Sacred Spaces
When our family moved into our home last year, one of our dear sisters in the church took an initial look at the house and remarked, “Boy, they really lived in this home.” And what she meant by that is that it had taken a beating over the years. There were broken light switches and holes in window screens. There were evidences of what was consumed and left unconsumed for dinner via small handprints left on the walls — perhaps, a meal where the fork was bypassed for a more agreeable five-pronged utensil. From one angle, the smear represented food remnants that didn’t get cleaned up. From another, these handprints were evidences of those who really lived in the home. That this was truly a home where children were loved on, cherished, and embraced — broken light switches, stained walls, loose doorknobs, and all.
Some places are said to be really lived in. And isn’t it interesting, that the more worn, the more weathered, the more it looks like a place has its life taken out from it that a place looks like it’s more lived in? And it’s not to encourage slothful habits and toward a failure to pick up after oneself. But there’s this special exchange that happens where much life is celebrated in sacred places that are truly lived in. And there’s something incredibly special about how this kind of sacrifice of home reflects the abode we find in Jesus who initiated the Great Exchange of the gospel with us. Where He took our sin, our stains, our messes left uncleaned and offers us in turn His presence, His transforming safety, and His welcome. These are sacred spaces, where such exchange occurs. Because the Christian life is intended to be lived out, with all of the messes, the stains, the ugliness that might spew out from endeavors to do life together.
I remember from my childhood that there were these sacred places in the church I grew up a part of. And at the top — the Most Holy Place — was the pastor’s office. For whatever reason, there was this intrigue with the mystery of the pastor’s office that all of us children were so enamored by. Perhaps, the ‘thou shalt not’ created even more intrigue, resembling the tantalizing fruit that was set before Adam and Eve in the Garden. But we all knew that the pastor’s office was a place that was set apart, which meant a place where we were not welcome in. As children, we didn’t know about the preparation and study and prayer that occurred in this set apart space. We just knew that the locked door meant our presence there wasn’t welcome.
In contrast to the pastor’s office, however, there‘s imprinted a different memory with a few homes I would be habited to occupy. And little did I know that these were truly sacred spaces. Because it’s not that these homes didn’t have valuables or fragile items. But even from a young age, I breathed in the welcome of these homes. What I knew about these sacred spaces was that it was a place where I was welcome, even with the mess I may bring, even with the possibility of breaking the valuables in the home. I had nothing to offer these hosts but entropy and unstructured noise. And yet, they always welcomed me in with a smile, with food, and with the genuine offer of ‘make yourself at home.’ These were living rooms where hearty laughter was beat into the walls, where hymns were sporadically sung, where teardrops were collected. There, I remember seeing the abundance of life through stories told and heard, through words exchanged, through love transferred, through grace shared. And it had everything to do with these hosts who learned the art of genuine welcome, even to a young boy who had nothing to bring or to offer them.
This Sunday, our church begins doing Community Groups. And to be honest, it’s been a daunting date circled on my calendar for quite some time. And I think the fear is that I know how important it is for life in the church to be brought from the worship hall into living rooms, kitchens, and yards. Because my hope is that these new spaces become familiar spaces and eventually sacred spaces, not just for the adults who congregate for discussion but for the children among us who need to breathe in the atmosphere of warm welcome. Our goal with Community Groups is not to treat our homes like the pastor’s office. Because the sanctity of gospel life flourishes where there is an exchange that occurs. There might be some loose door knobs, some stained walls, some sauce spread out on the floors. But if and when these marks surface, I pray that they be left to temporarily, or even indelibly, leave us a memory — that gospel spaces are those that are really lived in. We’re new to this, but it’s something that we’re excited to dive into. It’s another page turned in learning to do life together in our church family. We’ll be certain to make mistakes, but from the start, I think it’s important to establish what the mistakes are — the locked doors or the stained walls? the facade of “I’m doing fine” or the opened dam of “I’m actually not okay”? It’s my prayer that Community Groups here at Christ Our Redeemer will become a time and space of refuge in this new season and for seasons to come, one meeting and gathering at a time.
Some places are said to be really lived in. And isn’t it interesting, that the more worn, the more weathered, the more it looks like a place has its life taken out from it that a place looks like it’s more lived in? And it’s not to encourage slothful habits and toward a failure to pick up after oneself. But there’s this special exchange that happens where much life is celebrated in sacred places that are truly lived in. And there’s something incredibly special about how this kind of sacrifice of home reflects the abode we find in Jesus who initiated the Great Exchange of the gospel with us. Where He took our sin, our stains, our messes left uncleaned and offers us in turn His presence, His transforming safety, and His welcome. These are sacred spaces, where such exchange occurs. Because the Christian life is intended to be lived out, with all of the messes, the stains, the ugliness that might spew out from endeavors to do life together.
I remember from my childhood that there were these sacred places in the church I grew up a part of. And at the top — the Most Holy Place — was the pastor’s office. For whatever reason, there was this intrigue with the mystery of the pastor’s office that all of us children were so enamored by. Perhaps, the ‘thou shalt not’ created even more intrigue, resembling the tantalizing fruit that was set before Adam and Eve in the Garden. But we all knew that the pastor’s office was a place that was set apart, which meant a place where we were not welcome in. As children, we didn’t know about the preparation and study and prayer that occurred in this set apart space. We just knew that the locked door meant our presence there wasn’t welcome.
In contrast to the pastor’s office, however, there‘s imprinted a different memory with a few homes I would be habited to occupy. And little did I know that these were truly sacred spaces. Because it’s not that these homes didn’t have valuables or fragile items. But even from a young age, I breathed in the welcome of these homes. What I knew about these sacred spaces was that it was a place where I was welcome, even with the mess I may bring, even with the possibility of breaking the valuables in the home. I had nothing to offer these hosts but entropy and unstructured noise. And yet, they always welcomed me in with a smile, with food, and with the genuine offer of ‘make yourself at home.’ These were living rooms where hearty laughter was beat into the walls, where hymns were sporadically sung, where teardrops were collected. There, I remember seeing the abundance of life through stories told and heard, through words exchanged, through love transferred, through grace shared. And it had everything to do with these hosts who learned the art of genuine welcome, even to a young boy who had nothing to bring or to offer them.
This Sunday, our church begins doing Community Groups. And to be honest, it’s been a daunting date circled on my calendar for quite some time. And I think the fear is that I know how important it is for life in the church to be brought from the worship hall into living rooms, kitchens, and yards. Because my hope is that these new spaces become familiar spaces and eventually sacred spaces, not just for the adults who congregate for discussion but for the children among us who need to breathe in the atmosphere of warm welcome. Our goal with Community Groups is not to treat our homes like the pastor’s office. Because the sanctity of gospel life flourishes where there is an exchange that occurs. There might be some loose door knobs, some stained walls, some sauce spread out on the floors. But if and when these marks surface, I pray that they be left to temporarily, or even indelibly, leave us a memory — that gospel spaces are those that are really lived in. We’re new to this, but it’s something that we’re excited to dive into. It’s another page turned in learning to do life together in our church family. We’ll be certain to make mistakes, but from the start, I think it’s important to establish what the mistakes are — the locked doors or the stained walls? the facade of “I’m doing fine” or the opened dam of “I’m actually not okay”? It’s my prayer that Community Groups here at Christ Our Redeemer will become a time and space of refuge in this new season and for seasons to come, one meeting and gathering at a time.
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