The temple is finished. The Ark of the Covenant has been installed. The promise made by God to David has been fulfilled. David’s son, Solomon stands in the midst of the temple, “before the altar of the Lord” and offers praise and thanks, confession and supplication to God. At the culmination of such a momentous project, a project denied by God to David, but undertaken by Solomon on David’s throne, at the end of this journey of planning and construction, political manoeuvring and military intrigue, Solomon stands before God and says: “O Adonai, God of Israel, there is no God like you.” “O Adonai, God of Israel, there is no God like you.” And in this address, the commencement of a very, very long prayer, we hear not just the relief of Solomon in having achieved this goal, not just the pride of a son who has achieved his father’s greatest wish, but we hear someone who recognises who he is before God and who his people are, and just how far they still have to go.
The people of Israel are the people chosen by God to be a light to the nations. Called out of their ancestral home through Abraham and Sarah, they were forged as a people in the experience of slavery. Led forth from slavery by Moses, Aaron and Miriam, they weren’t content with the rule of God and the judges of God, but called for a king and received one in David. These are a people who have never been sure that they wanted, really wanted; and never really quite understood what was required for them to follow their vocation, to follow the calling of God. These are the people who will happily go their own way in spite of the guidance and warnings of the Law and the prophets. These are a people who need to be constantly reminded of the ways of God and of God’s calling on their lives. “O Adonai, God of Israel, there is no God like you.” “You are our God and we are your people—for better and for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and health—you are our God and you have stood by us, despite us. The promise you made to David has been fulfilled. Your house has been built, and you have assured your people of a stable government… if…”
And there’s the rub. “If…” “If only your children [the children of David, the people of God, the nation of Israel, if only they] look to their way, to walk before me [to walk before God] as you [as David] … walked before [God].” “If…” This moment is the high point of Solomon’s reign and right there in the midst of it is the reminder that Solomon is vulnerable, Solomon has his own vocation, and Solomon too may fail to live up to it. “If…”
“O Adonai, God of Israel, there is no God like you.” “But you do not really need this house—we need it—we need it to remind us who you are and who we are and what it is we are called to be and do.” “Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain [God], much less [the] house that [Solomon has] built!” This house is not for God, it is for the people of God who need to remember their history, who need to remember their calling, who need to remember their hope in the God who cannot be contained in an Ark, or a cloud, or bricks and mortar, or heaven, or the highest heaven.
And yet in this house, Solomon knows what he must do—he must honour God, and he must pray for the people—he must pray for the people of Israel—a people who will continue to walk away from God despite the house and despite their history—a people who will still sin against their neighbours even when they do not mean it—but not just for them. Solomon must also pray for those not of the nation of Israel who honour God even when the chosen people do not—people who turn to God because they recognise who God is and seek to honour God.
Well may Solomon have prayed, because nothing was going to change the one small fact of the “if…”—“if the people of God continue to walk in God’s ways”; “if the people of God continue to walk in God’s ways”. The promise is conditional and the people will not live up to the conditions. This one grand, glorious moment is simply the warning bell for the end, the fast approaching denouement where the people of Israel are scattered and the temple of God is destroyed not once but twice under successive conquering powers.
Of course, it’s not all poor Israel—they engaged in a fair bit of conquering themselves to get to this glorious moment—and, saving Solomon’s wisdom and David’s bravery, the kings of Israel weren’t exactly upstanding people of their time. But here in the temple, it’s easy to think that the world will be different from now on—that keeping the conditions of God’s covenant won’t be very hard after all—since after all, we now have the temple of God.
“O Adonai, God of Israel, there is no God like you.” “Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that [Solomon has] built!”
Listening now with our ears steeped in the Christian story though, we begin to hear some threads that emerge later in the story of Christ. “But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house…” “But will God indeed dwell on the earth?” Against the background of the Christian story, we hear this question filled with a sense of irony; and we know that the answer is ambiguous. No, of course God is not contained by God’s own creation. No, of course God does not condescend to dwell within what God has made—burning bushes, fiery and cloudy pillars and grand temples aside—God does not dwell on the earth. And yet, yes, of course God has indeed dwelt on the earth. God indeed has allowed God’s very self to be contained within the parameters of creation and of history. God indeed has lived a human life and died a human death in Jesus. And the covenant enacted with humanity solely through that humble action of God does not have any “ifs”. It is unconditional. It is the covenant of the unconditional love of God despite who we are, despite what we do, despite what we don’t intend to do—God loves God’s creation; God loves us.
And in this realisation, we too find ourselves standing before God with nothing left to do but to praise and give thanks, to confess our sin and to offer our prayers up to God for all God’s people. But our responsibility does not end there, just as Solomon’s did not end with the completion of the temple.
Everything we have is a gift from God. What we choose to do with that gift is ours. The 2nd Report of the Joint Commission on Church Union reminded the churches seeking to unite that “The Church [that’s all of us, the people of God, the body of Christ, the communion of the Spirit, the Church] fulfils [its] call to be ‘a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a dedicated nation, and a people claimed by God…’, when [it] is a missionary Church proclaiming the triumphs of God” not of ourselves. And God’s triumph comes not in the inhabiting of great temples or in the marvellous accomplishments of humanity. God’s triumph comes in weakness and humility in the servant Lordship of Jesus who “chose to stake his faith in the hidden power of [God’s realm], and revealed the ultimate victory of that hidden power in his death on the cross. When “The Church … is the Church, [it] crosses the boundaries of history—the boundaries of culture, race, nation—to reveal the healing and uniting power of God’s self-giving” because God’s reconciliation with all creation is accomplished in Jesus’ life, death and resurrection.” When we “grasp… as [our] own what [we are] called to receive as a gift to be used in the service of others”, we miss the point. Seeking our own glorification will never get us or anyone else closer to God. Making ourselves look good will never be a motivation for achieving that very thing in God’s scheme of things. It didn’t work for David the great King; it didn’t work for Solomon who built the great temple; and it will never work for us. Because it’s never been about having a great reputation or doing big things, it’s always been about following the one who “chose to reveal his lordship through becoming a servant, and identifying himself with [humanity] in … lostness, … sinfulness, … disobedience.” And this is our vocation now: to “carry out [our] mission [the mission of the Church, the people of God] by assuming” the form of a servant—the servant Lord. And we begin, when we turn to God to praise, to give thanks, to confess and to pray for all God’s people.
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