August 23, 2009 - Proper 16, Year B (RCL)
It had been seven
long years.
Seven years
since the foundation stone had been laid,
and years, even generations
before that
of hoping and dreaming and planning.
But finally
the time had come.
The temple was compete.
It was a temple like none other they had seen, a temple
that would glorify God
and bring glory
to the nation.
Ninety feet long and 30 feet wide and 45 feet high,
something close
to the size of our church.
The stone for the foundation and walls had been quarried in the hill county;
the floor was made of cypress
imported from Lebanon,
and the cedar panelling on the walls came from there too.
It was elaborately carved, with gourds and flowers,
cherubim and palm trees,
and every inch
was overlaid
with gold.
There were bronze pillars for the entryway, adorned with nets and leaves and lilies and pomegranates,
and a ceremonial bath that stood
on the backs of twelve statues of oxen,
and ten bronze stands,with lions and oxen and cherubim carved into their sides,
and wreaths over them,
supported by wheels
and cherubim and lions and palm trees all along the top edge.
And more brass, basins and pots and shovels.
And ten golden lamp stands
leading the way
to the two golden doors
that opened
into the inner sanctuary.
And there, two cherubim,
fifteen feet high,
made of olive wood,
stood watch over the cedar altar,
and all of them
leafed
with gold.
And beside the golden altar, a golden table for the bread of the Presence,
and flowers, lamps, and tongs of gold; the cups, snuffers, basins, dishes for incense, and firepans, of gold.
And it shone so brightly
that you could barely look at it,
brighter than fire,
and that was before
they brought the ark of the covenant
the ark of the Lord
up from the tent
that had housed it for generations
into its place
under the wings
of the cherubim.
And when they placed it there
suddenly the gold dimmed
and the temple was filled with cloud
and they remembered the stories
of the wilderness
when God went before them in fire and cloud,
and they knew
that God was there.
And in the end
that was all that mattered.
Because none of the beauty
would have meant a thing
unless God
had deigned
to be present.
This was the place
where the people
could be sure to meet God.
And so it was with something like a sigh of relief
that the people there to see the ark
put in its rightful place, it was with something like a sigh of relief
that they saw that cloud of the presence
and heard the voice of Solomon
lifted up
in prayer.
“O LORD, God of Israel, there is no God like you in heaven above or on earth beneath, keeping covenant and steadfast love for your servants who walk before you with all their heart”
But then
they heard something
that came as a shock.
Solomon continued his prayer,
“But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built!”
Surely Solomon
had got it wrong.
Hadn’t they all worked
these last seven years
to build this temple, a dwelling place for God,
and now Solomon
was suggesting
that God wouldn’t dwell there at all?
But that wasn’t quite
was Solomon was saying.
He wasn’t saying
that God wouldn’t be there,
just that their God couldn’t be restricted to this place.
God couldn’t be contained. Not by the temple;
not even by the whole
of heaven and earth.
And yet, and yet
this place, this place
was one to which God chose to attend.
God chose to be present
to those who sought him
in the temple.
It was a paradox.
The God who can’t be contained
was peculiarly present
in this place.
And that’s one of those things
that hasn’t changed
in the last three thousand or so years.
God can not be contained, God cannot be restricted.
Even heaven and earth
are not big enough
to hold God.
And yet, God chooses
to come near,
to be accessible
in certain places,
so that we human beings,
who can’t help but be present
in just one place and one time
can come and meet God.
Many people call those places, places where God
is known to have been present, thin places.
Sometimes
people talk about having discovered a thin place.
Thin places
are those places
where earth and heaven
seem to be especially near,
where it seems
that instead of a vast gulf
separating us from God
its more like a thin membrane.
Some places are wild and lonely,
the cave of St Kevin tucked into the cliffside
beside the lake at Glendalough,
the holy islands of Iona and Lindisfarne,
the mountain of Croagh Patrick in western Ireland
and the small city of St David in Wales.
Others are buildings,
the tiny church of St Peter on the Wall at Bradwell in Essex,
built by St Cedd in 654,
the glorious stained glass and soaring arches of the Cathedral of St John the Divine in New York
and National Cathedral in Washington,
and the more humble glories
of ordinary parish churches
like here in St James.
And some times
the thin places
are not thin places at all,
but experiences,
the birth of a child,
the hush of the final breath in death,
when we know
beyond all doubt
that God is present.
And of course the thinnest place of all
is Jesus Christ.
Because there, in the language of the first letter to the Colossians,
in the person of Jesus Christ, the fullness of God
was pleased to dwell.
In Christ, God is fully, wholly
present.
But because Christ is incarnate
in ordinary human flesh,
that unique presence of God,
that thinnest place
was limited.
We can’t go back in time
to meet God
in Jesus Christ
face to face.
And so Jesus gave us another thin place.
The Eucharist, the body and blood of Christ.
We don’t get to meet God
in that thinnest of places
that is Jesus Christ
and yet we do.
Each and revery time
we come to receive the Eucharist
we get to meet God
as close as we can gat.
Not because God can only be found here
but because God has promised
to be here in a unique and particular way.
This bread, this wine;
God is here.
But it doesn’t end here.
The whole point of the temple
was to be a sign to the whole world, to all peoples
that God is God
and to be worshipped.
And bread and wine
can only go so far in that.
And so God chose
to be present in the world
in yet another way.
Not just in a temple,
not just in Jesus Christ,
but in each and every one of us.
When Jesus ascended
God sent his spirit,
and our bodies,
ourselves, these hands and feet,
we
are the temples of God.
God dwells in us.
And like Jesus Christ
we ourselves
become thin places
when we allow God
to shine through us.
And this Saturday
we will come
full circle.
This Sunday
our congregation
will join many others
in building a house - well part of one, anyway.
It won’t be a temple,
or a church;
it’s not a house
designed specifically
for the presence of God,
and yet we know
that God will be there.
God will be there in the temples
of the bodies
of those of us who build it.
And God will be there
in the prayers of those of you
who can’t be there to build, but can pray,
not just for us,
but for the family who will eventually live there.
We pray
that it will be a place
of safety and peace
and security for the people who will live in it, we pray
that they will know the presence of God there among them.
And now,
now we turn our hearts and eyes
back to the presence of God,
to the presence of God
whom we know in this place,
and who we meet and receive
in the body and blood
of our Savior
Jesus
Christ.
© Raewynne J. Whiteley 2009