A Dwelling Place

A drawing my niece Natalie made for me.

August 23, 2015

“A Dwelling Place”

1 Kings 8:1, 10-11, 22-30, 41-43

Then Solomon assembled the elders of Israel and all the heads of the tribes, the leaders of the ancestral houses of the Israelites, before King Solomon in Jerusalem, to bring up the ark of the covenant of the Lord out of the city of David, which is Zion.

10 And when the priests came out of the holy place, a cloud filled the house of the Lord, 11 so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud; for the glory of the Lord filled the house of the Lord.

22 Then Solomon stood before the altar of the Lord in the presence of all the assembly of Israel, and spread out his hands to heaven. 23 He said, “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, 24 the covenant that you kept for your servant my father David as you declared to him; you promised with your mouth and have this day fulfilled with your hand. 25 Therefore, O Lord, God of Israel, keep for your servant my father David that which you promised him, saying, ‘There shall never fail you a successor before me to sit on the throne of Israel, if only your children look to their way, to walk before me as you have walked before me.’ 26 Therefore, O God of Israel, let your word be confirmed, which you promised to your servant my father David.

27 “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! 28 Regard your servant’s prayer and his plea, O Lord my God, heeding the cry and the prayer that your servant prays to you today; 29 that your eyes may be open night and day toward this house, the place of which you said, ‘My name shall be there,’ that you may heed the prayer that your servant prays toward this place. 30 Hear the plea of your servant and of your people Israel when they pray toward this place; O hear in heaven your dwelling place; heed and forgive.

41 “Likewise when a foreigner, who is not of your people Israel, comes from a distant land because of your name 42 —for they shall hear of your great name, your mighty hand, and your outstretched arm—when a foreigner comes and prays toward this house, 43 then hear in heaven your dwelling place, and do according to all that the foreigner calls to you, so that all the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you, as do your people Israel, and so that they may know that your name has been invoked on this house that I have built.

Sermon: “A Dwelling Place”

Where does God live?  I’ve been asking myself this question a lot this week, as I pondered our lectionary reading about Solomon dedicating the Temple.  I decided to consult the best theologians I know: my nieces.

“Where does God live?” I asked them over the phone the other day.  Natalie, the 7-year-old, didn’t miss a beat.  “In heaven.”  “Well, what does that look like?” I inquired.

“God’s house is a gingerbread house!  It’s in heaven because heaven is a pretty place.  It’s made of candy, all sorts of colors, and the flowers out front are made of lollypops.  The windows are see-through chocolate shaped like a balloon!  And there’s a bench made out of a chocolate bar. And God’s house has angel wings, so it can fly anywhere.”

I then asked my 5-year-old niece Gigi if God had any neighbors.  The answer came with the matter-of-fact certainty of a child:  “Yes.  A chocolate teddy bear.”

“But God doesn’t eat the neighbor, right?!” I asked, concerned.

“Noooo,” she giggled.

It’s amusing to laugh at the whimsy of such a vision of God’s house, but my favorite theologians showed great wisdom.  They told me that God lives in a place of nourishment, where you get fed (with candy!).  God’s house isn’t a fixed point, but can be wherever we or God need it to be.  God knows the neighbors.  And finally, God’s house is a not a somber, serious place.  God’s house is a place of fun, delight, color and joy!

How sad for us that we grow up and think we learn otherwise.  When we decide “God’s house” the church, is the place where we set agendas, orchestrate orderly worship services, coordinate meetings, organize programs and implement projects.  Where are the whimsy and delight, the color and creativitity?  Where is the understanding of a wild, wonderful God always on the move?

Solomon, in his foolish wisdom and wise foolishness, seemed to, at least for this moment of dedicating the Temple, grasp the wildness of God.  Perhaps that’s why he pretty-pleased God to hear the prayers of people gathered in that temple not once, not twice, but 6 times in the 8^th chapter of 1 Kings.  “When your people who have sinned pray, when they plead with you in this house, when they stretch their hands towards this house, when a foreigner comes here doing the same, then hear in heaven your dwelling place, and forgive.”

