House of God

In Time Magazine's issue in which it identified "240 Reasons to Celebrate America Right Now," number 77 was none other than the lowly, but always open Waffle House. According to writer Ben Goldberger, "it's so dependable that FEMA has a so-called Waffle House Index for disasters; if the locations are closed, you know things are bad."

Those who sing its praises do so not because of the food but, according to one customer, "There's no ego, no pretension … it's welcoming to all." Daniel Humm, the proprietor of the high-end New York restaurant, Eleven Madison Park reported from his visit, "It was a reminder of how important hospitality is. We just felt so taken care of."

Possible Preaching Angles: In our day when there is so much focus on and written about making the church bigger, let us not forget the power of simple Christ-centered hospitality. The church should be a place where there is no ego, no pretense; a place where people can say "we just felt so taken care of."

In 1957 a graduate student at Columbia University named Gordon Gould had been working with "pumping" atoms to higher energy states so they would emit light. As Gould elaborated his ideas and speculated about all the things that could be done with a concentrated beam of light, he realized he was onto something. In his notebook he confidently named the yet-to-be-invented device a LASER (Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation).

Nearly seventy years later, we are still seeing the impact of this remarkable tool. Very recently, Lockheed Martin boasted about their new laser, a ground-based prototype system that burned through an entire car engine in seconds. From a mile away. The company called this laser system the most "efficient and lethal" version on the planet.

From a spiritual perspective the laser represents the ultimate expression of the impact we can have in a world in need of light. If we are able to understand the stunning power of unity expressed in a laser beam and translate it into our own lives, we might have a greater impact on those around us than ever before.

The newest addition to the grand list of Coolest Things Ever was first unveiled in New York City in 2013: the Lego X-Wing, the largest Lego model ever built. The model of the classic Star Wars fighter has a wingspan of 44 feet and comes complete with R2-D2 and a full range of sound effects. It's a super-duper-sized version of Star Wars Lego starfighter set #9493 and was made with 5,335,200 Lego bricks. That, according to Lego, makes it the largest model ever built, eclipsing the Lego robot at the Mall of America by some 2 million bricks.

The X-Wing was built at the Lego Model Shop at the company's facility in Kladno, Czech Republic. It took 32 "master builders" and 17,336 man-hours to construct the X-Wing. Plans for the model were created using Lego's proprietary 3-D design software, and the construction team had to work with a team of structural engineers to ensure that the model was safe, master builder Erik Varszegi told Wired magazine. Once completed, the model—which weighs 45,980 pounds—was eventually shipped to Legoland California.

Editor’s Note: This Lego model still holds the record in 2024

Possible Preaching Angles: True leadership and community requires lots of vision (the design stage) and then teamwork and unity (the construction stage).

In an article having to do with the socializing of Supreme Court justices Justice Scalia shared some of his wisdom: Ruth Bader Ginsburg fondly recalled her closest friend on the court, who always gave her roses on her birthday and shared her reverence for the law. Scalia was once asked, she told the audience, how they could be such dear friends with such different views. Justice Scalia answered, "I attack ideas. I don't attack people. Some very good people have some very bad ideas. If you can't separate the two, you'd better get another job."

The Rule of St. Benedict, written by Saint Benedict of Nursia 1,500 years ago, has instructions for a very specific role in the monastery—the porter in charge of answering the door. The porter's job is to open the door to the monastery when someone knocks. Not much of a role, you say? Ah, but there's so much to it. One contemporary Benedictine author notes, "The way we answer doors is the way we deal with the world."

The porter is given very specific instructions. He is to sleep near the entrance to the monastery so he can hear and respond in a timely way when someone knocks. The porter is to offer a welcome, in Benedict's words, "with all the gentleness that comes from reverence of God," and "with the warmth of love." As soon as anyone knocks, the porter is to reply, "Thanks be to God. Your blessing, please." He is to say this before he even knows who's on the other side of the door. And then the porter is to make sure that the other monks know of the presence of a visitor in their midst so that they can join in extending a welcome.

In contrast, the 20th century writer Dorothy Parker used to answer her telephone with this greeting: "What fresh hell is this?" How do you respond when someone knocks on the door of your church or home or life? Is it closer to "What fresh hell is this?" or "Thanks be to God"?

Sanderson Jones, a former stand-up comedian who leads the Sunday Assembly—also known as the "atheist church"—spent Sunday attending three London churches and tweeting about his experience. His observations are surprising and an encouraging reminder for all churches. "I think churches should recognize that they are already doing so much right," Jones says, referring to the idea of having people welcoming on the front door, and people knowing where and when to set up for coffee after church. "I went to the American Humanist Association and they had a special lecture on why it's important to be welcoming. It's just the most basic things which you'll take for granted in 'Churchland,' which are in fact really powerful."

