A Brick in the Doorway--June 21, 2021

A Brick in the Doorway--June 21, 2021

"We have this hope, a sure and steadfast anchor of the house, a hope that enters the inner shrine behind the curtain, where Jesus, a forerunner on our behalf, has entered, having become a high priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek." [Hebrews 6:19-20]

There is a beautiful ritual that takes place on Sunday mornings these days in one of the congregations I serve.  It began humbly and unofficially out of necessity about a year ago, as our congregations reopened for the first time in the midst of COVID.  In a time when everyone was trying to minimize contact with common surfaces like door handles, we just decided that on Sunday mornings, we would prop the heavy wooden front door of the church building open with a brick, right in the little crevice the door and the front step make.  The original thought, of course, was to allow folks to enter without continually having to handle the same antiquated door handle, which is clumsy, clunky, and sometimes requires a pretty strong pull while pushing the button for your thumb, too.  But since then, even now that there is less concern about surface spread of COVID, and even now that we let the door close once the service has begun, I still love that sight--of seeing a door propped open with a brick.  It says to me, "We are going to extra lengths to let you know that the door is open for you."  That speaks a word of welcome to me... and of hope.

Watching the early arrivers on Sunday prop the door open with that brick for all who will come sends a message.  It's like a visual reminder that those who enter a place first are called to help make it easier for those who come after them to come in as well--just like the old-fashioned courtesy of holding the door by hand into a restaurant or bank office for the next person who is coming up right behind you.  It suggests something relatively permanent--like the door is open for you, whether you are fast or slow, old or young; whenever you get to the threshold, the door will be open to you.  And in contrast to the congregations I know that have gone through a whole phase of "We-have-to-lock-our-doors-once-the-service-starts-becuase-we-are-afraid-of-a-mass-shooting-incident," along with arming their ushers and such, I love the countercultural vulnerability of the brick in the doorway.  It says, we'd rather err on the side of letting someone know they're welcome here, rather than closing ourselves off in fear.  And I love that.  It is like an unspoken testament to the unconditionality of God's love, and the recklessness of God's grace.  I need that.

That's what I picture these days, too, when I read these words from Hebrews.  It starts with the knowledge that God's promises are certain, and because of that solidity, we know God's door is open.  Or, to borrow the imagery from our passage, it's like knowing you've got an open doorway into the holiest place in the Temple.  Our worship spaces are designed differently these days, but in the days of the Temple in Jerusalem (of which the Wailing Wall on the Temple Mount today is all that remains), at the very innermost heart of the Temple was a chamber called the "Holy of Holies," or the Most Holy Place.  It was designed to be symbolic of the place where God's presence dwelt with the people, and in Israel's ancient memory, it's where they kept the actual, honest-to-goodness Ark of the Covenant with the tablets of stone and other assorted mementos from the wilderness days.  Because this place was deemed so sacred, the Holy of Holies was cordoned off with a curtain (you might recall the curtain being torn in two when Jesus dies in the gospel accounts--same one), meant to symbolize a barrier, or distance between the Almighty God, Yahweh, and the people.  Even the high priest--symbolically the holiest one in the nation--was only permitted to enter once a year, on the Day of Atonement.  Otherwise, the room was closed off, and no one was permitted to enter the holy space of God's dwelling.  But the writer of Hebrews takes that image and lovingly sets a brick in the doorway.  He says that our hope in God's promises, a hope we have made real and solid in Jesus, is like having a large hefty object to prop the way open--you know, like an anchor--holding open the curtain and guaranteeing us access to the very presence of God.  To hear the writer of Hebrews tell it, being in the presence of God is not a matter of the luck of the calendar, and it's not dependent on our fickle hearts, either--rather, in Jesus, God has pulled aside the curtain (or ripped it in two, if you like), and set a blessedly hefty brick in the door jamb to assure us that the way is open.  Jesus has gone ahead of us, like the high priests of Israel's ancient memories did, but instead of shutting the door once he's inside like you might expect one of us to do, he has propped open the way to let us know we can come inside, too.

In a time when the voices of Respectable Religious Professionals make headlines for scheming to keep out the ones they think are big ol' sinners from coming to Jesus' table (let the reader understand), the voice of the Scriptures themselves points to how Jesus himself has opened the way to God's very presence, and wedged a chunk of brick in the way to keep the door open for us all.  That's what grace looks like, dear ones.  And that is just what I need every day of the week.

So whether or not your church building's doors are literally propped open on Sunday mornings, remember this--to hear the writer of Hebrews tell it, the entrance to the presence of God is already being held open by none other than Jesus himself.  You are welcome in the presence of God.

Lord Jesus, help us both to trust that you have opened the way to us to come before the very presence of God, and help us to keep that way open for all who are looking to come in after us, and who are hoping to find the door held wide.