I stand by the door.
I neither go too far in, nor
stay too far out,
The door is the most important
door in the world—
It is the door through which
people walk when they find God.
There's no use my going way
inside, and staying there,
When so many are still outside
and they, as much as I,
Crave to know where the door
is.
And all that so many ever find
Is only the wall where a door
ought to be.
They creep along the wall like
blind people,
With outstretched, groping hands.
Feeling for a door, knowing
there must be a door,
Yet they never find it ...
So I stand by the door.
The most tremendous thing in
the world
Is for people to find that door—the
door to God.
The most important thing any
person can do
Is to take hold of one of those
blind, groping hands,
And put it on the latch—the
latch that only clicks
And opens to the person's own
touch.
People die outside that door,
as starving beggars die
On cold nights in cruel cities
in the dead of winter—
Die for want of what is within
their grasp.
They live, on the other side
of it—live because they have not found it.
Nothing else matters compared
to helping them find it,
And open it, and walk in, and
find Him ...
So I stand by the door.
Go in, great saints, go all the
way in—
Go way down into the cavernous
cellars,
And way up into the spacious attics—
It is a vast roomy house, this
house where God is.
Go into the deepest of hidden
casements,
Of withdrawal, of silence, of
sainthood.
Some must inhabit those inner
rooms.
And know the depths and heights
of God,
And call outside to the rest
of us how wonderful it is.
Sometimes I take a deeper look
in,
Sometimes venture in a little
farther;
But my place seems closer to
the opening ...
So I stand by the door.
There is another reason why I
stand there.
Some people get part way in
and become afraid
Lest God and the zeal of His
house devour them
For God is so very great, and
asks all of us.
And these people feel a cosmic
claustrophobia,
And want to get out. "Let me
out!" they cry,
And the people way inside only
terrify, them more.
Somebody must be by the door
to tell them that they are spoiled
For the old life, they have
seen too much:
Once taste God, and nothing
but God will do any more.
Somebody must be watching for
the frightened
Who seek to sneak out just where
they came in,
To tell them how much better
it is inside.
The people too far in do not
see how near these are
To leaving—preoccupied with
the wonder of it all.
Somebody must watch for those
who have entered the door,
But would like to run away.
So for them, too,
I stand by the door.
I admire the people who go way
in.
But I wish they would not forget
how it was
Before they got in. Then they
would be able to help
The people who have not, yet
even found the door,
Or the people who want to run
away again from God,
You can go in too deeply, and
stay in too long,
And forget the people outside
the door.
As for me, I shall take my old
accustomed place,
Near enough to God to hear Him,
and know He is there,
But not so far from people as
not to hear them,
And remember they are there,
too.
Where? Outside the door—
Thousands of them, millions
of them.
But—more important for
me—
One of them, two of them, ten
of them,
Whose hands I am intended to
put on the latch.
So I shall stand by the door
and wait
For those who seek it.
"I had rather be a door-keeper
..."
So I stand by the door.
Sam Shoemaker, founder of
Faith At Work at Calvary Episcopal Church in New York City, in 1926, was
also one of the spiritual leaders who helped draft the 12 Steps of A.A.