Recently I’ve been contemplating place, beauty, and sacred space.
Admittedly, my low-church evangelical heritage has not well equipped me for such reflection.
Utilitarian cafa-gym-atorium sanctuaries do little to stir the soul, but reveal much about what we imagine the point of church to be, and how we think about God.
In all our talk of God being everywhere-present we seem to have forgotten that the God of the Bible is often made known in a special way in particular spaces and times.
Last night a friend pointed me to the words of YHWH during the dedication of Solomon’s Temple “Now my eyes will be open and my ears attentive to the prayers offered in this place.” (II Chronicles 7:15).
My theology of place is not well suited to process such a statement, but there it is. The God of the Bible uniquely indwells certain places (Sinai, Tabernacle, Temple) and, worryingly, also abandons them when they are misused.
Over the next week I plan to return to this topic a few times, but this morning I just want to start the conversation.
What, if anything, makes space sacred?
That we’ve been intentional about dedicating it to something and our spirit is more receptive to God as a result? The slow untraceable workings of use and time (like the feeling you get stepping into an old cathedral)? Simply the mysterious ways God has chosen to reveal his presence?