Ebenezer: Or A Meditation On A Vacuum Cleaner

Yes. A vacuum cleaner. Admittedly, an odd focus of meditation - but hear me out.

I have a love-hate relationship with cleaning my home. I love a clean house, spotless bathrooms, sparkling granite countertops in the kitchen. Shiny stainless steel sinks. Dust-free floors. I’ve had cleaning ladies and cleaning services over the years, but invariably, the quality of the “clean house” drops, and I become discontent and cranky, naggingly critical of their efforts - and so I let them go and return to the housekeeping tasks myself, scrubbing toilets and dusting furniture and - yes. Vacuuming floors and rugs and walls and corners filled with dust.

I was in just such a state last week, but not at all happy about needing to clean the house. I’d put off vacuuming my floors and rugs for several weeks, and the accumulated dust and debris was making me crazy. I’d been fighting a cold for part of that time, but also had entered some form of inertia - unable to gather up the energy needed to properly vacuum and dust and clean. (And yes, there IS a “proper way” as preached loud and long by my mother when I was growing up!)

With rug beater attached, and new vacuum bag installed, I started in on the task, working my way through all the area rugs first, room to room; and then, reversing direction with the floor attachment that was wonderful at annihilating dust bunnies, corner cobwebs and dried-up spiders. I was “properly” attacking rug and dust, sweating up a storm, and internally griping all the while about having to do this at all.

And then. My '“aha” moment. A moment of sudden clarity, of sweet understanding, of a poignant spiritual breakthrough that brought me to tears. It was an encounter with holy grace that was swift, strong and sure. I don’t think I’ll forget it. I hope I don’t.

As I was attacking the dining room rug, grumpily conquering the dirt and crumbs embedded therein, I suddenly was overcome with such a sweet feeling of gratitude, it took my breath away. For this rug, that I still loved for its design and color; for the fact that it lay underneath an exquisite cherry table and chairs we’d had made a few years ago - not only for its beauty, but for its ability to stretch out long and sweet to seat 10 people in joyful abandon. My gratitude intensified and blossomed within my heart and tears blurred as I continued to move that vacuum up and down, back and forth; for the myriad of family-and-friend dinners and lunches we’d hosted, the blessed holidays we’d shared with so many of those we love.

My thanksgiving expanded into an internal fire-storm of joy as I realized the blessing of even owning a home that needed cleaning - in a neighborhood that was green and wooded, quiet, sweet, peaceful. As I continued to clean, my vacuum cleaner morphed into a sacred instrument of assignment - caring for what I’d been given with a generous heart, a joyful soul. Who was I to complain about the assignment to care for this home, to steward its rooms and furnishings so that we could bless others within these walls whenever the opportunity arose? How could I not see with clarity that this home, even the dust and cobwebs, was holy ground, a sacramental space in which we were invited to not only grow and love each other, but to bless all those who entered our home. Everything about this house, how we came to buy it, how we came to live here on the Shoreline, how we came to turn it into a sacred dwelling of peace and hospitality - everything about it is blessing and gift.

After we finished re-siding the house several years ago, we decided we wanted to put a plaque, or sign on the front of the house; something that would somehow convey our sense of divine gift about this place, a symbol of God’s blessing and grace poured out on us. After some thought and lots of discussion, we settled on “Our Ebenezer”. In 1 Samuel 7:12, after God had miraculously conquered the Philistines on behalf of the Israelites, Samuel set up a stone where they camped and named it “Ebenezer”, saying that “thus far the Lord has helped us”. Kent and I have shortened that to say “So far, so God”. [1] We’ve acknowledged that this house is pure blessing, pure gift, and we have only God to thank for this sweet place we call home. Whenever I see that simple sign next to my front door, I’m reminded that yes, so far, so God.

I think it’s safe to say that my attitude towards cleaning this home has permanently been altered. Never again (well, I hope never again) will I see cleaning this home as a burden. Rather, I accept that this place, as blessing and gift, is to be stewarded as a sacred instrument of blessing to others; a place of refreshment, of peace, of hospitality and joy. Now? I pray through the rooms as I vacuum. I pray as I clean toilets and scrub shower tiles (or I try to - it’s hard for me to see holiness in scrubbing the more humble parts of my home!) Although I’m sure I won’t always be as overwhelmed with the impact of that holy moment, I’m fairly certain that there has been enough heart-change to last me my remaining years.

This moment was a good reminder that God can reach out and use anything in our lives to change us, to make us holy. Even a vacuum cleaner.

[1] “So far, so God” is a phrase that was first coined (as far as I know) by pastor and writer Mark Batterson, as he explained the naming of their church’s coffee house “Ebenezer’s”.