I’ve been thinking a lot about houses recently.
The government taxing people to pay for housing for the homeless, but then threatening to do sweeps of homeless encampments.
The high number of renters who expect they’ll never be able to afford a house, but simultaneously can’t afford their annual rent increases and wonder when they’ll have to relocate from their hometown…or their home state.
Buildings that house churches, but are little more than one more property management company.
And so often, I find myself saying about all of these scenarios, “It’s just a building.”
But it’s so frustrating. Even just a building can be used for great good as well as great evil. It can offer hospitality or lock the doors. It can serve a meal or bar the windows. It can offer safe spaces or put up signs clearly stating who isn’t welcome. It can be a place for questions or a place to insist on compliance and submission. It’s so much. Why would I even want a building, and still, I do.
All of my life, I’ve prayed to live and work and worship in the same place. That vision has shifted many times, but it’s always involved a building, a church, a house, somewhere I can offer hospitality, and people can come and see for themselves that God is good. Space for teenagers who are struggling with their families to get away for a minute. Where people who need a comfortable place to do homework can come at any hour. For lonely people to be around friends. For the good news to be lived out in surprising ways. For laughter and tears to be freely released. For people to always know that they are deeply and infinitely loved.
So faced with the possibility of not having a house…well it’s frightening. Knowing that God doesn’t always work in the way I expect or dream of…
And still he asks, “Do you trust me? Will you still follow even if it’s hard, even if it’s not what you hoped for, will you believe that I can do even more than you ask or imagine?” I can imagine quite a lot.
And so, in the midst of my struggle, I started writing music again. That makes sense, since I do my best praying at the piano. A lot of the lyrics don’t make sense, however, and will probably never be part of a real song. Things like me huffing and puffing because I just want to know if the house is going to stand. Or if the house is in a distant land. Or whether a compass or map or someone to guide me is too much to ask. My notes are a mess like that.
And the nursery rhyme, “This is the House That Jack Built,” kept running through my mind. It’s funny really, since we never learn anything about Jack, other than that he built the house. But when God builds the house, I think we can be confident in certain things.
This is the house that God built
It’s a house that has weathered the storms
Sometimes it’s hard to believe, and I’m down on my knees
Like others who’ve been here before
This is the house that God built
And it’s lasted through conflicts and wars
Here there’s love without end; justice and mercy are friends
And there’s always room for one more
In the house that God built
So yes, God. The answer is as it always is, I will follow you. You know all the things that terrify me most, and the deepest desires of my heart are known to you as well. And I’m still going to pray for the house, but if you have something better or a different path, I will follow you.
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