PREPARING A ROOM
June 2005
article for The Collect, publication for St. Thomas Episcopal Church,
Medina
My wife Christy and I are converting the guest room to a nursery.
That is, this room has been the guest room, but that's not all. It has been our library. It has been our place for stowing things we plan to deal with later. It has contained all the remnants of our respective college dorm rooms. Perhaps most importantly, it was the place where one cat could sleep while the other slept in our room. But now, it's none of those things.
We've loaned the bed to my aunt for use in a play and temporary storage. We've sold several boxes of books, put others in the attic, and moved two bookshelves into other parts of the house. We're finally figuring out what to do with our old computer. We've lovingly rolled up the Pink Floyd and Rocky & Bullwinkle posters, and we've also put away the Olivet College pennant, the fraternity composites, and the prints purchased in Paris on European Quarter. While Epitome continues sleeping on our bed, Henry has grudgingly moved to the living room sofa.
Now that the room is empty, we've pried the molding off the walls, only splitting a couple pieces of wood in the process. We've sponged, spackled, sanded, and will soon pick up primer and paint. We're preparing the room for a new arrival. And I imagine we're doing the same kind of work Jesus is doing.
One of the oldest traditions of Christianity is that Jesus grew up as the son of a carpenter. The only reference to this in the Bible comes from Mark's Gospel in a scene in which the people in his hometown refuse to take him seriously: "He's just a carpenter—Mary's boy." Although Joseph is never identified as a carpenter, we imagine Jesus learning the tools of the trade from his dad, building tables and chairs for the residents of Nazareth, perhaps even building houses.
Later, at the Last Supper in John's Gospel, Jesus tells his friends, "There is plenty of room for you in my Father's house. If that weren't so, would I have told you that I'm on my way to get a room ready for you?"
I used to imagine Jesus putting sheets on the bed, or maybe opening the windows to let the room air out a bit. Well, I appreciate those finishing touches. But today I imagine Jesus prying nails out of old boards, replacing the boards that have split, filling in holes with spackle, putting on an old T-shirt and dragging out the rollers, brushes, and trays. And I hope Jesus isn't doing the work alone; it's more fun with two people, chatting away and blasting loud music from the living room.
When the nursery walls are dry, that's when Christy's sister gets her turn. The baby's Aunt Suzy is an artist, and she'll help us design an alphabet theme for the room. While we stencil and paint letters on the wall, Suzy will sketch 26 items to go next to the letters. Our child will immediately see familiar images and learn to associate them with certain symbols: A for apple, B for bird, C for cats, and so on. The new arrival will be immersed in our love of reading from the very start.
What sort of collage is Jesus painting on the wall in your room? It's probably something he would like you to learn, rather than something you already know well.
One of the curiosities of this process has been the cats' reactions. The older cat, Epitome, has moved a few times and knows the signs. When we start taping up boxes and moving large furniture, that spells trouble! Henry has only moved once before, but he's very confused. Not only has he lost his place to sleep, but we also seem to spend all our time lately in a room we used to leave quiet.
A couple nights ago, Epitome was meowing loudly, and I figured out what she wanted. I led her into the empty room and sat with her on the floor for awhile, just looking around the room and speaking softly. Before long, Henry joined us. I think they were reassured that I was aware of the chaos, and although they don't like change, the cats will be just fine.
We don't like change either. It seems strange that creatures fated to change at every moment would be uncomfortable with the concept. But God is actively building the Body of Christ, and that makes us profoundly uncomfortable. When we feel like the world is crashing down around our heads, we can go to God the way Epitome came to me. We can complain in prayer with loud "meows." And God will come into our room and be with us, not making the change stop, but letting us know that change is ultimately good and God is guiding the process, no matter how uncomfortable or even painful it becomes.
Jesus is preparing our room in God's Kingdom. The paint isn't even out of the can yet, but we can feel that the work is well under way. It's inconvenient and messy, and sometimes we hate it. But to Jesus, we are babies in the womb, kicking against ribs and bladder, not yet able to imagine all the wonders to come.