In Psalm 132, David talks about not resting until he has found a home for God. Surely God doesn’t need our help finding a home? But then I think of the ark of the covenant and the temple and the Word of God dwelling among us, and I wonder if we’ve been missing something all along in our conversation about home. I wonder if we’re not seeing that we have to invite God in somehow. It’s not that easy, I’m sure—invite God in and all of a sudden everything falls into place, home-wise. But I wonder why it is important for God to have a home on this earth. There’s something to it:
I will not enter my house
or get into my bed;
I will not give sleep to my eyes
or slumber to my eyelids,
until I find a place for the Lord,
a dwelling-place for the Mighty One of Jacob.
This is strange, this thought that God might need a home. I mean, the son of man has no place to lay his head, and all that. God was a pillar of fire and a cloud and a still, small, voice, a burning bush. Why did God need David to find him a place? Where would God be most comfortable? Did he need three bedrooms, for his eventual expansion? Or would he have been at home in a trailer park, a studio, a cave dwelling? What place is fit to be God’s home? And what does it mean for a place to be God’s home? Is it the same as a person being God’s home, like when we ask God into our hearts? I was four when I prayed that prayer, and I got a pink Bible and a feeling that I was very special. But I don’t think that’s what David is talking about here.
Rise up, O LORD, and go to your resting-place,
you and the ark of your might.
Another way to say this is, “Go home, God.” Or, “God, it is good that you should be at home.” And I suppose it’s not so strange to think that this is the case, as much as I’ve poked fun at it. God was homed, after all, in the ark of the covenant. Jesus tabernacled among us, as John 1 tells us. He made his home here.