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.