A Narrative Lectionary Sermon for Reformation Sunday on 1 Kings 5:1-5; 8:1-13
1 Kings 5:1-5
Now King Hiram of Tyre sent his servants to Solomon, when he heard that they had anointed him king in place of his father; for Hiram had always been a friend to David. Solomon sent word to Hiram, saying, “You know that my father David could not build a house for the name of the Lord his God because of the warfare with which his enemies surrounded him, until the Lord put them under the soles of his feet. But now the Lord my God has given me rest on every side; there is neither adversary nor misfortune. So I intend to build a house for the name of the Lord my God, as the Lord said to my father David, ‘Your son, whom I will set on your throne in your place, shall build the house for my name.’”
1 Kings 8:1-13
Then Solomon assembled the elders of Israel and all the heads of the tribes, the leaders of the ancestral houses of the Israelites, before King Solomon in Jerusalem, to bring up the ark of the covenant of the Lord out of the city of David, which is Zion. All the people of Israel assembled to King Solomon at the festival in the month Ethanim, which is the seventh month. And all the elders of Israel came, and the priests carried the ark. So they brought up the ark of the Lord, the tent of meeting, and all the holy vessels that were in the tent; the priests and the Levites brought them up. King Solomon and all the congregation of Israel, who had assembled before him, were with him before the ark, sacrificing so many sheep and oxen that they could not be counted or numbered.
Then the priests brought the ark of the covenant of the Lord to its place, in the inner sanctuary of the house, in the most holy place, underneath the wings of the cherubim. For the cherubim spread out their wings over the place of the ark, so that the cherubim made a covering above the ark and its poles. The poles were so long that the ends of the poles were seen from the holy place in front of the inner sanctuary; but they could not be seen from outside; they are there to this day. There was nothing in the ark except the two tablets of stone that Moses had placed there at Horeb, where the Lord made a covenant with the Israelites, when they came out of the land of Egypt. And when the priests came out of the holy place, a cloud filled the house of the Lord, so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud; for the glory of the Lord filled the house of the Lord.
Then Solomon said, “The Lord has said that he would dwell in thick darkness. I have built you an exalted house, a place for you to dwell in forever.”
The Message
I love that we, as a congregation, use the Narrative Lectionary to center ourselves in worship.
One thing you might have noticed about using the Narrative Lectionary is that it requires us to contextualize constantly. We’re moving really fast through really big pieces of Scripture. Sometimes, we jump literal hundreds of years between services and sermons. So, we need to slow down and remind ourselves where we are in the Biblical arc every time we gather to read the Word together.
Some of you might recall that last year, on this very Sunday—Reformation Sunday—we heard a story from 2nd Samuel. I’m going to paraphrase the story for us, because it helps tee up our text 1st Kings text this morning. Are you ready for a little NRMV? (That’s the New Revised Madison Version.)
David says to his prophet, Nathan, “Something isn’t right here. God has done so many good things for me and for the rest of God’s people. God has given me and the rest of God’s people so much. Here I am in a house of cedar, nicer than anything we have; nicer than anything we use; to honor God. I should do something about that.” Basically, David is starting to think that it’s time to take devotion more seriously; to make a statement; to build God a house even finer than his own.
Later that night, God comes to Nathan and gives him a message for David. “Listen—I’ve never asked for a house. I’m still not asking for a house. I haven’t had anything to do with houses since the day I brought the people out of Egypt. My place has been in tents and tabernacles with my people. You’re not going to build me a house, David. In fact, you know what? I’m going to build you a house. How do like that? I’m going to keep forming you as a leader and we’re not going to talk about a Temple again. And that’s that.”
Then God says something curious. “When the time comes, David, and you are ready to lie down with your ancestors, I’m going to turn my focus to your son. I’m going to love him. I’m going to look out for him. He’s going to be the one to build me a house.”
That promise is what we’re talking about in 1st Kings this morning. We’re listening to King Solomon—the son of King David—as he decides to build the Temple, and as he plans to dedicate it once it’s done.
