When my children were young, I used to read a story called “When Jesus Came to My House” by Joan Gale Thomas, in 1956. Such a sweet story of a little boy who imagines what it would be like if Jesus came to his house to spend the afternoon not as a man but a boy like himself.
If Jesus came to my house and knocked upon the door I’m sure I’d be more happy than I’ve ever been before.
If Jesus came to my house I’d like Him best to be about the age that I am and about the height of me.
I’d run downstairs to meet Him, the door I’d open wide, And I would say to Jesus, Oh, won’t you come inside?
I’d offer Him my rocking chair, it’s such a comfy seat and at the pleasant fireplace, He’d warm His little feet. My kitten and my puppy dog would sit beside His chair and they would be as pleased as I at seeing Jesus there.
Then I would put the kettle on to make a cup of tea, and we could be as happy and as friendly as could be. I’d show Him all the places that are nice in the house. The hole behind the stairs where I pretend that I’m a mouse. The little window up above where I can stand and see. The people passing down below and yet they can’t see me.
And then I think I’d show Him the corner in the hall where I’m sometimes rather frightened by the shadows on the wall. I always have to hurry when I’m going past at night, but hand in hand with Jesus I’d be perfectly all right.
I’d show Him round the garden and ask Him please to bless the seeds that I have planted the peas and watercress. And if the flowers I’d planted were blooming on that day I’d pick a bunch of all the best for Him to take away. Then while He held the basket I would gather two or three of the ripest rosy apples from my special apple tree. And all the little birds would come and twitter up above for joy at seeing Jesus in the garden that they love.
And then we’d play with all my toys, my nicest toys of course, and He should have the longest ride upon my rocking horse.
And with my bricks I’d build for Him a place of His own, And He should be the little King and sit upon the throne.
And when we’d done we’d stack the toys all neatly on the shelf, but first I’d let Him choose the best and keep them for Himself.
And when at last the day was done and shadows acrossed the sky, I’d see Him to the garden gate and there we’d say goodbye, And He’d perhaps say, “thank you for a lovely afternoon,” And I would say, “I do so hope you ‘ll come back very soon.
And then He’d smile and wave goodbye, and so would end our day but all the house would seem to smile because He’d been our way. I’d know the little Jesus can never call on me In the way that I’ve imagined like coming in to tea.
But I can go to His house and kneel and say a prayer, and I can sing and worship Him and talk with Him in there.
And though He may not occupy my cozy rocking chair, a lot of other people would be happy sitting there.
And I can make Him welcome as He himself has said, by doing all I would for Him for other folk instead.
And though the house is dark at night with shadows on the wall, I never need be frightened when I’m going through the hall.
Although I cannot see Him I still can feel Him near To understand and hold my hand and drive away my fear.
The flowers in my garden He may not pick Himself, but someone else would like them upon his mantelshelf.
So if I know of anyone who’s old or ill or sad I’ll take them there for Jesus’s sake and help to make them glad. I still can share with Jesus the nicest of my toys by lending them or giving them to poorer girls and boys. And though He may not visit me as I have wished He would, Yet even so He’ll bless my house if I am kind and good.
Such a sweet simple story to read but a large truth inside. How many times do we encounter people and share the love of Jesus? Today was the first day appointed for a young pastor and his family to meet his congregation. It was probably a little unnerving as he desperately tried to remember our names. He and his wife greeted everyone with a smile. The congregation came with great expectations and I am sure some came comparing. I am pleased to say he came to the house of the Lord with a humble spirit and servant of Jesus. Maybe the new story should be told, “When I went to Jesus House”
When I went to Jesus house I opened up the door, I saw so many people like I never had before.
Cultures did not matter or the color of their skin what mattered most to Jesus was the heart and love within.
We sang songs of praise as the Holy Spirit gathered here, we joined as one big family as God drew us near.
A peace over all who received as we all knelt down to pray and thank God for allowing us to come to His house today.
The pastor came to share as Jesus long ago, He spoke straight from the Bible as it was foretold.
And as he finished his sermon he bowed his head to pray. And silently he wondered if they heard or was this just another day?
So many times we go to the house of the Lord because it is what we are supposed to do. We greet each other in the name of the Lord, sing songs, hear a sermon, sing another song, greet each other once again and go home. How many of us take the sermon your pastor spoke and pondered it for the week. Not just a few moments in the car but actually took it and placed it in your heart.
If we believe we are attending the Lord’s house and the man or woman of God is truly sent to be this vessel we are accountable for these words. Truths from the pulpit where a pastor studied, prayed for you and became accountable to a flock God gave him. We came to Jesus’ House to see His very best, to enter into this with Him and see that we are His family. Yes, this may be a simple story but as you heard what your pastor said this week…pray for him or her…take the words they spoke…write them in your heart…pray for those around you and lift high the name of Jesus for he lifts high the name of You! God loves when people come to His house!
The glory of this present house will be greater than the glory of the former house,’ says the LORD Almighty. ‘And in this place I will grant peace,’ declares the LORD Almighty.” Haggai 2:9 (NIV)