Hear the word of the Lord from Psalm 15:
O Lord, who may abide in your tent?
Who may dwell on your holy hill?
Those who walk blamelessly, and do what is right,
and speak the truth from their heart;
who do not slander with their tongue,
and do no evil to their friends,
nor take up a reproach against their neighbors;
in whose eyes the wicked are despised,
but who honor those who fear the Lord;
who stand by their oath even to their hurt;
who do not lend money at interest,
and do not take a bribe against the innocent.
Those who do these things shall never be moved.
What image do you see when you read about the tent of the Lord here? Do you think of the tabernacle, its careful construction, its sparse but beautiful furnishings, its unusual size for a tent meant for the desert?
Or perhaps the talk of the “holy hill” makes you picture Jerusalem, the stunning white stone of the temple, the carefully tended lamps within and fires without, the many faithful who gather in its courtyards to worship the one true and living God?
It may be that your picture is very precise, and that you imagine the days of Jerusalem, recently conquered by David, his new palace of cedar on one ridge near the tent that shelters the ark, awaiting the day that God will allow Solomon to build the temple.
Any of these are possible, but I have another image, too. The tent is a caravan tent, perched on the leeward side of a large sand dune. It is large, well-traveled tent, the kind that belongs to a prince. Inside there is this amazing collection of people reclined at the table with that prince, surprisingly diverse. They are not only Arab and Jewish, or even Syrian or Ethiopian, but but also others who appear to come from around the globe. Unlike the tents of so many sultans, both men and women, young and old lean into the low table, abundantly supplied with a simple, yet beautiful, meal. I do not yet know all of their stories, yet I already sense that these are people whose amazing lives are intimately connected with the life of the host.
I know that I have been invited into this tent, but then I remember how those who dwell there are described: “Those who walk blamelessly, and do what is right.” As much as I celebrate the invitation, I cannot say that my walk is blameless, nor that what I do is always right. The first words out of my mouth are a prayer, instinctively a plea to the host: “Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
I want to be at this table.
I want to walk blamelessly, and do what is right,
I want to be known as one who speaks the truth from my heart;
And who will not slander with my tongue,
I want it to be unbelievable that I would do any evil to my friends,
or take up a reproach against my neighbors;
I want it to be known that in my eyes wickedness is despised,
but that I honor those who fear the Lord;
that I respect those who stand by their oath even to their hurt;
that my friends do not lend money at interest,
or take bribes against the innocent.
Perhaps some of these things are true because of my virtue; perhaps others are true because I have not perceived the opportunity to violate them. Yet can I say that all of them are true?
In all of these things, it is the power of my host, my elder brother, Jesus Christ, that makes it possible for me to be in this tent, to recline at this table as if I belong here. The God who makes that which is not as if it were makes the righteousness that I have not as if it were real. So I do the best I can. I say my twelve-worded prayer more times a day that you might imagine. I depend upon my host to make my place at the table, because I understand, after so many decades, that it is his declaration, and not my deserving, that brings me to share dessert with the amazing people circled in this desert tent.
Come, abide in his tent.
Ron
Psalm 15 – NRSV
