1 O LORD, who may abide in your tent? Who may dwell on your holy hill?
2 Those who walk blamelessly and do what is right and speak the truth from their heart;
3 who do not slander with their tongue and do no evil to their friends nor heap shame upon their neighbors;
4 in whose eyes the wicked are despised but who honor those who fear the LORD; who stand by their oath even to their hurt;
5 who do not lend money at interest and do not take a bribe against the innocent. Those who do these things shall never be moved.
Psalm 15 (NRSVue)
A sanctuary is a holy place, such as a temple, shrine or church. More specifically, the worshipping place within a church building is sometimes called a sanctuary, in contrast to the ‘church hall’ where people have their teas and coffees after the service. Sanctuary may also refer to a nature reserve, such as a bird sanctuary, where injured animals are cared for. A sanctuary might also be a place of refuge or safety from danger or persecution. Sanctuary also describes a sacred place with an ecclesiastical immunity, where a fugitive is immune from arrest.
In the light of the current global immigration debates with a growing xenophobia, the fear of the stranger in our localities, a genuine faith engagement begins by asking Does God have a ‘residence permit?’ If so, where is God seeking a sanctuary today? God’s sanctuary is a place of refuge from danger. God’s sanctuary is a creation reserve, where nature is cared for. God’s sanctuary is a holy ground where God’s presence is experienced through welcome, fairness and inclusion of all. God’s sanctuary is a site where justice is affirmed to those on the margins, particularly for people seeking asylum, for people seeking a refuge from cruel wars and for people pushed into situations of homelessness by offering home, hope and hospitality.
In Psalm 15, the psalmist offers us two perspectives of God’s sanctuary when he cries out, “O Lord, who may abide in your tent? Who may dwell on your holy hill?” (verse 1). God’s sanctuary is perceived as a tent and on a holy hill. The psalmist offers a tent and a holy hill as signs, sights and sites of God’s dwelling, abiding, sojourning, pitching and residing. To such an enquiry, the psalmist explains the various entry requirements into the divine dwelling. The next four verses clarify that those who uphold the integrity and wholeness of the community will be upheld by the divine in cohabiting with and in God’s residence. It is interesting to note that there are no ritual, liturgical, or sacrificial elements mentioned to enter God’s dwelling. Instead, communitarian holiness opens a person into the dwelling of God’s residence.
More than entrance requirements, however, I am most intrigued by the way God’s sanctuary has been imagined and imaged as a temporal, fragile, un-concrete, makeshift tent, which is portable, adaptable, easily assembled and disassembled tent on the one hand, and on a naturistic hill, with no defined structure, building, roof, rafter or shelter. What does that tell us about the divine? How does this imagery inform a political theology of sanctuary? What is its relevance and meaning to those seeking a home, a refuge and a sanctuary in our context today?
God’s sanctuary as a tent:
For the psalmist, a tent was a common form of residence for their nomadic ancestors, for God resided with them in their tents on their journey, particularly for Abraham, Isaac and Jacob’s families. The story of Exodus was a significant faith narrative that the community of the psalmist cherished and celebrated in their ongoing faith journey. In that story, a tent served as a place where the divine met the sojourning community. A detailed explanation about the construction of a moving tent, called the Tabernacle, is described in Exodus 25-31. Moses called it a ‘tent of meeting’ to engage in conversations with the divine, for he pitched it ‘outside the camp’, ‘far off from the camp’ (Exodus 33:7). Perhaps the psalmist’s imagery echoed these ancestral beliefs about God’s sanctuary.
God’s sanctuary as a tent and God’s residence in a tent suggest that God is a sojourning God who accompanies people, offering an encampment with and among the communities on their journeys of life. God’s sanctuary as a tent speaks of God’s solidarity with nomadic communities who wander, offering a space to wonder in the presence of God who is amidst them, living in similar conditions and tents. God’s sanctuary as a tent contrasts with the notion that God lives in palatial luxuries, far away from the realities of creatures’ lives, alienating the divine self from communities of sojourn. Rather, a tent brings home the divine into struggles of the creation, offering hope that God resides in our colonies and camp sites. God’s sanctuary as a tent reminds communities that God is here and now, available, accessible and communicable, for God abides with us among our colony of tents.
In this context, it is also important to notice the verb the psalmist uses in 15:1a in relation to God’s tent. The Hebrew verb gur, which is translated as ‘abide’ (NRSVue), ‘dwell’ (NIV) and ‘sojourn’ (ESV), shares a root with the noun ger, which is often translated as ‘stranger’ in the midst. This suggests that God’s sanctuary as a tent is a place offering refuge to a ‘stranger,’ it is a place offering home, hope and hospitality to a foreigner, a non-local, and a non-native.
A political theology of sanctuary, therefore, reminds the community of faith that God resides in a temporary accommodation along with them; for the tent carrying God is a co-exile with them, offering cohabitation to the stranger that comes to live with them in their sojourn. The tent-pitching God is a transient God, who pitches their tent among strangers, making their residence a house of refuge, care and love to the other, thereby celebrating its sacredness in such acts.
