The Temple and the Child
During our Autumn Bible Study class we have been working through the First and Second Books of Kings in the Hebrew Bible. These ancient texts contain stories of people who are profoundly human, who can be capable of great love and of equally profound violence. Some of this drama centers on the figure of King Solomon, whose legacy is somewhat ambiguous. Recognized as a wise leader and an insightful poet, he is also remembered for forming political liaisons that ultimately led him astray from a single-minded allegiance to Yahweh.
Among Solomon’s greatest achievements was the creation of a Temple dedicated to the worship of God. Yet this building also has a somewhat ambiguous presence in the memory of Israel. It is grand, yet it is built with forced labor. And while it seems to afford access to God, it may also represent the presumption that God is a little too easily accessed.
I recognize that the Temple had incredible significance in the life and spirituality of the people of Israel. There is a sense in which Jesus put his ministry on the line when he cleansed the Temple of those who used its precincts to buy and sell items related to worship, so that this sacred space could truly be a house of prayer. But when he wanted to speak of a symbol that would describe the living and moving reality of God in the presence of people, he didn’t identify a building for that purpose. He selected a child, set that young person in the midst of his followers, and said, “Unless you become as a child, you can not enter the kingdom of God.” Unlike a building, a child moves, grows, changes and adjusts to the varied circumstances of life.
I think that the writer, Martin Thornton, was right when he says that Christian life and traditions can be represented by a rock and a river. The rock is a stable and solid place that offers assurance of the presence of God at the heart of life. The rock may be a Temple, a sacred site, a steepled church on a New England town green. But the river reminds us that faith flows along, adapts and changes, runs deep and shallow. It is a symbol of movement, sometimes running into white water, and sometimes edging along in a slow, patient way. God moves through us like the river, calling us to step into the journey of faith with all its possibilities for adventure and discover.
May we know faith as a rock and a river, the gift of sacred space and the lively movement of a child. May we offer stability and movement to those around us, witnessing to the beauty of grace taking shape in the restful and the restless.
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