(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Worship on July 22, 2018, Proper 11)
Where Does God Live?
Where does God live? That is the question asked by our
scripture today.
Having just settled into his
throne in Jerusalem in his palace of cedar, David announces that now he will
build a house for God. But God
bristles at the suggestion.
“House? When have I ever
needed a house? Do you not
remember that I have always been on the move, alongside the people, from Egypt
until now?” And then God arrives
at the point as succinctly as you could, saying: “House? If you want to talk about houses, let’s
talk about this: I will make you a
house.” I’ve been paraphrasing, of
course, but that last bit comes straight from our scripture today. When David announces his intention to
build God a house, God turns the tables and says: “The Lord will make you a house” (7:11).
It’s a double entendre, a saying
that has a double meaning. On the
surface, God is saying that God will establish David’s family as the rulers of
Israel. The Lord will make them
into a dynasty, “a house.” But beneath
that meaning lies another meaning.
David had just been talking about making a house in which God could
dwell. “The Lord will make you a
house,” then, is God’s way of saying that the only “house” God needs is David
and his family and the people of Israel.
The only dwelling place God needs is flesh and blood.
We hear Paul say the same thing
in one of our other lectionary scriptures today. In Ephesians 2, Paul says that we Christ-followers are “a
dwelling place for God” (Eph 2:22).
Cleaning Up Inside
It is a beautiful image, and I
think it resonates so strongly with us because we sense its truth in the person
of Jesus Christ. This past week,
at the Bites, Brews, and Big Questions gathering, we wondered at the mystery of
the incarnation, that God could somehow dwell fully in the flesh of Jesus, that
somehow Jesus was both fully human and fully divine.
But as beautiful as the image is
of us as a dwelling place for God, it is also a difficult image. For millennia, Christ-followers have
asked the question: how could God possibly dwell within me? There is already so much of “me”
inside. What I think. What I feel. What I believe.
What I am planning for, what I am worrying about, what I like and what I
don’t like. There’s so much of
“me” inside. Where is there room
for God?
The Desert Mothers and Fathers of
the fourth and fifth centuries had a response to this question as plain as it
was profound. They said we had to
“clean up” what is inside us.[1] They said there is no space for God
unless we make space.
I can definitely attest to the
need for making space. It is so
easy to get caught up in our own thoughts and feelings. I shared several months back that I
play soccer once a week. When our
games are later in the evening, it usually takes me an hour longer to go to
sleep because inside I’m replaying clips from the game, feeling good about what
I did right, bad about what I did wrong.
That’s an innocent enough example, but the truth is, we’re always doing
this. Our interior lives are an
unending commentary of thoughts and feelings.
Who’s Observing?
I wonder if this is the reason
that in our gospel scripture for today, Jesus says to the disciples, “Come away
to a deserted place and rest a while” (Mark 6:31). The disciples had just been on the road, caring for the sick
and sharing the good news of God’s kingdom. I wonder if here Jesus is really saying, “You’ve been around
people a lot lately, you’ve had ups and down, you’ve been thinking and feeling
a lot…and all of that’s taking up space. It’s time to clean up inside. Come away and empty yourself. Come away and make room for God.”
How, though, can we empty ourselves? How exactly can we make room for
God? How do we quiet the mind,
still the heart, suspend the “me” inside of us, so that God can get a word in? It is unfortunate that prayer has
become so mechanized in the Christian tradition, to the point that we think of
prayer as a way of changing the world around us, so that either prayer works or
it doesn’t, either God listens or God doesn’t. Because in scripture, prayer is simply about a conversation
with God. Which means that we
don’t only speak. We listen. We allow ourselves to be
addressed. And perhaps the most
important change that happens is not outside us, but inside.
The Desert Mothers and Fathers
remind us that prayer is not simply our thinking and feeling. If that’s all it was, it’d be a whole
lot of “me” and little room left for God.
Prayer means making space for God amid our thoughts and feelings. Thoughts and feelings will always pass
through us, they said. There’s
nothing we can do to stop them.
But one thing that we can do, so that they don’t take up residence in
our heart, is to practice awareness of these thoughts, to observe them without
judgment. So let’s say we’re sad
and frustrated. Instead of
nurturing our feelings and thoughts and developing them into grudges and
judgments and plans—instead we simply make ourselves aware of them. We observe everything about them. We observe the inner commentary that is
playing in our mind: “How wrong he was to do that! I deserve better than that. Next time, here’s what I’ll do. That’ll show him!”
We observe all of this, each thought and feeling that we have, as good
or as bad as they are.
When you’ve tried all this, when
you’ve gone all the way into the heart of observance, then try asking this
question: Who’s observing?[2]
Is it us? The same “us” who are feeling and
thinking all these things?
Or doesn’t this awareness almost feel like we’re being observed, being
addressed, being spoken to? Doesn’t
it almost feel like we have a Guest within?
Always Knocking
“The Lord will make you a house,”
David heard thousands of years ago.
“You…are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God,” Paul
proclaimed to the Ephesians. The
good news at its most basic, then, is this: we are not alone. God is with us. God is always knocking at our heart’s
door.
But sometimes there’s too much
“me” inside for God to find any room.
And so as Jesus suggested, sometimes we need to go to an empty place
where we can become empty ourselves.
Or as the Desert Mothers and Fathers advised us, “Clean up inside.” And it’s good advice. More often than not, we’re stuck
listening to our own commentaries, living by our own scripts. To follow the God who is always on the
move, to follow where God leads, we need to make space. We need to make God a welcome guest.
Prayer
Homeless God,
Be our holy guest—
Help us to make space for you
Amid the ceaseless babble
Of our inner commentaries,
So that you might take up
residence within
And speak to us a new word;
Draw us out of the narrowness
Of our own stories,
Into the embracing story
Of your kingdom coming. Amen.
[1] For the
Desert Mothers and Fathers, purgatio (catharsis, Gr.)—or “cleansing”—was the
first step in their faith journey.
It was followed by the steps of illumination and divine union.
[2] This example
of non-judgmental observation is adapted from a Rob Bell podcast: Episode 154,
“Rabbi Joel Brings the Questions,” https://robbell.podbean.com/e/rabbi-joel-brings-the-questions.
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