Hinges of our Heart - The Rev. Melanie W. J. Slane

Sermons from the Episcopal Church of the Redeemer

The little curb led me up to the giant front doors. They had huge iron handles that signified to me, strength. I reached for them. I was begging to be let in, but the doors of the church were locked. I tugged harder, but they wouldn't budge in complete defeat I collapsed to the ground feeling beneath me, what I felt inside that day, dust. Where are you, Jesus? Why aren't you here for me? Why can't I get in there? Why is this door locked when I need you? Why this dividing wall between us? I sat there in the dirt for quite some time, and I noticed things about the place that I hadn't before. An old bench that hid in some tall grass near that sign that posted the worship times. A swarm of bees had made a nest in a nearby Oak tree. And someone had left a little cross in the fresh concrete many years ago on the edge of the slab that was under my body. I sat there alone in silence and looked around and my sister pulled in. I could see the look of relief on her face. There you are, it said. She didn't say anything though, just opened the door to her car and sat down beside me and took my hand in her hand. It's locked, I said, the church is locked. With clarity and wisdom, she looked at me and said, no, it's not, I'm right here. A new door opened before me, in her words. That's the thing about doors. They can divide things, or they can bring things together. Doors mark a distinction, in and out, system and belonging, comfort and challenge, peace and violence, hostility and home, being broken apart and being knit back together... I want you to think of how we might remove the hinges from our hearts and tell to friend and stranger that all are welcome in our hearts in this place. In the kingdom of God.