Within the Temple
It is a curious
thing, is it not, this notion that our very flesh, this cumbersome and often
recalcitrant vehicle we inhabit, should be deemed a "temple"? One can
almost hear the modern man scoff, for he, in his wisdom, knows a temple to be a
place of brick and mortar, of soaring arches and hushed aisles, where the very
air seems to vibrate with sanctity. Yet, the Nazarene, in His profound
simplicity, offered this very declaration, and it is a truth worthy of our
deepest contemplation.
For
too long, I fear, we have, in our earnestness, perhaps misunderstood Him. We
have, with commendable zeal, polished the outward shell, abstaining from
certain indulgences, tending to the physical with a care that borders on the
fastidious. And indeed, there is a measure of wisdom in such prudence, for the
body, being the vessel of the spirit, ought not to be willfully defiled. But was
this the full scope of His meaning? Was He merely prescribing a regimen of
physical decorum, a sort of celestial hygiene? I think not.
Consider,
if you will, the very essence of a temple. It is a place set apart, a locus of
encounter, where the worshipper, leaving the clamor of the world behind, seeks
communion with the Divine. It is not merely the stones, however hallowed, that
constitute its sacredness, but the act of worship, the turning of the heart,
the pouring out of the soul within its confines.
And
so, when Our Lord proclaimed our bodies to be temples, He was, I submit, not
merely issuing a dietary proscription or a moral stricture concerning the
outward man. He was, with that piercing insight that characterized His every
utterance, redirecting our gaze inward. He was telling us, in no uncertain
terms, that the true locus of worship, the most intimate and authentic space
for our relationship with Him, is not to be found in grand edifices, nor in
prescribed rituals performed in public view, but within the very chambers of
our own being.
Think
of it! The Holy of Holies is not some veiled sanctuary behind an altar of gold,
but the quietude of our own hearts. The altar upon which we lay our offerings
is not fashioned of cedar and brass, but of our desires, our anxieties, our
very selves, offered in humility and trust. The incense that rises pleasingly
to His nostrils is not the fragrant smoke of exotic resins, but the fervent
prayer, the heartfelt confession, the whispered gratitude that emanates from
our inmost spirit.
For
it is within, is it not, that we wrestle with our temptations, that we discern
the faint whisper of His guidance, that we experience the profound peace of His
presence, or the sharp pang of our own failings. It is there, in the secret
garden of the soul, that the true dialogue unfolds, where doubt gives way to
faith, and fear to an abiding love.
The
outward acts, the communal worship, the good works, these are all, of course,
vital and necessary. They are the blossoming of the tree whose roots are deeply
embedded within. But the root, the very source of life, is that hidden
communion, that constant turning of the inner eye towards the Divine Light.
So
let us, then, not merely keep our bodies as clean and presentable vessels,
though that is commendable. Let us, with far greater diligence, cultivate the
inner sanctuary. Let us sweep away the dust of worldly distractions, mend the
broken places with repentance, and adorn it with the quiet ornaments of prayer
and contemplation. For it is within this most intimate of temples, this
dwelling place He has so graciously bestowed upon us, that we truly meet Him,
truly worship Him, and truly come to know Him, not as a distant deity, but as
the Beloved who dwells eternally within.
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