The Temple in the Manger

I have been reading Nehemiah in my through-the-Bible schedule the last few days. I noticed that it was the condition of the walls of Jerusalem that first incited Nehemiah’s sadness (Nehemiah 1:3-4). I had not previously considered why the walls might have been of such concern to Nehemiah. Certainly, he would be concerned for the safety of the Temple treasury and all the riches that Ezra had returned to Jerusalem with Zerubbabel years earlier. But I suspect that there was much more.

Psalm 137:1 says, “By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down and wept, when we remembered Zion.” Jerusalem, or Zion, was so much more than a city to the Jews; it was the only place where they could connect with God. While they were captive in Babylon, their beloved Zion lay in ruins, and the Temple had been destroyed. Some of them, particularly Nehemiah (1:5-11), realized that their predicament was their own fault. God had allowed the destruction of Jerusalem and the captivity of its people because of their waywardness. Nehemiah’s sadness was related to his desire to see the Temple and the city fully restored again.

Flash forward some 400 years. We find Jesus weeping over Jerusalem shortly before He was going to die for her sins. “And when he drew near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, ‘Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. For the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up a barricade around you and surround you and hem you in on every side and tear you down to the ground, you and your children within you. And they will not leave one stone upon another in you, because you did not know the time of your visitation.’” (Luke 19:41-44)

From the desert wanderings after Egypt to the see-saw unfaithfulness of the Judges to the failure of one king after another, Israel was the poster child for disobedience. If only they had known, “the things that make for peace.” Nehemiah thought better walls and a restored Jerusalem were needed. By Jesus’ time, it was clear that the new heart of Jeremiah’s prophecy (24:7) was the only way to make for lasting peace. It still is.

God promised to dwell in the temple at Jerusalem as long as the nation of Israel was faithful. Jesus said that He would dwell in believers if they were faithful. Paul makes it very clear that the body of Christ, the church, is the temple. Each believer individually and corporately constitutes the New Temple. When I think of the New Jerusalem (the church) and her people (the Temple), I am saddened like Nehemiah. Our walls are torn down, and the temple (us) is in pretty sad shape. How’s this for a New Year’s resolution: “We promise together not to neglect the Temple of our God” (Nehemiah 10:39).

Thoughts on December 7

FDR declared December 7, 1941, “A date that will live in infamy.” Then he declared war on the perpetrators. Not everyone in America agreed with the decision to go to war, but an entire generation was changed by the events that followed FDR’s declaration. That was my father’s generation, sometimes called the greatest generation. Almost everyone pulled together to defeat the enemy.

On September 14, 2001, George Bush made his famous “bullhorn” pronouncement. He told the crowd assembled at the site of the Twin Towers disaster, “I can hear you! The rest of the world hears you! And the people -- and the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon!” It was another infamous date; more people died on 9/11 than died at Pearl Harbor. Not everyone agreed with the way Bush prosecuted the “War on Terror,” but it did change all of America for a short time, maybe a year or two. Almost immediately there were those who voiced strident opposition.

Because there was no Emperor or Fuhrer to declare war against, George W. Bush had to rely on sketchy intelligence reports to locate “the people who knocked [those] buildings down.” For his efforts he was accused of lying (Bush lied; people died) or of trying to finish his father’s (George H. W. Bush) war. There is no doubt, in perfect hindsight, things could have, perhaps should have been done differently. Iraq became a failed nation-building exercise. Afghanistan became another Vietnam-like quagmire. ISIL grew out of the milieu, and continues its war of terror to this day.

I worry about today’s young people. My experience teaching classes of mostly millennials convinces me that they will not think of my generation as great at anything but making messes. Actually, their lack of historical perspective makes me doubt they will think of anyone but themselves. Most were just children in 2001, and while they may have been confused or scared, few seem to have grasped the real significance of the event. (For memories of 15 millennials see this Bustle article.) They seem primarily concerned with comfort and convenience and the latest gadget from Apple.

The millennials’ older brothers and sisters will remember 9/11. Many thousands went to war “against terror,” and many never came home. Many more were injured physically in ways that they will always struggle with. And then there are the countless thousands who still fight battles deep within; their bodies are often perfectly whole, but their lives have been changed in ways that have virtually stolen “normal” from their existence.

When I look at the deep divisions that plague America, I long for the way the December 7’s and 9/11’s in our history have caused us to come together in common cause, if only for a while. Surely there is more to unite than divide Republican and Democrat, black and white, gay and straight, religious and not-so-much. If ANTIFA and Black Lives Matter and Gay Pride marches are the social mechanisms on which we must rely, I fear it will take another “date that will live in infamy” to wake us up.

Since December 7 remembrances come as most of us begin to look forward to Christmas, and I am writing this while listening to Christian Christmas music, the incongruity strikes me. I wanted to share a line or two from a poem by W.B. Yeats, but I can’t decide what not to share, so with your permission, I will present the entire poem for your thoughtful consideration.

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre  

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst  

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.  

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out  

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert  

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,  

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,  

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it  

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.  

The darkness drops again; but now I know  

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,  

And what rough beast, its hour come ‘round at last,  

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Two World Wars and the Irish struggles for independence in his homeland gave Yeats a cynical outlook. I may disagree with his conclusions about political governance, but this poem reminds me that anarchy is not the answer either. In fact, the only answer is bringing more and more of this sin-wracked world under the kingdom rule of the One who made the First Coming in Bethlehem. This poem also makes me long more intensely for the real second coming. Maranatha, Lord Jesus; come quickly.