“The Church as a Microcosm of the Kingdom”
Psalm 104:1-16, 24
Allen Huff
Jonesborough Presbyterian Church
10/21/18
On Sunday mornings we have one purpose – to worship God and God alone. Yes, we bring with us all our fears and hopes, all our disappointments and joys, and all other identities and loyalties. But when worship begins, we’re called to focus on the one who transcends and redeems all of that. When comprised by people of Christlike faithfulness, a church outgrows the static image, “house of God,” and it becomes a dynamic microcosm of the kingdom of God. And because God’s kingdom is a place of reconciliation and transformation, in it there’s no distinction between sinner and saint, no division between any usand them. We’re all human beings who inhabit the same earth and who belong to and stand equally before one God.
Nice try, Preacher. You want some ice cream to go with that pie-in-the-sky?
I hear you. But please bear with me.
When we enter worship, or prayer, or engage in Christian service, we can’t help dragging our worldly baggage along with us. Beginning worship with confession and entering the world in humility are ways we acknowledge the fact that we filter virtually every experience through cultural preconceptions and selfish fears.
On the positive side, sometimes we come before God listening or watching for something that will relieve some burden, or make sense of some experience of suffering, or give voice to some great joy. And when we stand quietly, perhaps we will hear God’s voice whispering, soft as dewfall, “Be still, and know that I am God.” (Ps. 46:10)
Other times, those preconceptions and fears close our minds, and we listen only for what we want to hear. When that’s the case, we often wade into the comfortable shallows. And God knows we often need that comfort. When “the waters roar and foam, [and] the mountains tremble with [the world’s] tumult,” (Ps. 46:3) we clamber for anything that feels familiar and firm. Trouble arises when, whether in pulpit or pew, we come to worship to escape the world. Trying to escape the world is trying to escape God.
So, imagine this scenario: An ancient Hebrew poet walks out of his tent or out of a synagogue. Maybe he’s grieving and looking for some reminder of Yahweh’s presence and faithfulness. Or maybe as a poet he knows that his gift calls him to the task of standing in awe of the creation on behalf of his community. Or maybe he has just enjoyed a good meal, maybe even Passover, so the Shema is fresh in his mind:
“Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.” (Deut. 6:4-5)
In every age, good poetry uses specific detail. And while those details invite us into the intricacies of the particular, they also open doors to archetypal metaphors so that the words create a response of gratitude and praise which is accessible to people across cultures and centuries. Listen for the Word of God through the Hebrew poet:
1Bless the Lord, O my soul.
O Lord my God, you are very great.
You are clothed with honor and majesty,
2wrapped in light as with a garment.
You stretch out the heavens like a tent,
3you set the beams of your chambers on the waters,
you make the clouds your chariot,
you ride on the wings of the wind,
4you make the winds your messengers,
fire and flame your ministers.
5You set the earth on its foundations,
so that it shall never be shaken.
6You cover it with the deep as with a garment;
the waters stood above the mountains.
7At your rebuke they flee;
at the sound of your thunder they take to flight.
8They rose up to the mountains
ran down to the valleys
to the place that you appointed for them.
9You set a boundary that they may not pass,
so that they might not again cover the earth.
10You make springs gush forth in the valleys;
they flow between the hills,
11giving drink to every wild animal;
the wild asses quench their thirst.
12By the streams the birds of the air have their habitation;
they sing among the branches.
13From your lofty abode you water the mountains;
the earth is satisfied with the fruit of your work.
14You cause the grass to grow for the cattle,
and plants for people to use,
to bring forth food from the earth,
15and wine to gladden the human heart,
oil to make the face shine,
and bread to strengthen the human heart.
16The trees of the Lord are watered abundantly,
the cedars of Lebanon that he planted.
24O Lord, how manifold are your works!
In wisdom you have made them all;
the earth is full of your creatures.
(Psalm 104:1-16, 24- NRSV)
The poet’s words, so ancient and so relevant, reveal the creation as the realm of God’s most intimate and yet most universal self-expression. He reminds us that no matter where we are, we are in the presence of God. And no matter who we are, as human beings we belong to God. There’s no corner of our lives so removed that God is not with us. That says to me that the creation itself is the model for all human-made sanctuaries. So, we gather here as if dangling our toes off the rim of the Grand Canyon, as if standing waist-deep in the ocean’s surf, as if paddling a canoe through the sweltering but vibrant stillness of a cypress swamp, as if standing atop the Roan balds at midnight hovering between the lights above and the lights below. In such places we become acutely aware of the heavens stretched out above us “like a tent.” We can see the “beams of [God’s] chambers [fixed] on the waters” We begin to understand how God rides “on the wings of the wind,” and ministers to us in “fire and flame.”
We are creatures made in the image of the wildly beautiful and boundless Creator. We claim that our “chief end” is to glorify and enjoy this eternal and untamed reality. So, how is it that humankind so often domesticates and confines God’s spiritual community into a cozy, climate-controlled, committee-driven terrarium?
The Church as an ecclesiastical terrarium is not the same thing as the Church as a microcosm of God’s kingdom. Terrariums do contain a certain amount of organic matter, and they can be beautiful in their way. But terrariums are closed systems. And they’re often sealed. And while they may feel comfortable, when sealed and guarded, they don’t provide suitable environments for experiencing the living God and for growing in grace and truth.
By contrast, a microcosm is a small but lively re-presentation of a larger whole. To the extent possible, it is made in the image of the greater reality. And similar rules and freedoms apply to a microcosm as to that greater reality. In a microcosm, things come and go, laugh and cry, breathe and die.
God is theultimate reality. And while God, as Creator, is beyond the confines of the universe itself, Psalm 104 declares that the entire creation, even in its brokenness, holds within itself a microcosm of God and of God’s kingdom. There’s enough of God in the particulars in ourselves and in the creation around us to make us aware that, as St. Augustine said, “our hearts are restless until they find their rest in thee.”
Until we are free enough to be bound to the fullness of our capacity for receiving and sharing God – who is Love – we will not know the fullness of our humanity. For in our fullness, humankind – and not so much individual human beings, but humankind– created in God’s image, is a microcosm of the Creator. That’s why recognizing the holiness of the natural world the way the psalmist does, and treating it accordingly, is crucial for our spiritual and physical well-being.
Another psalmist (Perhaps the same one!) sings these words: “The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it, the world, and those who live in it.” (Ps. 24:1) This planet and all that depend on it is a microcosm of the gift of the universe. Its complexities and mysteries reveal the mind-bending power of God at work in the creation. So, human beings will never be without questions, doubts, and crises.
The unspeakable beauty of the creation also reminds us of the splendor, the wholeness, and the love from which we come and to which God returns us. When we claim to be made in the image of the Creator, we commit ourselves to living as a humble, grateful, generous, mindful community of stewards.
Having created us, God is always redeeming and recreating us. So, as a congregation, we’re more than a terrarium. We’re a kingdom outpost – a holy microcosm whose fellowship, worship, and service proclaim God and God alone.
Bless the Lord, O my soul.
O Lord my God, you are very great!
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