Holy Wisdom Chapel
Is 55:6-13; Ac 7:30-37, 40-49; Jn 7:11-29
How many years has it been since the dedication of this church?
To use a Zen metaphor, we won’t make the mistake today of honouring “the finger that points to the moon” more than “the moon to which it points.” God is revealed magnificently in all of creation. Yet a church is an extraordinary and special place worthy of honour. It’s here that we stand together celebrating our religious life and spiritual aspirations.
Building temples, shrines, and churches is a natural poetic instinct. We humans need symbols and rituals even more than food and water—like when Jesus said, “My food and my drink is to do the work of my heavenly Father.”
To paraphrase Isaiah, “This house is a house of prayer ideally open to all peoples and not marginalizing anyone.” In Walter Brueggemann’s words, this is a place for “the practice of alternative imagination.” Does he mean images, remembrance, or spiritual, artistic, personal and religious creativity? There is room for all of this. We are all working together here to become Christ’s body. Christ is the rising Sun to which we are pointing.
Psalm 84 is used for the dedication of a church and begins, “How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts! My soul longs, indeed it faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and flesh sing for joy to the living God.”
Sounds like romantic literature, with a soul that “longs” and “faints”, and “heart and flesh” that “sing for joy”. But the psalm is far more than poetic or romantic. It has expressed extreme love and yearning for a hundred generations. The psalmist is passionate about a place where the experience of something greater, the presence of God, is overwhelming and transforming.
The Hebrew word for “lovely” is translated everywhere else in scripture as “beloved.” Twice in the Gospels a voice from heaven called Jesus the “beloved” and pleasing: Jesus personifies the love and wisdom of God; “Listen to him,” the voice said. At the Transfiguration we h, ar about the powerful beauty and goodness that embrace in him.
The beloved Son of God is also the truth of God. He revealed the true aim of our life. He shows the right direction of my own life.
The iconoclasts and the puritans forgot that the things of church life are not products of human vanity but truly works of love and expressions of faith. Whether large or tiny, this is our beloved and intimate place. This is our platform of transcendence and unity, the face of our witness to the world.
When we enter the church do we expect too little from our singing and our silence, our praying and liturgy? Have we lowered our expectations because we are too familiar with this space? Is its light becoming dim and it’s ‘thinness’ predictable?
“One day in your house is worth more than a thousand somewhere else!” The psalm expresses deep kairos time: We delight in this holy place because we are unfinished temples of the spirit. We don’t want to miss those moments, those deep questions and elusive answers, when God and eternity intersect with our mundane work.
Today let us rededicate this place. We in fact do this daily by our presence here. Each time we say in our hearts, as St Peter said to the Lord, “You know I love you,” we infinitely deepen the meaning of our life. By this love and in this beloved place we ourselves are called beloved and made holy.
Is 55:6-13; Ac 7:30-37, 40-49; Jn 7:11-29
How many years has it been since the dedication of this church?
To use a Zen metaphor, we won’t make the mistake today of honouring “the finger that points to the moon” more than “the moon to which it points.” God is revealed magnificently in all of creation. Yet a church is an extraordinary and special place worthy of honour. It’s here that we stand together celebrating our religious life and spiritual aspirations.
Building temples, shrines, and churches is a natural poetic instinct. We humans need symbols and rituals even more than food and water—like when Jesus said, “My food and my drink is to do the work of my heavenly Father.”
To paraphrase Isaiah, “This house is a house of prayer ideally open to all peoples and not marginalizing anyone.” In Walter Brueggemann’s words, this is a place for “the practice of alternative imagination.” Does he mean images, remembrance, or spiritual, artistic, personal and religious creativity? There is room for all of this. We are all working together here to become Christ’s body. Christ is the rising Sun to which we are pointing.
Psalm 84 is used for the dedication of a church and begins, “How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts! My soul longs, indeed it faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and flesh sing for joy to the living God.”
Sounds like romantic literature, with a soul that “longs” and “faints”, and “heart and flesh” that “sing for joy”. But the psalm is far more than poetic or romantic. It has expressed extreme love and yearning for a hundred generations. The psalmist is passionate about a place where the experience of something greater, the presence of God, is overwhelming and transforming.
The Hebrew word for “lovely” is translated everywhere else in scripture as “beloved.” Twice in the Gospels a voice from heaven called Jesus the “beloved” and pleasing: Jesus personifies the love and wisdom of God; “Listen to him,” the voice said. At the Transfiguration we h, ar about the powerful beauty and goodness that embrace in him.
The beloved Son of God is also the truth of God. He revealed the true aim of our life. He shows the right direction of my own life.
The iconoclasts and the puritans forgot that the things of church life are not products of human vanity but truly works of love and expressions of faith. Whether large or tiny, this is our beloved and intimate place. This is our platform of transcendence and unity, the face of our witness to the world.
When we enter the church do we expect too little from our singing and our silence, our praying and liturgy? Have we lowered our expectations because we are too familiar with this space? Is its light becoming dim and it’s ‘thinness’ predictable?
“One day in your house is worth more than a thousand somewhere else!” The psalm expresses deep kairos time: We delight in this holy place because we are unfinished temples of the spirit. We don’t want to miss those moments, those deep questions and elusive answers, when God and eternity intersect with our mundane work.
Today let us rededicate this place. We in fact do this daily by our presence here. Each time we say in our hearts, as St Peter said to the Lord, “You know I love you,” we infinitely deepen the meaning of our life. By this love and in this beloved place we ourselves are called beloved and made holy.