The clothing manufacturer Patagonia employs forty-five full-time technicians who complete about 30,000 repairs per year. In the spring of 2015, the company set off on a coast-to-coast road trip across the U.S. in a biodiesel truck to repair their customers' "tired and well-loved" clothing. Patagonia cares about fixing a jacket that has travelled the world with a customer because that act aligns with their company values, and just as important, it helps to deepen the bond between customer and company.

Often the people who send garments in for repair also send their stories about how that piece of clothing has been with them through thick and thin. The customers' stories fuel Patagonia's story and have done so for over four successful decades. The team at Patagonia believe that "one of the most responsible things we can do as a company is to make high-quality stuff that lasts for years and can be repaired, so you don't have to buy more of it." They innovate for and market to those customers who believe what they believe. The customer is their compass."

Editor’s Note: As of 2025, the company continues to offer clothing repairs on its website Wornwear.patagonia.com where they state “If it’s broke, fix it. Doing our part means making the most durable gear. Keeping it in use for as long as possible is where you come in.”

Possible Preaching Angles: (1) Outreach; Missions—Even more so, the church should be committed to excellence in the way we love, welcome, and serve visitors and those who don't know Christ. (2) Work; Employee—Even more so should a Christian employee be committed to excellence. (3) Restoration – God continues to be in the business of restoring lives that are broken by sin and mistakes.

"There can be no maturity in the spiritual life, no obedience in following Jesus, no wholeness in the Christian life, apart from an immersion in, and embrace of, community. I am not myself by myself."

Eugene Peterson

The 137-mile long Atchafalaya River is a distributary of the Mississippi River that meanders through south central Louisiana and empties into the Gulf of Mexico, serving as a significant source of income for the region because of the many industrial and commercial opportunities it offers. Yet as scenic, productive, and enriching as this river is, it owes all its strength—all of it—to the mighty Mississippi. That's because a distributary doesn't have its own direct water source; it is an overflow of something else. So when the Mississippi is high, the Atchafalaya is high; and when the Mississippi is low, the Atchafalaya is low. What the Atchafalaya accomplishes depends wholly on something other than itself.

The church is a lot like the Atchafalaya River. Anything of value she accomplishes is always tied to her source. So if she somehow loses connection with it—with her first love, the Living Word—she loses all power. She dries up and empties.

An article in the Chicago Tribune by Chris Erskine began: "By any measure, the Pacific Crest Trail is a beastly thing, an angry anaconda that slithers up the entire length of California and all the way to Canada, some 2,650 rugged miles. That's approximately 6 million steps—some of them glorious, many of them merciless." Sounds like life, doesn't it? Countless rugged miles. More steps than you can count. Some glorious. Many merciless.

The Tribune article focused on the people who take it upon themselves to help the hikers on that grueling trail. They open their homes for the weary travelers and provide meals, mail service, and help. They're called "trail angels." The article said, "But along the way, mercy is at hand." "Trail angels"—that would be a good description of Christians interacting with others in the world.

The article focused on Donna Saufley and her husband who "set up tents and a trailer to handle the spring crush." She calls their home, "Hiker Heaven." According to the article, "She talks fondly about the payoffs of being a trail angel: witnessing the hikers' emerging humanity, their grit, their brio, and the inevitable baring of souls. Traveling the trail 'is humbling,' she says. 'I compare it to the peeling of an onion. You see people for what they are.'" Like the church.

She and her husband will host 1200 people in 2015 in their ordinary home. They don't take any money. She says, "I always say that it's a river of life that washes up to my shore." The article concludes: "[Donna Saufley] loves it when her sanctuary is filled with hikers. [She says,] 'The sounds of conversations mingling with music and laughter is divine to my ear.'"

In 1876, a small Methodist church near the ocean in Swan Quarter, North Carolina was struck by a hurricane and damaged. It was restored, but another hurricane came and damaged it, and the town, again. The parishioners restored their place of worship once more, but enough was enough, so they searched for a safer location. They found some land, and offered the owner of the property a generous amount of money for it, but he refused.

Then came another hurricane, and again there was massive flooding, so massive that it lifted the church from its moorings, and sent it meandering downstream. The residents of the town tied ropes to it, hoping to keep it from floating away forever, but the current was too strong.

When the water receded, the building came to rest on that exact piece of ground which the parishioners had previously tried to buy. So they went to the owner and once again made an offer. He refused their money again. "But I'll give it to you," he said, "The Lord definitely wants this church on this lot."

