A House Not Made with Human Hands

Meditation on John 14 and Second Corinthians 5:1-9

In Memory of John H. Davidsen

November 27, 1927 to November 22, 2024

Pastor Karen Crawford

December 1, 2024

John Davidsen was a builder by trade and calling, a master carpenter. He learned his skills by working alongside his Norwegian immigrant father, his Uncle Dan, and his brother, Alfred. They built houses and churches across Long Island. He eventually became employed with Nastasi White in New York City and took great pride in having helped remodel Carnegie Hall, The Museum of Natural History, and the Cornell University Alumni Center.

He didn’t expect to follow in his father’s footsteps. He had other hopes and dreams.

He was born on November 27, 1927, in Brooklyn—two years before the Wall Street crash. The Great Depression would shape his formative years and his character, personality, and life experiences. Difficult times made him realize what was important in life—family, friendships, faith. He was a calm man, courageous and confident. An explorer and adventurer. He always had a smile. Maybe the most amazing thing that I heard about John was that he rode a bicycle, when he was 13 or 14, from Brooklyn to Baltimore with his best friend, Ralph. Although they did see a movie in Baltimore, the journey itself, including the friend he was with, was likely the reason for traveling and not just the destination.

The third of four children born to Harriet and John Davidsen was a hard worker from his youth. He was willing to work where he could find it and people trusted him to do a good job—setting up pins in a bowling alley, working for a dry cleaner, selling flowers, and assisting at a printing press. The printing press job led to his pursuit of education, training, and graduation in June 1945 from the New York School of Printing in Manhattan, now the High School of Graphic Communication Arts.

But John wanted to serve his country, help with the war effort, and see the world. When he turned 18 later in 1945, he enlisted in the U.S. Navy. Aboard the Destroyer USS Mayrant, DD-402, he traveled to Bikini Atoll, a coral reef in the Marshall Islands, arriving at the end of May 1946. The Mayrant was designated as a test ship for Operation Crossroads, the 1946 atomic bomb tests. John would witness the first underwater nuclear bomb detonation. Afterward, John boarded the destroyer USS Chevalier, DD-805, toured the Western Pacific, and spent time moored off China. He saw parts of the country before the culmination of the Communist Revolution and “The People’s Republic” in 1949. He was stationed in Hawaii before it became our 50th state, when it was still wild and beautiful, before it was all built up.

The good natured, optimistic man met the love of his life, Eleanor Benes, on a blind date. They were married on Nov. 7, 1953. John drove Eleanor to California for their honeymoon to see his pal, Ralph, who couldn’t make it to the wedding. I imagine the journey there and back was a great adventure, perhaps as much fun as the destination.

John and Eleanor rented an apartment in Manhattan in their first years of marriage. But they saved up and bought the property in Massapequa in 1956. John worked every Saturday for 18 months, with the help of family and friends, building their dream home in which they would live out their lives together. They would make many memories and raise three children there—John, Nancy, and Robert.

The children were baptized and confirmed at St. David’s Lutheran Church in Massapequa. Sundays remained “family days” for many years, while Saturdays would be days that John did side jobs for extra money, with the help of his buddy Ryan. Growing up, the three children remember how their father never raised his voice, never lost his temper, never argued with his wife, and always carved out time for family vacations. This was despite the fact that when he took off from work, he didn’t get paid. He and Eleanor wanted the kids to see and learn about the world around them. They piled in the car, and he drove them to Maine and Montreal and down south to visit museums and battlefields.

When their children were grown, John was happy to spend Saturdays fixing and making improvements on his children’s homes. He inspected and knew his wood, could spot the “keepers” and the ones from Lowes or Home Depot that were “no good.” What he built, he built to last. He worked long hours for his family, sometimes 12 hours at a time, and took pride in his work. Nothing was done halfway. Nothing was just good enough.

The apostle Paul, in his second letter to the Corinthians, uses the analogy of building when he talks about life and death, and everlasting life in the glory that is to come. We live in earthly tents now—not just wood and bricks and mortar homes, but flesh and blood bodies that God created for us to live in the loving ways that God has ordained. These earthly tents are, as Paul says, wasting away, as we age. Paul often complained about his physical problems, partially due to the persecution and imprisonment he experienced as a church planter and ambassador for Christ.

Some people assume that our mortal bodies didn’t matter that much to Paul, but that isn’t true. He is just trying to give us hope in our trials, lift us out of the stress and darkness of our world and see the bright hope of what is to come. But he also wants to strengthen us by giving us a vision of what is possible right now, when we walk by faith and don’t just live by sight. You see, each of us are already fully clothed with the Holy Spirit.

Paul describes our existence in this earthly tent as a kind of groaning, while we long for suffering, pain, and hardship to end and yearn for the promise of God to be fulfilled—our resurrection with Christ. One day, we will have new bodies and will be “further clothed with our heavenly dwelling,” so that “what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.”

Please understand that Paul isn’t saying anything bad about people who build houses on earth—houses made with human hands. In fact, Paul was a tentmaker by trade, and people often lived in and traveled long distances by staying in tents along the way.

Jesus, too, was a carpenter who learned his trade from his earthly father. Jesus uses the language of building houses and preparing rooms when he seeks to encourage his disciples when his life on earth was near the end and the cross was in the road ahead. In John 14, Jesus tells his followers and all of us that he is going to prepare a place for them, for us, in his Father’s House of many rooms. And he will come again and take us there, so that where he is, we will always be with him.

On this day, when we celebrate John Davidsen’s wonderful life, let us remember that the earthly tents that we live in—our miraculous bodies—are also beautiful gifts from a loving God, who is with us always in Spirit. This is a God who has made his home with mortals. We are not alone here. And what we see is not all there is.

John, who witnessed amazing things in his nearly 97 years, with all his journeys across the country and around the world, always knew what was important. And it wasn’t the destinations. It was the journey itself and the people who shared it with him.

He lost the love of his life on April 24, 1998, after a long battle with cancer.

Every Sunday continued to be Family Day after that, when she exchanged her earthly tent for her forever dwelling place. A building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.

Every Sunday, he drove to the cemetery to visit with Eleanor. Then, he would spend time with his children and grandchildren, eating Chinese takeout at the home he dreamed of and built long ago in Massapequa, on Saturdays, with the help from family and friends.

He slipped away to eternity, holding on to his youngest son’s hand, on November 22, leaving us to remember his stories, his love, his goodness and generosity, his ever present smile and ready tool box and miter saws. And his way of never doing anything halfway. Nothing just good enough. How he always said how he never had any regrets. And his advice to his daughter, Nancy, when her husband, Kevin, left this world too soon, “You’ll never stop missing him. But the pain won’t be as sharp.”

I leave you now with the encouraging words of our Savior, who has prepared a place for each of us to live with him, in His Father’s house of many rooms.

^“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

Amen.