The highs and lows of the sacred space.
Acts 21: 30 “The whole city was aroused, and the people came running from all directions. Seizing Paul, they dragged him from the temple, and immediately the gates were shut.”
- Their sacred space was in trouble and the whole city came running not knowing to expect.
The Jews had their temple and the Muslims have their mosques, we used to have our Church buildings. I am not sure if we were told that the Church in our town was under attack in some way that we would leave our homes and go running towards the event. In many ways I am pleased our sacred space is not in a building. The world tells us now that the sacred space is our freedom to be, to decide, to choose who and whatever we want, woe to those who try to invade that sacred, untouchable space of human will. The world reacts badly if it sees human rights violated in any way. On one side of the world the human rights of the minority are taken away or punished. The minority are seen only as ‘sinners’ in the eyes of whatever religion or creed is the majority and the opposite side of the world reacts and comes running. Yet in the side of the world that reacts to that there is also a violation of the human rights of the minority but because these people are seen as ‘sinners’ within culture in the eyes of whatever religion or creed then it is not seen as a violation but trying to keep society ‘clean’ and the runners who run to the other side of the world bypass their own tragedy. The whole world not just a city is aroused because of an invasion of the sacred space and is running from all directions to try and save it in some place or the other.
- Paul and his friend are not welcome in God’s sacred space.
The gates are shut. The reason is that this violation of the Gentile entering the forbidden areas of the temple cannot continue. Sin needs to be got rid of. We need to cut it out.
You may have heard this illustration many times but it is worth another read. In his book The Kingdom of God Is a Party, Tony Campolo relates an experience he had late one night in Hawaii.
“Up a side street I found a little place that was still open. I went in, took a seat on one of the stools at the counter, and waited to be served. This was one of those sleazy places that deserves the name, “greasy spoon.” I did not even touch the menu. I was afraid that if I opened the thing something gruesome would crawl out. But it was the only place I could find.
The fat guy behind the counter came over and asked me, “What d’ya want?”
I said I wanted a cup of coffee and a donut.
He poured a cup of coffee, wiped his grimy hand on his smudged apron, and then he grabbed a donut off the shelf behind him. I’m a realist. I know that in the back room of that restaurant, donuts are probably dropped on the floor and kicked around. But when everything is out front where I could see it, I really would have appreciated it if he had used a pair of tongs and placed the donut on some wax paper.
As I sat there munching on my donut and sipping my coffee at 3:30 in the morning, the door of the diner suddenly swung open and, to my discomfort, in marched eight or nine provocative and boisterous prostitutes.
It was a small place, and they sat on either side of me. Their talk was loud and crude. I felt completely out of place and was just about to make my getaway when I overheard the woman beside me say, “Tomorrow’s my birthday. I’m going to be 39.”
Her “friend” responded in a nasty tone, “So what do you want from me? A birthday party? What do you want? Ya want me to get you a cake and sing ‘Happy Birthday’?”
“Come on,” said the woman sitting next to me. “Why do you have to be so mean? I was just telling you, that’s all. Why do you have to put me down? I was just telling you it was my birthday. I don’t want anything from you. I mean, why should you give me a birthday party? I’ve never had a birthday party in my whole life. Why should I have one now?”
When I heard that, I made a decision. I sat and waited until the women had left. Then I called over the fat guy behind the counter, and I asked him, “Do they come in here every night?”
“Yeah!” he answered.
“The one right next to me, does she come here every night?”
“Yeah!” he said. “That’s Agnes. Yeah, she comes in here every night. Why d’ya wanta know?”
“Because I heard her say that tomorrow is her birthday,” I told him. “What do you say you and I do something about that? What do you think about us throwing a birthday party for her—right here—tomorrow night?”
A cute smile slowly crossed his chubby cheeks, and he answered with measured delight, “That’s great! I like it! That’s a great idea!” Calling to his wife, who did the cooking in the back room, he shouted, “Hey! Come out here! This guy’s got a great idea. Tomorrow’s Agnes’s birthday. This guy wants us to go in with him and throw a birthday party for her—right here—tomorrow night!”
His wife came out of the back room all bright and smiley. She said, “That’s wonderful! You know Agnes is one of those people who is really nice and kind, and nobody does anything nice and kind for her.”
