July 19, 2009 - Proper 11, Year B (RCL)
It all began
generations
earlier.
The people of Israel, the people of God
were wandering
in the wilderness,
when God sent them
two tablets of stone
inscribed with the Ten Commandments,
commandments that formed the very core
of their life
and faith.
And to keep those precious
tablets safe,
they built a box,
and decorated it under God’s instructions,
and carried it with them
where ever it went, protecting it
with an elaborate tent.
But as time went on, they discovered
that it held more
than two tablets of stone;
because where the box went. it seemed,
so too
did God.
And the box, the ark, became
identified
with the very presence
of God.
And that made them
both like
and unlike
the tribes around them.
Because most of those people
worshipped gods
who belonged
to particular places.
So this river here, it had a god, and that hill, it had another one;
each village, each tribe
had their own gods.
It would be as if
there were a god for St James,
and maybe Stony Brook,
but go up to Port Jefferson
or down to Commack
and the people there
might worship another god,
pray to it,
and expect it to bless them.
And each of the gods
would be represented by a different idol;
each would have
unique traditions
associated with them.
Gods
were constrained by geography,
and if you went to a different place
you prayed
to a different
god.
The people of Israel’s god,
it was kind of like that
in that God was associated
with a particular place,
except that the place of God
was not a geographic feature
but a box,
and that box
was the ark.
And because it was portable
it meant that the Israelite people
could bring God with them
wherever they went.
And so they brought God with them
through the wilderness
and into the promised land.
At least that’s how they thought of it, though of course,
it wasn’t so much that they brought God along,
but that God brought them.
And as they established themselves
in the land of Canaan, the land that we know
as Israel,
they came to be at war with other tribes.
And in the hope of success
they brought the box, the ark of god
into battle with them.
Hoping
that that meant that God would be with them in battle
and would guarantee them
victory.
But as we heard last week
the ark got captured,
and even when it was returned
it was put in storage for twenty years
until David retrieved it
in a glorious procession
with music and dancing.
And then
perhaps not surprisingly, now that the people were settled in the land,
David decided
to build a permanent home
for the ark,
placed at the very center
of his kingdom,
so that the people would know
that God
was there in the midst of them.
He thought
he was doing the right thing;
he thought
he was honoring God.
But God
wanted none of it.
God was quite happy
with his tent;
David building him an elaborate building
just wasn’t in his plans.
David’s job, according to God,
was to lead his people;
building
could wait
for another
generation.
David will be great
and David will be remembered,
but David’s legacy
will not be
the monuments he builds
but his descendants
and the secure and stable kingdom
that he will build,
a kingdom
that at its core
has the worship of God.
It wasn’t so much that God had a problem with buildings
as that God had other priorities for David.
And God could just see him
getting excited about that temple.
There would be architects to talk to,
stone
to be mined,
masons to hire,
and then carpenters and goldsmiths and weavers,
and it could become
the work of a lifetime;
and maybe
the people
would get lost
in it all,
and maybe even God
would be overshadowed.
It’s always a danger for us human beings.
We like having projects
that are tangible.
Things that are we can see and touch and feel and count.
They’re things we can get a hold of.
And it seems
particularly important to us
when it comes to religion.
When you worship a God
who you can’t see,
it becomes all the more important
to have some kind of physical place
to focus that worship.
And so we build churches,
some of them simple wood structures,
and others gloriously sculpted stone;
some lit by clear glass,
and others telling stories through color and light;
some utilitarian and prosaic,
and others
almost fantastical.
Each of them places
to focus
our worship of God.
But there’s always a danger.
If not quite
to worship the building,
to become so concerned about them
that we lose track of our real focus,
that is God.
I remember when I was a kid, and my father was a member of vestry. He would come home from meetings
frustrated, and saying things like,
“Why can’t we just get rid of all the buildings?”
It wasn’t that the buildings themselves were bad,
just that it took so much energy to keep the 1960s brick veneer intact,
and to stop the wall of colored glass panels from leaking
that the vestry never seemed to get
to anything else
on the agenda.
It’s not that having buildings is wrong. After all, God commanded David’s son Solomon
to build the temple,
and it was elaborate enough
to make it into some of the ancient lists
of the great wonders of the world.
It’s like all good things; they can be corrupted.
And so we need to remember
that our buildings aren’t just an end in themselves;
they are there for a purpose,
to help us worship God, to strengthen our faith.
Its not that we shouldn’t be caring for our buildings - that’s a matter of good stewardship
but the danger is that we’ll do that at the expense of our spiritual life, that we’ll focus on building buildings
rather than building faith.
And at their best
our buildings can actually help us with that.
And maybe we can take a leaf out of God's book.
Because when God talks to David,
he takes the literal building
that David wants to do
and talk about the metaphorical building,
building a people, a people of faith.
So what
This last year
a small group of parishioners
have spent a lot of time and energy
in working on our stained glass windows.
And to preserve them, they’ve installed new protective coverings
made of Lexan,
so that we can continue to see the windows
and be reminded of the stories of our faith that they tell
for many years to come.
Thank you.
What if we take their lead
and apply the same principle
to our own stories of faith.
Are there parts
that we need to reexamine,
clean off so we can see them clearly again,
and then protect
so we won’t lose sight
of what attracted us to Christ
in the first place.
Maybe we need to write them down -
this is how I first remember
meeting God.
And in the last few weeks, a number of people
have worked in our gardens, weeding and tidying up. Thank you.
Are there places in our own lives that need weeding;
perhaps
like in the parable of the sower
our core faith and commitment is still there,
but has become overgrown
with other stuff.
Maybe we need to clear it out, to make some space for God.
Or perhaps it simply needs
a little water.
And sometimes, especially after a lot of rain,
if you go into our basements
you’ll find a kind
of musty
smell.
Sometimes
our faith gets like that, a little mold here,
some dust there,
even some trash
that has been sitting around for decades
pretending to be something that we might need some time, but really just taking up space.
And it needs cleaning off,
And maybe even some parts
need to be discarded,
things we once believed as children
but that don’t really serve us well now as adults.
Because of course,
the truth of it is
that, as the apostle Paul wrote in his letters to the Corinthians,
we, ourselves,
are God’s temple, chosen and precious,
and we, like the building we sit in,
are made
to worship God.
© Raewynne J. Whiteley 2009