Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy that person. For God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple.

Do you not know that you are God’s temple? These words from Paul to the conflicted community within Corinth seem to be resonating with me during this season of my life, and perhaps they will resonate with you as well. 

Do you not know? Paul poses this question following a rich metaphor he has just provided for the Corinthians, a metaphor where Christ is the foundation of their faith, but then the emerging building is shaped by others, such as himself and Apollos. He speaks of the care that must be placed in the shaping of this building so that it can withstand the fires of trials and persecution. He speaks of a building that is not only strong, but beautiful, a building that is gilded with gold and silver, a building encrusted with precious stones, a building that could rival the great Temple of Jerusalem or even the temples devoted to Greek and Roman gods for that matter. Surely this beautiful building, this temple, is worthy to house the Spirit?

I think back to the church that I grew up in. I was a “One church” kind of girl; I think I was well into adolescence before I even stepped foot into a sanctuary other than the one located on Harford Road in suburban, Parkville, Maryland. The sanctuary of Hiss United Methodist is a pretty typical sanctuary: you enter through the double doors into the narthex area, where you would be greeted by ushers before entering the sanctuary. The main aisle is carpeted in a rich red, with rows of polished wooden pews on either side; there is an open area between the first pew (which is usually empty) and the communion rail, behind which is the slightly elevated chancel area, where the pastor and choir sit during worship. Behind them was the altar, flanked on both sides with colorful banners that changed to reflect the colors of the church seasons. Lightly stained-glass windows filtered sunlight into the morning worship services and led one’s eyes up to the tall, gracefully curved ceiling. While not built of gold or precious other precious metals, surely this building could house the divine.

When I was young, probably four or five, I was convinced that Jesus lived in the ceiling. Well, not actually in the ceiling, but rather, suspended from it. Now remember, I had never been in any other sanctuary, so I had nothing to compare ours to; hanging from the ceiling, centered above the communion rail, was a box. A big, body-sized, rectangular box. I thought this box was special; I thought this was where God, or Jesus, or the Holy Spirit, or maybe even all three(!) resided, if not all the time, at least whenever there were people in the building. Imagine my embarrassment when I later discovered that the box was actually a part of the sound system and not some divine dwelling place! It was probably around this same time when the meaning of the children’s hand game “This is the church, this is the steeple,” began to click for me. We sang “The church is not a building, the church is not a steeple- the church is not a resting place, the church is the…” people. The people.

Do you not know, that you are God’s temple? 

Do you not know that God’s Spirit dwells in you?

When Paul writes this, he uses the plural for you. Just as he writes of how the community of the church makes up the body of Christ, he talks about how it is within this Christian community that the Spirit dwells. The community is the temple, for where two or more are gathered, there the Spirit is also.

My question for us today is not how are we as a community the temple of God, but rather, can we each, as individuals, be a dwelling place for God? Can the spirit reside in each one of us, pulling and shaping and molding us into the people we are capable of becoming? If the Spirit dwells in us, if we are God’s temple, how should we care for that temple? How should we look at our bodies?

Isn’t it funny, how we pay so much attention to our bodies throughout every moment of the day, but when we enter a worshiping space we almost seem to ignore it? We don’t really talk about bodies in church, do we? If we do, isn’t it often in a negative way, like talking about the “sins of the flesh”? Or, perhaps we address certain parts of the body, but these mentions are often only skin-deep; we talk about the color of our skin in the context of talking about boundaries and barriers that need to be torn down in order to create an authentic, Christian community, but nothing about the bodies that this skin encases. Our bodies are wonderful gifts from God, gifts that are meant to be used and enjoyed. Gifts that are modeled after God’s own self.

In the beginning, when nothing existed but chaos and God created the land and the sea, the sun and the stars, all creeping things and all swimming things; when God made grass green and the sky blue; when God made cows and bears and cats, God saved something special for last. I particularly like the way that Tanya Bennett, the chaplain at Drew, describes this final creation: "When everything else was done, God took clay and formed an image of God’s own self, and breathed into God’s own breath, and said, “You are the one I’ve been imagining. You, and everything you see around you, is my beloved creation. And all of it is good!” 

How often do we look at ourselves as a beloved creation of God? When we look in the mirror, particularly those un-flattering mirrors in dressing rooms, do we see ourselves as the one God has been imagining? Do we see ourselves as vessels of God’s spirit, of God’s love? Or do pick ourselves apart, wishing that our bellies were smaller, our abs firmer, our calves bigger and our arms not so flabby? Do we look at our faces and see Christ reflected back at us, or do we notice the pimples, the blemishes, the crow’s feet? When we finger our hair, do we rejoice in the knowledge that God knows every hair, every follicle, on our heads, so deep is God’s love for us, or do we wish our hair was curly when it's straight, or straight when it's curly, or bemoan the fact that those hairs are turning to different colors or even falling out? When we look at ourselves in the mirror, can we say with joy and thanksgiving that we are fearfully and wonderfully made!? Or do we see an on-going construction project, a project that will never live up to the expectations that we, and society, have placed on them?

I think God loves our bodies; not only for our body’s sake, but for what they house. God loves us- God loves us so much that God came to earth and lived in a human body! And just as we fail to see to Spirit that dwells in each one of us, the people failed to see Christ in the human form of Jesus of Nazareth. How often do we fail to see the glimmer of divinity in those around us? If we were to view ourselves and our neighbors as the strong, beautiful temples that we are, how might we treat our bodies, and spirits, differently? Perhaps we would be kinder and gentler to ourselves; perhaps we would seek to help others be the temple that they are capable of being. Perhaps we would take care of ourselves, and others. Each one of our answers will be different, just as each one of us is housed in unique bodies, with unique stories, with unique callings. No matter how different we may be, both inside and out, there is one thing that I hope we may all be able to say: 

That I am God’s beloved, and I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

In closing, I would like to share with you a text written by Ruth Duck; these words have been set to music and are placed in the Faith We Sing, but for today, I want you to simply listen:

 “Sacred the Body”

“Sacred the body God has created, temple of Spirit that dwells deep inside. Cherish each person; nurture creation. Treat flesh as holy, that love may abide.

Bodies are varied, made in all sizes, pale, full of color, both fragile and strong. Holy the difference, gift of the Maker, so let us honor each story and song.

Love respects persons, bodies and boundaries. Love does not batter, neglect, or abuse. Love touches gently, never coercing. Love leaves the other with power to choose.

Holy of holies, God ever loving, make us your temples; in-dwell all we do. May we be careful, tender and caring, so may our bodies give honor to you.”

Amen.