Sermon: "A House for God," All Saints Sunday, November 3, 2024

David and the Prophet Nathan

Scripture: 2 Samuel 7:1-19
Preacher: Rev. Ryan Slifka

This week we’re continuing our sermon series on 1 and 2 Samuel, which more or less tell the story of David, Israel’s greatest king, and key ancestor of Jesus.

Last week, David had the ark of the covenant moved to the Holy City of Jerusalem. He’s united all the tribes of Israel into a single kingdom, with a single faith, at a single capitol. He’s subdued all of Israel’s surrounding enemies. Now the ark that carries the ten commandments, that great symbol of God’s presence with God’s people. This is the high mark of David’s success. Nothin’ else to do but bask in the triumph.

David’s done it all. So one day he’s stretching himself out on a recliner, sipping a dry martini. And he surveys the luxury cedar palace he’s had crafted for himself.

And it hits him. He calls in his pastor, the prophet Nathan. God’s been so good to me he says to Nathan. God's built me up. So I wanna build something for God.

Now, remember that the ark that he just had brought to Jerusalem—it’s only ever been kept in a tent. From the beginning when Israel was wandering around in the desert for forty years. Considering this, David turns to Nathan, and he’s like—I’ve got this beautiful mansion, but all the Lord has is four flimsy walls of draped canvas. He wants to upgrade the Lord from a divine a starter house to something more solid, something more elegant. A total tabernacle makeover.

Of course Nathan’s like any pastor when somebody offers to bankroll a church building upgrade. “YES GO FOR IT WITH GOD’S BLESSING. I’ll start filling out a tax receipt ASAP.”

Now as excited as David and Nathan are to get shovels in the ground, the Lord seems less so.

That night Nathan’s probably up all night excited about this great news. Just think of the state-of-art we could have! Maybe even a Starbucks in the lobby!

But then God speaks to him in a dream. Go tell David. “Thus saith the Lord. Are you the one to build me a house? What makes you think I need one from you. From the moment I brought y’all out of slavery to the present day have I ever said to any of you, “gosh, what I could use is some kinda artisanal log home?”  Tell my dear David, Nathan, that he needn’t build me a house. A tent has suited me just fine.

Kind of reminds me of that Christmas where my mom unwrapped a Shop-Vac and my dad couldn’t figure out why she wouldn’t talk to him through Christmas dinner. What David thinks God wants isn't what God wants at all.

Why not? I mean, this is a thank-offering. David just wants to pay it forward. Besides, if David gets a fancy house, what will people think if the Lord of the universe is still hanging around in a tent? Why wouldn’t God want David to build him a house?

Well, the thing is that God doesn’t seem to have a problem with houses per se. It’s who’s building the house that’s the issue with God.

The Lord continues in this dream-speech to Nathan. “Tell David to forget the big construction contracts,” God says. “Not just for now, but, like, for good. And tell him after he’s cold, dead in the ground, I will get to work. When you’re long, gone, David, I will raise up one of your offspring, a direct descendant with your DNA. And through this one, I will build myself a house.”

According to God there will be a house. But God’s gonna build it. Not David.

And wait—there’s more!

The one who builds this house for me, God says. I’ll establish his kingdom forever. We’re gonna be so tight that he’ll call me dad and I’ll call him sonny boy. If he does wrong, I’ll do a little corrective punishment for sure. But, unlike Saul, I’ll never pluck the crown off his head.

Like not only does God promise to build himself a house, God here pledges to be with David and his descendants forever. No matter what. This is what we call the Davidic covenant. “You might not live to see the ribbon-cutting ceremony,” God says. “But when I build this house, I’m planting your house, your family, your line right in the throne room for good. With a lease that’ll never expire. Your kingdom,” God says. “will have no end.”

God’s not interested in David building God a house. But it doesn’t mean God’s not interested in a house at all. In fact, God is the one who’s taken over the project. David won’t live to see it. David won’t build the house. Because he doesn’t have to. But God is building a better one. This house that’ll never rust or rot. It'll never turn to rubble, no matter what. But will stand forever... solid into all eternity.

At this point, of course you might be wondering why exactly this matters. David’s not gonna build the house, God will. And it’ll last forever. After all, this promise, at least on the surface, never came true.

David’s son Solomon built the first temple, the first house, yes. Problem is that Solomon may have built the house—the Jerusalem temple—but eventually the Babylonians came and knocked it to the ground. When the Babylonians were pushed out by the Persians they sponsored a rebuild. Only to have the Romans raze it to the ground in 70AD. Never to be built again. No temple, no king from David’s line. Perhaps the promise wasn’t true. Or maybe Nathan’s vision was mistaken.

