Ephesians 3. 14-21
A young man journeyed along the King’s highway. His purposeful stride suggested that he was on a mission of some importance. He took a map out of his pocket, examined it closely matching it with the terrain nearby. With a smile of satisfaction, he continued on. By dusk he arrived at a small river. A fine stand of graceful trees bordered one bank. Across the other a lovely meadow spread before his gaze. With a tone of finality, he commented, “This is the place.”
Many years past. Beside the highway next to the river rose a tall castle. A sturdy bridge arched over the river. On closer examination that proud castle showed its years. Portions of the wall had begun to crumble. Upon the wall of the castle stood the now not so young man. He looked harried and very, very tired. His dress and mannerisms told the story of a man who lived alone.
The man looked up from his musings and noticed a party of travelers venturing near the gate. The man shouted from the wall, “Go away. The castle is drafty and its storehouses are empty. There is nothing here for you.” A look of frustration matched the pain veiled in his angry tone. He watched as the party crossed the bridge and disappeared into the forest.
A few days later he heard a knock at the gate. “Not another traveler,” he groaned. He went to the gate, opened the door and before him stood a man in humble attire. The man looked like any other traveler along the King’s highway. Nothing set him apart from all the others who were turned away from the castle gate; nothing except the kindest face the castle owner had ever seen.
“I would invite you in, good sir,” he said, “but I have nothing to set before you. Besides this castle is a ruin. It’s not a pleasant -place to stay.”
“Why did you build a castle on this spot?” The traveler inquired.
“Well, sir,” the castle owner replied, “I was commissioned by the King to occupy this location along his highway. He sent me to build a way station for travelers. I’m to provide a place for them to rest along their journey. I’m to offer them food and supplies to continue on. This is dangerous country, so to protect myself I built this castle.
“I’m confused,” the traveler admitted. “The King commissioned you to provide a way station for travelers, and yet you turn them away? You say you have nothing to give them?”
“Oh, in the beginning everything worked well. At that time all I had was a small cottage, but it was adequate and the travelers who stayed with me seemed to appreciate my hospitality. But reports of brigands worried me. I needed a station I could defend, so I built a wall around it. It was a good wall, but brigands attacked one night and took all I had. After that attack, I determined that would never happen again. So, I built a higher wall. I didn’t really plan to build a castle. I just kept building walls and this castle grew up. In fact, it got to the point that I was spending more time building higher walls than entertaining guests.
“The worst was one night amid a fierce storm. Oh, how the wind roared. It threatened to topple a new section of wall. I spent the night trying to shore up that wall. When morning came, I opened the gate and found a traveler huddled in the shadow of my walls, the bell cord in his hand. He was dead. He was there all night and I never heard him! After that I went out of the way station business. I can’t do what the King commissioned me to do. It’s impossible to try to keep up this castle and to meet the needs of those travelers. Besides, I failed, I don’t deserve to be a King’s man.” You could see all the frustration and condemnation of those years painfully etched across the man’s face.
“I don’t have to be anywhere for a while, would it be all right to spend a few days with you?” The traveler asked.
The castle owner was about to protest no, when he stopped. The words died on his lips. Perhaps it was those kind eyes, more likely the tears in those eyes, that caused him to say yes. “It’s not much of a castle, all drafty and crumbling. I don’t have much food or supplies, but you’re welcome to stay, if you want.”
“Nothing would please me more,” the traveler answered.
So, the traveler came into the castle. For next few weeks they would meet together and talk. Never had the owner been with someone who listened so well. Never had he found such insight as he heard in the quiet words of the traveler. But one afternoon he heard a roar at the back of the castle. Part of his precious wall had crumbled and fell. Aghast, the owner hurried out and began to rebuilt that portion of the wall. It took several days. As soon as he completed that portion, another section began to crumble. He forgot his guest in the frantic activity to keep up the walls. When he finished repairing the walls, he went to find his guest, but the Traveler was nowhere to be found in the castle.
Months passed. One afternoon the castle owner sat by the gate and sighed, “I would like to see that Traveler again. This drafty, old castle wasn’t quite so cold when he was here. With that the bell rang. Upon opening the gate he saw the Traveler standing there. With a big smile, the owner invited the Traveler in. As before they shared memorable times together. Still there was the walls to attend to and, when he stepped back from that work, he could not find his friend, no matter where he searched throughout the castle. This pattern continued for several years. When the owner paused his frantic activity long enough to remember the Traveler and wished to see him again, the Traveler would show up at the gate. When the pressing demands of the walls claimed the owner’s attention, it was as if the Traveler slipped away unnoticed.
This puzzled the castle owner, but those walls came first. There was always somewhere that demanded his attention. It was anxious, exhausting work. Eventually things became so bad that he had to take blocks from one portion of the wall to rebuild another.
Finally, two sections began to topple at the same time. With utter discouragement, the owner collapsed, sliding down the wall and sitting in abject despair. “I can’t do this any longer,” he groaned. He looked up and the traveler was standing there with his hand outstretched. “I didn’t know you were here,” the owner said. How did you find me?”
“Oh,” the Traveler replied, “I’ve never been very far away. Here, take my hand,” the traveler offered. He raised up the dejected man.
