Zeal for Your House will consume Me. . .

As a follower of the Messiah, does zeal for God's house consume you? (Ps. 69:9, Jn 2:18)  (When I write you / we / us / or I, I mean all of those jointly...) 

I was reading this morning from John, and remembered the Psalm that ended up describing Jesus in that way from my study last week, and decided to share some thoughts. 

As Americans in a freedom-of-religion era (whatever that may mean), we have a responsibility to uphold the truth as highly and as steadily as we can. if that means taking extra time to take care of the church, what are we to do? As a follower - imitator - of the Messiah, the Rabbi, the Holy One of Israel, how are we to view God's house? 

I know we don't actually have The Temple in Grand Rapids / Chicago / Dallas / well, anywhere *Rob used slash in a meeting last night and credited it to me, but really, I blame Emily R. Smith...* but even though we don't have a physical Temple, what are we to view as God's house besides the place we go to partake in corporate worship? 

I know, I know - we have a few churches in each neighborhood. Rather, far more than that. 

How often, though, do we really care about the building? Jesus was zealous for His Father's House - so much so that he caused a ruckus, a hullabaloo, an ordeal. He didn't like the changes that were happening, and took action. Some people might not have agreed with Him - or profited from His actions - but He took action.

So when a church that you've chosen as "My Father's House" - even though you may not speak or read Hebrew or give sacrifices - has meetings, and people do not show up, should we also take action? 

How do we act about keeping the church clean?

How can we help support His House financially, or supervisionally? (I know, not a word, but it is, now...) 

Just some thoughts to get you started.




REFERENCES: JOHN 2, PSALM 69

3.15.2007

Going through old writingness while trying to find a novel I'd started a few years ago, and thought I'd share this :) 

enjoy! 

March 15, 2007

I am a people-watcher and a keeper of secrets. I spent many wonderful moments with my mother during my childhood doing just that – people-watching. 

            The people you observe come in all shapes and sizes and colors; no one is left out, and every single person has a story all their own.  I’ve often wondered what might happen if I were to actually write down my observations as they play out in the reality of life. 

            Take now, for example. I am riding the bus to campus.  The buses that take people here or there – from campus to home, home to work, or random, sundry appointments – are often more colorful that a midsummer sunset over Lake Michigan.  White-skinned people are a minority here, and the most beautiful shades of brown, olive, and peach surround me – me, a blonde-haired, green-eyed twenty-something with skin that tans easily in the few summer months Michigan claims as its own. 
            I like watching how people talk on the bus.  There are two women about my age towards the front of the bus; both are talking with their hands and eyes, and laughter occasionally erupts from their mouths.  I’m not really eavesdropping, but they’re discussing how difficult it is for one of them to get a raise at the job where she works. 
            I love watching the Asian women on the bus when they’re deep in conversation.  The younger woman has her hair parted in the middle and pulled back with a plastic barrette, and the older woman has her hair in a fashionable haircut.  Their eyes are the most attentive, and these two women barely raise their voices above a library appropriate level.
            Then there is the occasional serious-type student, the person-in-the-crowd you don’t notice when they’re in-the-crowd, but as soon as they step away from the masses of humanity surrounding them, you can see them for who they are. This man-my-age across the aisle from me, for example; he’s reading a textbook full of built-in highlights, and nothing seems to be distracting him from studying – nothing, and everything.  From what I can see, he’s just as interested in the conversation of the two ladies in the front of the bus, which has shifted from job raises to blood pressure, and has moved on to talking about someone joining the Peace Corps.
            This is where I get off to wait five minutes for the next bus.