“Yes, Lord, you may build the house.” The great King David had a great idea; “Let’s build a house for God, made of the best cedar wood. We’ll build it in the best location. On a mountain if need be. Inside, we’ll build the best furniture made by the best craftsmen, like a St. Joseph. We’ll call in the construction workers to build an inground pool in the backyard in case God wants to take a swim. Nothing but the best for God. We’ll move him out of that old, ugly, smelly, dirty tent he’s been residing in forever, and move him into a new address with all the worldly trappings.” King David’s great idea. So God said to King David through the Prophet Nathan , “Tell King David to go take a hike. He won’t be building me any houses. Bad idea.” So much for David’s generosity that God flung back in his face. “Yes, Lord, you may build the house.” What a difference between David, the greatest King in all of Israel by far, and this lowly servant woman from Nazareth. David wants to build a house for God, and gets turned aside. Mary gives God permission to build a house in her tabernacle. David wanted permission from God, somewhat. God wanted permission from Mary, for certain. “May it be done to me according to your word. Yes, Lord, you may build the house.” Anyway, the Temple got built, not by David as we know, but by his son Solomon. David was wandering in the netherworld after death by the time the first construction workers showed up. Despite that, David’s house idea was a good one, even though God left him out of the project. David was on to something. Like when we’re on to something good, and know it’s what God really wants. St. Francis of Assisi had a David inclination. God said, “Yes, Francis, build that house of poverty and simplicity.” God would borrow David’s idea, and use it for the world’s salvation. God would dwell in the Temple in Jerusalem, close to his people. They could come and visit him, spend time with him, and pray to him. That’s the same search for closeness we seek in the presence of the Eucharist. But the Temple of bricks and mortar in and of itself cannot save a single sinner anymore than the Green Monster can. Beautiful visuals they are; immense, superb craftsmanship, but no life or breath in them. In our weakness and sin, we needed a Temple – a sinless one – living and breathing, matching our makeup. And God left it up to Mary of Nazareth to decide if that was happening through her human perfection. ‘Yes, Lord, you may build the house.” Our God loves us so much that He didn’t like the idea of some earthly King building him a house, telling him “You have to move from that tent to the Temple, and don’t forget to take the fish tank.” A fair question; “Who is God in this case?” Sounds like it would be the human King. Instead, in preparation for the perfect humility and obedience of Jesus, God humbled himself before the Virgin, not through a Prophet, but through the angel Gabriel who stands before God, asking her, “Will you be the Mother of my Son?” As the entire court of heaven and all its inhabitants held their breath for the answer, waiting those few critical seconds that seemed like an eternity to see if the ball was going to be caught for an out, or fly over the Green Monster for a home run, Mary pondered a split second and said, “May it be done to be according to your word. Yes, Lord, you may build the house.” The house that our merciful God wanted was built. David had the idea. God borrowed it. Mary carried it in her and brought him to birth. We await the birth of that house in a few days, in a stable. The house of salvation, for us. the house of mercy, for us. The house of knowledge of the ways of God, for us. The house where God becomes up close & personal, for us. Eventually, a house with a Cross in it; and a house with an empty tomb. “Yes, Lord, you may build that house in me; you may build that house in