More Than This Room

(This sermon is from a future collection, the Shaw Ranch Sermons – second edition. All intensive purposes are copyrighted by Jared Shaw)

 

 

Our Relation to Heaven and Conversing with Non‑Believers

 

Introduction

There are moments in life when a simple story can open our eyes to a deeper truth. A truth about faith, about eternity, and about the unseen world that surrounds us. For years, people have used parables to explain the mysteries of heaven to those who struggle to believe. Today, I want to share a story that carries that same weight, a story that mirrors our own conversations with non‑believers, and even the quiet doubts we sometimes carry ourselves.

It is a story about two lanterns in a lighthouse. A story about faith, doubt, and the reality of a world beyond our own.

 

The Lantern Room

Deep inside an old lighthouse, in a room no larger than a closet, two lanterns hung side by side. They had never known anything except the small circle of stone walls around them. Their world was the room, the chains that held them, and the faint drafts that slipped through the cracks.

One lantern, older and worn, often wondered aloud if there was something beyond the stone. “I think we were made for more than this,” it said. “I feel warmth sometimes… a glow that isn’t mine. I think there’s a Keeper out there. Someone who lit us in the begging.”

The newer lantern scoffed. “A Keeper? Don’t be ridiculous. No one has ever come through that door. No one has ever spoken to us. This room is all there is. We hang here, we burn until our oil runs out, and then we go dark. That’s the truth.”

“But what if the door opens someday?” the older lantern asked. “What if we’re taken outside? What if there’s wind, and sky, and a purpose we can’t imagine yet?”

“That’s impossible,” the younger lantern snapped. “We can’t shine without these chains. We can’t stand without this hook. And what would we even light? These walls are all we’ve ever known. If there is an outside it is nothing but darkness that would snuff us out.”

The older lantern flickered thoughtfully. “Sometimes, when the room is quiet, I feel a hand on my frame. I feel someone adjusting my wick. I feel warmth that isn’t my own flame. I think the Keeper is here even when we can’t see Him.”

The younger lantern rattled in frustration. “If this Keeper exists, where is He? Why doesn’t He show Himself? Why doesn’t He speak?”

“He does,” the older lantern whispered. “In the warmth you feel but can’t explain. In the way your flame never dies even when your oil should have run out already. In the way the room brightens when you’re afraid that your time has come and you are moments away from going dark. You just have to be still long enough to notice.”

The younger lantern fell silent.

One night, a storm rolled in. Waves crashed against the lighthouse. Wind howled through the cracks. The lanterns swayed violently on their chains.

Then, for the first time since light was breathed into them, the door opened.

A flood of cold air rushed in. A massive hand reached through the darkness and lifted the older lantern from its hook.

The younger lantern panicked. “Where are you going? What’s happening? Come back! You’ll be destroyed out there!”

But the older lantern only glowed brighter. “I told you,” it said gently. “There is more than this room. The Keeper is real. And He’s taking me where my light is needed.”

The door closed.

The younger lantern hung alone in the dark, trembling. But for the first time, it wondered if the warmth it felt was not its own flame… and if the Keeper had been there all along, unseen tending to his works. All the while keeping the lanterns alive until their purpose was at hand.

 

Our Relation to Heaven

This parable mirrors our own spiritual journey. We are the lanterns, living in a world that feels small, limited, and often dark. We cannot see beyond the walls of this life, and yet something inside us whispers that there is more — a world beyond the door, a Keeper who tends to us even when we cannot see Him.

Scripture tells us:

James 1:19 (NIV)

19 My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry,

When we slow down, when we listen, when we quiet the noise of our fears and frustrations, we begin to sense God’s presence. We see Him in the gentle breeze, in the deer that steps out of the brush, in the daisy pushing through a crack of a sidewalk, in the rainbow after a storm. We feel Him in the warmth that is not our own flame.

He is the Keeper. He is the One who lit us. He is the One who opens the door when our time comes and calls us according to our purpose.

And like the older lantern, we trust that there is more than this room.

 

Talking to Non‑Believers

When we speak with those who do not believe, we must remember that many of them feel like the younger lantern. They see only the walls around them. They trust only what they can touch. They have never seen the Keeper, so they assume He is not there.

Our role is not to argue them into faith. Our role is not to force the door open for them. Our role is to be patient, gentle, and honest.

 

Mark 4:26-29 (NIV)

26 He also said, “This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground.

27 Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how.

28 All by itself the soil produces grain—first the stalk, then the head, then the full kernel in the head.

29 As soon as the grain is ripe, he puts the sickle to it, because the harvest has come.”

 

We are to plant the seed, then wait for god to grow it in his purpose.

 

Scripture also reminds us:

Job 5:9 (NIV) “He performs wonders that cannot be fathomed, miracles that cannot be counted.”

 

Faith is not built on winning debates. Faith is built on quiet moments, lived experiences, and the gentle presence of God. Our faith is our ability to feel the warmth that is not our own. Our knowledge that there is something that feeds our fire.

 

When speaking to non‑believers:

We listen. We share our own experiences — the moments when God adjusted our wick, steadied our flame, or warmed us when we should have gone dark. We invite them to reflect on their own unexplained moments. We remain patient, knowing that faith grows in God’s timing, not ours.

We must lean not on our own understanding, but have faith in He who sends us. To know that he is there even if we cannot see him. We must believe that he will call us to our purpose. We must have faith that when he places us next to a dimming light we are there to shine and help our brothers and sisters to shine with us. To keep the flame bright. Regardless of there own understanding.

 

John 13: 34 and 35 (NIV)

34 “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.

35 By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

 

If we love our neighbor then we must share our light with them. Let our belief be a beacon for them to fallow and show them your faith and good deeds so they may learn and grow.

We plant the seed. God grows the tree.

 

Conclusion

Christ calls us to bring His light into the world, even when the world doubts the Keeper’s existence.

 

Mark 16:15 (NIV)

15 He said to them, “Go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation.”

 

Some people will be like the younger lantern — skeptical, frustrated, convinced that the room is all there is, broken in spirit and flame do to there own chains and limited view of the world.

However, if we remain steady, gentle, and patient, our light may be the warmth that helps them sense the Keeper for the first time. Christ calls us to be fishers of man, it is our light that leads others to his temple. May we be the lighthouse the need, guiding them from the rocky shores. Showing them the way to the creator.

Even on stormy nights. Even when the wind howls and the world starts to shake, now your purpose. As a Christian you are a light in the dark. Meant to guide all those who cannot see.

And when the door finally opens for us, we will step into a world far brighter than anything we could imagine — carried by the One who patiently tended our flame.