If you have some extra time this afternoon or even later this week, I’d recommend reading about the actual construction of the Temple, itself. Chapters 5, 6 and 7 are bursting with details that help us wrap our minds around just how beautiful this structure was. Solomon ruled during a time of relative peace, but there is speculation that what that really means is that that he was the only one in the region who had any significant resources to work with. For him, and for him alone, money really wasn’t a concern. So, he spared no expense in making this Temple the finest place that God could ever have hoped to dwell. He used the finest materials possible from every end of the earth.
I tried to use this story to my advantage over the last few days. My husband and I are getting a fence put around our back yard, and as I was looking through the brochure, I said, “We should do this horizontal pattern with the premium cedar. Look—it doesn’t have any knots in it.” Then, he told me how much that horizontal pattern with the premium cedar would cost, and he assumed that would shut down the conversation because it was quite literally double the budget we had decided on when we started this project. But I channeled my inner King Solomon and I said, “Well, if it’s good enough for God, it’s good enough for me. Let’s do this.”
(We’re getting decidedly non-premium wood with tons of knots in it. Hopefully those of you working on home improvement projects can have better luck with that strategy than I did.)
When we get to 1st Kings Chapter 8, we see that all the people are gathering in Jerusalem, bringing up the ark of the covenant and making sacrifices during ethanim, which translates to the 7th month of the year in the Jewish calendar. “Ethanim” is a pre-exilic name, and has since been replaced with “tishrae.” We can think of “tishrae” as the time from mid-September into early October. That’s when the majority of foundational Jewish holidays happen, back to back to back.
Solomon has chosen to formally dedicate the Temple to God during a specific time during “tishrae.” It’s called “sukkot,” which some of us might know as the Festival of the Tents. This is a time set aside for remembering seasons of wandering and seasons of harvest throughout the whole history of Israel. Seasons when God was ultra-present with God’s people in the wilderness, providing for them.
How fascinating is this juxtaposition? Solomon focused on almost nothing other than building this Temple. He felt the pressure of a generational charge from God. He threw all of his money into the Temple to make sure . He hired thousands of men to finish the job as fast as possible. You would think that the second it was done, he would want to show it off. He would want to call people from all around to join him in the celebration of this space. But that’s not even close to what he did. He stayed quiet and did nothing for almost 11 months, presumably so that he could schedule this dedication during “sukkot” and add to its significance.
King David offered God a house of cedar and God said, “No, I dwell in tents. My home is with my people in the wilderness.” Now, in a time of remembrance about that wilderness—about those tents, God is dwelling in a beautiful and very permanent Temple. A house of cedar.
Friends, our God is a God who will constantly reminds us who and what lies in the margins. Our God is a God who will reveal what lives in our blind spots; who will balance our perspective by reminding us not only where we have been, but also, where others are, right now.
When we find ourselves dwelling in tents, God will be there with us, promising visions of a cedar house and a plan to get that house built. When we find ourselves in abundance—maybe in more solid dwelling places, God will be there with us, calling us to love, serve and stand in solidarity with the nomads in tents. Our relationships with God can never go stagnant. Our relationships with God can never be passive. God is constantly acting in our lives. God is constantly re-shaping us; re-working us; re-forming us.
Do you know what Solomon says just a few verses after this reading ends? In the literal prayer he uses to dedicate this grand building into which he has put so much time, so much energy and so many resources, Solomon exclaims:
“Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, God, much less this house that I have built! Regard your servant’s prayer and plea, O Lord my God, heeding the cry and the prayer that your servant prays to you today; that your eyes may be open night and day toward this house, the place of which you said, ‘My name shall be there.’”
1 Kings 8:27-30 (NRSV)
Reformation Day is about open eyes, the name of God and every possible way those two things can be connected.
