"I was glad when they said to me, 'Let us go to the house of the LORD!'" [Psalm 122:1]
All my life, I have been told I was welcome in God's house.
Wow. That's really something. I mean, for those of us who grew up as part of church life, we have a way of taking that for granted. We just assume we can stroll into a sanctuary, walk up to a pew, and make ourselves at home. We have been made to feel that we are welcome and are allowed to join in whatever activities are happening, from the social hall to the Sunday School to the sacristy. And that is a beautiful thing.
For me, at least, that meant I was pretty much always glad when the sentence, "Let's go to church!" was spoken. I realize I was lucky that way. I can relate to the excitement the psalmist has when he says, "I was glad when they said to me, 'Let us go to the house of the LORD!'" He sees it as a place he is welcome. The pilgrimage that faithful Israelites would make every year to the Jerusalem Temple at festival times was a happy one, because those who made the journey knew they would find doors open, gates lifted, and welcome when they arrived to celebrate and praise God's goodness.
It is, indeed, a good and beautiful thing to know you are welcomed into the place you associate with God's house, and it is a privilege to get to live your life knowing there is always a place for you--a place at the table, a place for your voice to be added to the chorus, a place for safety and sanctuary. I am glad and grateful that such has been my life's experience.
But I also realize that my experience is not universal.
And for whatever twists and turns in my life that made me always feel welcome from within a steeple and stained glass, that has not always been true for everybody. And it occurs to me in those more honest moments that I have a way of taking for granted the welcome that was never in question for me, even though I'm a pretty big sinner and a pretty consistent mess-up. It turns out I have a pretty privileged position: I've never had to be told to wait for a real welcome.
But... there are a lot of folks who aren't glad when someone says, "Let's go to the house of the Lord!" because they have been turned away before. They have been told they do not belong, that they are not acceptable, that they are not dressed properly or don't behave well enough. They have been told that the company they keep disqualifies them, or that their native language or skin color means they "just don't fit in." They have been told their kids are too noisy, their family doesn't match the cookie cutter, or that their shoes are not proper. They have been told, whether in words or in scowls, "You're just not 'our kind of people'."
Or maybe even more cruelly, they have heard words of hospitality at the beginning, maybe even the sentence, "All are welcome here!", only to be told they do not qualify for Jesus' table, or that there was an invisible asterisk and fine print beside the word "welcome," which meant they were not really welcome as they were.
And so they leave.
Maybe they try again once or twice when they work up the nerve to show up on a Sunday again, but at some point it is less and less a "glad" thing to hear someone else say, "Let us go to the house of the Lord." At some point when you've been turned away for long enough, you feel like you're just setting yourself up for another rejection, just waiting for a shoe to drop or a scowl to stare you out the door. At some point, when you hear enough people wearing cross necklaces say, "Go back where you came from," you not only stop trying to find a welcome there on Sunday, but maybe you even give up on the God associated with the cross they so casually wear. And you can't blame them if at some point it feels like it just will hurt less to give up on waiting for real welcome--so you stop risking it.
I have to give credit to the folks who are brave enough to walk inside a church, whether by themselves for the first time, or invited by a friend, even if you don't know anybody else. I have to give credit to the folks who come back to churches they went to in childhood but at some point felt they were not really welcome in, even if it is just to visit at Christmas or Easter, despite the way preachers often single them out as unworthy or take cheap shots at "those people."
But beyond just giving those folks credit for their courage, maybe we are called to something more. At least, if we really are followers of Jesus, we have some obligation to change things when people feel they are not really welcome in our local houses of God. And if we really do seek to worship and honor Christ, it will mean we give special attention to the folks who have been told before that they do not belong. Especially in this season when we retell the story of a certain unmarried couple looking for a place to stay while their baby is born, only to be told, "There is no place for you here," it is worth remembering that our Lord knew what it was to be unwelcome, to be rejected, to be seeking refuge and a safe place to stay, and to be homeless. Jesus knew what it was to be told, "Go back to where you came from," too.
All my life I've heard folks in congregations complain that people don't come to church like they used to, when really it also seems to me that we've done a lot of things to drive people away and tell them they didn't really belong anyway. So if we are upset that the pews aren't full or our halls aren't bustling with the sounds of children, it is worth asking first, "What reason have we offered for people to be glad when someone says, 'Let us go to the house of the Lord'?" What have we done to the Good News if instead of welcoming people--all people--through the doors to be fed and to find belonging, people shudder and decide they don't want to get burned again by Respectable Religious folk? And what could we be doing to get out of the way of Jesus, who keeps on inviting everybody, because he knows, too, what it is like to be left waiting but never welcomed in?
Maybe in this Advent season when we turn our attention to the baby who was laid in a manger because somebody else told Mary and Joseph, "There is no place for you here," it is worth asking what we will say when an expectant mother comes to our door, or when new faces from far away show up in need of our welcome, or when someone who has been turned away before looks for sanctuary among us. Because ultimately our hope as Christians is about the welcome Jesus has given us--all of us--despite all of the things that anybody else thinks should disqualify us.
What if we dared to be the church where people really were glad when someone else says, "Let us go to the house of the Lord"? What if we truly opened our doors and tables to those who are still waiting for a genuine welcome?
What would that look like?
And... what's stopping us from daring it right now?
Lord Jesus, as you have welcomed us and made our hearts glad to be in your presence, let us welcome others whom you love and invite as well.
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