I saw a building like a school, church, and historic mansion. Parts of it were like an office. Parts were like a playhouse. Parts were like a horror movie with an elderly monster, a pedophile no less, creeping about.
I met with a ragtag group of engineers, performers, and teachers. We were following clues to what we knew would fix this place yet may tear it down.
There was a woman there, in our midst—a children’s director—whom many in my ragtag team derided or disliked. In a moment of clarity, I wrapped my arms around the woman and thanked her for always supporting us. Her disposition shifted and she eagerly left us to attend her supervisor—he who was either the pedophile or the showman on stage.
In my group, one of the teachers found a clue to our salvation. Before I could read it, the engineer cried, “calling in help!”
Instantly, several of the actors from the playhouses left their stages, apologetic to leap from their stages in the middle of a show, but committed and excited to help us. They were of all shapes and sizes—some only nine inches tall, others towered over me.
They gathered round as I read the clues:
“Look above your medals and awards.”
“Look beneath the false seat.”
On the wall between the office and playhouse, near where we hid from the decrepit monster, we found medals hanging on. Above them, a frame with nothing inside.
“There!” I shouted, “we should cut through.”
“And look!” said the teacher. “Where the wood casts an illusion of a seat in the floorboards.”
“But wait!” said the engineer. “We need more.”
He called again for help and even more left their stages of acting, running to stand with us and watch.
The Children’s Director gathered, too, and though she was frightened to tear the floor up, she agreed that the messages led us here.
I held high the mallet to strike upon the floorboards. My eyes opened, and I saw no more.
The understanding is simple. We stand between a play and office, where terrible sins can occur, hidden behind tradition and an erroneous way of honoring the past.
But before we can go tearing up the floors and walls that hold our old trophies and give us a false sense of comfort, we must call in the actors to repent from their stages, and see what the Word says.
We must call them from their stages.
While the Sunday morning routine gets fat and lazy, we, as the Bride, must be that much more active to step out into the world and lead. It needs us to lead as Christ loves us. Our role is not to check a box and fill in a seat for a few hours on a Sunday. Our role is not to simply serve in Kids Church, the Greeter Team, the Coffee Team, or the Worship Team for a few hours a week. But to give our lives, living-sacrifices, every moment of every second to whatever He wants or desires.
And that is actually less pressure. Not more. Because instead of a mandate by a person to watch one more kid, greet one more person, fill one more cup, or play one more song, instead we are mandated by God to do whatever He asks whenever He asks.
Our lives are not meant to be scripted routines and merry-go-rounds of boxes checked. Instead adventures and legends. If we would dare to dream or listen to every Word dripping from His pages and His spirit. Get out of this routine.
What’s under the floorboards?
Have we let tradition become a demon, that is robbing the next generation of its intimacy with Christ? That is feeding off the children of God like some disgusting monster?
It’s not the Bride that is at fault, She is simply following Her “master” as he leads Her in meaningless directions from a stage. And though some may be frustrated with Her teaching, She must have arms wrapped around Her and reminded that She is valued and loved. Those that act on stage, between a playhouse and office, need to get out of Her way.
Pray for pastors on stage that may be acting and need to repent. They still have time to jump off the stage, even if it disrupts the show, and gather round to discover what the Word is revealing. There are things to dig up. Things to tear down. And underneath those are the mysteries of Heaven.
I ask again, what’s under the floorboards of your heart? Is it a miracle? Is it a dead body? Before we can find out, I believe it would be wise for us to give the opportunity for as many of God’s children to gather and see. Call them in.
Keith G. Alderman 