Tabernacle
An an old, old story. An invitation in the desert.
Hallo,
And peace be with you.
Every year, my church hosts a retreat for artists and writers to gather together and meditate around a scriptural theme. It’s delicious stuff; we get to think and talk together with our hands and word-play. We get to chew and savor; we wrestle communally. It’s one of my favorite ways to listen and commune with Maker with others, and I always leave in awe of Maker’s beauty, the intentional and beautiful patterns in the biblical texts, and the richness of community.
This year’s theme? Tabernacle.
Sometimes I play a story-game. Can you tell a story in three sentences? Six words?
I like to do it with gospel: can you tell the good-story in three words?
It’s a game. Don’t overthink it. Every word in all of the universe and all of history come together to sing the story; I’m not asking us to diminish it. I’m asking us to play, to let concision join in the chorus, and to see what a sort-of black-out poetry style reduction might reveal.
My favorite three-word gospel story is God with us.
It’s a wee-pebble-reminder I carry with me to remember Maker’s heart always for us.
Sometimes I even play it down to one word.
Emmanuel.
Tonight I gathered with these artists and writers and a crew of folk from around our city. We spent all evening sharing our works, listening, asking questions, eating food, and enjoying good company. After hearing their words, looking closely at their works, remembering the wrestling and conversations and all the process behind these pieces, I’m wondering: Could another one-word good-story be tabernacle?
Maker doesn’t stay in the Garden, but follows his people into the desert and camps with them. Makes a way, in a wild cosmic greenhouse-tent, out of shame and sin and desolation and oppression, into delight, communion. I won’t tell more than just that taste, but. Sit with that wild, beautiful story?
I wish I could share with you all the pieces from this evening. There are smears of paint and smoke trails, dinner tables and dangling earrings and refugee camps and sunflowers in a small gallery outside our sanctuary, all wrestling with this ancient story. There are, actually, books available, a small anthology, if you’d like to see the pieces and wonder at this story with us. Or if you’re near Chattanooga, Tennessee, come by in the next month or so to Mission Chattanooga, and see them in person.
For now, though, I’d like to share my pieces, and invite you, in some small way, to meditate with us, listen with us, to this story & what’s packed inside it still for whoever wants to listen today. Maybe, if you want, crack open Exodus 25-31 and wonder along with us.
