2 Samuel 5:22-6:11
When I lived in Galveston, there was a six month period of time where we had weekly gatherings. We would take turns leading the time together and would do things like pray, play worship songs, and read from the scriptures. The people who came were from all walks of life - homeless, obese, black, white, male, female, students and full-time employees.
It was a time when people could leave their troubles and worries at the door. People could sit down, take a load off, and speak their mind regardless of how crazy or sane they sounded.
One of these nights, it was my turn to lead. So, I spent a few hours setting up a candlelight walkway in the darkness underneath our house. There was a storage area underneath that was big enough for a bunch of people to sit comfortably, so we used this area lots of times to throw darts, drink beer, and talk about life.
As I created the candlelit walkway, I was thinking of who would be walking down the path I was creating. The walkway led to a chair, and in front of the chair was a tub full of warm water. There was also a coffee table set up with blank notecards on it for people to write down confessions. As I continued setting up the foot washing station, any prejudice I had toward anyone in the group melted. I knew that there was no way I could wash anyone's feet if I was thinking about how annoying, or fat, or lazy they were. As I kneeled in the darkness, my roommate upstairs gave instructions on what to do, and I prayed that I would somehow lose any stereotypes I currently had in my mind.
The space was sacred, and silence filled the room. As each person came down the candlelit walkway, one by one, they stopped by the table to write down a confession, then plopped down in the chair in front of me. It was humbling for all. It was in this time that beliefs didn't matter. What we did wrong last night or earlier today didn't matter. Our struggles and successes didn't matter in that moment because we were all standing on ground that was saturated with a love that was bigger than us. We were an audience, gazing into the heart of a power much bigger and more compassionate than any of us.
This was the same ground that blood would be spilled onto. This was the same ground that was covered with used syringes and porno magazines when we first moved in. This was the same ground where drifters would break in to find shelter from the elements. Yet, this ground was transformed the night when everyone's differences turned into one similarity - we were loved more than we could ever imagine.
I believe God was there that night. Moreso, I believe God was there every night before that.
So often, I think we feel the need to conjure up the spirits like a medium trying to communicate with the dead. The idea of church has become more about a strategy of contacting the dead in a place that is sprinkled with man's touch of holiness, than waking up to the reality of a present, living God saturating all the places we would consider unworthy, despicable, and secular. We ask God to fill the place, but what we're really asking is for the ability to see how the place is already saturated with divine compassion.
It's our eyes that need adjusting as well as our hearts and minds. We categorize and label everything as either holy or secular, determining for the world who's worthy of the God in a box.
On that night underneath my house, I was opened to the reality that God is not contained in any space. It's my eyes, mind, and heart that are contained. Wherever I go and whomever with, I have the opportunity to wake up to a sacred world. I have the opportunity to wake up to an already present Reality, an already holy ground.
When I lived in Galveston, there was a six month period of time where we had weekly gatherings. We would take turns leading the time together and would do things like pray, play worship songs, and read from the scriptures. The people who came were from all walks of life - homeless, obese, black, white, male, female, students and full-time employees.
It was a time when people could leave their troubles and worries at the door. People could sit down, take a load off, and speak their mind regardless of how crazy or sane they sounded.
One of these nights, it was my turn to lead. So, I spent a few hours setting up a candlelight walkway in the darkness underneath our house. There was a storage area underneath that was big enough for a bunch of people to sit comfortably, so we used this area lots of times to throw darts, drink beer, and talk about life.
As I created the candlelit walkway, I was thinking of who would be walking down the path I was creating. The walkway led to a chair, and in front of the chair was a tub full of warm water. There was also a coffee table set up with blank notecards on it for people to write down confessions. As I continued setting up the foot washing station, any prejudice I had toward anyone in the group melted. I knew that there was no way I could wash anyone's feet if I was thinking about how annoying, or fat, or lazy they were. As I kneeled in the darkness, my roommate upstairs gave instructions on what to do, and I prayed that I would somehow lose any stereotypes I currently had in my mind.
The space was sacred, and silence filled the room. As each person came down the candlelit walkway, one by one, they stopped by the table to write down a confession, then plopped down in the chair in front of me. It was humbling for all. It was in this time that beliefs didn't matter. What we did wrong last night or earlier today didn't matter. Our struggles and successes didn't matter in that moment because we were all standing on ground that was saturated with a love that was bigger than us. We were an audience, gazing into the heart of a power much bigger and more compassionate than any of us.
This was the same ground that blood would be spilled onto. This was the same ground that was covered with used syringes and porno magazines when we first moved in. This was the same ground where drifters would break in to find shelter from the elements. Yet, this ground was transformed the night when everyone's differences turned into one similarity - we were loved more than we could ever imagine.
I believe God was there that night. Moreso, I believe God was there every night before that.
So often, I think we feel the need to conjure up the spirits like a medium trying to communicate with the dead. The idea of church has become more about a strategy of contacting the dead in a place that is sprinkled with man's touch of holiness, than waking up to the reality of a present, living God saturating all the places we would consider unworthy, despicable, and secular. We ask God to fill the place, but what we're really asking is for the ability to see how the place is already saturated with divine compassion.
It's our eyes that need adjusting as well as our hearts and minds. We categorize and label everything as either holy or secular, determining for the world who's worthy of the God in a box.
On that night underneath my house, I was opened to the reality that God is not contained in any space. It's my eyes, mind, and heart that are contained. Wherever I go and whomever with, I have the opportunity to wake up to a sacred world. I have the opportunity to wake up to an already present Reality, an already holy ground.
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