In 2 Chronicles 3 we follow Solomon as he takes the first steps toward making the Lord’s permanent dwelling among us. Having chosen Mount Moriah—where David had offered sacrifices and where Abraham once carried his son Isaac in obedience—Solomon brings the materials and hands that so long prepared come together in a single, sacred building project. We can almost feel the morning air on that hill, the scent of fresh cedar mingling with the earth, and hear the measured strokes of masons setting stones in place.
Solomon begins by laying the temple’s foundation on the threshing floor of Araunah the Jebusite, a spot already steeped in memory and mercy. The foundation itself is called “the foundation of the Lord,” reminding us that every temple, every act of worship, rests first on God’s own steadfast love. The building is designed in two main parts: the Holy Place, where priests will tend the lamps and showbread, and beyond that the Most Holy Place, where the ark of covenant, carrying the presence of God, will rest under the wings of carved cherubim.
The outer dimensions of the temple impress with their balance and proportion: sixty cubits long, twenty cubits wide, and thirty cubits high. In our own measurements, we might pause to imagine a chamber large enough to hold a crowd under its roof, yet intimate enough that every face could feel the hush of the altar’s presence. Solomon’s artisans shape the walls with cedar planking over fir, layering wood and gold so that even the hidden beams carry a whisper of worship. The carvings of palm trees and chains of cherubim along the walls remind us that art, hand in hand with craft, can point our hearts toward the heavenly realm.
Surrounding the main hall are spacious side rooms, ten on each side, each room set back slightly higher than the one below. These chambers provide storage for sacred vessels and provisions for the priests, but they also create a sense of ascent—an echo of mountains and steps leading upward toward God’s own throne. We can nearly see the priests climbing those steps in their linen robes, prepared to meet the Lord in sacrifice and song.
In front of the temple’s entrance rise two towering pillars, twenty-seven feet high each, named Jachin and Boaz. Their names speak of stability and strength—“He establishes” and “In him is strength”—encouraging us to trust that God’s own power undergirds every stone of the temple. Around the chapiters at the top are carved rows of pomegranates, symbols of fruitfulness and delight, as though the pillars themselves bear witness to the life that springs from God’s blessing.
Inside, at the entrance to the Holy Place, Solomon places a bronze sea—a large basin ten cubits across, resting on twelve oxen carved in brass, their backs supporting the great bowl. The sea will hold water for the priests to cleanse their hands and feet before ministry, teaching us that purity precedes service and that those who draw near to the sacred must first be made clean. Surrounding the sea are ten bronze stands—each stand formed with layers of circular frames, chains, and motifs of lilies—ready to bear the vessels of sacrifice and to catch the water that overflows from the laver.
All of these details—in wood and metal, in stone and carving—come together slowly, day by day, as skilled men and women give their best to build a house where heaven and earth might meet. We sense in Solomon’s commands the same care he showed in gathering materials: no beam is too small to escape his notice, no artisan’s skill too humble to be overlooked.
As the temple takes shape, we imagine Solomon walking among the work sites, pausing to touch the grain of a cedar beam or to inspect the polish on a bronze bowl. In those moments, his heart must swell with both pride and awe—pride that his people have labored faithfully, and awe that the God of Israel has chosen to dwell among them.
For us today, 2 Chronicles 3 invites reflection on the temples we build with our own lives: the actions we choose, the habits we form, the relationships we nurture. Just as Solomon’s temple required careful design and devoted hands, so our own homes of faith need clear intention and humble service. Whether we measure out daily prayers or offer acts of kindness, we participate in a living temple whose foundation is God’s unchanging love and whose walls rise through every loving deed.
In the hush before the final gold leaf is applied and the curtain is drawn across the Most Holy Place, we stand alongside Solomon and his people, ready to fill those chambers with praise. We carry forward their work by offering our lives as living stones—each of us set in place to uphold a dwelling where heaven’s presence can rest.