one nail at a time

by Joel Bates

​My saw whirred and bit hard into the 2x6 plank, leaving a fresh pine scent wafting in the thin dust.  I laid this final piece of the wall, next to the other studs sitting in orderly rows on the flat, concrete floor.  Checking that each plank was in place, I began blasting framing nails into the wood like a hen pecking at grain—like a very small chicken in a really big farmyard. I pecked away at the overwhelming task of building a house—one cut, one timber, and one nail at a time. 
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I had begun learning the carpentry trade from my brother-in-law when I joined his building crew during the years between being a missionary and a camp director.  I did it for the money, but I learned a valuable skill-set in the process that I still use frequently.  However, the trade really became embedded in my mind when I embarked on building my own home.  It was then that I had to make the decisions, draft the plans, order the materials, and organize a crew. The consequences of my mistakes would cost me personally in dollars and time.  By the end of the two years it took to build that home, I promised myself I’d never do that again, but the passing of time can sometimes cause us to forget all the undesirable aspects of an event and only remember the good results.  The past difficulties blur and become a fond reminiscence of the path to victory.  

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​The other day as I hefted a heavy stud wall into place, one small phase in the long and arduous task of building the new Discovery Ministries staff house, it reminded me with acute retrospection of the challenges in constructing my house--challenges that had previously caused me to swear off being a builder. 
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“How long do you think this will take to build?” asked one of my co-workers. 
I scratched my chin and thought about how we were only finding a few partial days here and there to work on the structure, thought some more about how slow I am as an amateur carpenter, and then considered how the project is being funded a little at a time through the financial overflow of a small, non-profit, Christian wilderness camp. 

“It could take us a while,” I admitted. 

“Who do you think will live here?” the staff member mused as he drove another nail.
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​“Not sure,” I said, wiping sweat from my eyes.  “For now, I guess we’re just preparing for the future.”  

As I worked, I kept thinking about something Jesus said to his disciples while they enjoyed that last supper: ​
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“Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.” (Jn 14:1-3)
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Before Jesus was a rabbi instructing fledgling blue-collar disciples, before He taught the masses and stood toe-to-toe against the Pharisees, before He was Messiah—better said, while He was Messiah—He was a carpenter.  He would know how to “prepare a place.” So, it was with pleasure that I could identify with this Jesus, who could swing a hammer, snap a chalk line, and set a foundation corner.  I also saw why He is described with so much “builder talk.” He is the “Capstone” and the “Cornerstone” and the “Builder” that the prophet Amos saw standing with plumb line and measuring rod.
 
“I go to prepare a place for you.” Remembering the former carpenter made this promise, I considered that I am slowly building and preparing for the next generation of camp staff a “place,” complete with living room, kitchen, bedrooms, bathrooms, and den.  So, I can be a little more understanding as to why it has taken Jesus so long to return.  Building a quality dwelling takes time, and He is preparing a place for us beyond anything we can ask or imagine.

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​I picked up another nail—one of the many it would take to fasten this structure together—and paused to feel its weight and gaze at its significance.  On the night Judas betrayed Jesus into the hands of the Jewish religious rulers and the Roman authorities, He told His disciples He would go prepare a place for them. I now suddenly realized that when Jesus said He would go and prepare a place for us, He actually began laying the foundation that very night—not with a saw blade slicing wood, but with the deep cuts striping His back, a punishment alone that often killed victims of that time.  Then He lifted the wood—the beam called a patibulum or cross, carried it to the worksite, and laid the foundation with His life.  Being a carpenter, Jesus knew how to drive a nail, and He said He would go to prepare a place. So, the first nails driven in the preparation were the ones that went through His hands and feet. 
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I keep returning to our building site, even after mess-ups and miscalculations because I can see progress. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as seeing a wall go up, watching the house take shape, and imagining the potential.  Maybe that’s why when Hebrews 12:2 refers to the cross, it specifies “who for the joy set before Him, [Jesus] endured the cross.”  He was glad to begin the building process then and continue it today in you and me as we are being built into a dwelling place worthy of the Holy Spirit of God.  Like a good house, we are being built one nail at a time.  

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“…you yourselves like living stones are being built up as a spiritual house,
to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to
God through Jesus Christ.”
1Pe 2:5

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