An Empty House

Aristotle observed that "nature abhors a vacuum." Cartoonist Gary Larson (The Far Side) once took it to the absurd, implying that maybe nature simply abhors a vacuum cleaner, but I'll go with Aristotle's version for this one.

It's typically true that if we create a space that's empty of everything, including air, then something nearby will be pulled in to fill it. The void doesn't remain unoccupied.

I remember first hearing that phrase years ago and thinking it was merely a reference to science. Later, though, it struck me as something more — an obvious spiritual metaphor hiding in plain sight.

Those of us serious about living rightly can spend a great deal of our energy trying to remove what doesn't belong in our lives. We work to eliminate bad habits and fight recurring temptations. We do our best to silence things like envy, pride, impatience, and maybe apathy. We apologize for words spoken too quickly and resolve to do better next time. For many of us, spiritual life can feel like housecleaning — it's a necessary routine.

But here's something I've observed in my own life. When I've focused more on removing what's wrong instead of simply working to fill the space with what's right, the space doesn't stay empty very long. It's that vacuum thing again. And unless I'm careful, what ends up re-filling the space is likely to be more of what I just shoveled out.

When I attempt to empty myself of anger but don't intentionally cultivate patience, irritation returns under pressure. When I try to eliminate envy but don't practice gratitude, comparison creeps back in through even the smallest of windows. And when I work to rid myself of other undesirable thoughts or actions but neglect prayer, worship, God's word, or service, it's almost as though the old patterns never really left. Vacuums are fast.

The problem isn't that I failed to subtract enough. The problem is that I didn't replace what I removed with something far better.

Holiness can often be misunderstood as mere avoidance — avoid sin, avoid compromise, avoid the obvious pitfalls. But God's word consistently describes something more active. We aren't only told to "put off" the old self; we're told to "put on" the new (Ephesians 4:22–24). It's both removal and renewal.

Jesus, of course, offers us perhaps the clearest picture in Matthew 12:43–45. He describes an unclean spirit leaving a person, wandering, and then returning to find the house "empty, swept, and put in order." And finding it unoccupied, it brings others along with it. The house ends up worse than before. It was clean. But it was also empty.

The warning is clear. Emptiness wasn't really a victory.

Many of us, if we're honest, try to live mostly by focusing on subtraction. We measure progress by what we no longer do. We congratulate ourselves for negative thoughts or behaviors left behind. Yet, if we aren't actively filling our lives with God's presence, the space we cleared remains vulnerable.

Just as in nature, spiritual vacuums don't stay vacant.

This is why attuning ourselves to God isn't a passive exercise. It's not simply waiting for Him to act while we attempt to maintain neutrality. It's an intentional turning of the heart through daily exposure to what's good and true. It's worship, especially when we don't feel like worshiping. And it's serving, even when doing so isn't convenient.

Think of it as not just emptying ourselves of darkness but inviting in light. Light occupies space, and it's also very fast (186,282 miles per second).

There's a noticeable performance edge between individuals simply trying not to sin and those who are deeply filled with God's Spirit. The first group will tend to be tense, guarded, cautious. The second group is more likely to be less reactive — not because they're necessarily stronger, but because they're already filled.

Where God's Spirit is actively welcomed, there's less room for lesser things.

Temptation will never be completely absent, and struggles can still happen. But the house is no longer empty. Our hearts aren't hollow, and our minds are neither idle nor fixated on the wrong stuff. Our souls are no longer vacant territory waiting for the nearest influence to claim them.

When we fill our days with prayer and let God's word shape our thinking, the space within us becomes increasingly aligned with His Spirit. And when our house is filled with Him, there's just no more room in the inn.

Again, holiness isn't achieved by subtraction alone. It grows through the addition of goodness. So, the key question isn't only "What am I removing?" It's, "What am I inviting in?"

Something always fills the space. Remember your vacuum.