John begins his Gospel with a recapitulation of the creation account in Genesis.
The temple God has chosen to dwell in is creation, which is the temple he made for himself.
It is a source of comfort — or it should be! — to the Christian, that he with whom we have to do sits on his throne with sovereign attention, and that the whole cosmic drama is resolving itself toward a grand reconciliation with its creator through the cross of Jesus (cf. Colossians 1:19-20). And through it all our task remains the same: fidelity.
We citizens of Technopolis believe fervently in the supremacy of the will. What we will is how things are. Nothing is chiseled into sacred tablets, nothing has any meaning that we can’t change, nothing is beyond our self-interested exploitation and tinkering. If by an act of collective will we deem something good, then it must be good simply because we’ve deemed it so.
Our unique task as stewards and caretakers of “this fragile earth, our island home,” as Eucharistic Prayer C puts it, is to participate in the unfolding of God’s new creation inaugurated in the resurrection of Jesus.
Lent is a crossroads. A choice has to be made. It is our task to live by our baptism and show Jesus’ light in the midst of the brokenness.
Wendell Berry, this great Bard — as great an American voice as Thoreau’s or Whitman’s — assumes that the reality before and all around us in nature is infinitely complex and therefore cannot be fully comprehended by any human intellect.
Why did God create the heavens and the earth, human beings, and all the rest?