The Universe is a Spherical Temple

If the universe is an orb then it is both finite and infinitely traversable. Because we believe that God is infinite and singular in all his qualities, we must conclude that his creation is finite. We cannot at the same time conceive of a universe that has boundary. And since the only shape which we can conceive of and view in nature that is both boundless and finite is an orb, we can easily conclude that the universe is literally an orb. An orb model is consistent with the general theory of relativity.

The universe is divided into three things: matter, space, and the imperceptible presence of God which governs all of the finite creation by means of his extended natures. And we seek to describe and emulate these natures of God which sustain the universe using our own invented languages.

Are we to conclude that what we describe as the force of gravity is something outside God and set apart from him, or a force that comes from God himself only stretched and embedded in a creation that stands apart from him, grateful for his motivating personality? Like the nature of God, these invented languages of man seem to be both extensions of our personality and found tools which exist outside of us. But are we going to describe these invented languages or know what they are by discovering their purpose?

They are the places in which God and men are supposed to commune. At the crossroads of all invented mortal practices like mathematics and philosophy, man is seeking to come into the court of God himself which is Creation.

Not only has Creation been the temple of God since the beginning and the place where man communes with God, the revelation of Christ makes it evident that it is our pollution of this holy space that has obscured its purpose. It is only in our malfunctioning sinful state that this obvious reality which is so deeply embedded into everything we perceive goes apparently rogue whenever we start looking around for evidence of it.

It is like we are walking around in our back garden straining our eyes and our hearts looking for God. We figure he is hiding his shame from us; how deeply sorry he is for the evil in the world he brought about. But we are incredibly dull people. The sunlight that is blinding us while we traipse around in the back garden is God himself pushing heavily on us and we chop through the tall grass that is God himself growing up around us, cursing the ground for growing grass in our way. And God has been yelling at us in the sunlight and grass to remember him because he alone will save us from this polluted temple.

We are buying and selling in his temple and drawing the crowds to our booths and all the while complaining that no one has bothered washing the floors. We need to take our shoes off, because everywhere we stand is holy ground. And it is not that he is incapable or unwilling to clean the floors, but that his intention for the space is etched in the floors themselves. And he has told us to wait for when the temple is completely cleansed—and in the meantime to take our shoes off and take down our booths in anticipation. We complain and say, “It’s no use. Taking my shoes off won’t make this place any cleaner—and while I might take down my booth, the buying and selling will not stop.”

But seeing that we have made a mess, he has told us that he will clean it. And seeing that we made the mess, he has told us to stop making one so that when he comes to finish his work we will not have to face the embarrassment of still tracking mud on the floors when he comes to cleanse his temple. He is asking us not to embarrass ourselves in front of him. And that is not some future reality, but a present one. God has been in his temple the entire time and the respect he is asking us to show is only part of that slow revelation of our dullness.

We think he is the visitor who never showed his face. But, we are the guests who have come into his house and mistaken it for our own. And we see no sign of him, because his floors and walls are caked in our own mud. And God’s flesh still holds up the house.

Caleb Joseph Warner

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