That is, until Jesus.

Before all this last temple is destroyed though, we have this wandering Jewish peasant named Jesus. A carpenter by trade, funny enough. Building houses is his forte. And if you send off some of his DNA to 23 and Me or ancestry.com, you’d find a match for David, a dozen or so branches up the family tree. In fact, his followers and adoring crowds take to calling him the son of David. And you know what? He seems to foresee that the latest temple—the house of the Lord—is destined for demolition yet again. “But when that happens,” Jesus says. “Gimme three days. Just three days, and I’ll raise this house up again. Quick as that.”

Now, when Jesus says this, people think he’s possibly crazy. Like, I’m sure you can work fast, buddy, but that thing was decades in the making. He can’t be serious.

But little do they know at the time, is that with all that temple-talk, this carpenter is actually talking about himself. “He was referring,” says John’s gospel. “He was referring to the temple of his body.” That those ancient promises made to David weren’t referring to Solomon, or the royal house. The promise wasn’t for a house of wood or stone. But that God would build a house for himself out of living, breathing tissue.

“The Word became flesh,” begins John’s gospel, “and dwelt among us.” “Tented among us” in fact. That God would come to dwell among us in the form of a Son not made by human hands, but of God’s doing. And though this house, this temple, would face the wrecking ball of human sin, and divine punishment, it would be resurrected. Raised again by the power of God, never again to perish. But to stand forever.

The Apostle Peter says that Jesus is the “stone the builders rejected” that became the chief cornerstone. Jesus is the cornerstone in the house God has always been planning to build.

You know, we Christians often think about heaven in terms of where our spirits go when we die. Somewhere else. No doubt, we are promised eternal life with God forever. But the Bible pictures our beautiful future not as us going to heaven, but as heaven coming down to us.

The book of Revelation pictures the heavenly city of Jerusalem coming down from the clouds, with God dwelling forever among God’s people. “Thy will be done—on earth as in heaven.” The hymn we’re about to sing calls Jesus “joy of heaven to earth come down.” Heaven and earth, the finite and in infinite in an everlasting embrace. And Jesus is the fulfilment of God’s pledge to David to build his house, to plant his dwelling place in creation permanently. Forever and for good.

Which is, in the end, very good news for you and I. Why?

Well, because like David, we assume that our purpose in life is to build a house for God. Even if we don’t use the language of God. A few weeks ago I saw an ad that read “craft the life you’ve always wanted.” Or the ubiquitous phrase “build a better world.” Neither of which is necessarily bad. But the assumption here is that through the right skill, or power, or hard work you and I can renovate our lives, that we can give our world a complete home makeover. But considering the general disrepair of our lives, our families, our communities, our planet, that sounds either highly unlikely or completely untrue. A project that never actually gets done, but runs into endless delays and cost overruns. A set of plans for either exhaustion or despair.

But if the gospel is true, then we don’t have to think like that anymore.

What the Christian message means is that neither you nor I are the architects of our lives. Neither you nor I are the planners, nor the managers, nor the builders. Not even day labourers shoveling the last few piles of dirt to get it all done. But instead Jesus himself calls the church, the Body of Christ. Extensions of his own body, the dwelling place he is building for God. God is building God’s dwelling in creation beginning with you and me. Which makes this scripture a pretty decent one for All Saints Sunday. Because Saints are ordinary people in whom God has come to dwell. People in whose lives we’ve caught a glimpse of that beautiful, eternal home God is building for us all. One of safety, comfort, and joy. Where every tear is wiped away. All things made new.

Which means our lives have meaning, because we have a hope, and a future. Meaning none of our sins can cease the work of the Spirit that never ceases. No ifs, ands or buts can throw off the final inspection. Because God is doing the building, none of our failures, whether yours or mine can cause the permit of this peaceable kingdom to be pulled.

Like, we don’t have to build anything. But only to live in faith that our lives are being worked on, brick by brick, trusting that history is going somewhere. Not that we have to build anything. But that we’re being built into something instead. A house for God. One that will last forever.

In a moment, we’ll all be invited to come forward to Jesus’ table to the Lord’s supper. The sacrament of holy communion. When you come forward, hands open, I want you to imagine yourselves not only approaching this table here and now. But understand this as a sneak preview. As a foretaste of that heavenly the table in that future dwelling place he promised to David, the promise he sealed in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. May he find his home in you this day. And every day. Until that endless day comes in full.

I offer this to you in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. AMEN.