All Who Are Weary...

I was in our little ole' church sanctuary today, arranging the autumn centerpiece, humming away. Didn't even notice the guy lying in a pew, bundled to the eyes in a floral comforter.

Our sanctuary isn't particularly pretty. It's small, and old, and on any given day the pews are littered with bookbags and backpacks, jackets and ball caps. And the occasional man wrapped in a floral comforter.

This guy just arrived today to check in to Victory Home, and very likely he was suffering from drug withdrawal symptoms.

And I thought of the word SANCTUARY. It may not be pretty, or dignified, or perfectly clean, but our little church building is a sanctuary.

A lot of times I forget that fact, as I elbow my way past ten men in the narrow hallway to get to the bathroom, or when I hear them in the next room eating, and belching (men!). Or when I want time alone in the sanctuary to play the piano for a while, but there are men everywhere!

But that's okay. It's a sanctuary! An asylum, a haven, a refuge, a safe place.

It's what God is to his children.
"You have been a refuge for the poor,
a refuge for the needy in his distress,
a shelter from the storm
and a shade from the heat."


Let them come! Let them meet God, and let them rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

1 comment:

The Inept Aspirant said...

I've been like that man, maybe not physically but emotionally. I remember desperately going to a similar sanctuary searching for hope. Thank God I found it and he did, too!