From Pulpit to Porch

Gather close. Let the peace of our Lord Jesus Christ settle upon your hearts like the morning dew upon the grass. I’m not writing to merely exchange information; I’m writing so you witness a transformation.

I want to tell you a story. It is a story about a man I knew; let’s call him Caleb; and a lesson that the Holy Spirit carved into the very tablets of my soul. I share this with you because the Lord wants to move us from the “pulpit” to the “porch.” He wants to take us from being “Teachers of Truth” to becoming “Models of Mercy.”

As we walk through this, remember the words of the Master in the Gospel according to Mark 3:14: “And he ordained twelve, that they should be with him, and that he might send them forth to preach.”

Notice the order. He didn’t send them until they had been with Him. Proximity is the classroom of the Spirit. Now, let me tell you how I learned what it truly means to share a life.

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The Young Man and the Mask

Years ago, I met a young man named Caleb. Caleb was what the world would call a “shining star.” He knew his Greek, he knew his Hebrew, and he could quote the Romans Road faster than a bird flies. He came to me one afternoon, his Bible tucked tightly under his arm, his suit pressed without a single wrinkle.

“Brother Allen,” he said, his voice full of a nervous energy, “I want to be a disciple-maker. I want to lead men to the heights of holiness. Give me the manual. Give me the curriculum. Tell me the ten steps to making a perfect Christian.”

I looked at Caleb, and the Holy Spirit gave me a sudden pang of compassion. Behind that crisp suit and that perfect vocabulary, I saw a veil. It was a thick, heavy veil, much like the one that hung in the ancient Tabernacle. He was hiding. He thought that to be a “man of God,” he had to be a “man of perfection.”

I didn’t give him a manual. Instead, I reached out and took his hand.

“Caleb,” I said softly, “I’m going to the hardware store to buy a new washer for my kitchen sink. And then I’m going to the grocery store because I’m out of milk. Would you come and be with me?”

He looked confused. “But… what about the teaching? What about the theology of sanctification?”

“We will find it,” I told him, “somewhere between the plumbing aisle and the dairy case.”

The Grocery Store Tabernacle

We spent that afternoon together. It wasn’t a classroom; it was a life. As we walked through the aisles, I didn’t preach a sermon. But Caleb watched.

He watched when a young mother accidentally bumped her cart into mine, spilling a carton of eggs. I saw Caleb stiffen, waiting for a “teaching moment” or perhaps a polite rebuke. Instead, I just knelt down in a mess with her.

“Don’t you worry, sister,” I told her. “I’ve dropped more than a few things in my time. Let’s get this cleaned up.”

As we wiped up the yellow yolks, I whispered to Caleb, “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, Caleb. Even when the thing that’s broken is just a dozen eggs.”

Later, at the checkout line, the clerk was slow and clearly exhausted. She snapped at me when I asked for a paper bag. Caleb looked ready to defend my honor. But the Spirit whispered to me. I looked at her tired eyes and said, “It looks like it’s been a long day for you. May the Lord give you strength for the rest of your shift.”

Her face softened. The “veil” of her frustration dropped for just a second.

When we got to the car, Caleb was quiet. Finally, he asked, “Why didn’t you give her a tract? Why didn’t you tell her she was sinning by being rude?”

I started the car and looked at him. “Caleb, 2 Corinthians 3:2 says, ‘Ye are our epistle written in our hearts, known and read of all men.’ She didn’t need a piece of paper today. She needed to read the kindness of Jesus in the way I handled her weariness. Discipleship isn’t a lecture, son. It’s a life lived out in the sight of others.”

The Rent Veil of the Kitchen Sink

A few days later, I invited Caleb to my home. I wanted to move from the “Inner Court” to the “Holy of Holies.”

Now, you must understand, Caleb still thought I was a “statue of gold.” He thought I had it all figured out. But that evening, the Lord decided to show Caleb my “cracks.”

