Wednesday, December 4, 2013

A Tale of Foundational Truth

There is a place, in the quiet, middle of nothing, where many who used to worship now rest. We visited this place, for the charm of the history, preserved in wooden pews, rusted hinges, and creaky floors. We gazed in wonder at the solid reality of what remains after 200 years of wear and tear. Still, this little house of worship stands.

I walk down the aisle, run my fingers along the pews, gaze out a window, and try to imagine sitting there ages ago. It's a drafty room, with no heater and little to offer against the chill in the air; still, there's a tangible comfort here that I imagine warmed many hearts throughout the years. 

I stand at the pulpit and soak up a humbling moment; dust collects on the empty pews. The believers who once worshipped here have found a far better seat now.
Outside, my husband walks along the side of the building and stares in amazement. "Look at the foundation... The whole building is just sitting on a couple of rocks at the corners…"He laughs at the almost-ridiculous image of such a seemingly-flawed structure.
Then it makes sense to me. This little house was built on a foundation of rock
And this little house still stands. 

Sure, there have been little nips and tucks along the way to help preserve this structure. No doubt someone has provided much tender love and care to keep it as it is.

But those rocks? They need no help to do their job; they are solid.

Strong.

Ever-lasting.

When I was a child, we sang age-old hymns in church. As I stood there, staring at those rocks, a tune drifted through my mind, a melody carried along by whispers of worshippers who once filled that house. "On Christ the solid rock I stand… all other ground is sinking sand…" And for a moment, standing there in the chill of mountain air and winter gloom, I basked in the warmth of solid, foundational truth and rested on that Rock of Ages. In moments like that, dear friends, then sings my soul...