From the Big Red Chair: Sacred Space

Sometimes spiritual wisdom comes in the strangest places. I didn’t expect to hear God’s voice when I turned on the television to indulge my HGTV addiction. I tuned in to an interviewer questioning an “expert” on his experience of helping others clear their space.

I was relieved I had landed on a program I could relate to--something other than “House Hunters International.” It’s probably a flaw in my character, but it’s a stretch for me to sympathize too deeply with people who have had to make do with a house in Belize that didn’t have all the qualities they had hoped for in their getaway home. I admit I sometimes get sucked into the premise and wonder which of the three featured homes I might have chosen. I even temporarily share bittersweetness with couples who lament the short-comings of their chosen structure and state the rationale for their compromised choice. That is, until I think about it. They say, “It doesn’t have the fourth bedroom we really, really wanted.” Or, “The guest house is a little too close to the main building.” Or, “It doesn’t have a walk-in, climate-controlled wine pantry.” “But,” they add “It does have beautiful views of the ocean,” as if that were the consolation prize. Sometimes we all fail to recognize blessings when we see them.

I can relate to programs about messy houses and unwanted clutter--breath-stealing, life-killing, overwhelming clutter. But, in spite of my desire to do otherwise, I often view the actual act of clearing clutter as a chore rather than a blessing. Even though I rarely implement their suggestions, I cling to the advice of professional housecleaners, hoping this one will offer something beyond the expected array of plastic containers, praying that that one will say something that inspires me to actually want to do it.

I suppose I’m not unlike others, who each January winter vow to clean out every drawer and every packed closet. I resolve to organize files and throw away papers that seem to multiply when I turn out the lights. I declare I am going to get rid of all this stuff because I want my home to be restful, peaceful, a spiritual refuge, ready to welcome anyone who might drop by unannounced. I promise to get rid of soul-killing clutter that makes it difficult to live and to move, or even to breathe. I yearn for sanctuary, for open space. But in spite of that desire, I often do nothing to clear the clutter. I allow more to accumulate, suffocating any chance for the peace I seek.

As the interview continued in the background, it occurred to me that we often approach our spiritual lives in the same way. We yearn for a deeper relationship with God, yet we don’t clear space for that to happen. We polish tarnished excuses with words like “other responsibilities,” or “maybe when I finish.” Thousands of reasons answer the question, “Finish what?”

Worry, anxiety, and fear claim space in our souls, squeezing out spontaneity and joy. We pack more and more stuff into our lives and wonder why we feel unsettled. In spite of God’s promise to meet us in the open space, we act as if the blessing of even one minute stolen for Sabbath would be a sentence of solitary confinement, and silence would be like the clang of a prison door.

“So what do you notice most when you help people clear their space,” said the interviewer.

“The first thing we do is clear the room,” said the expert. “Then we look at every item, think about it, and decide if it deserves to come back in. But, do you know what I’ve noticed most,” said the clutter-clearer. “In every home where there have been children—in every single one—it has never failed to happen--when everything is cleared, the children run into the open space--and dance.”

Prayer:

Precious Lord, we are grateful for the blessing of holy space, sacred space. We yearn to dance with you.