things we aren’t, and things we’ll never be. Shame for mistakes we’ve made, good people we’ve hurt, and things we’ve said, and shame for things we didn’t say, for wrong turns we took, and opportunities we missed.

Shame can be suffocating, but also, in a weird way, comforting.

It is the bruise we can reliably push on whenever we want to punish ourselves, giving us access to bitterness, regret, and blame. Shame can also be incredibly clingy. It can be weaved into our very DNA and require more effort to deny than accept. Sometimes shame is so exhausting to cast out that it’s easier to just believe it, accept it, submit to it.

Which is maybe why I envision it as a big, fuzzy coat. Something that can keep me warm, make me interesting, give me depth, but can also make me itchy, uncomfortable, overheated, heavy. Something that, at times, I want to rip off, but would have a hard time ever putting down and leaving behind. Something I almost feel entitled and attached to; something that promises to protect me.

So that line—check your shame at the door—while inviting, freeing, life giving, is also kind of scary.

Check all of it?

Like, alllll of it?

Surely there is some I need to hold on to. Some that marks me as insufficient, unloveable, unworthy. Some that is irredeemable, unacceptable, unavoidable.

No.

None of it.

If we look at the next line in the chorus, it says: 'Cause it ain't welcome anymore

Check your shame at the door

'Cause it ain't welcome anymore

It doesn’t say, if you have shame, you’re not welcome here.

It says the shame is not welcome here.

And the shame is not welcome because the shame is not you.

You may have collected the shame, but you didn’t become it.

And you may feel unworthy because of your shame but Jesus already died for it.

So cast off that coat.

Throw it behind you and tell the attendant you won’t be back for it.

Feel the weight lifted off your shoulders and bask in the freedom of the Father’s house.