Sunday mornings bring a sudden, settling peace that I’ve come to adore. It is almost therapeutic to sit in that stillness and realise that, for an hour or so, the hectic world outside simply cannot reach you.
We come together, we share in the (somewhat) familiar liturgy, and we offer up the “right” words to one another, and of course, to God. It feels safe, familiar, structured, and holy. But yesterday, our church leader, Jeff, posed a challenge that felt like a gentle but firm tug at the sleeve. He spoke about the distance we often maintain between our Sunday devotion and the gritty reality of our ‘Monday to Saturday’ existence. It is easy to be a Christian in the pews, surrounded by the beauty of the church, but Jeff asked us a vital question: ”Do we truly allow the veil to fall and accept God into the actual movement of our day to day living?”
Jeff used an analogy that stayed with me long after I left the building later that morning. He likened our relationship with Jesus to how we react when an unexpected guest pops round to our home. Our first instinct is often one of slight panic; we want to usher them into the “good” room – the one that’s been dusted, where the cushions are plumped and the clutter is hidden away from sight. We desperately try to keep them away from the messy kitchen, the pile of unopened post, or the rooms we haven’t had the energy to straighten up yet. We want to present the best version of our home that is already “ready,” not the one we actually live in.
We do the same with our faith. We are perfectly willing to welcome the Lord into the tidy, prepared parts of our lives, the moments where we feel strong, capable, and “worthy” of being seen. But truly, do we welcome Him with open arms into the dark, messy moments where we feel most alone and unprepared and at times vulnerable?
Jesus isn’t interested in being a guest who is restricted to the tidy front room of our souls. He is with us in the “now,” if only we choose to allow Him to be. He is there in the “messy kitchen” of our day to day struggles, the “untidy rooms” of our self doubts, and the parts of our lives we aren’t yet ready for anyone to see. He doesn’t ask for a polished version of us; He simply asks for the door to be left open, and for you to welcome Him with open arms.
As we move into this week, perhaps we can ask ourselves: which doors are we still holding shut? Are we keeping God at a distance, waiting until we’ve “straightened up” before we let Him in, or can we find the courage to let the curtain fall and invite Him into the beautiful, cluttered reality of the present moment?
Blessings,
Frankie.
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