In my Father’s House there are many mansions. If it were not so I would have told you. (John 14:2)
I’m getting your room ready as we speak.
* * * *
When I was a child I heard this promise proclaimed in a solemn preachy voice drifting down upon me from a skyscraper pulpit. I also imagined my own room. If Jesus said so it must be true, right? I wondered, curiously prying child that I was. God I knew and trusted, but Jesus?
Mansions, I thought, were palatial houses owned by very rich people and located in the Hamptons somewhere. Or Hollywood. I was sure that mansions were to be avoided at all costs. My father said they cost a fortune and had to be very taxed—unfairly. He also told me his family once lived in a mansion, on a hill called Tower Hill in Morristown, New Jersey. From that hill one can see the skyline of New York City.
“But Daddy, that’s not where Grahmy and Grahmpy live. I’ve been there and it’s not really a mansion, is it?” In fact, it was only the post-depression step-down house with no fewer than twelve bedrooms. No answer from Daddy. Either Daddy or Jesus must be wrong. Jesus, I figured. Then again, do you know what amazing fun I’ve had imagining what room I would design in God’s “mansion” It would be a library in pink, filled with “banned” books with a huge dining room table in the center of it—maybe some Ritz crackers, but you don’t need much food in mansions because there are servants, or angels.
* * * *
I grew up and studied the Bible—a book with many, many translations. I learned that the latest scholarly translations of the New Testament substituted dwelling places for mansions. I missed the mansions. As an adult and an Episcopal priest I went exploring in New Jersey. I wanted to see this putative family mansion, this Tower Hill.
Lo and behold! Tower Hill is a mansion—elegant and with many rooms. It’s too big for one family. My father’s father grew up there, and today, if you drop the family name you can get a private tour. Roman Catholic nuns of the Sisters of the Filipini bought and fitted up the mansion to be a school for girls. How perfect. I gawked at the hand-carved mahogany ceilings and fireplace mantels. There was a special room for music and, imagine, my paternal great-grandmother summoned the family there for prayers every evening—Presbyterian prayers no less. This indeed was a mansion.
* * *
Jesus’s “mansion” I’m sure, is, yes, spacious enough to house ALL creation without condition.
And no, not the result of works or wealth, inherited or earned, but rather of a freely given divine grace.
Still, do feel free to design a room of your own.
