The sanctuary is the place that I call the holiest of my holy grounds. It is the sanctuary of my childhood, my youth and of my life now. My favorite of the stained glass windows is the smallest one of all. The Good Shepherd looks over the shoulders of those who enter through the side entrance and is a gentle reminder to those who leave by the same door. I have glanced its way, every Sunday, from early childhood until now for many different reasons in the different times of my life. As a very young child, I would strain to see the Good Shepherd window when I entered the sanctuary for the hour of worship. I would wait for the hour to end and usually curl up as tightly as I possibly could in the corner of the pew to stare at this Good Shepherd holding a little lamb. As a 5-year-old , I wanted so much to be the little lamb. Safe, secure, sought after and obviously beloved. And so, Sunday after Sunday, I would look the way of the Good Shepherd window and wish that the place in his arms was for me. The years of my youth found me sitting in a pew with the Good Shepherd to my back because, truth be known, I really didn’t want to be in church. But he was there. Behind me. Always there, giving me that “sense” that we all seem to have when someone is standing too closely behind. Even with the Good Shepherd to my back, I sensed his presence. I turned and looked … and then turned back. Yet, he remained. Patiently and persistently, he remained in my life. I assumed that if I didn’t look the Good Shepherd’s way, he wouldn’t notice me. I continued to sit with my back to the window and with the Good Shepherd behind me for a very long time. My assumptions proved wrong. This gentle Good Shepherd of my childhood hopes became persistent and relentless as he sought to retrieve me.
On the day that I gave my life to Christ, I was strangely pulled back into this very sanctuary, alone in the darkness that the rains that day brought with them. I once again sat in the pew of my childhood and once again looked the way of the Good Shepherd window. This time I saw who he was and is. The Lord is my Shepherd! He was the Shepherd not only of “my” window, but of my life. He was the Shepherd who had giggled with me and wept with me and for me in my childhood. He was the Shepherd who waited for me and was ever-present even in the apathy of my youth. He was the Shepherd who sought me into my adulthood.
Eleven years after that day in the sanctuary, I was asked to offer the morning’s message at both the early service and our later service. All went well in the chapel. As the later service began there was a moment when I stood in the pulpit in silence. I looked directly in front of me at the pew of my childhood and the beginning of my life as a Christ-follower. I glanced to the left and looked at the stained glass window of the Good Shepherd. The promises of my Lord as my Shepherd were shown to me in such a way that I knew that they would never be taken from me. There was this wonderful moment when all things came full circle. I offered the morning’s message. After the service, Rev. Jason Harvey said, “Anna, the service in the chapel was good. This service was just as good, but different. I can’t put my finger on why it was different, but it was.” I knew why. In that moment of silence from the pulpit, I saw the very nature of God. I clearly felt his never-failing love for me. I was reminded with great surety that “goodness and mercy” will follow me. And I knew with all certainty that this “gentle” Shepherd had never, ever given up on gathering this lamb into his arms. Oh, what a holy place this sanctuary was for me that day and continues to be.
The hope of my childhood memories is the certainty of my adulthood and the delight of my future. “And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Yes, this sanctuary is my holy ground as well as others’ holy ground. Such holiness doesn’t come to us in the warmth of the wood that surrounds us or in the colors and messages that stream from the beautiful stained glass windows. We are standing on holy ground only because of the Presence of God.
