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Who Builds the House?

This week we walk into a mystery. Not like the mystery that is seeking to be discovered Sunday night in Youth Group as our youth try to figure out who-do-it in classic Clue-like fashion, but a mystery you never get to the bottom of. A mystery that presses the intellect to the point of throwing up your hands in wonder, love and praise. A mystery we still walk in, hundreds of years after the fact. 

I mean, on the one hand, David wants to build God a house, a temple. That is fashionable. Ancient kings did this sort of thing. They had military success and then they would build their god a temple, which was sort of in gratitude of his/her help, but also sort of a guarantee that the god would continue to bless them. God tells David he really doesn’t do that sort of thing; he would rather wander about with his people—imminent and close with them. 

Then God turns around and says David’s son will build him a house! Which is it? Did God change his mind; or do we, in this hallowed chapter, get a window into the heart of things to see how God’s promises and presence really works. I am hoping God gives us new eyes to see into this mystery because we still walk in it every day, though I suspect we rarely see it and thus live a lesser life than we are granted.

I can’t wait to talk about it this Sunday. And then, if you are interested in classic Clue-like mysteries, ask a youth about Youth Group that night. Yes, Sunday is a day of mystery at St. Patrick!

Funny how one little phrase will send you on a rabbit trail…or perhaps sometimes take you into the heart of all things. In our text this week, the coming of the Ark of the Covenant—ascending through the smoke of incense and burnt offerings to its proper place in Jerusalem—ends with a feast in which all participate. Meat, bread, and raisin cakes are given out to all the participants in this hallowed occasion. 

I don’t know if I have ever really thought about raisin cakes before this week (It’s certainly nothing I am interested in!) but, upon further investigation in the Old Testament, I found it was about the most decadent thing you could have. Here is what I mean. On Thursday, I went into Dinstuhl’s. Now I only go into Dinstuhl’s about twice a year, not because I don’t love everything in Dinstuhl’s but what it represents to me is simple—luxury and love. I have four ladies in my life that get that. Even my 9-year-old. I asked her on Wednesday, “What do you want for Valentine’s day?”, she replied, “Oh, you know, Dad, like really good chocolate…something like chocolate-covered strawberries from Dinstuhl’s and, of course, flowers.” A raisin cake in the Bible represents, in our terms, something like that. Not just chocolate, but luxurious chocolate. 

Ironically, in the Bible raisin cakes are mostly referred to in the pejorative. They actually became a metaphor for idolatry. To long for or lust after the raisin cakes was in a sense to long for the gift and not the giver. A key example is found in the book of Hosea: And the Lord said to me, “Go again, love a woman who is loved by another man and is an adulteress, even as the Lord loves the children of Israel, though they turn to other gods and love cakes of raisins.” (Hosea 3:1) 

And yet here, in the culmination of this most holy time of worship, there is the indulgence of the most luxurious of fare in feasting and celebration. How do you square this? Our chapter is instructive. Join me Sunday and we will talk about it. It is indeed at the heart of all things!

It’s been good to have Jim back in the office this week. He assures us that this knee has been easier to replace and rehab than the last one, and even the occasional wincing when he moves it is always accompanied by that trademark twinkle in his eye. But that’s his story to tell. Mine is about how much joy I’ve had in getting to preach from the life of David for four weeks. By the time you’re reading this, I will (Lord willing) be done with this week’s sermon. However, I’m writing this on Wednesday, mid-process. 

By midweek, I’m usually done combing through the text and commentaries for patterns and have begun shifting into composition. I’ve got a good sense of what the passage is saying and how it points to the good news in Jesus. This week is not much different – there are a lot of fun connections in this episode of David’s life. I have what feels to me a resonant and moving insight about how this story is a type and shadow of what God has done for us in Christ Jesus. I even have a sense of how this relates to the everyday embodiment of his life in ours. 

But I’m still haunted by last week, where David displayed the habit of humility in his constantly inquiring of the Lord even when things seemed so obvious. I keep thinking about how little detail David actually knew about the profound level of participation he had in reflecting what was to come. He knew that he’d been graciously set apart as a small, symbolic representation of God’s throne, and he faithfully muddled in that direction. To the assembly of Israel, David was the very picture of confidence and strength, even if we readers have more inside knowledge of the self-doubt and struggles he held tighter to the vest. We’ve seen him experience some of his victories as failures and several of his triumphs as setbacks. If only he could have seen with the benefit of hindsight and the full revelation of Scripture, would it have eased the burden for him? 

