The Danger of Sacred Places

It's really easy to live in the past, and waste a lot of time doing so. Sports fans will always remember then-Celtics basketball coach Rick Pitino ranting after another frustrating loss for a franchise that was spoiled by success driven by a legion of Hall of Fame players and what seemed like a regular cadence of championships: 

Larry Bird is not walking through that door, fans. Kevin McHale is not walking through that door, and Robert Parish is not walking through that door. And if you expect them to walk through that door, they're going to be gray and old. What we are is young, exciting, hard-working, and we're going to improve. People don't realize that, and as soon as they realize those three guys are not coming through that door, the better this town will be for all of us because there are young guys in that (locker) room playing their asses off.

Of course, this phenomena isn't confined to sports. In fact, the more destructive habit is to hold on to places, things and seasons in one's own life. I recently heard some powerful words about this in a sermon from one of my former pastors, Charlie Drew (paraphrased):

We tend to be allergic to God being real. Sometimes so allergic, that we will turn good, even sacred things, into God-substitutes and as a result keep the real God away. We can perhaps all remember a good and satisfying time of community or fellowship in our past, say a particular easy and delightful time in our marriages or a wonderful time in a great church we were once part of a great fellowship group where everybody clicked and we were happily and healthily in each others' lives. But now perhaps, things are harder. Now perhaps, things are different. And we're spending too much time and energy either pining for what used to be - oh, for the good old days! - or trying to manipulate the present to be more like that past.  

God comes to us in real life in real time and speaks to us and says, "Stop it. Don't do that. Remember, what made that time and place and memories so good - if indeed they were as good as you seem to remember them - was Me. Me, the real God of real history including yours, and I am still here. Only now, the reality that I am serving up is different in some way. You have made an idol of that sacred time and sacred place, and it could be a future time of place. I can't wait for 'X' to happen, for my schooling to me done or for the kids to be out of the house. I am now giving you something new and different and I'm not doing this because I am cruel. I am tearing down that temple in your life. I am tweaking that custom in your life so you will remember to deal with Me." 

Sacred space is perhaps the most dangerous. Really good memories and really sound and lovely hopes are often the greatest enemies because they become substitute gods for us. And God knows that these substitute gods will hurt us. They will kill us. So in love He does what hurts, taking those things away and changes the game plan so we will be forced to deal with Him, the God of real-time, the God of today.

I think this really struck me because I tend to struggle with both living too much in the past and projecting and agonizing too much about the future. In terms of living in the past, part of this is driven by the grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side phenomena, where we tend to idealize what used to be, conveniently ignoring all that was difficult or frustrating about a past season of life. Our obsession with the future is garden-variety anxiety, hoping for and dreading the potential failure of not accomplishing an always changing set of goals and milestones which somehow comprise a vague definition of future success. 

And as Charlie Drew astutely hints, the bigger problem is that I'd just as soon not deal with God in the present. Or put another way, I prefer to deal with God and the present reality He has for me on my own terms - or not at all. But the truth is, each change in life - even the hard ones - are God's mercies. They are gifts which are opportunities to see how God works in new ways and new contexts in our own lives. For my family, we had a chance to see God work in our lives in New York City. With some sadness we left that and had a chance to see God work in our lives in New Jersey. And with some sadness we left that and are now having a chance to see God work in our lives in Texas. Life events happen, and our lives will change again someday, if not geographically then somehow else. The question is to what degree our eyes will be fixed on Him during those changes.

It's tempting to not live in the present. In times of trial and hardship, I can make the case that it's far more pleasant to drug myself with nostalgia and dream about an idyllic future. But I'd do so at my own detriment. As life changes, it behooves us to continue to walk with the God of today or else we run the risk of missing the sweetness of the power of God manifest in the present.