Will God Dwell on Earth?

A king stands before a great crowd, arms stretched up to the sky. Behind him gleams a brand-new temple, covered in gold. And the king asks a question that sounds almost like a gasp. But will God indeed dwell on the earth?

It has taken seven years to build. King Solomon, David's son, has finished the house that his father longed to build for the Lord, on a hill in Jerusalem. Inside, the walls are lined with cedar and overlaid with gold. Carved cherubim, palm trees and flowers cover the doors. Now, in the seventh month, at the time of the great autumn feast, all the leaders of Israel have gathered. The priests carry the ark of the covenant, the gold-covered chest holding the stone tablets of the law, into the innermost room. And as they come out, a cloud fills the house. The glory of the Lord is so bright that the priests cannot stay to do their work.

Then Solomon stands before the altar of the Lord, in front of the whole assembly of Israel, and spreads out his hands toward heaven. He begins to pray. Lord God of Israel, there is no God like you, in heaven above or on earth below. You keep your covenant and show steadfast love to your servants who walk before you with all their heart. Then he remembers his father. You have kept what you promised David. You spoke it with your mouth, and with your hand you have fulfilled it this day. Now, Lord, keep the rest of your promise: that David will never lack a man to sit on the throne of Israel, if his children walk before you faithfully.

And then, in the middle of all that splendour, Solomon stops and asks the great question. “But will God indeed dwell on the earth? behold, the heaven and heaven of heavens cannot contain thee; how much less this house that I have builded?” Think of it. Solomon has just built the finest building Israel has ever seen. And he says: it is far too small. The whole sky cannot hold you. How could a house? He is not being falsely modest. He is amazed. How can the God of the whole universe come close to people like us?

Yet Solomon keeps praying, because God has promised to put his name in this place. So he asks: listen to the prayer of your servant. Let your eyes be open toward this house night and day, toward the place where you said, my name shall be there. When your people pray toward this place, hear from heaven, your dwelling place. And when you hear, forgive. Solomon goes on to imagine every kind of trouble: drought, famine, enemies, even foreigners from far countries coming to pray. In every case his request is the same. Hear, and forgive, and act. The temple was not a box to hold God. It was a meeting place, where heaven and earth touched.

For all its gold, Solomon's temple was not enormous. The book of First Kings gives its main building as sixty cubits long, twenty wide and thirty high. A cubit was roughly the length of a forearm, so that is about thirty metres long and ten wide, smaller than many church buildings today. It was magnificent in craft, not in size. And Solomon himself said even this was too small for God.

Solomon's prayer is in First Kings chapter eight, verses twenty-two to thirty. Nearly a thousand years later, John's Gospel answered his question in a way no one expected. The Word became flesh, and dwelt among us. God did come to live on earth, not in a golden house, but as a baby in a manger. So here is a question to carry with you. If the heavens cannot contain God, what does it tell you about his love that he chose to come so close?