My mom’s house has a sign in Swedish on the wall. My dad painstakingly cut its letters of wood, and painted it yellow and blue. It runs along the ceiling above the dining room table, and it reads: Om det finns hjarterum finns det stjarterum.
You see, her house is pretty small. I think it was built during WWII by a Danish immigrant who had been a German soldier in WWI, and so was officially an enemy alien. This prohibited him from getting building materials, except for some used lumber, so the house was small to begin with.
Later, my Grandpa used the house as a granary. Then he put in plumbing and various hired men lived there. About the time I was born, my parents moved in. After they had three children, they moved into the big farmhouse and my grandparents moved to the little house. They added a utility room and a garage, but it was still pretty small.
Still, my grandparent’s house was the place to be on holidays. Aunts and uncles, cousins and friends all crowded in. There might have been as many as 25 people in that little house at times, all laughing and talking at the same time. Most of the adults sat around the fully-extended dining room table. We kids were likely to get a seat at a card table next to the kitchen or in the utility room, or at an 8-foot church table shoehorned into the living room, where you had to be careful you didn’t back your chair into the Christmas tree or stand up and hit your head on the bottom of the suspended staircase.
Somehow, it never felt crowded to us.
After my grandparents died, my parents sold the dairy and moved back into that little house. And that’s when my dad made the sign. He’d seen the phrase in a friend’s small house in Sweden: Om det finns hjarterum finns det stjarterum.
Where there is heart room, there is butt room.
You belong here, and you are loved, so don’t worry, we’ll skootch over. We’ll find a place for you to sit, a space for you to fit.
That childhood memory—of all the people I loved crowded together to celebrate—is my primary image of the kingdom of God. It makes me think of Jesus telling his disciples, “My Father’s house has room to spare... I’m going to prepare a place for you” (John 14:2), and of the prophet reassuring Israel far from home, “Bring my sons from far away, and my daughters from the end of the earth, everyone who is called by my name and whom I created for my glory” (Isaiah 43:6-7), and later, “On this mountain, the Lord of heavenly forces will prepare for all peoples a rich feast, a feast of choice wines...” (Isaiah 25:6).
Friends, there is room for us all, both heart room and butt room. If you are lonely, come on in. If you are afraid, just knock on God’s door, and it will open. If you have long since left the faith, you can always come home again. If you are full of regrets, don’t stand outside worrying. The great big heart of God knows all about it and has saved a seat just for you.
And, if you are already inside, talking and laughing and digging into the appetizers, go see who’s still outside the door. Who is waiting for you to invite them to God’s big family reunion?
Bring them in. Because where there is heart room, there is butt room. Everybody just skootch over.