We were in the kitchen, and I was trying to fix that leaky faucet I’d bought the parts for. I was frustrated. I was tired. My back was aching, and the wrench kept slipping. Finally, I let out a heavy sigh of exasperation and sat back on the linoleum floor, my hands covered in grease and my hair a mess.

“I can’t get it, Caleb,” I said, my voice cracking just a little. “I’m not as young as I used to be, and my patience is wearing thin today.”

Caleb looked shocked. He had never seen a “teacher” admit to being frustrated. He had never seen a “mentor” look weak.

I looked up at him from the floor and remembered 2 Corinthians 12:9: “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my power is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”

“Caleb,” I said, “do you see this? I am an earthen vessel. I am just a common, chipped clay jar. If I pretend to be perfect, you will try to be perfect too, and you will break under the weight of the lie. But if you see my weakness, you will see that the glory belongs to God, not to me.”

In that moment, the Holy Spirit moved. Caleb sat down on the floor next to me. For the first time, he loosened his tie. He told me about his own struggles; about the fear of failure that kept him awake at night, about the secret temper he fought against, about the loneliness he hid behind his big words.

The veil was rented! Just as the Bible says in Matthew 27:51: “And behold, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom.”

When Jesus died, He didn’t just let us into God’s presence; He invited us to live in transparency with one another. Caleb realized that he didn’t have to be a statue to be followed; he just had to be a brother who was leaning on Jesus.

The Table Principle

We didn’t finish the sink that night, but we sat at my old wooden table and shared a bowl of simple potato soup.

“Jesus did some of His best work at the table, Caleb,” I told him. “He ate with tax collectors and sinners. He broke bread with the very men who would fail Him. He didn’t use a PowerPoint; He used a loaf of bread.”

I encouraged him to move from the “pulpit” to the “porch.” I told him, “If you want to disciple that young man in your neighborhood, don’t just invite him to a Bible study. Invite him to help you change the oil in your car. Invite him to sit at your table when your kids are acting up and your house is messy. Let him see how a man of God repents. Let him see how a man of God asks for forgiveness from his wife.”

The Treasure in Earthen Vessels

Months went by, and I watched Caleb change. He stopped trying to be a “statue of gold” and started being a “jar of clay.”

One day, I saw him walking down the street with a teenager from the local high school. The boy was rough around the edges, full of rebellion. But Caleb wasn’t preaching at him. He had the boy’s bike upside down on the sidewalk, and they were both covered in grease, fixing a chain.

Caleb was laughing. He was showing the boy his own “cracks,” and in doing so, he was letting the light of Christ shine through.

I remembered 2 Corinthians 4:7: “But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.”

Caleb had learned that the “Power of Holy Proximity” isn’t about being perfect; it’s about being present. It’s about being “with them” just as Jesus was “with us.”

The Final Charge

Now; look at me.

Are you afraid of being known? Are you hiding behind a veil of “Christianese” and Sunday smiles?

The world is not looking for a perfect statue. The world is dying for a Model of Mercy. They need to see how you handle a crisis at the kitchen table. They need to see how you treat the grocery clerk when you’re stressed. They need to see that you are perfectly dependent on a perfect God.

This week, I give you a challenge. It is the “Everyday Task” challenge.

Don’t do your grocery shopping alone. Don’t walk your dog alone. Ask the Holy Spirit to show you someone; a neighbor, a friend, a struggling soul; and invite them into your “normal.” Let them see your “Inner Court.” Let them see the “rent veil” of your life.

Remember, truth without mercy is a cold wind that chills the soul. But truth clothed in mercy is a healing balm.

Let’s pray.

Holy Spirit, break down the walls of pride that we have built to protect our image. Help us to stitch no more veils. Give us the courage to be earthen vessels, chipped and worn, so that Your glorious light can shine through the cracks. Make us models of Your tender mercy. Help us to live the Gospel in front of others, not just preach it to them. May we be “with them” so that they may see You. In the precious and Holy Name of Jesus, Amen.

Go forth and Be real. Be vulnerable. Be with them. For in the sharing of the life, the Kingdom is built.