by Fred G. Garry - July 23, 2000
Texts: 2 Samiel 7:1-13 and Ephesians 2:11-22 I have two young girls who share a
room in my house. Now the nature of their cohabitation falls
to such reasons as gender, age, and need. For although our home
is not small, there is not an unlimited supply of rooms to choose
from. If there were I grant you it would be a short order before
the two of them would seek a room marked by solitude. Now, on
the whole, this arrangement works. From time to time, though,
we are very pleased when one or the other will pass an evening
at friend's home, hoping as we do that absence will make the
heart grow fonder and the situation easier. Yet, this not usually
the case, and squabbling ensues regularly.
On one such evening, their shared disdain
reached a fevered pitch and I was sent in to clear the deck.
Kathy refrains from interjecting me into their disputes, as I
tend to only make them worse. On this occasion I was sent in
with a glance that said, behave. Perhaps for my well being I
was barely able to speak a word. Upon entering the room I was
confronted by Zoe who seemed a bit possessed. Her extended finger
found my direction and she began, "Daddy, I want you to
build me a room in the attic. I know you can do it. You can build
it. I cannot live "in this room any longer." My feeble
response of "honey, the ceiling is too low," was cut
short by the insistent plea, "I know you can built it. Just
build it."
Generally a moment such as this one is
simply enjoyed as we often encourage Zoe to write her acceptance
speech for the Academy Awards now. Her grandiosity is matched
only by her honest melodrama. This time though I was rather moved
by her plea, her command, and her imagination. I have no doubt
she would have lived in the attic no matter how low the ceiling.
As I listened to her shouts (and the inevitable critique of her
sister restoring the prior debate); as I listened I couldn't
help thinking of Thomas Merton. I thought of his words about
solitude. If you seek solitude as an escape from the world or
from distress, if you flee to the desert, you will only be miserable
in the middle of no where. For solitude is found first within,
and then without.
Now this is good example of why I am
not usually brought in to deal with such debates and squabbles.
Although Merton was right, I feel he nor I possess the deft skills
necessary to navigate waters these girls chum. For although true
peace is found within first, there is something to not having
your own space, a place to call your own, where no one is allowed
to bug you, where you can hide. To put it more concretely everyone
needs a home, or as the old saying goes, there is no place like
home.
For children, their homes are often their
rooms, a kind of sanctuary and prison, a hiding place and place
of self-expression. To share such a place is difficult, yet a
reality most experience, if not as children, then as adults in
marriage. Whenever or with whomever we share such a space, there
is a great need to have one: A place to call your own, a place
of your own, a house, a sanctuary where we find rest, where we
can as the psalmist says, "both lie down and sleep."
I believe it for this reason, that when men and women reach a
point of needing assistance in their daily lives and think of
leaving their home, fear is often pervasive. I believe this is
the case because people fear if they leave their home, they will
leave their peace and their solitude behind as well.
It is a daunting challenge to leave one's
place of peace, one's home. I am always struck by the story of
a man who left a whole life behind, leaving behind a grand home
and career for a country parish. George Herbert was a rising
politician during the seventeenth century in London. Born into
nobility and simply a few steps away from being a mover and shaker
of the country, he left the grandeur of London for the small
town of Bemerton. Herbert only lived in Bemerton for four years
as he died there at the age of 39. Yet during his stay he found
in that country parish a deep sense of peace, a home, a sanctuary,
or as he called a temple.
We know this from his poetry. Herbert
wrote poetry during his four years as a country parson. Now Herbert
wasn't the only one writing poetry at the time. In fact this
was the zenith of the Elizabethan Renaissance. Yet his words
had a unique and striking feature. The poems he wrote were about
the church itself, the physical building, the sounds, the days,
and the worship. His poetry was a kind of guided tour of the
country parish, its walls and rhythms. He wrote a long poem called
the Church Porch where he admonished his readers to ready their
hearts before entrance, almost like a mother saying, "wash
your hands before you eat." The titles to his poems are
like a blue print: The Church-Floore, Church-lock and Key, the
Altar, the Windows, and A Wreath. The days of the year were ensconced
in verse as well: Good Friday, Easter, Christmas time, Whitsunday,
Trinity Sunday, or simply, Sunday.
Perhaps most powerful, though, were his
descriptions of the soul once inside. Just as he had described
the floor as a part of the building, so did he describe prayer,
thanksgiving, miserie, humilitie, and hope. All of these were
depicted as a part of the church itself as it were, as if they
too should have been drawn into the plans of the building. At
times the reader is left to wonder if Herbert was describing
the physical temple, the church, or his very soul. For it seems
they were the same to him.