I’m not so sure. You see, I know a lot more than David did about what God is doing in the world. I know a lot more about what the Temple and Throne symbolize and how the Church carries this mantle throughout history. But I still wrestle every day with whether what I’m doing is actually accomplishing anything. And it’s what I don’t know that keeps me inquiring of the Lord, pressing in for deeper levels of attachment and intimacy. 

It's the mystery of it all, the small snatch of light five inches in front of me, that becomes the occasion for my utter dependence. It’s the little lessons learned and a great yearning for his gracious glory that keep me pressing on, ascending the hill to the place where God meets us. I’m not sure that if I could see further up than that, to all the cost and the pain that awaits toward the apex, that I would have the courage to keep it up. So, maybe this is enough. I do look forward to receiving with faith our small foretaste of the Kingdom together with you this Sunday.

- js

Allie and I were in our early 20’s when we had our first child, Cecily. It was a lot of fun and truly exhausting, but I got the sense after a while that I may have “hacked” parenting. Surely all babies were the same, and now that I knew “The Method,” it was time to add another. When Eloise came along, I learned that there are actually two different kinds of baby. Whereas Baby Type A needed structure, Baby Type B needed a bit more flexibility. It was like yin and yang. Two different kinds of baby. Yep, definitely just two kinds. When Donovan came, I ditched my grand theories for a little more humility. Parenting is impossible. 

There are areas of our lives that are pretty simple. We figure out a system that works and we work it. Once you get a morning routine up and running, that’s pretty much that. We may need to make tweaks here and there, but for the most part, the center holds. Then there are areas of our lives that are in constant flux. These are the most human parts, requiring our constant attention and intimate attunement. Relationships are the foremost of these. They cannot be maintained without continuous contact and personal adjustments. It’s almost as if some of our life is designed to be auto piloted so that we can focus our best attention on these more worthy matters. 

After a season of military successes, Israel was in danger of putting their regular skirmishes with Philistia into an auto pilot mode. The problem with that plan was that Israel’s interaction with the nations was not simply a matter of national security. It was one of the primary arenas of their personal covenant with God, irrevocably connected to the very mission for which they had been established and set apart. Israel’s dealings with their neighbors weren’t simply battles to be won. They were opportunities to develop an increasing dependence upon God, that he might involve them in His larger, un-hackable purposes. Fortunately, the commander in chief of their military forces had a habit of “checking in” with his Superior Officer. And it’s a good thing, too. 

- js

As many of you know, I’m a little over a year away (Lord willing) from completing a Doctor of Ministry degree on spiritual formation in the works of C.S. Lewis. That’s why you may have been thinking to yourself, “Man, that guy talks about C.S. Lewis a lot.” Yes, I do. About as much as psychic chai farmer talks about tea leaves, I would imagine. There’s a reason I chose Lewis studies, despite my fear that it was a little too “on the nose” for someone like me, and possibly a bit overdeveloped a field anyway. The reason is, I usually can’t think of anything without either having read it in one of his books, or else, having thought that I came to it independently, eventually realizing it was there in his works all along. He’s a presence in my thought life I can’t escape. At some point, you just have to admit that Mr. Miyagi knows karate and start waxing his car. 

It was Lewis who introduced me to the idea of the Numinous. It’s what “awesome” used to mean. It was uncanny before The X-Men. It’s not fear, exactly; more like the source of fear. We fear whatever we know to be dangerous. We stand in awe of the Numinous: that terror which we cannot possibly comprehend. Often, we sense that by studying doctrine and behaving ourselves, we can avoid “upsetting” the Numinous and thus avoid dealing with it all together. As if we could tame the ocean itself and send it off on our errands! No, the great beast won’t do our bidding, and besides, fear alone doesn’t exhaust our experience. There’s also a sense of humble gratitude at our invitation to behold the sublime beauty of the thing-which-cannot-be-named-or-otherwise-tamed. What are we to do in the presence of such things? 

The crisis of our text this week is a failure to reckon with the Numinous. You can be beloved, and brilliant, and on your way up in life, and forget this one thing, and the entire world will crumble around you. David messed around and found out: God is not your little mascot. He is holy. The most radical truth in the world is that He is for you, but this is his idea, not yours. And he’s doing it in his way, not yours. I could use an encounter with the Numinous this week. How about you?

I’m sure that my first introduction to Robin Hood was Disney’s charming fox. It’s honestly a pretty faithful telling of the myth, (maybe even more so because of all the talking animals). But in the Year of our Lord 1991, when I was a mere second grader, there was just one Robin Hood: Kevin Costner as the Prince of Thieves. We were not a movie-going family, but the theaters advertised their hopeful blockbusters on broadcast television, and they really sold this one. The trailer ended with a shot from the point of view of an arrow racing through the forest to split another and claim the bullseye. Pull back and behold the shooter: The Field of Dreams and Dances with Wolves guy! WHAT!?!? I had to see it. 