The sign in front of the church, from that day forward, said, "The House God Moved."

In an interview shortly before his death, Dallas Willard, a philosophy professor who wrote widely on spiritual formation in the church, was asked about the challenges facing the church. Dr. Willard spent much of his life addressing the problem of why the church isn't raising up more people who look and act like Jesus. At the end of that two hour interview, Willard was asked this pointed question: "When you look at how off track the church is, do you ever just throw up your hands in despair?"

Willard smiled and said, "Never."

"But how can you not?" the interviewer asked.

"Because," he said, "I know Christ is the head of his church and he knows what he's doing."

Boys in the Boat is the thrilling true story of the 1936 University of Washington crew team, which went from backwater obscurity to a gold medal at the 1936 Berlin Olympics. Few sports carry the aristocratic pedigree of crews from Yale, Harvard, and Princeton. But no one imagined that a crew from Washington, of all places, could be competitive. And yet the University of Washington built a team from kids raised on farms, in logging towns, and near shipyards. They blew away their Californian rivals and bested the cream of New England to become the American Olympic Team and won the gold medal at the 1936 Berlin Olympics.

How did they manage to win the Gold Medal? Author Daniel James Brown explains it one word—teamwork. Brown explains how a crew team works best:

The greatest paradox of the sport has to do with the psychological makeup of the people who pull the oars. Great oarsmen and oarswomen are necessarily made of conflicting stuff—of oil and water, fire and earth. On the one hand, they must possess enormous self-confidence, strong egos, and titanic willpower … Nobody who does not believe deeply in himself or herself—in his or her ability to endure hardship and to prevail over adversity—is likely even to attempt something as audacious as competitive rowing at the highest levels. The sport offers so many opportunities for suffering and so few opportunities for glory that only the most tenaciously self-reliant and self-motivated are likely to succeed at it. And yet, at the same time—and this is key—no other sport demands and rewards the complete abandonment of the self the way that rowing does. Great crews may have men or women of exceptional talent or strength; they may have outstanding coxswains or stroke oars or bowmen; but they have no stars. The team effort—the perfectly synchronized flow of muscle, oars, boat, and water; the single, whole, unified, and beautiful symphony that a crew in motion becomes—is all that matters. Not the individual, not the self.

Gordon MacDonald shares the following story about visiting a small group of men and women affiliated with Alcoholics Anonymous. MacDonald said that he visited the group because he has friends who are recovering alcoholics and he wanted to see for himself what they were talking about. Here's what he found:

One morning Kathy—I guessed her age at 35—joined us for the first time. One look at her face caused me to conclude that she must have been Hollywood-beautiful at 21. Now her face was swollen, her eyes red, her teeth rotting. Her hair looked unwashed, uncombed for who knows how long.

"I've been in five states in the past month," she said. "I've slept under bridges on several nights. Been arrested. Raped. Robbed (now weeping). I don't know what to do. I … don't … want … to … be … homeless … any more. But (sob) I can't stop drinking (sob). I can't stop (sob). I can't … "

Next to Kathy was a rather large woman, Marilyn, sober for more than a dozen years. She reached with both arms toward Kathy and pulled her close. I was close enough to hear Marilyn speak quietly into Kathy's ear, "Honey, you're going to be OK. You're with us now. We can deal with this together. All you have to do is keep coming. Hear me? Keep on coming." And then Marilyn kissed the top of Kathy's head.

I was awestruck. The simple words, the affection, the tenderness. How Jesus-like. I couldn't avoid a troubling question that morning. Could this have happened in the places where I have worshiped? Would there have been a space in the program for Kathy to tell her story? Would there have been a Marilyn to respond in this way?

In our generation movie theater lobbies are plain but necessary entrances. They are a place where you deposit your ticket or purchase your popcorn, candy, and beverage.

But in the hard days of the Great Depression, the lobbies of show palaces were places of awe-inspiring beauty. (See the images for The Los Angeles Theater, built between 1911-1931 and the Paramount Theater in Seattle, Washington, built in 1928.) The typical lobby was a feast for the eyes because it was designed to offer a transition from the grind of daily life. Theater architects wanted moviegoers to feel a sense of anticipation for what was coming next. Vaulted ceilings, museum-worthy art, lush tapestries, beautiful fixtures, and uniformed ushers gave customers a sneak-peak at what they could expect once they entered the theater itself. During the Depression era movie tickets cost about 27 cents apiece. That wasn't cheap for those times, but movies offered Americans a chance to escape loneliness and fear, bringing strangers together for a moment of beauty and hope.

