Psalm 138 (CEB)
I give thanks to you
with all my heart, Lord.
I sing your praise before all other gods.
I bow toward your holy Temple
and thank your name
for your loyal love and faithfulness
because you have made
your name and word
greater than everything else.
On the day I cried out, you answered me.
You encouraged me with inner strength.
Let all the earth’s rulers
give thanks to you, Lord,
when they hear what you say.
Let them sing about the Lord’s ways
because the Lord’s glory is so great!
Even though the Lord is high,
he can still see the lowly,
but God keeps his distance
from the arrogant.
Whenever I am in deep trouble,
you make me live again;
you send your power
against my enemies’ wrath;
you save me with your strong hand.
The Lord will do all this for my sake.
Your faithful love lasts forever, Lord!
Don’t let go of what your hands have made.
Romans 12.1-2 (CEB)
So, brothers and sisters, because of God’s mercies, I encourage you to present your bodies as a living sacrifice that is holy and pleasing to God. This is your appropriate priestly service. Don’t be conformed to the patterns of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds so that you can figure out what God’s will is—what is good and pleasing and mature.
Click here to watch the video performance of this story.
I was running as fast as my worn-out sandals, and the crowd would allow, out of breath, out of money, and I guess, finally out of luck (Luck! Ha!). After a lifetime of seeking it had come to this: hightailing it down the murky streets of Marrakesh, chased by mercenaries who believed I had desecrated their Temple. Which I hadn’t. Well, not much, anyway. And it wasn’t intentional.
How was I to know that no human had entered the Holy Cavern in 1500 years? Rumors referred to it as the Lost Temple. So, imagine my surprise to discover it wasn’t lost, but hidden. And guarded.
Like I said, a minor desecration. And apparently, the wrong Temple. Again.
I sidestepped into a narrow alley just as the mercenaries whizzed past me, weapons drawn. As luck would have it (Luck! Ha!), a merchant was passing by with a cart full of textiles. I jumped in and quickly covered myself until we arrived in the boisterous town square. I slipped out of the cart and bartered with the merchant for some new clothes.
Then, I headed home to Casablanca, disappointed. Again.
—
Back in my loft, I surveyed my dust-covered quarters: precarious towers of old books, stacks of notes piled on any available flat surface—and poking out of every crevice—weird artifacts people had convinced me were from the Lost Temple. I am a lunatic, I thought.
I decided to take a break from my quest. I’d been searching for 30 years, and I was getting too old to outrun the zealots of ancient mystery cults. The Marrakesh caves were my last lead anyway, and before I was unceremoniously chased away, I’d already realized the Temple isn’t in Morocco. Which is a pity, because I rather like it here.
I swatted dingy papers off my couch, sat down, and passed out.
—
I woke at the loud “thunk” of a power switch as a single light turned on somewhere so high above me I couldn’t discern a ceiling. And yet, while the light illuminated me, nothing around me was visible. I couldn’t tell if I was in a tiny room or an exceedingly ginormous cavern. Not that either would have made me feel less vulnerable. I shouted, “Hello!” but, although I moved my lips and felt my vocal cords resonate, no sound left my lips. I heard nothing, particularly the echo I was expecting to help me figure out where the walls were and how big (or small) this space was.
“Hello!” I yelled louder. And again, while in my mind I knew I had roared, the room was silent. Now that I was paying attention, I realized there were no sounds at all, no ambient noises of any sort—not even the hum of air conditioning, or the white noise typical of emptiness—nothing but suffocating silence. To make matters worse, I suddenly noticed I wasn’t sitting on anything, either. I had no sense of the size of the room, and it appeared I, I was… floating?
Suddenly, pinholes of light began to poke through the darkness. A few popped in here and there at first, distracting me from the disconcerting notion that I was unsupported by any physical object. Then, gaining momentum and number until I couldn’t keep up, hundreds, thousands, and ultimately billions of pinpoints surrounded me, until, with childlike glee, I forgot my worries as my fear converted to uncontrollable giggling. I realized the pinpoints of light were stars, and I could feel them tickling my soul as I floated effortlessly in the silky, inky ultra blackness of everything and nothing.
I was in the Temple.
I relaxed and sensed the silky, undulating, Allness of Being supporting me, entrancing me and clothing me with comfort. Try as I might, I was incapable of thinking. I was no thing, yet aware of every thing, life uninterrupted, blissful, eternal. I was at-one, attuned to the Intelligent Cosmos, what some call God.
Then, the stars began singing in billions of languages, in voices from beyond the universe. Every manifestation of the Creative Mind was in the Temple with me. At first, I was overwhelmed by the sheer diversity of creation, incapable of doing anything other than cataloging sounds and dialects.
Then, as I began to focus on one voice at a time, pictures came into view. I realized every creature was sharing stories about their lives—the joys and sorrows, the beautiful surprises, and unexpected horrors. No world, it seemed, had ever been free of war and turmoil, but many had worked through those challenges and created peaceful, progressive societies that were traveling the stars, sharing their knowledge.
Keep going, the voices urged me. Keep pushing. Every world we represent is on its way to wholeness. Listen and learn. Don’t lose hope!
Listen and learn. Don’t lose hope.
“Wake up!” a voice interrupted my reverie. I felt I was close to knowing, to finally finding the way to the Temple so that I could return anytime I desired, and show others the way. Just another minute and I’ll have directions for everyone. “Wait!” I pleaded. “Just a moment more, please!”
“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” The voice cloyingly screeched. “You have to get moving!”
And then I awoke, covered in newsprint as if the Temple had tattooed itself into me. The shock of reality forced me to jump upright and stand at attention as I readjusted, panting, and unable to catch my breath. I ran to the kitchen, turned on the sink faucet, and lapped up water with my hands as fast as possible. Then I slid to the floor, overwhelmed.
—
It’s taken me a long time to adjust to my new mindset. After a lifetime of searching, I had found the Temple—in Morocco, after all, as I expected, yet not in Morocco. The legendary Lost Temple was a physically metaphysical space. Now that I had experienced it, I understood that to return was easier than traipsing all over the globe in search of it. To enter the Lost Temple—The Eternal Holy Temple—requires only that we stop believing what we are convinced is real, and instead open our minds to what seems impossible.
Within us all, the Holy Temple waits, inviting us, perhaps urging us, to come and open ourselves by relinquishing everything we’ve preconceived. After decades of running around the planet looking for the fabled Lost Temple, I finally discovered it was everywhere I had ever searched because the Temple is always me.
Amen.
Question: What does it mean to consider yourself the only Temple God requires? What does that require of us?
