Monumental Thinking

Robin Hardy Online

Monumental Thinking:
Can We Consider the Big Picture Here?

A recent article in the Dallas Morning News' Religion section (7-31-99) said that despite the fact that more Americans than ever own at least one Bible, the majority of us don't read it. To many of us, it is incomprehensible and irrelevant. And I think that is so sad, because time and again when I open my Bible, I find it speaks to me about whatever is going on in my life at the time. Take, for instance, our intrinsic human need to build things. When we were children, we liked to build sand castles on the beach and snowmen in the yard. When we grew up, some of us were lucky enough to get paid for the things we built, so we could spend our time building more things. And when we discovered the love of God, we wanted to build things for Him.

King David wanted to build the greatest thing in the world for God: a temple. It bothered him that the ark of the Lord was sitting in a tent while he lived in a palace. But the Lord said, in effect, "You want to build me a house? No, no--I will build you a house," and then assured him that his son would build the temple (2 Sam. 7). In whole-hearted preparation, David gathered a mind-boggling amount of materials--"a hundred thousand talents of gold [3,750 tons, according to the notes in the NIV], a million talents of silver [37,500 tons], quantities of bronze and iron too great to be weighed, and wood and stone" (1 Chron. 22:14). The privilege of construction went to the man of peace, Solomon, who began the work in the spring of 966 BC.

True to his commission, Solomon built the temple as described in 1 Kings 6. It was perfect, a perfect work for God, built exactly according to specifications, of the finest workmanship. The interior was paneled with the best cedar from Lebanon. This was a red wood, knot-free, which was desirable for its resistance to insects and rotting. The cedar paneling was ornately carved by master artisans in the shapes of angels, plants and flowers, then covered with gold. The whole interior of the temple was overlaid with pure gold--even the pine floors.

In the inner sanctuary, the Most Holy Place, two cherubim (representations of angels) carved out of olivewood were placed wingtip-to-wingtip as a throne for the invisible presence of God. With a wingspan of fifteen feet each, they spanned the width of the room. Of course, these were also overlaid with gold, as was the altar. The whole project was a priceless work, built with such respect that all stones were dressed at the quarry, not at the construction site, so there would be reverent silence at the temple in progress. It took seven years to complete.

While Solomon was in the midst of building this monument of perfection, this astounding structure for God, what did God have to say about it? "As for this temple you are building, if you follow my decrees, carry out my regulations and keep all my commands and obey them, I will fulfill through you the promise I gave to David your father" (1 Kings 6:12). In other words, "That's fine, but what I really want you to build for Me is a LIFE, Solomon." And that's harder to do, because it seems so mundane, so insufficient. The more energetic and enthused we are, the more impressive we want our monuments to be.

As a natural storyteller, I like to build books. As a Christian, I want my books to draw readers to God, to make them think of Him in more intimate terms than The Big Guy Upstairs. And think of how many people I could reach if my books sold millions instead of thousands? Never mind the nagging little thought (which some fellow Christians have been so kind to point out) that it's my name on the cover.

Anyway, having issued this gentle warning to Solomon, the Lord allows the building to continue. When the temple was finished and exquisitely furnished, it was dedicated in an appropriate manner, with two solid weeks of feasting for "all Israel": 22,000 cattle and 120,000 sheep and goats to grace the buffet tables. Solomon's prayer of dedication is a model of humility, wisdom, and praise to God. And when the ark was brought in to rest under the wings of the cherubim in the Most Holy Place, the glory of the Lord filled the temple--preventing the priests from doing their work for God, by the way (all described in 1 Kings 8). Talk about auspicious beginnings! There's only the tiniest little dark spot in all this brilliance (and I'm always the one to find it): In 1 Kings 9, in God's reply to Solomon's prayer, the warning is longer, more emphatic, and chillingly specific.

Ultimately, the warning went by the wayside when Solomon's wisdom lost out to his lust: "As Solomon grew old, his wives turned his heart after other gods, and his heart was not fully devoted to the Lord his God, as the heart of David his father had been" (1 Kings 11:4). Catastrophes quickly followed the state-sanctioned idol worship: rebellion, political unrest, war, and foreign conquest, until the temple--Solomon's great monument to God--was leveled by King Nebuchadnezzar in 586 BC after years of plunder. Here's the concise account: "He set fire to the temple of the Lord, the royal palace and all the houses of Jerusalem. Every important building he burned down. The whole Babylonian army, under the commander of the imperial guard, broke down the walls around Jerusalem. [They] carried into exile the people who remained in the city, along with the rest of the populace. . . . So Judah went into captivity, away from her land." The rest of 2 Kings 25 describes the accompanying looting, political machinations, and bloodshed.

As a work of praise to God, my little books are quite literally nothing next to the splendor and perfection of Solomon's work. But as Solomon was forewarned, so I am made aware that my books have only as much credibility as my life. The Word of God will never lose its power, regardless how many hypocrites preach it. But if I am one of those hypocrites, quoting the Word in my books will not make them eternally worthwhile. What does God need with a chorus of parrots? No Christian's ministry can be separated out from these myriad daily choices to listen to Him or ignore Him. Whether I like it or not, my life IS my ministry. My monument.

When I am curt or sarcastic, I vandalize my own Great Work. If I cannot believe God's promises enough to be cheerful in uncertainty, then I've stripped the gold from the walls. Here's the reason: "What is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal" (2 Cor. 4:18). Anything that we build with earthly materials, whether sand castles, cathedrals, or corporations, will eventually crumble back into earth. But there is something enduring about the spiritual realm of relationships. A parent who builds patience, kindness, and self-control into his own life will find that behavior replicated in another generation, and (with prayer) another after that. A friend who practices forgiveness is laying piers for a bridge across eternity. In building a life of quiet obedience, we'll never have to see our temples--all we've done for God--come crashing down. And that lesson, buried in obscure Old Testament Scripture, is too relevant for me to ignore.

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