“Look,” I told them, “if it’s okay with you, I’ll get back here tomorrow morning about 2:30 and decorate the place. I’ll even get a birthday cake!”
“No way,” said Harry (that was his name). “The birthday cake’s my thing. I’ll make the cake.”
At 2:30 the next morning, I was back at the diner. I had picked up some crepe-paper decorations at the store and had made a sign out of big pieces of cardboard that read, “Happy Birthday, Agnes!” I decorated the diner from one end to the other. I had that diner looking good.
The woman who did the cooking must have gotten the word out on the street, because by 3:15 every prostitute in Honolulu was in the place. It was wall-to-wall prostitutes and me!
At 3:30 on the dot, the door of the diner swung open, and in came Agnes and her friend. I had everybody ready (after all, I was kind of the M.C. of the affair) and when they came in we all screamed, “Happy birthday!”
Never have I seen a person so flabbergasted so stunned so shaken. Her mouth fell open. Her legs seemed to buckle a bit. Her friend grabbed her arm to steady her. As she was led to sit on one of the stools along the counter, we all sang “Happy Birthday”‘ to her. As we came to the end of our singing with “happy birthday, dear Agnes, happy birthday to you,” her eyes moistened. Then, when the birthday cake with all the candles on it was carried out, she lost it and just openly cried.
Harry gruffly mumbled, “Blow out the candles, Agnes! Come on! Blow out the candles! If you don’t blow out the candles, I’m gonna hafta blow out the candles.” And, after an endless few seconds, he did. Then he handed her a knife and told her, “Cut the cake, Agnes. Yo, Agnes, we all want some cake.”
Agnes looked down at the cake. Then without taking her eyes off it, she slowly and softly said, “Look, Harry, is it all right with you if I I mean is it okay if I kind of what I want to ask you is is it O.K. if I keep the cake a little while? I mean, is it all right if we don’t eat it right away?”
Harry shrugged and answered, “Sure! It’s O.K. If you want to keep the cake, keep the cake. Take it home, if you want to.”
“Can I?” she asked. Then, looking at me, she said, “I live just down the street a couple of doors. I want to take the cake home, okay? I’ll be right back. Honest!”
She got off the stool, picked up the cake, and carrying it like it was the Holy Grail, walked slowly toward the door. As we all just stood there motionless, she left.
When the door closed, there was a stunned silence in the place. Not knowing what else to do, I broke the silence by saying, “What do you say we pray?”
Looking back on it now, it seems more than strange for a sociologist to be leading a prayer meeting with a bunch of prostitutes in a diner in Honolulu at 3:30 in the morning. But then it just felt like the right thing to do. I prayed for Agnes. I prayed for her salvation. I prayed that her life would be changed and that God would be good to her.
When I finished, Harry leaned over the counter and with a trace of hostility in his voice, he said, “Hey! You never told me you were a preacher. What kind of church do you belong to?” In one of those moments when just the right words came, I answered, “I belong to a church that throws birthday parties for whores at 3:30 in the morning.”
Harry waited a moment and then almost sneered as he answered, “No you don’t. There’s no church like that. If there was, I’d join it. I’d join a church like that!”
Wouldn’t we all? Wouldn’t we all like to join a church that throws birthday parties for whores at 3:30 in the morning?
Well, that’s the kind of church that Jesus came to create!”
Maybe this weekend you can look around the people in your Church and see the ones you do not normally associate with. They may be ‘sinners’ or social outcasts, people with a stigma perhaps. Look at them and thank God that your Church didn’t close its doors to them.
- They compartmentalised their sacred space from their place of activity.
“This is what we do here, we worship and we sacrifice, for this is God’s space.
But this is what we do here, we seize, we drag and we intend to kill.
Look how good we are, we do not defile the temple by trying to kill Paul and the Gentile within it.
This is our Sunday face, our Sunday words and actions. Look how nice we are as we worship Him amongst the believers. These are our holy hands that we lift in the air, look how high we lift them. These are our obedient ears, we are listening attentively to the Bible, to the exposition. This is our holy money which we give with gladness, look how much we have given, it is good to give.
Now let’s close the doors.
This is our Monday to Saturday face …
This is where we put right the wrongs.
This is where we sit and judge and criticise the folly of man.
This is where we express that proverb which is almost biblical, ‘I’m only human’”.
The highs and lows of the sacred space.