Needless to say, the modest parental home we had once shared would no longer hold us all. My late husband and I decided to camp in a nearby state park. We had one of those tents made of light-weight but extremely tough, rain-resistant fabrics that popped up in minutes with flexible, fiberglass poles and shock cords. We staked it down and were good to go.
Our second night in Iowa, we got classic Iowa summer weather. Of course, we heard the storm warnings, but it didn’t sound that bad. I’m not sure whether vanity or just plain stubbornness ruled the day, but… Oh, no, we said. Of course we’re going to sleep in our tent. We’ll be fine.
The wind blew and the rain came. That little tent with its flexible poles shook and bent in the wind. At times, it laid over so completely that the walls of the tent were right down on top of us. We were too scared to try to leave!
Past midnight, the wind laid down, we slept a bit, and morning came. That little tent had taken a beating. The fiberglass poles were limp from stress fractures, some of its seams were pulled a part, and some of the shock cords had torn loose from the fabric. It had gotten us through the night, but it was done for.
So… why… would God… prefer a tent… to a house?
Because that’s what happens in today’s Old Testament lesson (2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16, NRSV). There’s David, enjoying a respite from fighting for the security and safety of God’s people. And as king, he lives in a fine house.
As sometimes happens when humans have a little peace and quiet to think, David has an idea. It really is a fine idea. And I’m sure it came from David’s heart.
See now, David says to the prophet Nathan, I am living in a house of cedar, but the ark of God stays in a tent. Nathan gets the picture right away and supports the plan. Go, do, he says, for the LORD is with you.
But God immediately nips the scheme in the bud. ‘Who told you to build me a house?’ he asks David, through Nathan. ‘I’ve been traveling with my people in a tent since the day I brought you out of bondage,’ says God, ‘and have you heard me complain?’
We recognize rhetorical questions, questions that are posed for effect, not because they need answers. And we get the feeling that a bit of a scolding is going on here!
Then comes the clincher. ‘In fact, David,’ says God, ‘I brought you in out of the fields, I have traveled with you every step of the way, and I have protected you from your enemies. And one more thing, David. I'm not finished with you yet. I the Lord will make you a house, a house of people, generations of people, a kingdom of people who will be my people forever.’
Now we know, because we’ve read the next story, that David’s son Solomon got to build the temple. And we know that God cooperated. Indeed, God put on his architect’s hat and gave Solomon detailed instructions—not only for the temple itself, but all of the appointments that were to go in the temple and down to the vestments to be worn by the priests.
So I’m not suggesting that God dislikes temples or churches, won’t live in them and doesn’t want us to build them and make them beautiful. Far from it.
But on this occasion, the first occasion in the Biblical account that a human offers to build The One God, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, a fine house to reside in, God says, ‘No, I’ll stick with the tent, thank you very much!’
So.. why would God.. prefer a tent to a fine house?
I think it not a coincidence that God turns right around and promises David a house of people, many generations of people. In fact, maybe tents and people have some characteristics in common that particularly appeal to God.
For starters, both tents and people shelter life. I am amazed by the photographs of mountain climbers camped on snow pack in what appear to be handkerchief-size tents that weigh ounces. But those tents are the difference between life and death.
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| Everest Base Camp, by Mathias Schar |
Tents and people are both resilient. Both can take quite a bit of being buffeted about by the winds of change and challenge in life.
But ultimately, both people and tents are mortal. Only God is immortal, and it is one of the great mysteries of faith that The Immortal One chooses mere mortals to love and live within and among.
Then there’s mobility. People and tents, and especially people with tents, can go most anywhere. And where the people of God go, they take the Kingdom of God with them.
You see, I think WE are the tents of God. God chooses us and dwells within us and goes with us. We call it Incarnation.
Yes, of course, God is here in this church as well, and in churches and synagogues and temples and mosques, grand and humble, around the world. But God is not here because of the beauty of the rose window or the fineness of the wood or the plush red carpet. God is here because we’re here.
So, why, when David wanted to build a fancy house for God, did God choose tents instead? Maybe because David needed a bit of a comeuppance for getting ahead of the plan.
Maybe because God was afraid David and the people would get confused, as humans so easily do, and think they could keep God in the house they had built for him, where he could be consulted as needed but otherwise ignored!
Or maybe for the same reason God chose a stable for the only Son of God to be born in. God seems to like showing up in places that seem least likely to humans.
Maybe because God needs arms and feet, mobile human tents to do the work of extending God’s kingdom here on this earth.
But my favorite “maybe” of all, isn’t a “maybe” at all. It’s the one I’m most certain of. God chooses to live in the human heart, imperfect and mortal tent that it is, because it is the only dwelling place… that can love God back.
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.
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