Years ago, I came across a poem by Sam Shoemaker, and its imagery has stuck with me.  The poem is titled, I Stand at the Door.  I’d like to share part of it with you.
           
            I stand at the door.
            I neither go too far in, nor stay too far out.
            The door is the most important door in the world –
            It is the door through which men walk when they find God.
            There is no use my going way inside and staying there,
            When so many are still outside and they, as much as I,
            Crave to know where the door is.
            And all that so many ever find
            Is only the wall where the door ought to be.
            They creep along the wall like blind men,
            With outstretched, groping hands,
            Feeling for a door, knowing there must be a door,
            Yet they never find it.
            So I stand by the door.
           
            The most tremendous thing in the world
            Is for men to find that door – the door to God.
            The most important thing that any man can do
            Is to take hold of one of those blind, groping hands
            And put it on the latch – the latch that only clicks
            And opens to the man’s own touch.

            Men die outside the door, as starving beggars die
            On cold nights in cruel cities in the dead of winter.
            Die for want of what is within their grasp.
            They live on the other side of it – live because they have not found it.

            Nothing else matters compared to helping them find it,
            And open it, and walk in, and find Him.
            So I stand by the door.

            I admire the people who go way in.
            But I wish they would not forget how it was
            Before they got in.  Then they would be able to help
            The people who have not yet found the door.
            Or the people who want to run away again from God.
            You can go in too deeply and stay in too long
            And forget the people outside the door.

            As for me, I shall take my old accustomed place,
            Near enough to God to hear Him and know He is there,
            But not so far from men as not to hear them,
            And remember they are there too.

            Where?  Outside the door –
            Thousands of them.  Millions of them.
            But – more important for me –
            One of them, two of them, ten of them.
            Whose hands I am intended to put on the latch.
            So I shall stand by the door and wait
            For those who seek it.
           I had rather be a door-keeper
            So I stand by the door.

Standing by the door requires courage.  And it demands that we be human, that we listen, that we build bridges, and that we let go of the need to judge and condemn.  To stand by the door is to embrace hope and point the way to others who so desperately need hope as well. Are you a person standing by the door?

Being hopeful these days may not seem to make a lot of sense, or be all that cool.  It’s more popular, perhaps, to be jaded and cynical.  But I ask you this question: If we, the artists, teachers, and leaders in churches, are not hopeful, who will be?  We are called to be ambassadors of hope, to signal the way to the light of God’s grace and goodness.  I still believe down to my toes that the church is the hope of the world.  I also believe that more than ever, the arts are an essential tool to help others experience the wonder and love of God. Ian Morgan Cron puts it this way in his novel, Chasing Francis:

            The church is realizing that there is an awareness of God sleeping
            in the basement of the postmodern imagination and they have to
            awaken it.  The arts can do this.  All beauty is subversive; it flies under
            the radar of people’s critical filters and points them to God ... When the
            front door of the intellect is shut, the back door of the imagination
            is open.  Our neglect of the power of beauty and the arts helps
            explain why so many people have lost interest in church.  Our coming
            back to the arts will help renew that interest.

You and I are called to point the way to hope.  All week long and also on Sunday mornings or whenever the church community gathers.  I don’t know any more powerful word than hope, except maybe love.  Don’t stop believing that we can make a difference.  Deep within us, we all long to be people of hope and to create places of hope.  It’s what we were made for.  So every morning, when we start our day, we decide what perspective we will bring to the difficulties of life.  We decide whether to focus on the magnificent taste of red raspberries on oatmeal, and the smile of a son or daughter or roommate, or whether to wallow in the muck of that which is not right.  Let’s increasingly be men and women who refuse to ignore what’s wrong with the world, while at the same time, seeing the world as enchanted, always searching for that which we can celebrate and offer praise. And let’s design experiences for Sunday morning where those who need hope will discover authentic Christ followers, not denying reality, but through beauty and great art and honest stories and powerful biblical teaching, point the way to the God who calls us all home. What a privilege.

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