I actually did watch it eventually on VHS at Preston Jones’ house with the GIANT 36 INCH TV. I became obsessive, begging my parents for a real bow and arrow that I would absolutely not shoot my sisters with (denied). But the thing that sticks with me still is the killer ballad featured over the end credits. “Everything I Do, (I Do It for You)” by Bryan Adams forever changed couples’ skating and slow dancing in Cordova, Tennessee and probably across the whole dang world. I didn’t know it then, but these compelling twins of honor in romance and warfare were interwoven as the DNA of the genre that birthed the very first tales of Robin Locksley. This was a chivalric romance, and I was hooked. 

I think this is connected to how much I love the stories of King David and his Mighty Men. No doubt the setting and cultural dynamics are hundreds of miles and centuries apart. But for me the common themes trigger all the trappings of a good medieval adventure. A noble warrior and rightful heir becomes an outcast in his own country because of the oppression of an unjust authority. In his exile, he finds the love of the people is on his side, and the most formidable of these band together to see him installed in his rightful place, where he can best care for the poor. Only the return of the High King, (who knows when?), will end this conflict. Until then, the most tragic episodes will occur inside the camp. What's not to love? 

This week we're really going to dial in on the band of merry mighty men and how their friendship to David becomes an indispensable part of his ascent. It's a model for our own friendships for those who have ears to hear. Looking forward to it. 

I looked at my phone as it hung on the magnetic charger the other night, before I turned over to go to sleep, and thought something was off. It sits there in this miraculous thing that wirelessly charges my watch, phone, and AirPods. A glorious invention, a three-in-one. No plethora of wires hanging out of the drawer like snakes getting all tangled up. I love it so much I bought a new one over Christmas because my other one, while it worked, had a crack in the arm that held the phone, and so it sort of smushed my watch. I sent it up to the guest bedroom, plenty good enough for there. This new one is marvelous: it just works with an economy of effort and folds up to nothing.

When I woke up the next morning, I looked at my watch and it was not charged. In fact, nothing was charged. I could feel my anger rising as I opened the drawer where it was plugged into a power strip and immediately saw the problem. I saw my charger unplugged to make way for Addy’s iPad charger. This is not the first time this has happened, and I was ticked. Addy and I had a little heart-to-heart, and I feel quite certain that this will not happen again—at least, until the next time she is on my bed watching her iPad and it needs charging!

I was thinking about that as I finished up studying the text this week, staring out the window of my study, longing for the snowpocalypse, and wondering why we haven’t spent more time in Chronicles. I suppose it is because we feel like we got all this same stuff in Samuel and Kings; or maybe it’s because, if this were like a movie, it starts with 9 chapters of credits before we get to any real action. But when the action starts, it is full throttle. 

The reason I was thinking about my charger is because—as good as it looks—without a power source, it is worthless. Last week, we saw Israel’s first king was the epitome of form: he looked the part, for sure. But the huge problem was, he was not connected to the real Source of kingly power and authority; he refused to bow to a greater King. This week, we burst into the story of David, kingship and covenant. David is connected and humble enough to know that the source of his power and authority is not found in himself. So this week we see a new king of kings, one that not only looks the part but is the kind of king Israel has longed for and needed. What is interesting is, the rest of the book will chronicle David’s life, ironically demonstrating that he (in himself) is not enough and the thing that dominates his imagination is pondering the mystery of what God is doing in the tabernacle and temple. David is great, but he is not enough. The rest of the book will scream that.

I hope we have lots of snow and, if so, I hope I can walk by Sunday. It looks like we will be good for having worship, as we are taking precautions to make sure our parking lot is clear. But who knows? We will keep you posted if anything changes before then. Have fun in the snowpocalypse! I sure will! 

It is abrupt, to say the least. When reading I Chronicles, after slogging through nine chapters of lists of people, suddenly and unexpectedly you are whisked away into a narrative about the death of the king. I mean, you have been lulled to sleep by names you can’t pronounce, skimming over the names at times, glancing to the bottom of the page to see how long it will go on. And then this?!—The king is dead. Make no mistake about it, chapter ten is about one thing: the King is dead. (It reminds me of the way A Christmas Carol starts off, but more on that Sunday.)

