Dying to Find Life

As I looked into the eyes of the dying, I felt like I was meeting God. It was as if I were entering the Holy of Holies of the temple-- sacred, mystical. I felt like I should take off my shoes. I knew what Dorothy Day meant when she said, "The true atheist is the one who denies God's image in the 'least of these.'" The reality that God's spirit dwells in each of us began to sink in. I had sung the old worship songs in youth group, like "Sanctuary" ("Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary pure and holy"), but I don't think I ever realized that we really are the sanctuaries where the Spirit dwells. Our bodies are the temples of God, and that's not just a reason to eat less cholesterol. We are the body of Christ, not in some figurative sense, but we are the flesh and blood of Jesus alive in the world through the Holy Spirit-- God's hands, feet, ears. When Paul writes, "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me" (Gal. 2:20), he means it. Over and over, the dying and the lepers would whisper the mystical word namaste in my ear. We don't really have a word like it in English (or even much of a Western conception of it). They explained to me that namaste means "I honor the Holy One who lives in you." I knew I could see God in their eyes. Was it possible that I was becoming a Christian, that in my eyes I could catch a glimpse of the image of God?



-Shane Claiborne, "The Irresistible Revolution"