My Two Cents
June 1, 2018, 12:00 AM

“I was glad when they said unto me, let us go into the house of the Lord” (Psalm 122:1)

This may have been the first bible verse I ever knew. I may have had to recite it to get a piece of candy from my Sunday school teacher in the Quonset building that sat across the street from the chapel on Andrews Air Force Base. I may have even gotten it right.

“Very good, Ricky. Now, PLEASE settle down.”

And the verse has been strangely prophetic for our family, as sometimes the line between our home and the church has been blurry. One time we forgot our youngest son when we drove home after worship.

“Where’s Jordan?”

“I thought you had him.”

Not to worry, though. When we got back to the church he was taking his afternoon nap on the floor of the nursery.

Then there were those times when I answered the home phone, “Good morning, Christian Temple.”

I’m aware that we don’t want to get too cozy in comparing the church to a house, or the congregation to a family. Some of us arrive at church from houses that don’t feel too safe. Others don’t necessarily think good thoughts when the word “family” comes to mind.

Still, “home” is such a nice metaphor for what church can be. “House” is where we dwell together. “The House of the Lord”? Maybe it’s where we can drop our car keys in the bowl by the door, kick off our shoes and have a chat for a minute with God about our day while supper’s being placed on the table.

So, if we are the house of the Lord for our community, what kind of house are we?

I remember all the different kinds of houses in our old neighborhood. The Delia house is where everything was just so. There was no play in the Delia house where all the living room furniture was wrapped in plastic and nothing was ever stacked on the dining room table. We had to behave in the Delia house.

Then, there was the Collins house- the one with the mysterious blue Christmas lights. For fifteen years I don’t believe I ever stepped inside. It sat up on top of a hill and was surrounded by an imposing fence. I’m sure it was nice and all, but there was just something imposing about the place.

In a few houses that surrounded ours, the kids had grown and gone. Even though we’d cut through the Mr. and Mrs. Creasy’s back yard to get to the ball field, we’d only knock on their door once a year when we trick or treated. Both of them would come to greet us at the door with such sad smiles. One held the door while the other carefully placed a carefully wrapped popcorn ball in the bag.

Of course, the best house in the neighborhood is the one where all the kids wanted to hang out, right? We had a couple of those. Moms and dads (but mostly moms) would dole out snacks and punishment without regard to whose kid was hers. If we played too late, it was, “Why don’t you stay for dinner?” And when it was time for the graduation open house, those were the parents who sat in our back yard.

Today as I think about the future story of Christian Temple, and as I remember this bible verse that has been so formative for me, I find myself wondering,

“What kind of house, is THIS house of the Lord?”



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