I trust it won’t strike you as unusual that as I contemplate this restored temple, I am reminded of the temple in Jerusalem's renewal following the Babylonian captivity. Even though there are notable differences, the Jerusalem temple held a singular place, not only within Jerusalem but across all of Judah. This temple, however, is one of many scattered throughout this city, illuminating it with the presence of God’s houses much like the stars illuminate the heavens. Their destinies share some resemblance; both were consumed by flames during an invasion from those who disrespected God, and both were revitalized through the fervor of citizens who honored Him.
Some might ask why I would associate a joyful occasion with a remembrance that evokes mixed emotions. Why highlight the contrasting feelings of those present ‘at the foundation of the house of the Lord’ instead of focusing solely on the collective joy of its completion? Indeed, as the Israelites began the reconstruction of their temple—destruction wrought by the Babylonians—they experienced a blend of jubilation and tears. Many of the priests, Levites, leaders, and elders who had witnessed the former temple on its foundation wept aloud, while others celebrated with shouts of joy. Yet, once the obstacles were overcome and God's house was finally completed, their previous sorrow was forgotten as they rejoiced. ‘And the children of Israel, the priests and Levites, and the rest of the children of the transmigration, made the renewal of the house of God in joy.’
I too celebrate with you in this year of trial—whether you are the descendants of long-held exiles, recent captives, or those dwelling in the ashes of the city’s wasteland. I rejoice that a gracious God has restored comfort to your homes and that you, forgiven by Him, have sanctified His house once again. I rejoice alongside you, priests and Levites, that where wickedness once sought to establish an evil presence, you now ‘stand’ ‘in your adornment, ... that you may praise the Lord.’
I dare to extend my joy further; I celebrate with you, ‘the powers of heaven, now invisibly serving with us,’ who through prayer and hidden actions have summoned, by His own promise to be among those gathered in His name, the ‘King of glory’ who has ‘entered into the gates’ of this ‘King of glory.’ ‘Come,’ I echo the Psalmist, ‘let us rejoice in the Lord, let us cry unto God our Saviour: let us make His face our confession, and in psalms let us cry unto Him.’
Yet, amidst my desire to rejoice, I find my voice wavering—when I strive to express only gladness, the uplifting words of the Psalmist lead me swiftly toward tears. ‘Come,’ he continues, ‘let us worship and fall down upon Him, and let us weep before the Lord that made us.’ If anyone wishes, let him revel in the simple joy of this temple’s renewal, just as the good people of Israel ‘shouted with gladness, and lifted up their voices.’ However, should anyone like the many priests, Levites, leaders, and elders not merely dwell on what they see but allow their minds to reflect on both the seen and unseen, let us consider why they wept during the temple’s foundation and ponder whether we too have cause to reflect during this joyful fulfillment of the Lord’s house.
It is those among the populace—priests, Levites, leaders, and elders—who bear greater reasoning and discernment. They were well-acquainted with the Lord's law and thus, especially suited to grasp the unfolding purposes of God. The leaders and elders, keeping watch over the nation’s condition, could discern the faithful hopes or apprehensions concerning the future. When the rebuilding of Jerusalem’s temple commenced, they ‘cried with a great voice.’ Their sorrow, while it might be tempting to overlook amid the nation’s joy, deserves our attention more than the often careless joy of the people.
What compelled their weeping? Ezra offers us insight: they ‘saw the former house on its foundation, and this house before their eyes.’ Yet, what cause exists for lamentation? The prophet Haggai sheds further light, asking the people, ‘Who is there among you that hath seen this temple in its former glory: and how can ye see it now, as it is not before you?’ This question resonated with the wisest Israelites. As they observed the temple still rising from its extensive ruins, they reflected on the former glory that had been lost through desecration and destruction. They compared the diminished, humble appearance of the restored building with the vast splendor of the first, recalling the small remnant of the two tribes of Israel—weak and impoverished, lacking stable governance, surrounded by hostile nations—against the twelve tribes who had once built the former temple during the prosperous reigns of David and Solomon. How could they find satisfaction in the fledgling work now before their eyes?
It seems clear that those of sound judgment, inspired by the glory of the previous temple and the grace that had once adorned it, recognized that the people's iniquity had stripped that glory away, casting it into ruin. They likely realized that the sins which had led to the ancient temple’s destruction and the nation's subsequent captivity had yet to be fully addressed, leaving the returning exiles to rebuild the temple in a state where the dawn of grace had not yet risen, and the sun of glory remained far off. Instead of rejoicing in clarity and hope, they faced a time marked by anxiety, desolation, and genuine mourning. And thus, I too cry out with a great voice!
