By Jim Nichols

In the American Midwest of the 1950s, if a family wished to buy a different house or move to another neighborhood, one starting point was the Sunday local newspaper. Moving was a momentous activity for the family and involved not only finances, but school districts, work commute distances, and concerns about friendships. “House-hunting” did not occur for a family often, but it was an important adventure, especially for an early adolescent boy.

My father would spend part of Sunday with the paper, pencil in hand circling the addresses of “open houses” that looked like possibilities. During the afternoon, the whole family piled into the car and set off to make visits.

With two younger sisters, our family was growing and there was clear interest in a four-bedroom house—one for our parents and one for each child. That appeared then (and now) to be a great luxury, but it was of high interest to us.

In retrospect, I wonder why this bedroom arrangement seemed so attractive. Why was it so important to us children to have our own bedroom? It was not secrecy; the doors remained open. It might have been privacy, but just barely. Was it so I would not bother my sisters’
“stuff” (and vice-versa)? Perhaps. Why were separate bedrooms such a draw? We were still parts of the same family, but distinct parts. That seemed to be subtly important.

Dealing with students in my school office over the years, we have talked about their homes and houses. I would sometimes remind them that while they have moved into a dorm at college, one of their younger siblings has probably moved into their room at home. They usually respond with surprise and irritation at the thought, but acceptance.

It might be a whiplash transition to jump into the Bible and John chapter 14 here. Jesus is instructing and comforting his followers with words that fit this consideration. “In my Father’s house there are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?” He then elaborates this thought with a description of the Holy Spirit coming as a “comforter” following Jesus’ death and resurrection. 

Pondering faith as a house with multiple rooms gives us an image of abundant space. This is a permanent home for God and there is plenty of room for all believers. There is a unity described, like a true family dwelling, although there are “different rooms.”

What does this “unity,” but “difference” imply? Do the believers in these God spaces believe exactly the same things? Do they have the same experiences with the Master of the house? Can they hear through shared walls and wonder about the worship practices of those in the neighboring rooms? How similar are the levels of hope, patience, and compassion? Are there muffled conversations about liturgy, unfamiliar songs sung, social justice?

There might be a nearby room where the audible conversation does not sound religious at all, at least not the way I have considered religious. It sounds spiritual, but not particularly religious. Yet, the room is in the building with me. What am I to make of this?

Do the believers change rooms sometimes? Are there sojourner followers? Do some step away from familiar convictions but still stay in the house in a different room? They do not abandon faith, but find different expressions?

As individuals become more practiced with experience and grace, do they manifest an evolving faith? Is that bad? When you change rooms, are you skewing to error spiritually or stepping more deeply into faith? Have you ever known someone who aches at leaving familiar convictions but does not entirely abandon faith? Are you that person?

Let us remember that one of the most famous extended scripture passages (I Corinthians 13) tells us that now our sight may be dark and dim, but in the future we will see face to face. Now we know only in part, but then we will know fully as we are fully known.

Jim Nichols is a retired Abilene Christian University biology professor and current hospital chaplain