The Body Is a Tent: What Autumn Teaches Me About Being Human

As the leaves darken and curl and the fragrance of burning fires lingers in the air, I am reminded that time is fleeting. My senses are heightened once the calendar marks September. There is a feeling of newness and excitement, but a concurrent awareness that winter looms closer and closer. I enjoy the crispness of the air but despair at the shortening of days. For me, autumn is a remembrance of human frailty and the knowledge that this body is a temporary shelter for me as I sojourn through the earth.

Life offers such joy and beauty, while pain and suffering present themselves, waiting to be acknowledged. Thirty-five years ago, as a senior in high school, I was confronted with the reality of death.

I had asked “the God I did not believe in” if I could get the lead in the Fall Show. I was hopeful. My prayers were answered.

This casting phenomenon would alter the course of my life.

All the Way Home, a script based on the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel A Death in the Family by James Agee, tells the story of a woman awaiting the news of her missing husband’s fate. On closing night of the show, I scanned the crowd, seeking the face of my father, whose words to me just hours before echoed through my soul:

“I am so proud of you.”

I would soon discover that I had been cast into a divinely appointed role as the long-rehearsed script unpacked itself into my reality.

Hours later, I would stand over his lifeless body, confronted with the Truth that my dad was no longer here.

At that moment, so many questions were answered while a thousand more surfaced.

Where did he go?

Surely this shell was not the spirited man that was my father.

It would take me five more years and a hundred more heartbreaks to surrender my broken spirit to the One who heals. But that day, I yielded my belief that humans are simply a biological anomaly of neurons and networks.

The Jewish Feast cycle has been my teacher as I desire to enter into the Creator’s rhythm.

The Fall Feasts remind me of the somatic nature of humanity.

In September, I celebrate the birthday of the world at Rosh Hashanah and contemplate its subsequent fall from paradise. At Yom Kippur, I marvel at the God-Man—the sacrifice and atonement made for the sins of the world in order to restore the Kingdom of Heaven on the Earth.

Days later, at the Feast of Tabernacles, I am invited to remember that my body, too, is a temple and a tent—a temporary dwelling place for the presence of the Living God.

He has poured out the Spirit of Truth on all mankind from the Mercy Seat at the Right Hand of the Father. By His Spirit, the King of the Universe woos and pursues me, inviting me to the banqueting table to feast and to dine.

I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.

And even though this body will fade and wither like the autumn leaves, I am not alone. I have a companion who sticks closer than a brother.

The tent may be temporary, but the Presence within it is not.

I am confident that our union will last forever.