Upper Room Futility

How many faith communities have just enough religion to come together, but not enough passion to go out? If the doors aren’t locked, they might as well be. Upper room futility. A little bit of faith but very little fire.

“Sure, we care. We’re doing our part. We send out 15-25 people once a year to help build homes.” “World hunger? Why, that’s high on our priority list. In fact, we have plans to plan a planning session. Yes, that’s what we are planning to do.”

Good people. Good intentions. Meetings. Words. Promises. But while all this is going on the story stays a secret. We know we should do something, but we’re just not sure what. We know our community exist for something—but we’re not sure why.

Upper room futility. Confused ambassadors willing to invite others into their environment but unwilling to walk out the door with a passionate purpose to enter into theirs. What will it take to unlock them? What will it take to ignite the fire? What will it take to restore the first century passion? What will have to happen before the padlocks of futility tumble from the doors and are trampled under the feet of departing disciples?

Can I make a suggestion? Go into your upper room and wait until he comes. And when he appears, don’t leave. Run your fingers over his feet. Place your hand in his pierced side and look into his eyes; those same eyes that melted the gates of hell and sent the demons scurrying and Satan running. Look at them as they look at you. You’ll never be the same.

A man is never the same after he simultaneously sees his utter despair and Christ’s unbending grace. To see the despair without the grace is suicidal. To see the grace without the despair is upper room futility.