The body of Christ [or our worship services, or works of art and beauty] is a lot like those classic theaters. God has called us to give the world a preliminary picture of another world—not an imaginary film world, but a real world filled with God's glory. We help people get excited about God's kingdom and our heavenly home. Even in our sin and brokenness, we're called to model a way of life that is different from the world around us. Our love, our hope, our forgiveness should offer the world the beautiful alternative of life with Christ.

Imagine this scenario: A man invites a friend into his home for dinner. They enjoy a delicious meal that the man's wife has graciously offered to make. The man and his friend casually catch up on life, but then halfway through the meal, the invited guest starts do to something unbelievable. He starts listing things that his friend's wife could have done better.

"The chicken was way too tough," he says. "You should have marinated it longer. And the broccoli is overcooked, mushy and bland. My 12-year-old daughter could cook a better meal. And you should really do something else with your hair." Then he starts to criticize her character, even ridicule her.

I'm guessing his visit would be cut short. And the guest would probably get sent away with a few choice words. Even if he was right about certain things, the typical husband simply wouldn't tolerate someone openly and caustically criticizing his wife. He loves her, and for a husband that leads to accepting and honoring his wife despite her quirks and shortcomings.

Unfortunately we tolerate this mean-spirited criticism all the time when it's directed at the church. If we're not careful, it's easy for us to look at the church and her leaders, and say, "The church should have done ____." Or, "I wish they hadn't ____." You fill in the blanks.

In his book, The Social Animal, David Brooks explores how humans are designed for community. In one section he describes the difference between our laughing in isolation and in groups.

Robert Provine of the University of Maryland has found that people are thirty times more likely to laugh when they are with other people than when they are alone. When people are in bonding situations, laughter flows. Surprisingly, people who are speaking are 46 percent more likely to laugh during conversations than people who are listening. And they're not exactly laughing at hilarious punch lines. Only 15 percent of the sentences that trigger laughter are funny in any way that is discernible. Instead, laughter seems to bubble up spontaneously amidst conversations when people feel themselves responding in parallel ways to the same emotionally positive circumstances.

Even the seemingly mundane parts of humanity, like laughter, show how we've been hardwired by God to love and enjoy relationships.

In Mitch Albom's book Have a Little Faith, he recounts the following conversation with his elderly rabbi:

"When I was growing up in the Bronx," the Reb said, "everyone knew everyone. Our apartment building was like family. We watched out for one another. I remember once, as a boy, I was so hungry, and there was a fruit and a vegetable truck parked by our building. I tried to bump against it, so an apple would fall into my hands. That way it wouldn't feel like stealing. Suddenly, I heard a voice from above yelling at me in Yiddish, 'Albert, it is forbidden!' I jumped. I thought it was God."

Who was it? I asked. "A lady who lived upstairs." I laughed. Not quite God. "No. But, Mitch, we were part of each other's lives. If someone was about to slip, someone else could catch him."

Elyse Fitzpatrick writes in her book “Because He Loves Me”:

A number of years ago, my husband and I had the wonderful opportunity to vacation in Europe. In about three and a half weeks we visited thirteen different nations. When we'd enter a country, we'd get our passports stamped, exchange currencies, learn a few key phrases, and then off we'd go to visit the natives. We'd wander through outdoor markets, peruse museums, and sample the cuisine. We'd exchange a few niceties with the locals, sit on the steps of cathedrals, watch the life of the town go by, take a picture or two, and purchase a little something to remind us of our time there, and then we were off. We had a wonderful vacation. Our hearts weren't changed in any significant ways by our little visits, but then they weren't meant to be. We were tourists.

It seems to me that what I've just described is very close to many people's understanding of the congregational life of the local church. On any given [weekend], many tourists can be found in church. They pop in for forty-five minutes or an hour, sing a chorus or two, and exchange niceties with the locals …. They sample some of the local cuisine, they might purchase a book or CD to remind them of their visit, and then they race to their cars to get to their favorite restaurant before the rush or home before the game. For many people, church is simply … about being a tourist, and our land is filled with tourist-friendly churches.

The following list contains four distorted images of the church:

• The church as a gas station. For some people today, the church is a place where you fill up your spiritual gas tank when you're running low. Get a good sermon, and it will keep you going for the week.
• The church as a movie theater. For many people, the church is a place that offers entertainment. Go for an hour of escape, hopefully in comfortable seats. Leave your problems at the door and come out smiling and feeling better than when you went in.
• The church as a drug store. For other people, church is the place where you can fill the prescription that will deal with your pain. For many the church is therapeutic.
• The church as a big box retailer. Other people see the church as the place that offers the best products in a clean and safe environment for you and your family. The church offers great service at a low price—all in one stop. For many people, the church is a producer of programs for children and young people.