Keeping House

2 Chronicles 24:4-9; Ezra 1:1-4; Psalm 122

What links Joash, Ezra, and the Psalmist is the impetus to keep house—namely, keeping the house of the Lord—the Temple. What they acknowledge is that for the people of faith to keep their own houses in order, they need also to tend to the house of God, for that will undergird their lives. 

Here is how it works—

God is the source of life, our being, and, we profess, all things—every aspect of our lives—comes through the providential presence of God. That is a simple acknowledgement of faith—if God is, then all that is must come through God as the ground of being. 

So, we tend our relationship to the Ground of Being—our being. It becomes tantamount that we nourish our connection to God. We need to intentionally set aside time to be with God. We need to set aside space to sit with God. We need to create an atmosphere in which we can listen to and for God. Yes, it is true that such things can happen anywhere wherein we mindfully open ourselves to God’s presence—a walk in the woods, a moment in solitude at home, a quiet stretch of road while driving—all can be meeting places—but there is something about having a place that serves no other purpose than bringing us before God—i.e., a church. A church is just a building, but we know it is a building with a purpose anyone can see. Its design is for no other end than meeting with God in the community of faith. Even congregations meeting in storefronts know this, so when folks pass through the doors, they find a space transformed into something other than it was. This place is holy ground. This space is sacred space. It can be no other than a sanctuary in the fullness of that term. The symbology preaches the presence of God. the windows tell the story of God. The seating is designed to encourage active listening. It all points to focusing hearts and minds on meeting, listening, and conversing with God. Here, we purposefully divert from the path of ordinary time to enter sacred time. 

So, we need to preserve this space. 

Second, as we enter the presence of God, we consider what we offer to our God. No, we cannot match the holiness, purity, and glory of God. We are creatures. We are perfectly imperfect. We come with a set of faults, weaknesses, foibles, and tendencies to missteps. So, of course, it is appropriate to come “as you are” into the presence of God. God welcomes all with the embrace of the Waiting Father, no matter how soiled we become in the far country of the parable. But we need to guard ourselves against then taking God for granted. Grace is grace—a wonderful freedom to meet God however we are—but we do not need to then wear who we are as a inviolate badge—take me as I am because you owe that to me. We can revel in our dysfunction. We can revel in our mess. “Take me as I am because it’s all your gonna get!” is a prideful shout of self. It demands that the only viable terms are our terms. Here, it ridiculously demands that God meet us with whatever pittance we happen to feel like presenting because that’s all God’s gonna get! How foolish. No, God welcomes as we are, but God does not leave us there; God seeks for us to find the glory of being a child of God. More than one married couple I know has had to work through this stage in their relationship—the stage where familiarity breeds contempt—not intentional contempt—but simply the casualness of knowing someone so well they simply become part of the landscape. We no longer honor one another with the best we can be. My grandparents always made dinner an event. My grandpa always wore a coat and tie to dinner. Always. Grandma always dressed impeccably as if for church. Always. They did so not out of stuffy formality, but in treasuring each other’s presence. We need to do so with God. God is God, we are not, so present to God the best we have to offer, whatever that might be. An aside—the widow’s mite plays here, too—if your best is what you have on your back and all you have on your back, then bring that. The point is to lose self in the honor of God, and we do so as we keep the house of God to be the best it can be. 

So, we give God the best we have to offer. 

Third, we recognize the gift of the presence of others. We celebrate that our faith is relational and connectional. We see our interdependence. We see it, not as weakness, but as a great gift. We learn love as we love one another. We learn compassion as we are met with compassion. There is strength in numbers. We can face the chaos of the world, knowing we are not on our own. There is a community to help us. There are friends to comfort us. There are hands to lift us. We realize we cannot do this all on our own, and there is no need to try. We rejoice in community.

So, we offer God our loves.

Fourth, we need to see that generosity flows directly from gratitude. We give because we have been so richly given to. We already acknowledge that all things come from God, so every breath we take is reason for thanks. As we tend to the house of God, we do so in thanksgiving that our God meets with us, acknowledges us, accepts us, affirms us, and redeems us. Here, we encounter the words, acts, and promises of abiding grace and steadfast love that will not leave us as we are. Our response in our offerings, then, are one means by which to show God our gratitude. We give to the church so that others may know of God’s rich blessings, so we can continue to hear those blessings ourselves, and to embody the love with which we have been loved. There can be no greater, no more profound expression of thanks—to serve as we have been served, to be compassionate as we have been met with compassion, and to love as we have been loved. Tending this house means such work can and will continue in this place. 

So, we offer thanks as we give.

Finally, we tend this house in a simple act of devotion which brings us back where we began. Here, in this house, we offer ourselves in praise, adoration, and laud. We do so because there is  no more fitting response to being in the presence of the Holy of Holies. As we encounter the beauty, wonder, and presence of God in a simple walk through autumnal woods afire with color, crisp wind, and glorious light, we come here in adoration of the Maker, to hear the full story of who this Maker is and how this Maker meets us and all creation. Here, the anonymous wonder of the cosmos is given a Name—a Name we can trust, a Name we can take, and a Name that informs all of our life with holiness, grace, and direction. 

So, we worship.

This is where Joash, Ezra, and the Psalmist were going. This is what they were about.

Join them. Go with them. The road is holy that they trod. Taking it illumines our lives with the sacred. Taking it ensures our words and actions will be what they need to be. Taking it protects us from the dangers of Self and materialism that so robs life of its meaning, purpose, and intent. 

Follow the way into the presence of God.

Keep this house.