The Parable of Lucas

Once upon a time, there was a young man who dreamed more than anything of having a house that he could call his own.

As a young lad, he had spent his time peering into the windows of all manner of houses, some mansions, some little more than shacks, but all with their own charm and beauty.

By the time he had become an educated adult and become a skilled architect, he held dreams of a home that most thought impossible to build.

He dreamt of a home that would be grandiose and spectacular like a new home, yet constructed on the same classic principles of the old homes from the golden years of architecture

He spent many years honing his skills building other houses to make a living. Some satisfied his patrons, others didn’t, but none could measure up to his dream.

At last the blueprints were completed and he found the opportunity to make his vision a reality. He looked far and wide for the best materials, assembled the most skilled carpenters and masons, and found the most solid foundation he could.

Construction was hard and fraught with difficulties. The young man’s allies struggled against their friend’s incredible expectations, and once or twice it seemed the house would not be completed at all. Needless to say, not everything turned out exactly as the young man had envisioned.

Yet the house was completed. The young man weeped for the potential that had not been achieved, and prayed and prayed that his friends and family would not mock his failures.

But when he opened his new home to those he loved, they were utterly stunned. Architecture of the past combined with new innovations and conveniences that seemed futuristic. They didn’t just love the home, they had to share it. They invited their friends to see it, who had to bring friends of their own, and so on until it became the most envied house in the whole land.

And it was good.

Over the years he enjoyed such praise and adoration, that he felt he should give back to those who had supported him, and set about improving the house.

Certain ideas were still unattainable due to limits in technology and craftsmanship, but he was able to bring his home much closer to what he had envisioned, and new collaborators in the construction brought ideas to the home he could have never dreamed of.

And it was very good.

All throughout the land people came to love the man who had built such an incredible house, and they came to expect more improvements in due time.

Tired from the work he had done and planned to continue, the man consented, but declared this would be the last time he would do a full renovation.

When the final renovation was complete, there was a tacky knick knack or two on display, but the improvements were still legitimate and the house still had the same heart and soul.

And it was still good.

And so, the man declared his work done. As the years rolled by, and the man grew older, there was some landscaping and such done, but no serious renovations as there had been when the house was new.

Yet still there was longing in the old man’s heart. Longing to achieve the conveniences and grandeur he had envisioned that were becoming increasingly more possible with the passage of time. And longing to receive the recognition he had when he was the young man who had built the world’s greatest home.

The people gathered around the house again in great numbers to witness something most odd; the house was being repainted! And though the paint was tacking and garish, the people oohed and ahhed at the spectacle and the novelty and they began to whisper, and the whispers matured into rumors as they flew through the air.

“Do you think he’ll do another renovation?”

Little did they know what the old man really had in mind.

Shortly after the paint had settled and the crowds were coming to see, the old man made a truly shocking announcement: he would not merely do a renovation, he would build a whole other house! A new foundation and a new plan which he could have complete control over and create using all the greatest techniques and technologies of the modern age.

There was much rejoicing among those who admired him.

The old man set to work. He gathered the newest materials, and found a very different foundation, and laid out the blue prints with haste, eager to begin.

And because he no longer had to put up with limits in technology, he chose not to put up with limits in people. No longer would anyone tell him what he could not do, what he should not do. This would truly be his house, unhampered by those who did not share his vision.

So he set out building, no voice telling him what could not be done, no material or device preventing him from building everything to his specifications.

Everything was included. And yet something was missing.

He could tell something was not there, yet he could not tell what. After all, he had accomplished everything he had imagined using modern machines and techniques.

He wrote it off as nerves. He made it known that the house was ready to be seen. He gathered everyone around.

He opened the door.

And it was not good.

In fact, it was quite awful.

No one was prepared. Least of all the old man.

The new fantastic rooms were superfluous and overly grandiose, built with no true purpose. The paints were all in bright colors with no thought given to interior decoration or design. The appliances and stairways and amenities were fabulous yes, but poorly organized.

It was an innovative, fascinating, epically constructed home.

That no one would ever want to live in. That no one could bear to stay in for more than an hour or so.

The old man was crushed.

But he was not defeated.

Just as before he made renovations, a grand two staged renovation that would return the home to its former glory.

He researched what others would want to see in a home, and added a room for every aspect he discovered. He brought in every bit of new technology he might have held back on to make sure his home was completely modern. He left no chance that the home could still be bad.

And it was still bad.

Both renovations brought somewhat better design, though even these improvements were slight. Both renovations brought huge crowds, though they were like viewers at a fire works show; only there for a momentary spectacle, not clawing at the door for the comfort of a home, even one they could not stay in forever.

Neither renovation could build a home that could compare with the joys still to be found in the old one, oddly painted as it now was.

This infuriated the old man to no end; how?! How could they still love that old house so much? That old house of the past that could not measure up to his vision; that old house that others had imposed their disagreements on; that old house that had been such a nightmare to build.

That old house that the old man had poured his heart and soul into when he had been a young man. That old house that he had built by finding clever ways around the limitations of the time it was built in. That old house whose challenges had made its charm.

That old house that didn’t have the newest layout, the best technology, the most grandiose architecture, or the perfect collection of rooms to impress absolutely everyone.

That old house that had aging wood, and scars from all who had passed by within it, and where one could look really hard and find a bug or two on the wall.

That old house, that for as imperfect as it may have looked, felt new in spite of its age, felt comfortable in spite of its scratchy sheets and worn carpets, felt immaculate in spite of the grime that could not be washed off.

That old house that felt like a home.

How could an old home beat a new house?