"In my Father's house there are many,
many rooms. In my Father's house there are many, many rooms. And I'm
going up there now, to prepare a place for you, that where I am there you may
also be." (based on John 14:2)
I attended a funeral not too long ago, in which the Gospel reading chosen was from John 14 (above). I love that reading! It's one I hope will be read at my own funeral. As I listened to it read again recently, I thought a bit more about why I hope for that, why it is that this reading resonates so much with me that I feel called to it over all the Gospels I could choose for the celebration of my life. Here is what I realized...
It reminds me of my
uncle’s house. The old farmhouse with
the three bedrooms, turned four, turned five…
The house that despite the one bachelor who technically lived there, always seemed to
have no less than four people actually living in it, and I swear up to 20 or more people
staying there at a time. Holidays,
annual hog roasts, Deer Camp (or so I'm guessing - not a lot gets shared about Deer Camp), and weekend visits. I
often wondered how that worked, where all those people slept. But he didn’t. It didn’t matter how many, somehow Larry
always seemed to find room for anyone who needed a place to stay, whether it
was long-term or just a weekend visit. From his kids, to his friends, to his kids' friends, and beyond.
Somehow Larry seemed to know what it meant to be open, welcoming and
generous to any and everyone. What it
meant to always have room for more. And
in that house (no matter how few you counted according to our numbers),
there were many, many rooms!
* * *
It reminds me of a
pick-up truck in Guatemala. Thanksgiving
week of 2004, on a mission trip with the parishes I worked for at the time, on
the beautiful shores of Lake Atitlan in San Lucas Toliman. And over and over again the pick-up trucks
would pull up outside the church, packed full of people. Like a clown car, just when you thought the
last were getting off, a few more would pop up from the truck bed and jump
out. And likewise, once empty, the truck
bed didn’t take long to fill up; not only full – packed! Once, riding in the back of such a truck on
our way to our next project site, crammed in with everyone and anyone who might
have needed a ride (and even some who I don’t think needed one, but were
convinced to come along anyways because “there’s plenty of room”), we stopped
no less than four times along the side of the road to pick up others
walking. And we found room for them with
us all in that pick-up bed. Hanging on
to the rails, sitting down as small as you could be, even some men standing on
the back bumper, we all fit. It wasn’t
always comfortable, yet in a strange way when all was said and done, it really
wasn’t uncomfortable at all either. For
driver and the community riders alike, it somehow didn’t matter how many were
already there or the seemingly crazy way in which they were riding, somehow in
their minds and their lives, they knew what it meant to give up your own
comforts for someone else, to be friendly and close to neighbors and strangers
alike. What it meant to always have room
for more. And in those rides (despite
the single “bed”), there were many, many
rooms!
* * *
It reminds me of my
Grandma’s dining room. Holidays, wood-cutting days, Grandma's birthdays, and just about every Sunday at "coffee time." Grandma's house (which is more like an apartment connected to our house by the laundry room) has over and over again been the site of big family gatherings. Big family gatherings in a tiny space. But that didn't matter - to Grandma or to us. We would find ways to fit one more around the table, one more pulling up a stool at the end of the counter, one more sitting on the loveseat in the living room, one more leaning on the kitchen sink. As many more as needed would find a way to gather. And more miraculous than the number of people we squeezed in those few rooms (that quite honestly were really all one room - the buffet just hid the living room from the dining room, and the counter didn't really do a lot to separate the dining room from the kitchen), was the fact that we also always seemed to find just one more muffin, one more cinnamon roll, one more glass of Kool-Aid, one more cookie, one more cashew, or one more slice of cheese. When it came to family rolling into a gathering of any kind at Grandma's house, we somehow knew what it meant to have abundance, to have more than enough - of space, laughter, and food. There was never a shortage there. We knew what it meant to always have room
for more. And in those gatherings (even with the buffet being the only room divider), there were many, many
rooms!
* * *
It reminds me of the
Church in Kenya. Hot, dry, loud. Time for Mass in my host parish in Kenya. And without fail, the church was nearly empty at 9:00am when it was supposed to start. But without fail, it was over-flowing by 11:00 (yes, you read that right - two hours later) when it ended. The Christians in Kenya didn't always arrive on time, but they always arrived - in crowds! It's hard to describe the vastness of those crowds. The Mze's and Bibis, the families, the children, the choir, the hundreds and hundreds of people who kept filing in throughout the service, all coming not out of obligation, but out of a feeling of blessedness to be able to celebrate the Sacraments and give praise to their Lord. They often had little, yet when it came to challenges, often had a lot. Yet they made the sacrificse necessary to be at Mass, knowing that was where their struggles would be met with support and hope. And it didn't matter if Mass was in the main parish or a tiny, yet incomplete outstation chapel, they came just the same. Came, even though it often meant standing outside the building, with the same joy and determination. To gather and praise; to learn and support one another (as was often seen even more as they continued their day meeting in Small Christian Communities after Mass; one of which I attended, noting that the same 'come late, as long as you come, and we'll find room for you and a few Shillings to help your ill mother somewhere' pattern applied!). They came knowing what it means to be church, to be gathered, to be one in voice and prayer and support. What it meant to always have room
for more. And in those services (regardless of some being outside the building completely), there were many, many
rooms!
* * *
It reminds me of my son's bed. Adrian loves his soft friends. And he has a LOT of them. From those like his Beluga and Soft Doggie who have been with him practically since birth, to those like his Humane Society doggie and train pillow that he's acquired randomly as gifts or at garage sales throughout the years, my little man does not like to part with any of his soft friends. These friends not only get a share in his toy box and shelves, they are welcomed (or often better put, "required") to share his bed. It started with the few who decorated his toddler bed, then the few more who were added and accompanied him on his "big boy bed." Now, the entire length of his top bunk is full of stuffed animals (and the few who have fallen through to the bottom bunk). Lots of soft friends, and each one special. And from time to time he surprises me with the random mention of one of his friends missing (seriously, how do you know who is missing when there are still 20 critters up there?). He knows each and every one of them, and loves them all, and misses them when they're not near him. My son already at a young age somehow seems to know what it means to care, to cherish friendship, and to let love grow along with him through the years and added friends. What it meant to always have room
for more. And in that bed (regardless of which bed and which of our homes it's been in), there were many, many
rooms!
In my life I have been
blessed with people, places and moments that have shown me the Kingdom. With reminders of what Christ wanted his friends to understand. What it means to be welcoming to all, to give
up for others, to have abundance, to join together in raising GOD’s name and to never outgrow love. I have been blessed to see a glimpse of what
“My Father’s House” looks like. And from these glimpses I know that there
are in fact many, many rooms. And they are beautiful. They are holy. They are where GOD is, where Love is.
Though I know in this life it will never compare with the fullness of beauty, holiness and love of GOD's Kingdom, still I believe that I have been blessed to see it, to know it, to be there in that House through these glimses. And my prayer for you is simply that "where I am, there you may also be." May we all know GOD's House - now and when our final Gospel reading is being read!
In memory of Larry G. Nystrom (October 10, 1958 - January 25, 2013) and in honor of Dolores J. Nystrom, who just celebrated her 85th birthday!
