Over the millennia, people have prayed to God from many different places. Moses seemed to prefer the top of a mountain, Jesus is said to have gone off to a “lonely place” to pray. Incredible efforts have been invested in building monasteries and cathedrals to be places of prayer. I know that God shows no preference in listening to prayers. The prayers uttered from urban slums and remote locations are as honored as are the prayers uttered from pulpits and places of power. I have prayed in many different locations. When I was a teen and a young adult, I had a preference for our church camp in the Mountains in south central Montana. When we lived in Chicago, I was probably more at home walking along the lakeshore as in the big urban churches. Our seminary had a small chapel that was a favorite place of mine, but I also learned to pray from our tiny apartment and even the cubicles in the library. Location doesn’t matter very much when you are praying.

The somewhat recent revival of some Celtic traditions has brought with it an increased awareness of thin spaces, where it seems that one is closer to God than other locations. God, of course, is equally close no matter where the prayer originates. God is with those who are in prison and those who make pilgrimages to places of prayer. But we humans are not always equally aware of God’s presence and action in our lives. Sometimes going to a special place to pray can increase our awareness of God.

Yesterday afternoon I slipped down to the basement of our church for my prayers.

Our church is mostly built on one level. Our basement is partial, under just a bit of the building. It was constructed specifically to contain mechanical systems to support the building. One large room contains the air handlers for the heating systems for the sanctuary and fellowship hall. Around the edges are some shelves that provide a bit of storage and a few areas where we can place items that are temporarily not in use. The second room in our basement is the boiler room. Our building is heated with a single large boiler that is placed in its own room with thick concrete walls that would contain any possible explosion from a situation of over pressure in the boiler. The boiler is equipped with all kinds of safety mechanisms to prevent an explosion and is inspected annually, so there is little danger, but the room was constructed to comply with building codes and sports a large red shutoff button outside the steel door. The boiler room can be accessed through a doorway from the other room in our basement or through a steel exterior door that leads to a set of outdoor stairs.

Along the wall in the boiler room is a small work bench with a chair. There is a toolbox under the bench and a pegboard with a clutter of hand tools, wires, tape and other items. A utility sink is next to the workbench and there is a cabinet with small drawers for tiny parts and shelve filled with all kinds of repair items from parts for the outdoor sprinkler systems to plumbing fittings and electrical boxes. There is even a small rocker-recliner sitting on the bare concrete floor. It is rather typical of a church basement and reminds me a great deal of the basement work area that I occupied when I was the janitor-handyman in a city church in Chicago while I attended seminary. It is just the right balance of clutter and organization, comfort and utility.

For years we have called that part of the room “Dick’s office.” Over the years that I have served as pastor a string of dedicated volunteers have spend countless hours in that space working on projects and organizing the general maintenance of the boiler, air handlers, pumps and motors that keep our building going. It has been the place of Reuben and Oscar and many others. But in recent years it has been Dick’s office. Dick often would come to volunteer at the church most days of the week. On Mondays when our administrator is often the only employee in the building, Dick would stop by the office for coffee and a chat. He’d drop by my office at least once a week to explain something that needed repair, ask for authorization for a small expenditure, or seek advice on funding a more major project.

Dick was a “doer.” I often would find him digging in the church yard to repair sprinklers when I arrived at the church on a summer morning. I often get to the church early, but it wasn’t unusual to find Dick hard at work before 7 am. Dick volunteered for all kinds of mission projects and work days and other adventures. One of the treasures of my memory are the trips that I took with Dick in my pickup to deliver firewood. I especially enjoyed driving home from Wanblee through the badlands with Dick. He had worked as a telephone installer and he knew where every dirt road in the region led and had stories of the people who lived there and the challenges of providing telephone service to people in remote and isolated locations.

I didn’t sit in the soft char as I prayed yesterday, though I know it would have invited me. I chose, instead, a small metal stool, salvaged from a rummage sale, sitting by the wall. Sometimes I used to sit on that stool and talk to Dick while he sat in the other chair. He would occasionally take a short nap in that chair, but was rather embarrassed if I came down and found him sleeping. Dick’s hearing aids didn’t always work properly and I occasionally unintentionally surprised him.

An aggressive and fast-acting cancer ended Dick’s life yesterday after a period of intense pain and discomfort. He simply got to the point where his body wouldn’t let him go on any longer. It happened faster than we expected and caught us a bit off guard.

Sometimes the best way to feel close to God is to go to the places that we associate with those whose lives have been received by God as complete. There is no doubt in my mind that Dick’s office is a holy place and as good a place for prayer as the fanciest chapel. I don’t expect many brides will chose it as the location for their weddings, but it would be a great place for a men’s Bible study.

Sometimes the strange ideas that come to my mind are just that: strange ideas. Sometimes they are the seeds of new life that God is planting. I think I’ll do some more praying form Dick’s office in the days and weeks to come.

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