I Stay Near the Door

So I Stay Near the Door, an Apologia for My Life
by Samuel Shoemaker

I stay near the door.
I neither go too far in, nor stay too far out.
The door is the most important door in the world--
It is the door through which men must walk when they find God.
There's no use my going way inside, and staying there,
When so many are still outside and they, as much as I,
Crave to know where the door is.
And all that so many ever find
Is only the wall where a door ought to be.
They creep along the wall like blind men,
With outstretched, groping hands,
Feeling for a door, knowing there must be a door,
Yet they never find it...
So I stay near the door.

The most tremendous thing in the world
Is for men to find that door--the door to God.
The most important thing any many can do
Is to take hold of one of those blind, groping hands,
And put it on the latch--the latch that only clicks
And opens to the man's own touch.
Men die outside that door, as starving beggars die
On cold nights in cruel cities in the dead of winter--
Die for want of what is within their grasp.
They live, on the other side of it--live because they have found it.
Nothing else compares to helping them find it,
And open it, and walk in, and find Him...
So I stay near the door.
Go in, great saints, go all the way in--
Go way down into cavernous cellars,
And way up into the spacious attics--
It is a vast, roomy house, this house where God is.
Go into the deepest of hidden casements,
Of withdrawal, of silence, of sainthood.
Some must inhabit those inner rooms,
And know the depths and heights of God,
And call outside to the rest of us how wonderful it is.
Sometimes I take a deeper look in,
Sometimes venture in a little farther;
But my place seems closer to the opening...
So I stay near the door.

There is another reason why I stay there.
Some people get part way in and become afraid
Lest God and the zeal of His house devour them;
For God is so very great, and ask all of us.
And these people feel a cosmic claustrophobia,
And want to get out. "Let me out!" they cry.
And the people way inside only terrify them more.
Somebody must be by the door to tell them that they are spoiled
For the old life, they have seen too much;
Once taste God and nothing bu God will do anymore.
Somebody must be watching for the frightened
Who seek to sneak out where they came in,
To tell them how much better it is inside.
The people too far inside do not see how near these are
To leaving--preoccupied with the wonder of it all.
Somebody must watch for those who have entered the door,
But would like to run away. So for them, too,
I stay near the door.
I admire the people who go way in.

But I wish they would not forget how it was
Before they got in. Then they would be able to help
The people who have not yet even found the door,
Or the people who want to run away again from God.
You can go in too deeply, and stay in too long,
And forget the people outside the door.
As for me, I shall take my old accustomed place,
Near enough to God to hear Him, and know He is there,
But not so far from men as not to hear them,
And remember they are there, too.
Where? Outside the door--
Thousands of them, millions of them.
But more important for me--
One of them, two of them, ten of them,
Whose hands I am intended to put on the latch.
So I shall stay by the door to wait
For those who seek it.
"I had rather be a door-keeper..."
So I stay near the door.

I keep a copy of this powerful poem in my odds and ends binder and read it often. And every time it stirs me deeply because it awakens many deep longings in my heart.
It touches a portion of my heart that has always been dissatisfied with certain experiences of institutional church and what I would call a preoccupation with the mundane stuff of simply keeping the building and programs operating from week-to-week while, frankly, touching no one outside the church. (I say that as someone who is not particularly gifted in evangelism.)

Here is the wrinkle God has thrown at me --It seems I am now among those who long to go way in to the depths of this great house that God or His heaven are. And I ask myself--have I forgotten those who linger and fumble and stumble outside the door, looking for the latch--looking for the One true Way to Life?

They cannot be forgotten.

But...perhaps...We enter into the depths of God, for their sake too. Perhaps, by His grace, we are able to stand at that doorway to life with one hand out to those stumbling in the dark and another extended to God Himself and bring them together.

Perhaps--our hunger and thirst for God can bring us to a place where we are able to bring bread and life to others who have not yet found Him.

I stood on our balcony once in the early evening and watched the lights of Turner Valley and Black Diamond in the near distance.

Each light represented to me someone who desperately, desperately needs the reality of Christ--with a hunger and thirst and ache and cry that can only be met by Him.

So we cry out for more of God for their sake too.