Things Break Down

"Look at the size of those buildings!" the apostle said to Jesus. Like tourists the world over, they marveled at the sights they found in Jerusalem. Their world in a smallish village was much lower to the ground and far less ornate. Most of my readers have much less experience with simple construction. Many elaborate buildings fill up our landscape and the typical city has dozens of multi-storied constructions to view. It is hard to appreciate their awe and wonder. It is harder to impress us.

Jesus' response was both a reflection of wisdom and a prophetic declaration.
"Not one stone will be left on another, it will all be torn down."
Like Humpty Dumpty, the glorious Temple will take a great fall, and as of this point, almost 1950 years later, all the kings horses and all the kings men have not been able (or willing) to put it together again. In light of the current unpleasantness in the area, one assumes no construction projects loom on the near horizon.

Things tend to fall down. What is made can be broken. The amazing structures of the ancient world are usually handed down to us as ruins or stories. Having lived in Europe for four years, I visited many such sites. Rome and Greece were especially stunning for their protected rubble and story telling of ancient glories. Imagination is a prerequisite to appreciation. Things fall down, even great and amazing things. In our own time we have seen numerous stadiums meet the wrecking ball, wiped clean from the face of the earth. The twin towers of New York met an untimely death. Local neighborhoods are also regularly reshaped, no signs remain of what once was.

But Jesus' words carry a deeper meaning. The Temple is to be no more, He declares. It failed in its task. There have been no fruits. Israel has rejected Her Messiah. God has handed her over to her choices. The First Century will be determinative. Rebellion against God has borne fruit; rejection of Roman rule coupled with incessant in-fighting and full blown civil wars (there were several fighting factions) have spelled the end of Judah. In 70 AD and the decades that follow there will be unimaginable horror (see Josephus' wrenching eye witness account of horrid suffering, degradation and inglorious death). So the prophetic voice of Jesus is a warning and judgment. Doom. Doom. Repent and turn back...

And every age totters precariously before the same apocalyptic declaration of God's intent. The Father of Mercies says, "I mean to save my people and I intend to rescue those who are mine..." Powerful words and the source of great hope. Even joy. The Lord will reign, even now His hand is at work among us. But the reign to come is not yet. And it comes in judgment. Not all will enjoy the return of the King. Not all have given themselves over to worhsip and serve His throne. Those who hve cry out, "Come Lord! Maranatha!" He promises to come. He will come. Some day,but not yet. Not yet. So we wait and watch and wait and hope....

Thursday we celebrate Thanksgiving Day. Some will gather with family or friends. Some will be isolated and alone. The brokeness which is present in our hearts and lives invades even the holidays. Some celebrate. Others pine. Hungry for more than turkey and dressing, hungry for human connections around the table. Hungry for conversation and connection. Haunted by memories of better days gone by now lost to new and worsened circumstance, perhaps, or saddened by biting recollections of past holiday disasters, for such persons these are not the best of days... Most of us will have an empty chair (or more). We miss the voice, the melodious laughter, the wrinkled smile, the warmth and closeness of a lost loved one. Some celebrate the day over seas, fighting a war which others forget about most of the time. Some will patrol our streets, man our fire stations, staff hospitals and treatment centers; working those and other jobs which have no day off.

Even the best of dinners and most connected of connectedness will still have something missing. In a reflective heart we notice such things. The hunger that cannot be filled. The hunger which quietly aches (or bellows in deep resonant un-ignorable power). We want more. We want more than this which is before us. We want more, something permanent and something worthy of our awe and wonder. We want a Temple which has stones which last forever, a Temple NOT made by human hands.

That is the greatest gift, that hunger. As our hungry eyes survey the scenes of our lives we need to remember that hunger. Turkey and cranberry cannot touch it. Laughter and family and friends serve only to intensify it. The worst of holidays is a stark reminder, the best of holidays the same.

Only in God will my soul be at rest.
You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and we will not be satisfied until we are with Thee.
God is my source and my goal, all banquets a sign of The Great Banquet, all celebrations a finger pointing to The Marriage Feast of the Lamb, all relationships a foretaste of The perfect love found in unity with the Trinity--where being one and many are the mysterious same thing.

Whatever state you are in remember this. All stones fall down. It will all disappear. All things pass. Except His promise. He is slow in coming, but He comes. He will because He said He will. So give thanks. And give more thanks. And for good measure, thank again!