It was a pretty gutsy thing for
David to say, through the prophet Nathan: “Lord, I want to build you a house.”1
Just imagine: building a house for
God. What ever-loving audacity!
Does David really think for a moment
that the Most High God — creator of the heavens and the earth, chooser of the
chosen people Israel, giver of the Law, maker and keeper of the covenant,
inspirer of the prophets — will submit to confinement within four walls of
mortar and stone?
As David soon learns, setting up shop
in a house — even one richly appointed in marble and cedar and gold — is not
God’s plan at that time.
God’s plan for a dwelling-place
turns out to be stranger and more remarkable than anything David could have
imagined. When the Lord says in response, “I will build you a house,” what God means is that the House of David — not any
building, but the king’s descendants — will become the place where God dwells.2
The Lord rejects the temple of wood and stone, choosing instead the temple of
flesh and blood.
It seems a remarkable choice to us,
because we know how impermanent human flesh is. If you’ve ever visited an old
cemetery — one dating back to before the time of concrete burial vaults — you
know this to be true. The headstones remain — moss-covered, perhaps, the
crispness of their letters softened by the passing seasons — but the ground in
front of them is sunken because, under the ground, the bodies are gone. They’ve
been absorbed by the earth.
The flesh disappears in time, but
the stone is the closest thing to forever, in the human imagination.
Not a trace remains
If you ever have an opportunity to
visit Scotland’s Orkney Islands, you’re likely to visit a Stone Age
archaeological site known as Skara Brae. It’s on UNESCO’s list of World
Heritage Sites.
...approximately 1,838 words remaining. You are not logged in. Please see options at the top of this page to view complete sermon.
