In the middle of everyday life, how do we experience the holy? This was a question I’ve been pondering since a recent road trip to the quaint little town of Lancaster, Pa.
I set out to visit Lancaster with the intention of browsing their Central Market and taking in a newly developed block of art galleries in downtown, along with gaining some appreciation for Amish and Mennonite traditions there in the heart of their communities.
Amy Butler
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What I did not expect to do was learn more than I ever wanted to know about the ancient Israelites’ portable tabernacle, the one God gave strict instructions to construct in the middle of every campsite they visited in those 40 years of wandering the desert after their exodus from Egypt.
We stopped at a Pennsylvania Welcome Center before arriving, scanning the brochure rack for interesting destinations. And so, for the mere oddity of its existence, a friend and I felt compelled to make our first stop in Lancaster at the Biblical Tabernacle Reproduction — a full-size model of the Israelites’ house of worship, built to exact biblical specifications and housed on the grounds of the Mennonite Information Center right next to the Tanger Outlet mall on the edge of the city.
We arrived about noon, which was fortunate because the only way to see the tabernacle is to join a guided tour beginning every hour on the hour. After paying for $7.50 per ticket we were shown into a small room filled with benches. One whole wall was glass, allowing a view of what we quickly learned was the temple courtyard. An elderly Mennonite woman in a long black skirt and sensible lace-up shoes stood purposefully at the front of the room and began her tour.
We first heard a recitation of Israel’s history. Our guide quickly listed the names of Abram and of his descendants, throwing in juicy tidbits we learn in Sunday school, barely pausing for a breath. Her goal was, of course, to bring us up to speed with Israel’s story so we might understand the need for a collapsible tabernacle.
After our short history lesson our tour guide invited the group (by now seven of us) into the tabernacle itself. No food was allowed, she explained, and no pictures whatsoever.
We followed our guide somberly into the tabernacle, which looked suspiciously like a converted church sanctuary to me. All of us hushed with the awareness that our guide took her job very seriously and that we were in a place she considered deeply holy.
We sat quietly while the tour guide purposefully turned on switches to light the “flames” of the temple candlesticks, allowed us to peer through a small window to the holy of holies (no pictures!), and pressed a button that moved a mannequin (High Priest Aaron, don’t you know) jerkily down a track toward the altar to demonstrate the lighting of incense.
And while the tour continued with all seriousness, I kept looking at my shoes, avoiding the gaze of my friend and trying to make sense of sitting in a biblical tabernacle replica in the middle of Amish country. I confess that I may have even stifled a giggle toward the end when our tour guide, standing right next to the high priest mannequin, stretched out her hands and recited a passage from Revelation so loudly the feedback on her portable microphone hurt our ears: “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God!”
Finally, our guide paused and thanked us for coming to visit this place that has held so much meaning for so many people, and obviously for her. Before we left she asked us to hear the high priestly blessing. She held out her arms toward us and pronounced: “May the Lord bless you and keep you. May the Lord shine His countenance toward you and be gracious to you. May the Lord lift up His countenance toward you and give you peace.”
Then I felt it — a little bit of holy in the middle of all the gold spray paint and bath rugs cut to look like animal skins.
In all the ridiculousness I could sense the wonder of it all. And even skeptical me, busy on a road trip to visit Amish country, felt a little bit of holy in the midst of everyday life.
Amy Butler is senior pastor of Calvary Baptist Church in Washington. This article was distributed by Associated Baptist Press.