“I don’t understand it,” the castle owner muttered. “Again and again I’ve sent letters to the King asking for help. I’ve sent request after request to him for building materials for my walls. I’ve received nothing!”
“Look around you,” the traveler directed. “Do you feel good about what you see? Would the King be pleased with this castle and its walls? The King commissioned you to build a way station, a haven for weary travelers. You have built a castle of fear with walls of pride. Your goal was to protect yourself, not serve the King or his travelers. You became very good at building walls. That pride and fear drove you, not the King’s call.”
“Is that why the King never answered my letters or filled my requests?” The castle owner asked in a soft voice.
“Oh, he did answer your requests, and I am the answer. That is why I keep coming back. I want to live with you. I want this to be my permanent home,” the traveler responded gently. “I’m so glad when you invite me in. Believe it or not but I love the times we spend together. It grieves me when you rush out to work on your walls. I wait for you to come back, but you never do.”
“But I do come back,” the man exclaimed. “I search high and low but I can never find you. I don’t understand.”
With a tear forming in the corner of his eye the Traveler responded, “You can’t find me because you wall me out. By the time you finish working on that wall you have walled me outside the castle. You’ve done many times. I have come to dwell with you, not just be an occasional visitor.
Almost afraid to ask, the man went on, “Who are you, sir?”
“You know who I am.”
“You are the King!” The castle owner fell to the ground. Every rigid fiber of his soul broke. All the stress and anxiety, all the fears and frustrations of those years crumbled like the walls of his castle.
He felt strong arms around him. The traveler-King held him close. As he rested on the King’s breast, he could feel the anguished beating of a broken heart and knew the King understood. “Forgive me, O my King,” the man cried. Forgive me for not recognizing you sooner.”
He looked up into tear soaked eyes. “But, why, my Lord, would you want to live here? Look what a ruin this castle is. I hate it. Why would you want to live here?”
“I want to live here,” the King answered, “because you are here. I want to be with you. I will never leave you. Like I said, this will be my permanent home. I called you to operate a way station, not build a castle. Let me show you what that can be.”
And he opened the man’s eyes and showed him a vision of a humble, yet sturdy cottage. Beautiful flowers surrounded the cottage. A bountiful garden and trees heavy with fruit could be seen behind the cottage. Inside happy people sat by a warm fireplace and at tables laden with food. Delightfully decorated rooms were available for a night’s rest, beds covered with patchwork quilts. The vision captivated the man.
“I remember a cottage like that,” the man recalled.
“You weren’t content with a humble cottage. You decided a castle better fit your estate. You became all caught up in projects I never planned for you. You built walls and towers, but how fulfilling was all that?”
“Not much at all,” the man answered.
“You rejoiced that I called you do a king’s job, but you became your own king. You tried to build a castle fit for a king, but all you constructed was your own prison.”
The man looked searchingly at the King. He saw no condemnation in those eyes, only love.
In anguish the man cried, “My greatest accomplishment was, in fact, my greatest failure! Depart from me, Lord, I’m a sinful man!”
“Don’t be afraid,” the King chided. “All that is over and done with. Now, how would you like to try that cottage again?”
“But my Lord, I tried to operate such a cottage. I failed. I can’t provide all that,” the man protested.
“You failed because you tried to do it all alone, by yourself. This time I will be the host,” the King replied.
“But Lord, no one will come. I’ve turned too many people away.”
“When the word gets out that I’m here, they will come and I will supply their needs. Your job is to stand in the road and invite them in,” the King explained. “Does that sound good to you? Can you let me live with you? Remember, I am a King. Where I dwell, I must rule. I come in not to cheer and soothe alone, but before all things to reign.”
The man said nothing for a long time. He turned to the King and asked, “My Lord, do you think this drafty, old castle could become that way station?”
“What castle?” The King asked with a twinkle in his eye. The man looked and all he saw around him were piles of rubble. All those walls were down.
The King smiled. “Let’s get started.”
“But how, Lord,” the man questioned. “I’ve lived in that castle so long. Where do we begin?”
“Look around you,” the King directed. “Do you see all those crumbled walls of pride? That rubble, left over from all that futile building, will be the raw materials we will use to build our station.”
“When do we start,” the man asked.
“No better time than right now,” the King concluded.
And so a humble cottage rose on the site of that castle. Year after year weary travelers found a haven of rest amid their journey. And our former castle owner found the deep satisfaction of being a called to an attitude of love, living generously in a world that, as he used to be, is on empty.
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My friends, each of our lives are like that man. Our Lord Jesus commissions us to go out in his name and be a way station, a haven of rest, to other men and women weary from the journey of life. We are called to an attitude of love and are to live generously in a world that is on empty. We will only attempt that when we believe that Jesus has taken up permanent residence in our hearts. We will only approach life with such loving generosity when we are rooted and established in his immeasurable, inexhaustible love. That empowers us to build way station cottages when everyone else is building castles.
Are you full of the love of our gloriously rich Father, filled to the measure of all the fullness of God, approaching life in touch with the one who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us? How about you? Are you called to a cottage of driven to a castle?
(C) 1999 G. Brenton Mock