Maybe that is the point, to rouse your slumbering soul to wake up and pay attention. This word of God comes to a people who, after wandering through the exile, find themselves back in their land and utterly lost. They don’t know who they are or how to form a community shaped by God’s Word. So God sends them a story of who they are—a story that connects them to their ancestors, who have been formed by God since the dawn of creation. The story might also serve as a cautionary tale, a word of hope, or both. In the death of the king? Yep, it is all there in our text this week, and we will talk about it this Sunday.

I look forward to getting back into normal rhythms again. Make no mistake, I do love the chaos of the holidays but there is something satisfying about stepping back into the same ole patterns and habits—yet refreshed. Or you get may back into them just to catch some rest! Either way, I can’t wait to see you all Sunday. 

Also, don’t forget our Epiphany Brunch in this Sunday at 9:15. The church will provide smoked ham and rolls. If your last name begins with A-M, bring something savory to share. Last names N-Z, bring something sweet. Happy New Year to all! 

Greetings from the calendar-less abyss of the week between Christmas and New Years! I’m excited to share that St. Patrick is going to spend a significant chunk of 2025 in a single book of the Bible. Most of us are just familiar enough with the Bible that we know that 1 Chronicles is a book that begins with nine chapters of tedious genealogies and then peppers in several more along the way, just for good measure. It’s one of the places people simply give up on their chronological reading plans. Most of its juicier content is largely just reruns from 2 Samuel anyway, right? So, why on earth would we choose this of all books!? 

First, a word on genealogy. My mom is one of those who’s obsessed with family trees as a kind of historical research. She lights up when she gets to tell stories and unveil charts littered with names of people most of us have never even met, with whom we just happen to share bloodlines and surnames. I don’t share the vigor, but her interest has caused me to consider that it made a big difference to my interest level about the Huguenots when I discovered they were my ancestors. 

That’s one of the many reasons why the author of Chronicles includes these lists. He wants the people to know that they have a part in the story he’s telling. 1 Chronicles was written for the returning exiles to connect them on a personal and spiritual level back to the city they were trying to rebuild and the purpose for which they labored. That’s important motivation when things get hard, as they inevitably do. 

But rest assured, we’re only going to spend one week in the genealogies of 1 Chronicles. I’ll cover the broad strokes this Sunday, and then we’ll get right into the life of David, the main character in this book. Although, I guess technically the main character would be the Temple of God. That’s why we’re calling the series Temple and Throne. You see, 1 Chronicles is a book about the centrality of worship to the life of the people of God. David is a warrior-poet: the King of Singers. The way he’s depicted here is all about his job as the chief worship leader of a great nation, called to lead all other peoples in the praise of our God and King. 

So, this year, we’ll be dialing in on the same vision: we’re a people who tell a better story – who sing a better song – than the world has to offer. This is not simply to compete for our supremacy among the voices of the world, as though we’re on an international version of one of those televised singing competitions. We sing a better song (the story of Scripture worked out in our lives) in order to tune the whole earthly choir for our climactic moment in God’s magnum opus. There will come a day when humanity outshines the angelic host, and we’d better be busy in our rehearsals until then!

Join us this Sunday as we dig into the prologue to this story and see that there’s a lot of gold to be found in that valley of bones.  

Grief is a lonely and sad place. Though it is a natural response to loss, grief can shatter our peace like a sledgehammer. The sobering fact is, we are all one phone call away from it. This week we find ourselves with the disciples as Jesus is telling them he is going away, and we see the disciples in the throes of grief and loneliness with Jesus’ words. 

As we have seen, times like Christmas turn up the volume on our expectations of happiness. The expectations we have built around the Christmas season are unrealistic and often harmful. We may get a temporal distraction from the pain of these things, but then reality sets in. Many have said the third Monday in January is the saddest day of the year. I suppose you could make a case for this— debt from Christmas, failed expectations, dealing with family stress, and, after a couple of weeks in to the new year, you already see the resolutions you made have not formed you. 

In our passage, Jesus confronts the loneliness and grief of his beloved disciples with compelling truth. He confronts it with the peace he gives. He does this because he will be leaving, and he knows that their hearts are about to be ripped out. He is offering a new kind of peace, not a peace won and guarded with a sword or power, but one given through sacrifice and blood. He is offering himself. But it is more than that. While Jesus’ death will bring peace to their troubled hearts, he is preparing them to carry on his mission of being peacemakers in a world of loneliness and grief. 

Sound depressing? Actually, it is a message of hope and a challenge to all his people who are part of his kingdom of peace. Join us as we wrap up our series on the Prince of Peace and prepare our hearts to really celebrate his coming!