God’s sanctuary is a moving tent, for God moves with the sojourning communities, assembling, pitching, disassembling and moving on with their tents made of either fabric or skins and supported by poles and ropes on their journeys ahead. It is interesting to notice that the psalmist ends Psalm 15 by mentioning “those who do these things shall never be moved” (verse 5), which is to say that in God’s movement, with God’s moving tent, these people will always be co-habitants, who shall be unmoved. The Hebrew word for “moved” in verse 5 is yimmot, which means to be shaken or totter. In other words, those who dwell in the tent of God shall not be shaken and will experience stability in the presence of God. This captures the politics of God’s sanctuary, for those who dwell with and in the tent of God shall never be shaken, moved or tottered, for God, in what seems to be fragile and portable, there is a stable refuge.
God’s sanctuary on a holy hill:
Being reminded of Moses’ encounter with the divine on Mount Sinai, where he received his call in a burning bush and where he received the decalogue, the psalmist now informs his community that God’s sanctuary is on a holy hill, when he asks, “Who may dwell on your holy hill?” Perhaps there are multiple ways of reading the poetic expressions of the Psalm, particularly about the “holy hill,” for it could also be a metonym for the temple. However, I interpret this Psalm as a pre-temple poetry and discuss the sanctuary of God on a “holy hill” as a theo-political poetry relevant for our times today. God’s sanctuary on a holy hill is about the dwelling of the divine on an unstructured, unbuilt by human hands, rocky grounds, out in nature. God’s sanctuary on a holy hill is not so much about a permanent location for God’s residence, but rather it is about God’s residential solidarity with nature.
The ecology of a hill is that it is a home to a diverse variety of flora, fauna, rocks, insects, minerals, and other such kind. This is where God’s sanctuary is pitched, for the divine dwells along with nature on this hill. That co-dwelling of the divine with the flora and fauna of the hill makes it holy. God resides on it with no mention of shelter or roof above them. In a way, it is to say that the flora and fauna are already dwelling with and indwelling in the divine on a holy hill with no necessary qualifications. In love, God dwells with all creation.
The Hebrew verb associated with the holy hill is shakhan, which is translated as ‘dwell’ (NRSVue) or ‘live’ (NIV). Shakhan shares a root with the noun mishkan, which is often translated as ‘tabernacle.’ Psalm 15 may have served as a temple liturgy enquiring who may dwell in the tabernacle or temple in a later period, for it is here that they understood God’s presence and glory resided. The other related noun shakhen, which is translated ‘neighbour,’ suggests that God’s sanctuary on a holy hill is a place of neighbourliness, where friendship, love and care for each other find their meaning.
To put it in another way, a political theology of God’s sanctuary recognises it as a place where neighbourliness thrives and flourishes, for God is already in a neighbourly relationship with the flora and fauna on the hill. God invites humanity to co-dwell with the divine in the same spirit of neighbourliness, looking after one another in care and love as co-creatures in God’s economy and ecology.
From the understanding of God’s sanctuary as a tent and on a holy hill, we infer that God’s sanctuary is a place of refuge and care for the strangers, and God’s sanctuary is all about neighbourliness with the creation of God, where love, care, kindness and hospitality are the bedrock.
God’s sanctuary in a tent and on a hill may be celebrated in contrast to a structurisation of God’s presence. The colonial enterprise of religion has emphasised huge structures as signs of divine presence, making permanent buildings and calling these places of worship ‘sanctuaries.’. However, a decolonial understanding of God’s sanctuary pictures it as a fragile, fluid and flexible place, understood in the images of a tent and on a holy hill, where care and love flourish for a stranger in the spirit of neighbourliness. God surely doesn’t live in shrines made by human hands, for God can’t be contained or God’s presence be limited to a particular place. God lives in freedom in God’s own ways. A decolonial reading of a tent and a hill serves as numinous spaces, for they inspire a sense of awe and mystery by acknowledging that the divine resides in the ordinary and the mundane places. The numinosity of a tent and a hill is further celebrated because God’s sanctuary is not limited to the transcendental realm, but is deconstructed to be in the immanent and immediate locations of human vicinities around. Perhaps the call from Psalm 15:1 is to look for the divine among such local, mundane, ordinary, and marginal spaces, for God is seeking a sanctuary in such sites.
Moreover, if God resides in a tent and on a hill, God today is in solidarity with all those people living in the tents of refugee camps, pitching God’s tent in and among those campsites. In such a context, the calling for faith communities is to be in solidarity with those living in refugee camp tents, offering love, care, justice, and kindness. When these people are fleeing from wars, persecution, poverty, and hunger, where do they find sanctuary? Faith communities are called to offer hope, home and hospitality, and allow them to find a co-dwelling with God in our midst. As faith communities, we are called to advocate to our governments to end hostile politics towards people seeking asylum and refuge in our nations. In the light of the growing xenophobia, may we defeat hostility with hospitality, and hatred with love, for God’s sanctuary is in a tent and on a hill in our midst.
At a recent baptismal conversation with a person who is seeking asylum in the UK, I, as a minister of a local church, asked this person, “Why do you like coming to church?” She replied, “I like coming to church because church is a place where I don’t feel lonely, and I find peace and joy in singing along with others around.” Perhaps this is where I find the relevance of the church as a sanctuary in helping people address isolation, exclusion, discrimination and marginalisation by offering love, care, kindness and neighbourliness.
May the God of Psalm 15 challenge us to pitch our tents beside God’s tent and continue to offer love and neighbourliness to all people, particularly to those living on the margins of our society. May our communities be and become God’s sanctuaries where the wounded are healed, where the injured are cared for, where the oppressed are liberated and where the excluded are included, all in the name of love. “O Lord, who may abide in your tent? Who may dwell on your holy hill?”
