You Have Access to the Father
Day 13 Who Are You — REALLY?: Ephesians 2:16–18
Introduction
There are doors you don’t walk through without permission. The office with the closed blinds. The gate where someone has to buzz you in. The house where you wait on the porch until the door is opened from the inside. You learn, early, that access is something granted — and something that can be withheld.
So most of us carry a quiet assumption about God’s door: that it opens for people with the right standing, and that on a bad day, ours might not be enough. We approach carefully. We knock softly. We rehearse what we’ll say in case we’re asked why we’re there.
Paul says the door isn’t like that anymore. And the reason it isn’t has nothing to do with your standing at all.
Scripture
And in one body to reconcile both of them to God through the cross, by which he put to death their hostility. He came and preached peace to you who were far away and peace to those who were near. For through him we both have access to the Father by one Spirit. — Ephesians 2:16–18
Reflection
What’s Happening in the Text
Watch what Paul does with one short sentence in verse 18, because the whole Trinity is in it. Through him — the Son. By one Spirit. To the Father. Your access to God isn’t a permission you were issued. It’s a road that runs through the Son, carried by the Spirit, arriving at the Father. All three persons are involved in getting you to the door, and none of the three is you.
The word translated “access” is worth sitting with. In the ancient world it described being ushered into the presence of a king — you didn’t wander in, you were brought in by someone with the standing to bring you. That’s the picture. It’s not a key that gets you in — it’s an escort.
And notice the word Paul can’t stop using: peace to those far away, peace to those near, both reconciled, both brought. The access isn’t a private hallway to God that each person walks alone. It’s the same door, and the two groups who couldn’t stand each other arrive at it together — because the thing that opened it for one is the thing that opened it for the other.
What This Means for You
Here’s what changes when access is an escort and not a key. A key can be lost. A key depends on you having it, holding it, not misplacing it on a bad day. But you don’t hold your access to God — the Spirit does. You’re not carrying the credential. You are the one being carried.
That’s the answer to the soft knock. You’ve been approaching God like someone who might be asked to justify why they’re there — rehearsing the reason, braced to be turned away. But the one bringing you in has never been turned away. When the Spirit ushers you into the Father’s presence, the standing that opens the door is his, not yours. Your worst day doesn’t lower the credential, because the credential was issued in the name that is above every name.
And don’t miss where this lands, because Paul won’t let you keep it private. The same Spirit who ushers you in is ushering others in beside you — you were never going to be presented to the Father alone. There’s no private audience, no separate door, no shorter line for the ones you’d have kept at a distance. You arrive together, brought by the same escort, through the same Son, to the same Father — which means the belonging you’ve been longing for was always going to be a room full of people, not a seat saved just for you.
You don’t knock on God’s door hoping your standing is enough. You are escorted through it by the Spirit himself — and you arrive in the Father’s presence not alone, but with the whole family the same Spirit is carrying in.
Grace Note
For Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring you to God. — 1 Peter 3:18
To bring you to God. Not near him — to him. That was the purpose of the cross: not to get you within reach of the door, but to open it and keep it open. The access was secured when the price was paid — it doesn’t swing shut on your bad days, because it was never your standing that opened it in the first place.
Prayer Prompt
Father, I’ve been knocking softly. Approaching you like someone who has to explain himself at the door, half-expecting to be asked why I think I belong in the room.
I forget that I’m not the one who gets me in. I’ve been checking my own credentials, and they were never the ones that mattered. Your Spirit brings me. Your Son opened the way. I just get carried through.
Let me stop rehearsing my reasons. Let me come in the way you actually invite me — not carefully, not braced, but brought.
And I’ll admit the quieter part. Somewhere I pictured this as just you and me — my own audience, my own door. It catches me off guard that the same Spirit who carries me in is carrying in a whole family, and that I was never going to have you to myself. Help me want the room the way you’ve filled it, not the way I’d have kept it.
Amen.
Response
1. Verbal/Read Aloud: Read verse 18 out loud, slowly, landing on each person: through him — by one Spirit — to the Father. Say it as the route you’re already on, not a door you’re still hoping opens.
2. Observational: Through the day, catch yourself in the act of approaching God carefully — rehearsing a reason, bracing to explain why you’re there. Each time you notice it, don’t fix it, just name it: knocking softly again. Noticing the soft knock is the first step out of it.
3. Relational: You weren’t going to be brought in alone. Reach out to one person you share this access with — a text, a call — and tell them, simply, that you’re grateful we’re both known by the Father — and glad it’s them.
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© Steve Peschke / This Is The Way