That is the unspoken challenge of his
verse, begging the question, is your soul a sanctuary, a home,
a temple? Are you a part of the sanctuary, just as the stone
floor is? Listen to his description of the floor and maybe the
question will mean more. "Mark you the floore? that square
and speckled stone,/ Which looks so firm and strong,/ Is Patience:/
And the other black and grave, wherewith each one/ is checkered
all along,/ Humility:/ The gentle rising, which on either hand/
leads to the Quire above,/ is Confidence:/ But the sweet cement,
which is one sure band/ Ties the whole frame, is Love/ and Charity."
Herbert ends the poem with praise, "blest be the Architect,
whose art/ Could build so strong in a weak heart."
Sometimes it is hard to tell whether
Herbert is talking about the stone chapel where he preached,
or what he described as a stony heart. I can see him down on
his hands and knees feeling the floor, the cement and the stones,
and I can see him lost in silent wonder pondering the blessed
Architect. Now count yourself lucky, I read Herbert to the staff
for nearly six months, you get but a day. I bring him to mind
this day because of the dream Nathan had and the promise made
there in to David.
David wanted to build a house for God,
which was refused. Instead the Word of God came to David and
said, "who are you to build me a house? ... I will build
you a house." This was the promise God gave to David, to
build him a home, and with the home a legacy. The promise given
to David was to be cherished for generations to come and be seen
as Israel's greatest treasure. For God had promised to make a
great nation, to subdue her enemies, and offer peace in the land.
All of this was to flow from David and his house.
And David was given a house, a kingdom,
and peace. Yet the promise of God came with a rather ironic element.
As soon as all was well without, all fell apart within. David
was given all that God had promised and he squandered and nearly
lost himself in the process. It was almost as if Jeremiah tells
this story of David's peace with a rye look. For it would seem
that with each stone that was laid for his palace, a stone was
place before the house God had already built. The house within.
Herbert comes to mind here as experiencing
the opposite. It was in giving up the grand house that he discovered
the house within. The two of them are very similar in that the
lines between the outside world and the inside world are very
blurred. Both David and Herbert were poets as well. Yet as David
was given a palace he seemed to sacrifice more and more the house
God had already made for him. The house within.
Now it would be one thing if we were
to simply look at the parallels and contradictions of two poets
and their homes. Yet the most important point is that we have
a place in this too. For the great claim of the Gospel, what
Paul speaks of to the Ephesians, was that in Jesus Christ God
has made the same promise to us as he made to David. It is this
promise, I believe, Herbert articulates and describes so well.
God has promised in Jesus Christ to make a home for us within,
a place where we can find peace and solitude. This is the dream
of Paul when he writes, "we are members of the household
of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and the prophets,
Christ Jesus who is the concern stone, in whom the whole structure
is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord;
in whom you also are built into it for a dwelling place for the
lord.
This is such a beautiful dream, that
each of us could become a temple of the Holy Spirit. Yet I know
from experience that building projects do not always go smoothly.
In fact some times building projects are abandoned, or stalled,
or torn down and begun again. I believe God has begun and has
built parts of such a temple within my heart. Sometimes this
building has gone smoothly; sometimes it has faced strikes, shoddy
work, or even a failure to look at the blue prints. No matter
the phase, though, this is the promise God has made to us, just
as he made to David.
What is God building in you? What does
your sanctuary look like? Have you ever considered that such
a build does, or could exist? The promise that Paul offers is
that God is at work in each of us constructing a temple of the
Holy Spirit. Now some may say, I am still on the rough framing,
or in the instances of great tragedy and turmoil, I have been
razed, or burnt to the ground. Life sometimes has moments where
the trapping we placed in the building, the furnishing and decor
are swept away. Yet what is most important ever remains.
What does your temple look like? Do you
sometimes feel like your soul is out of square, leaning a bit
too much to one side? Or perhaps work has ceased long ago. That
happens. We can be just as absent from the temple within as we
are from the temple without. For the promised building is only
as enjoyed, only as dwelt in, as we wish. God does build a sanctuary
within each of us, but he does not force us to dwell in it. We
come and go as we please. And we can live a life not even knowing
it is there or of its worth.
When George Herbert was on his death
bed he wrote to a friend sending a note with his poems, asking
him to read them and publish them if they were deemed of use,
if not throw them into the fire was his direction. I am truly
glad the friend found them useful and did not bum them. For although
they are not the temple itself, they are a glorious guide to
what we may find within if we look..
Now sometimes it is not easy to look.
You may find yourself today, like Zoe was and is I might add,
looking for a room not a poetic guide of a seventeenth century
stone chapel in some small village in England. But yet the answer
can be found there. For as Merton said, if you seek solitude
in flight from life, you will simply be miserable in the middle
of nowhere. For true solitude is first found within; real peace
is found within the temple God builds, and then without.
If you lack peace today, if you are beset
and bereft, do not flee. Ask God to build the sanctuary within,
and look within, the work may already be done. This is the dream
and promise. If you have such a sanctuary and know it well, be
sure to invite others to worship with you. Remember, always remember,
we are called to invite those with whom we live to share this
sanctuary, so they too may find the sanctuary within. Amen.
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