I’ve seen so many Reformation Day jokes and cartoons and memes on my social media pages this week. In one, Martin Luther is nailing the 95 Theses to the Wittenberg chapel, saying, “No, your door is fine! It’s your theology I want to fix!” In another, Katie Luther is at home, cooking something, when she sees the 95 Theses nailed to refrigerator door and yells, “What do you think I bought these magnets for?” Then there’s one that lets us know that coffee was introduced to Western Europe in 1514, and that the 95 Theses were posted in 1517. “Beware a caffeinated theologian with caffeinated followers,” it reads. There are even word plays I’m seeing on “Reeses” and “Theses.” The list goes on.
These are good for a chuckle, but they highlight a temptation we all have on this day—a temptation to root down in self-righteousness about our (Lutheran) theology. About the ideological Temple that we and our ancestors have built to God.
This is the day when we celebrate how the church, universal, was reformed. And friends, who do we say did that reforming work? Who do we say continues to do that reforming work? That’s the important question for us to ask.
I’ll give you a hint: God is the answer.
When I was in seminary, I served at a small, hundred-year-old Lutheran parish in Trenton. It was in Redevelopment Status with the synod at the time, which is a nice way of saying that it was on life support. Enrollment was down, cash flow was negative, and if these people were going to keep gathering as an active congregation, change was needed. Desperately.
So, things were tense all around. Anxiety was high in general. But we were going through some drama on top of all of that, and that drama that exacerbated everything. The head of facilities and the church council president, who had been married for about 20 years at this point, were starting the divorce process. He had fallen in love with someone else—someone who happened to be a well-known sex worker in the area—and the two of them were quickly making plans to start a family chapter of their own.
Our pastor did a lot of good, hard work to help the congregation navigate the complications and nuances that all of this unleashed. He was able to stabilize us and to get us to the point where this man felt comfortable inviting his new partner to church events and programs.
They especially enjoyed worship dinners we hosted every week for the entire neighborhood. At the first of these dinners I led, this woman sat down next to me and struck up small talk in a classically gruff, New Jersey way. She seemed a little uncomfortable, but I suppose I did, too. We had a lot of eyes on us.
About halfway through the meal, I stood up to read the scripture for that evening—John 8:1-11. Scribes and Pharisees bring a woman to Jesus, accusing her of adultery and, essentially, waiting for him to pass judgment on how they should punish her. Jesus says, “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her,” and, one by one, they all leave. He assures the woman that she is forgiven, and charges her to go back to her life and not to make the same mistake again.
When I sat back down, she grabbed my elbow. “Is that really from the Bible? I’ve never, ever heard that story before.”
I nodded, and before I could craft a response, she kept going:
“I never thought that somebody like me would be in a holy book. And I definitely didn’t think that if she were, Jesus would be on her side.”
“That’s the great thing about Jesus,” I laughed a little. “He’s full of surprises.”
When dinner was done, she volunteered for dishwashing duty so that she could stand next to the pastor and ask him every question that came across her mind about this passage. She had so many!
There’s a lot I still don’t know about that woman; her story; her life on that particular night. But I do know that I witnessed true Reformation in that moment.
I got to watch somebody engaging with the living Word of God, truly and authentically. I saw that living Word stop somebody in their tracks; I was there when a Temple mindset disrupted her tent-dwelling one. And it was a privilege.
Friends, I’ll say it again because it bears repeating—our God is a God who will constantly reminds us who and what lies in the margins. Our God is a God who will reveal what lives in our blind spots; who will balance our perspective by reminding us not only where we have been, but also, where others are, right now.
Our God is a God who did something that has never been done before. Our God is a God who broke into our world as one of us to unlock completely new ways we can see ourselves and relate to each other.
So happy Reformation Day, and praise be to God.
This sermon was written and delivered on October 31, 2021.
Helpful influences include:
“309: Solomon’s Temple” episode of the Bible Worm Podcast with Amy Robertson and Robert Williamson Jr (October 24, 2021)
P A S T O R ( I S H ) 