Tending to the Temple

“For the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the LORD as the waters cover the sea” (Habakkuk 2:14).

No sooner had I learned that my wife and I were expecting a son, than did another revelation flit across my mind: “I’m having a boy... I’m having a son!—Hmm, I really need to get back into shape.”

It’s difficult to explain, but for some strange reason this was one of the earliest thoughts that crossed my mind upon discovering that my wife and I were having a baby boy—a son. It wasn’t so much that I was grossly out of shape or living an unhealthy lifestyle at the time, though one can always be in better shape. Rather, there seemed to flash before me in that moment an echo from my own childhood. There I was, a small boy, and then suddenly the image of my father took form before me: he was not very tall or overly muscular, never was, but he was strong—for much of my boyhood, no one seemed stronger than my father. “That,” I thought, “is the way I want my son to see me.”

I’m confident there must be a female—or motherly—equivalent to this revelation of mine, though I won’t venture to guess what it may be. Nonetheless, something about the fact that I now knew I was a father to a son motivated me to begin working out again, at least in thought at this point. It was an almost instantaneous conviction. Though, I’m sure I would have had a similar response if we were expecting a daughter—only, perhaps, for slightly different reasons.

If Elaina and I were expecting a baby girl, I suspect I’d feel motivated to get back into shape so as to ensure I can protect her. As the eldest brother of three younger sisters, some old habits are hard to shake, particularly when it concerns the girls and women in my family. But, because I’m having a son, I now feel a burden upon myself to demonstrate to him, much as I’m able, how a man ought to protect those around him—spiritually and relationally above all, but also physically.

And, perhaps somewhat selfishly, I want to ensure I can whip my son in as many sports as possible for as long as possible. Indeed, one can never be too young to cultivate ‘old man strength’—that rare quality accompanying fatherhood that enables dads, without so much as having stretched in decades, to outmatch the saplings around them in whatever sport, workout, or labor the latter finds themselves presently engaged in.

It seemed by pure happenstance, then, that I found myself catching up with a family friend on the afternoon of our son’s gender reveal party (though, of course, he was just ‘baby’ until only moments before—hence the gender reveal dimension of the party). As this woman and I were catching up, I asked how her son was doing. He and I worked together a few years back, and though our correspondence ran somewhat thin since then, we yet remained friends—friends in the way only men tend to be friends, with often a year or so, or more, between our chats.

In response to my question, she mentioned that her son had taken up swimming at a gym not far from where Elaina and I live. I grew up swimming quite regularly and so was delighted to hear there was a gym nearby that also happened to have a pool. Both my sister and I swam competitively in our teens, and I’ve been itching to get back into the water for years—only, facilities with pools are often far, far more expensive than your typical gym. Much to my surprise, this location worked out to be about the same price on a monthly basis as the gym where my current membership was gathering dust.

I began swimming again a few days later.

As it often is with getting back into any old habit, particularly one that is physical, I was immediately struck with another revelation—“Wow, I had no idea I was this out of shape.” What a curious phrase: “out of shape.” What shape would the Lord have us be, I wonder? All that to say, I didn’t feel particularly shapely or aerodynamic my first day back in the pool, but I stuck to it.

To say that I have felt like a fish out of water these past few years seems a fitting comparison given the context. It was hard work, but I loved getting back into the pool. The many years of my training flooded back into my body in short order. Almost immediately after my first few laps,—as the world grew silent and still beneath the unbroken surface of the water, the distance passing by—my mind turned to those now famous words by Olympian Eric Liddell: “When I run, I feel His pleasure.”

I know exactly what Liddell meant. For the longest time, I had always applied those words of his to that particular joy I feel when I write for the Lord. But now, though I remain an unremarkable swimmer by most accounts, I have been reminded once again of a different sort of joy, a variety I haven’t experienced in years. A joy borne out not by words, ideas, or literature, but by sweat and steam and the still, glassy surface anticipating my next stroke as I stretch and flex and ache and breathe for His glory. In my own way, I am beginning again to feel what Liddell must have felt each time he ran—“When I swim, I feel His pleasure.”

I used to workout a lot as a teenager, perhaps too much. Indeed, I was not yet a Christian and it was more than likely that physical fitness was an idol in my life. Upon becoming a follower of Christ, I continued to stay in shape but, if I’m being quite honest, there was a sort of guilt that now stalked me anytime I took to the gym.

Looking back on those years, I’ve come to realize a few errors about both my thinking and my living. Firstly, I more than certainly had a poor theology of the body. And second, this unbiblical understanding of mine was only bolstered by the nagging conviction that Christ’s Second Coming was due at almost any time. Why bother staying in shape if the world was about to end? I wish I were joking because, as a young Christian, I thoroughly believed this.

But that wasn’t all. Growing up in a church that preached from the King James Version, Paul’s words from 1 Timothy 4:8 frequently rattled about my head: “For bodily exercise profiteth little: but godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come.”

In the grand scheme of things, yes, “bodily exercise profiteth little,” but that does not mean it is of no value. I fear that is how many Christians choose to read this passage, substituting little with not at all. Notice, however, that Paul says exercise has some value; he did not say exercise has no value. It profits little, perhaps, but there is yet profit to be found says Paul. Thus, we cannot so easily discount it’s value in our lives.

Our physical fitness becomes an issue when it is elevated above our spiritual fitness. Like anything in life, exercise can readily become an idol in our hearts if at any point it becomes an object of affection above God Himself, or even above the many good and godly responsibilities that God has stewarded to us. Like writing, exercise can become an idol if I obsess over it to the degree that my other tasks at home, work, or in my family are grossly neglected.