I join you in lamentations—those of you who, like many others, have witnessed not just this single temple, but many that have emerged from obliteration or hardship to find restoration, perhaps restored to even greater grandeur than before. Do you think that in observing your endeavors and divine assistance, you can fully set aside all sorrow, fear, or care? I cannot reconcile this lightheartedness with the weightiness of the matter, despite my heartfelt desire for your unblemished joy. ‘Serve the Lord with fear, and rejoice in Him with trembling.’ To construct, adorn, and sanctify God’s temple is a gracious endeavor before the Lord and a redemptive act for humanity.
Consider how in the Gospel, the creation of the temple for the Jews—the temple of prayer and sacred teaching—not only drew our Savior nearer but brought immeasurable faith and praise. Isn’t this an illuminating sign of the blessings that await those who labor in establishing a Christian temple in which God incarnate, under the sacraments’ guise, dwells among men? It is true that constructing, adorning, and sanctifying a temple is a significant task. However, it also remains true that creating, embellishing, and sanctifying a physical structure does not reach its completion.
Those familiar with the teachings find that Solomon's temple was meticulously constructed, magnificently adorned, and solemnly consecrated with ample prayer; God glorified it in fire and cloud on the day of consecration. What could have been more illustrious than envisioning the fullness of this grand endeavor? This thought might have occurred to Solomon, yet he needed a divine revelation to understand that this work required ongoing dedication and fulfillment. ‘And the Lord appeared to Solomon a second time,’ the account in Kings states, ‘and the Lord said unto him, I have heard the voice of thy prayer. I will consecrate this temple, which thou hast made, to put My name there for ever: My eyes shall be there, and My heart for ever.’
‘It is grievous, O Lord,’ Solomon might have lamented, ‘is not the entire work already accomplished?’ ‘No,’ the Lord replied, ‘not everything is done yet. For the perfection of this work, listen to what is still required: ‘And you shall walk before Me as David your father walked, in righteousness of heart, and to do according to all that I commanded him, and you shall keep My statutes and My judgments; and I will establish the throne of your kingdom in Israel for ever.’ Yet because the builders and worshippers of the Jerusalem temple neglected to continue its construction and sanctification until the end, it remained imperfect and unstable; its sanctuary was often destroyed, and ultimately it was cast away from His presence according to His judgement.
Though the building and consecration of the Jewish temple, established for outward and ceremonial service, required continuity from its builders and worshippers, how much more critical is it for the Christian temple, intended for divine service that is not merely educational but foundational and spiritually essential? One cannot help but conclude that the efforts to build, adorn, and sanctify the physical, manmade temple serve merely as preparation for crafting, adorning, and sanctifying the spiritual, divine, non-manmade temple within the hearts of its creators, ministers, communicants, and visitors.
What does the Scripture tell us concerning the temple? ‘Do you not know,’ it proclaims, ‘that you are the temple of God?’ About the temple's construction, it states, ‘Unto the Lord,’ drawing near as ‘living stones,’ sometimes humbled by man but chosen and precious in the sight of God, being built into a spiritual temple. Regarding its adornment, we are reminded that we are ‘the house of Christ,’ empowered by the necessary virtues that please the Lord. And concerning the temple's holiness, we hear, ‘The temple of God is holy; but which temple? ‘which ye are.’
Therefore, builders and adorners, witnesses to the sanctification of this visible temple! Is the invisible temple of your souls being constructed, embellished, and dedicated to God just as fervently? Here within this joyful celebration lies my secret concern, my trepidation—oh, if only further contemplation did not evoke sorrow and lament! My understanding cannot delve into the states of our souls, nor do I wish my words to disrupt anyone's joy. Instead, I turn to one of the saints, whose spiritual perception is unquestionable, whose admonition remains fitting. ‘We have not yet realized the joy of salvation from Christ,’ states St. Macarius, ‘but the sting of death deepens in us. We have not yet donned the new man, created in righteousness, nor have we shed the old man, who dwells in earthly passions. We have not yet embodied the heavenly image, nor recognized its glory. We still have not worshipped God in spirit and truth, for sin rules in our mortal bodies. Furthermore, he states: ‘We have not yet become the temple of God and abode of the Holy Spirit; instead, we harbor idols and grant sanctuary to evil spirits because of our souls’ inclination toward vice.’
Yet why should I seek wisdom from afar for reprisal? The measures of our transgressions are evident among those openly observed. Ask yourselves: what transformations in our dispositions and moral lives emerged from the year of trial and consequence? Following such profound divine visitation, are we more vigilant against sin than before? Has our previous humiliation instilled in us deeper humility? Have hardships and deprivations quelled our extravagances, redirecting us towards simplicity and moderation? Have we maintained our focus on communal care birthed from our trials, ensuring property does not again sow discord amongst us?
Should these queries find no verbal responses, their answers are plainly written in our everyday actions, displayed on the walls of our homes, in our adornments, attire, places of entertainment, and in our courts of justice. So, if we sincerely confess that following our collective punishment and extraordinary grace from God, we have reverted to our former selves, what comfort exists in our history? What joy can we find today? What hope remains for the future?
THEOSIS