Have you ever had a time when you chose to remain on the “sidelines” watching the action instead of jumping in and joining it, even after being invited to? I remember a time when I was at a friend’s wedding shortly after graduating from college. I was there without a date, hanging out with several college classmates, and sat at the reception during the various activities. When the dance floor was coming to life, I said “no” to multiple invitations to join in on the fun on the dance floor and, after the fact, felt that I had missed out on some of the camaraderie of the event. I was “at” the event, but was also “on the outside looking in.”

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In Luke 15, Jesus tells the story of two sons. One runs away and squanders everything, only to be welcomed home with open arms and a celebration. The other—the older brother—never leaves home. He stays close, but his heart is distant. When his father throws a party for the returning son, the older brother refuses to go in. He stays outside, bitter and resentful, watching restoration unfold but refusing to participate in it.

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Revelation 3:20 echoes this same image. Jesus stands at the door, knocking. The party—the feast of grace, forgiveness, and fellowship—is happening inside. But He won’t force His way in. He waits for us to open the door and invite Him into every part of our lives. Restoration begins not with proximity to Jesus, but with participation in His presence. Now I don’t want to discount the power of an encounter with Jesus, but it expands and grows when we give Him our “yes.”  

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It’s possible to be near the things of God—to attend church, serve, sing, and still live like the other brother. We can know about grace but never let it soak into the hard places of our hearts. We can cheer when others experience transformation, yet resist when God invites us to experience it too. We can admire the restoration happening in someone else’s life, while quietly refusing to let God do the same work in us. That’s what “The Other Brother” represents: the believer (or seeker) who stands close enough to see God’s work, but far enough to stay safe from its implications. He doesn’t reject the Father—he just doesn’t join the feast. But Jesus’ invitation in Revelation 3:20 breaks through that hesitation: “I stand at the door and knock.” He isn’t knocking on the door of unbelievers only—this verse was written to a church. It’s directed toward people who already knew His name but had grown complacent. The church at Laodicea was rich, self-satisfied, and comfortable—content to observe faith rather than live it. They didn’t need Jesus to fix anything, because they didn’t think anything was broken.

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Sound familiar?

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Sometimes our greatest obstacle to restoration isn’t rebellion—it’s self-sufficiency. We don’t think we need help. We’ve convinced ourselves that life is fine, that we’re doing enough, that the party inside isn’t really for us. So we stay outside, arms crossed, listening to the music of grace but never stepping through the door. But the truth is: restoration requires participation. You can’t live the restoration life if you’re standing on the porch. Jesus doesn’t want your polite acknowledgment; He wants your surrender. He doesn’t just want you to nod from a distance; He wants you at the table, sharing a meal, exchanging stories, being known and loved. And the most beautiful part? The invitation is constant. Jesus doesn’t just knock once and walk away. The Greek verb used for “knock” in this verse carries the sense of continual action—He keeps knocking. No matter how long you’ve ignored Him, no matter how far you’ve drifted, His persistence remains.

• He knocks on the door of your pride, your pain, your disappointment, your apathy.

• He knocks when you think you’re too broken.

• He knocks when you think you’re too busy.

• He knocks when you think you’re not the kind of person God would want to dine with.

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And when you finally open the door, you don’t find condemnation—you find companionship. “I will come in and eat with you.” In the ancient world, sharing a meal was a sign of intimacy, trust, and belonging. That’s what Jesus is offering: not religion, not performance, but relationship. Maybe for you “entering the party” looks like saying yes to Jesus for the first time. Or maybe it’s letting Him into a part of your life you’ve kept closed off—your grief, your doubts, your habits, your fears. Maybe it means celebrating someone else’s restoration instead of resenting it. Whatever it looks like, it always begins with opening the door.

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Restoration isn’t a spectator sport. You can’t just watch it happen in others; you have to step into it yourself. The Father’s house is full of laughter, music, and joy—not because everything is perfect, but because grace has made room for imperfect people. The table is set, the invitation is open, and Jesus is still knocking.

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The only question is: Will you let Him come in?

Lord Jesus, thank You for never giving up on me. Thank You for standing at the door and knocking, even when I’ve ignored or resisted Your call. I confess that at times I’ve stood on the sidelines of restoration—watching You work in others while keeping You at a distance in my own life. Today, I open the door. Come in, Lord. Sit with me, heal me, restore me. Teach me to celebrate the grace You’ve given, not just to others, but to me. Help me move from observing to participating—from being near You to being with You. Thank You that Your heart is always for relationship, always for restoration. In Your name I pray, Amen.