And, even if Christ was due on history’s doorstep tomorrow morning, why should that rule out our doing some good today, however fleeting? I once heard a story where Martin Luther was asked what he would do if the world were to end the very next day. Luther responded, “I would plant an apple tree today.”

However, back to our bodies. The physical is good; God made the physical. God likes stuff. He filled His universe to the brim with physical, material stuff, of which our fleshly bodies—composed of bones and muscles and tendons and skin—are a part. The Apostle Paul’s words in 1 Timothy 4:8 must then be understood in light of the overall testimony of Scripture.

Consider two other passages penned by Paul on the importance of the body. From a general perspective, everything we do as believers must be conducted with joy Coram Deo—that’s Latin for “Before the face of God.” This is drawn from many Biblical passages, not least of which is 1 Corinthians 10:31: “So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.” Everything in life is on the table when it comes to living for the glory of God, provided it is not sin or prohibited in His Word—whether it be planting apple trees, working out, or writing. Because God is everywhere, we are then ever in His presence. We should therefore ever be busy about those things which pertain to His good pleasure.

Downstream—or rather, upstream—from 1 Corinthians 10:31, we find these well-known words only a few chapters earlier in 1 Corinthians 6:19-20:

“Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.”

God does nothing out of necessity, as though He is in need of anything or ever moved to do a thing contrary to His will. God did not walk in the cool of the day with our first parents in the Garden because He had to, or because He was lonely; God did not need to condescend to Israel and dwell amongst them in the Tabernacle, and then afterwards in the Temple. Our God, the One true God,—“the King of the ages, immortal, invisible, the only God” (1 Timothy 1:17)—is not a God who dwells in houses and temples built by human hands, as though these are able to contain Him. He is infinite beyond all measure; the heavens themselves cannot contain Him.

And yet, beyond all expectation and imagination, we as those in Christ are called the temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 6:19). In the New Heavens and the New Earth, “the dwelling place of God is with man” (Revelation 21:3) not because man is anything special, but because God loves us and has redeemed us for Himself. Inside and out, we are, in the entirety of our essence, both physically and spiritually, His possession, having been purchased with the precious blood of God Himself. Therefore Paul writes, “So glorify God in your body.”

We must, then, be about the business of tending to the temple of our bodies where God Himself resides. We do this not because we want to eke out a few more years on this planet for our own purposes by chasing the latest health craze, nor do we tend to our bodies for the allure of the world and watching eyes: we tend to the temple of our bodies because God Himself is its holy resident. And because God is present, the place must be tended, well-kept, swept, ordered, and altogether holy even as He is holy.

As R.C. Sproul once said, “We are prone to stuffing and stretching the temple of the Holy Spirit.” This ought not be the case. Indeed, “bodily exercise profiteth little” in comparison to the weight of glory prepared for those who cultivate spiritual maturity; but the fact remains that you very well might be far less capable to bear spiritual fruit consistently if your physical body is neglected to the point of atrophy and decay.

The Lord numbers our days, but those days might be far fewer should we steward them foolishly. The Christian walk is not a sprint, but a marathon. The steadfast and faithful life requires of us endurance that is spiritual as well as physical. If we are to be faithful disciples of Christ for the long haul, then let us ensure the bodies He gave us are healthy and up to the task for the work He’s given.

For my part, I intend to steward my body well until I am unable to do otherwise. I want to glorify God in all my physical efforts to the far greater end of being able to work energetically and enthusiastically in His Kingdom on those spiritual matters He’s stewarded to me, whether they be in my family, writing, church, workplace, or beyond. I want to glorify God now as I swim or walk or lift heavy things with the hope that I can still do those things, and far better things, with my own son in the years and decades to come, if the Lord wills.

Of course age, injury, devastating circumstances, and illness take their toll on our bodies. This is, after all, a fallen world and our bodies feel the curse deeply—some bodies more than others. I do not mean to bind anyone’s conscience on this issue, for I realize personal factors abound that may inhibit regular exercise; or even regular movement, for that matter.

I do, however, want to offer encouragement and hope such as I’m able. Encouragement, because God has indeed given us good, physical bodies that He intends for our regular use unto His glory—so do not feel guilty as you exercise, “glorify God in your body.” And hope, because we have a perfect body and a perfect world awaiting us in the New Heavens and the New Earth. This hope penetrates the brokenness of both body and world that we so regularly rub shoulders with in this life.

In that place, we won’t be able to go anywhere without seeing some new, previously unfathomable, dimension of God’s glory and goodness and beauty. I firmly believe we will take part in this glory to some degree, clothed as we shall be, body and soul, with immortality, holiness, and perfection, even as Christ is:

“Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when He appears we shall be like Him, because we shall see Him as He is” (1 John 3:2).

There are times when I have caught a fleeting glimpse of it as I swim—of that glory to come, of our resurrection bodies and the realm they shall forever inhabit. I’m underwater, and then suddenly the world around me grows altogether dim and quiet. I glide suspended between those two worlds divided only by a shimmering veil of blue swirls and pale lights, like a loose sheet drawn across the sky. Then, in the moments between these moments,—as though the image is thrust upon me—my mind begins to think on that world to come, where “the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the LORD as the waters cover the sea” (Habakkuk 2:14).

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Photo by Matt Hardy, Unsplash

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