Loading...As I write in late November, we are getting ready for the long-planned (and long-delayed) clean-up of the dungeon (the undercroft of the church, which I have referred to as the dungeon for so long that it seems to have become fixed as such in my vocabulary and that of others).
The members of a BU fraternity, to which we provide space for occasional events, will do much of the heavy lifting. And a goodly company of St Paul’s people will be on hand to help sort out what is and is not worth keeping.
As a hopeless lover of old stuff, I have mixed emotions about the project. Early in my time here, I rescued several things from down there: the shelf from the old wooden altar (technically called a predella), the last intact example of the 19th Century chancel chairs, a prie-dieu – and I continue to dream of finding other treasures hidden in the corners or lost under the jumble of decades.
But I am realistic enough to see that much of what was once put there until needed again has long since been superseded, overcome by changing needs and tastes, or simply forgotten. Or perhaps just almost forgotten. There is a certain comfort in knowing that things that were once significant to us may be out of sight (and usually out of mind), but are still with us.
Often, it is less the things themselves than the people, and events, and emotions that are attached to them. And the versions and visions of ourselves that are woven into them too. Letting go of the things means risking letting go of parts of ourselves.
It seems almost too convenient that an event first planned for March, then May, then October, should finally happen as Advent begins. The emptying of the dungeon is an apt metaphor for what should happen in our souls as we await the coming of Christ. (It is important to note that theologians through the centuries have pointed out that there are really three “comings” – the original one in Bethlehem, the daily renewal of the presence of the Holy Spirit among and within us, and the return of Jesus to judge the world and achieve final victory over evil and death.)
God knows our limitations, but in once sense at least does not accommodate to them: God expects to find and occupy as much space in our hearts as is required for His purposes. And so the onus is on us to be watchful about what may be crowding God out – the attachments, the habits, the temptations. Like much of what we have been finding in the dungeon, many of these things were once lovely, helpful, even holy, but now interfere with the new thing(s) that God desires to accomplish in us and through us. Our only faithful option is to discard them, trusting that nothing that is of true value is ever lost in the heart of God.
One final thought – I have been wrestling with the question of what we should do (or what we can do) with the space that will be emptied. The simple act of discarding dirty and moldy items has value in terms of health and safety, but it is not quite as inspiring as making room for something new. And yet we have no clear plan yet.
In similar fashion, our emptying of our hearts and souls must often – perhaps must usually – precede the appearance of God’s new working. This requires our trust that the discarding was not a costly but pointless gesture. The coming of Christmas and Epiphany are our reminders that God will not fail to act, and will gladly fill a space, however humble, that has been made ready.
May the peace of God be with you at Christmas and may He bless you richly with his grace in 2018.
Blessings
Howie+
