Loving the house of the Lord

 Lord, I love the house where you live,
the place where your glory dwells.  Psalm 26:8

That verse warmed me the other morning as I read it, curled up in my chair by the window. Then I asked myself where, exactly, is the Lord’s house. Surely it’s a metaphor for something other than a building. What?

As I thought about it, I realized that the phrase appears numerous times in the Scripture, with various meanings. It’s hard to pinpoint a location or describe its architecture. In one sense, God inhabits the whole earth and the expanse of the heavens. On the other hand, God’s house is used to refer to places where his people gather, be that tabernacle, temple, or local meeting house. “Let us go to the house of the Lord,” is a familiar call to get up on Sunday mornings and go to church.

It then occurred to me that, in a more intimate sense, my body is the house of the Lord. Paul calls it “the temple of the Holy Spirit.” My physical body. Now that thought intrigues me, because my body is no longer young and full of energetic promise. Is it still God’s house, the place where his glory dwells? Am I to love it as such?

Here’s the poem:

Loving the House of the Lord
Lord, I love the house where you live,
the place where your glory dwells.  Psalm 26:8

The Lord owns everything.
He is landlord of the earth.
He inhabits the Sahara Desert,
the Amazon rainforests.
He’s the original man-on-the-moon.
His glory shines scatter-shot
among the stars.
I’m awestruck, but it’s hard
to wrap my emotions around it all
on a regular basis.
My affections are limited.

He is Lord of the places
where his people gather
to sing, learn, eat
and sometimes squabble.
His houses have steeples, altars
and doors that open. And close.
I confess that sometimes
I don’t want to go
to the particular house of the Lord
just down the street.
How can I pretend to love it?

I’m told that my body
is God’s temple.
That if I abide in him
and he abides in me,
glorious possibilities
present themselves.
Come into my heart, Lord Jesus,
I sang as a child. And he did.
Somehow God found enough space
to make himself at home.

And I’m to love his house,
my body. My aging body.
Wrinkles, sags, neuropathy and all.
I’m to love my flesh, my spirit,
my mind, my emotions—
all of which are in some state
of rebellion. Spirit willing, flesh weak
on a daily basis.

Rather than fight it,
I’m to love it.
Treat it with affection.
Drink lots of water,
sleep long and well,
exercise, eat vegetables,
play outside, hug a tree,
hug myself. Laugh out loud.
Say Thank you more often.
Smile when I look in the mirror.
Tell myself, This is where God dwells.

Teach me how, Lord.
And let the glory descend.

Lord, I love the house where you live,
the place where your glory dwells.  Psalm 26:8