I got sick over a week ago, but it had been on my schedule for a month to attend the temple. I didn't want to miss out, so feeling lousy I got in the car and went. Temple-going here is pretty much an all day proposition by the time you add the drive, the almost compulsory stop at Deseret Book, and Panera for lunch. It was a long day. I came home exhausted, with homework for the week still to finish and a handful of needy Jedi.
And yet . . .
I'm so grateful for sacred spaces.
Nothing earth-shattering happened when I was in the temple this week. I doubt very much that I've done the necessary personal preparation to have much revelation, but I am deeply grateful for the chance to be there. Life is noisy and busy and messy. Modern life insists that we be constantly connected to others. Even the most beautiful places (some of which I had the pleasure to see this summer), are often crowded with other acolytes hoping to get away from the noise and the bustle, only to bring it with them. But the temple is not like that. Noise in the temple is generally related to joyous and reverent familial embraces and the BEST moments of your life. Quiet in the temple is sublime and transcendent.
Hopefully you didn't notice, but once again our temple ceremony is receiving some ugly press. It makes me sad to think that sacredness is so maligned, and that more people don't recognize the need to find contemplative, quiet places where we might commit to be better humans and to work harder to bless the lives of others. The building of small temples has blessed hundreds of communities: I would maintain that it has done so even for those who never enter those doors. For the people go to the temple to make covenants, but they go home to keep them. As personal as the covenants are, we can only truly magnify our promises in our treatment to others.
The scriptures tell us that our homes should equal the temple in sacredness. Maybe the silver lining found in the minutae of home life should be the subject for tomorrow.