I loved this:
Who lives in you? That’s the question that comes to mind as we read those words of Jesus this morning when he tells the Pharisees, “Go tell that fox (Herod) that I will drive out demons and heal people today and tomorrow and on the third day reach my goal.” I will do what I must. For God lives in me. I am a citizen of heaven. Let him do what he must!
Let your imagination run free for a moment and picture yourself, your personality, who you are really, as a house. Any kind of house will do — just so it’s yours. For some it may be a huge castle, with lofty turrets and banners waving in the breeze, a place that is safe and secure. For others it may be a rustic cabin, tucked away in the woods, a peaceful and quiet refuge. For others still, it might be a nice little retirement home, with a rocking chair on the front porch, a shade tree in front and a nice warm breeze stirring flowers blooming in front.
Now, move in closer and imagine the front door of that house. Picture someone pushing the doorbell, clanking the knocker, or rapping on the door. If someone came to the door of your house, who would they find inside? Who lives in you?
I’m not sure about you, but I’ve met people who gave me the distinct impression that if I went inside the “houses” of their lives, I wouldn’t find anyone home. Or if I went inside their houses, they would be so cluttered with junk that there wouldn’t be any room for anyone. Or some whose houses are great and impressive on the outside, but once I entered everything would be artificial.
Who lives in you? That’s the question for us to address this Second Sunday in Lent. Who lives in you? What guides your decisions? What sets the course of your life? What determines the way you think and treat others around you? Most of us would like to say that it is our Christian faith that determines who we are. But is that so? For there are two kinds of people who can be home — citizens of the world and citizens of heaven.
Who lives in you? Think back over the decisions you’ve made this past week. Who made them — a citizen of this world or a citizen of heaven? Recall the way you spoke to those around you and the way you treated others. Who was present then? What about the offering you bring this morning, what kind of relationship with God does it reflect? Is it a citizen of heaven, the child of God, who is present in us? Or is it a stranger of this world, one who cares little about others, who thinks first of him or herself, whose actions fail to give witness to the allegiance we claim to have with God?
Who lives in you?