I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked.
I am a doorkeeper every Friday at church from 12 to 1. So I can identify with this verse of Psalm 84.
Each Friday I welcome visitors at the front door of the church. They are from France, Italy, Germany, Brooklyn or the neighborhood. They are all looking for something — a beautiful church, spiritual comfort, or simply a place to sit and warm up and use their iPhones. Sometimes I can give them information on Voices of Ascension concerts, or about the location of another church (St. Joseph’s, Pompeii, etc.). They frequently want to know what kind of church this is. Catholic? I say “Episcopal.” If they say “what’s that?” I say it’s like Catholic but without the pope. And, of course, we can have a female rector. I silently think that we have better coffee hours than the Catholics. (I visited a Catholic coffee hour recently. There was no host/ess. The hot water container wasn’t dispensing properly, so we couldn’t dissolve our hot chocolate packets. They did have good cookies, though!)
Before I get too petty, I want to say that it is a privilege to be a doorkeeper, and I encourage others to volunteer to do the same.