If God dwells in heaven, then what is this Temple Solomon and thousands of laborers put so much work into?  Is it a pit-stop for the God of all creation, to come and refuel those gathered there?  Is it a timeshare for God to get away to when heaven grows monotonous?  Is it a place where the holiness of God is contained completely in the prayers, the smells and the bells? 

If God dwells in heaven, then what is the Temple, or the church for that matter?

Guided by my favorite theologians my nieces, I would say this: the church is a place for the whimsical wildness of God to dwell in the weariness of the world.  The church as God’s house is a dwelling place, constantly in motion.  A place of vibrant color and life in a world grown weary with black-and-white harsh realities.

God comes – with joy, not coercion -- and dwells with us here, inclining a listening ear to the prayers of this place.  Maybe that’s why you’re here today, hoping for a glimpse of that divine joy.  Hoping to be heard by your Creator.  Or maybe you’re here today because you need a dwelling place.

A place not to run away, but to actively face the things you’d rather not dwell on, the things we so constantly distract ourselves from.  Perhaps you’re here dwelling on despair for someone you love.  Perhaps you’re here dwelling on the worry that God has left the building (and your life).  Perhaps you’re here dwelling on a long-ago mistake you can’t let go of.  Perhaps you’re here dwelling on your inability to change, no matter how hard you try.  Perhaps you’re here dwelling on the loss of your childlike joy and wonder.  This is the place for that.

This is also the place for another sort of dwelling.  This is where we come to dwell on those things we need to survive this life: to dwell on our imaginations, like my nieces do so naturally.  To dwell on the promises of a wild God, given flesh in Jesus Christ.  Like Solomon the day they dedicated the Temple, we dwell on the power of prayer.  Prayer that does not necessarily change God, but certainly changes our way of perceiving God and the world.  We dwell on the needs of our neighbors near and far, daring to dream that things will change for the better.   We dwell on childlike joy, especially when it seems most ridiculous to do so.  This is the place for that.

The church – like that Temple of Solomon – is meant to be a dwelling place, where God is not contained but is pleased to visit us with grace.   I wonder if we grown-ups have lost touch with that reality.

I mean, what do we tell people “church” – God’s house -- is?

I don’t think we describe it in candy, nor do I think we talk of a teddy bear neighbor. 

We often speak in terms of what happens here, telling people they “should” come here because of this person or that program, this study or that activity.  We think in terms of some sort of spiritual training program for heaven, or a ritual woven into our Sunday morning practices from infancy.  Or we articulate that this is the place to learn the answers, to be told how and what to think and believe, or to really “get” what the Bible is all about.

None of these definitions of church are inherently bad.  But they do have something in common, something this lifelong Presbyterian begrudgingly confesses is often our greatest shortfall when thinking of church:  none of these ideas mention who lives in this house.  God! 

Think about it – how often have you invited someone to church, or spoken about this place, or shared about your faith background, without even mentioning God at all?

We Presbyterians do not, one the whole, mention God very much.  That’s just a fact.  We’ll talk about programs and events, plans and hopes, but you just won’t hear the word “God” thrown in much.  I think we’re afraid of scaring people off with too much God talk.  Or I think we’re afraid that we don’t know what to say about God, because we have some mental picture of perfect faith and we don’t fit it.

And that’s perhaps why people come here expecting a lot of people, a little politics, plenty of committees and meetings.  Or perhaps that’s why people don’t come at all.                 

                                                                                

God is here.  That should be our primary narrative when we share this place with others.  Not the programs.  Not our friends here.  Certainly not the preacher.  Not even the wonderful music.  But God.  God is here!  And that makes all the difference.

Of course God isn’t only here.  God is everywhere.  But this might just be the only place we are open to God in the way we need to be.  The place where we dwell on our difficult moments together in community, praying for joy.   The place where we dream a little – like children, imagining color and sweetness and fun.

God is here.  The rest all matters – the wonderful activities, worship services, Bible studies, music shared, fellowship and care we give one another.  But let’s never forget that this is God’s house, not ours.  And if God lives here, even a little, that means anything is possible.  Maybe even lollypop flowers.  Amen.