The ancient prophets still speak to us today.

Haggai.

A man standing in the ruins of Jerusalem around 520 BC, looking at a community that had just returned from exile, and seeing something that troubled him deeply.

The temple – once the center of their worship, their community, their very identity – sat in ruins. Meanwhile, the people had built comfortable homes for themselves. Some even had fancy paneled walls, a luxury in those days.

“Is it time for you yourselves to dwell in your paneled houses, while this temple lies in ruins?” That’s what God asked through Haggai. A simple question. But one that cuts to the heart.

It reminds me of how easily we can arrange our lives around ourselves. We work hard for nice homes, comfortable lives. Nothing wrong with that, inherently. But Haggai makes us pause and consider: What sits in ruins while we pursue comfort? What sacred spaces have we neglected?

The people back then had their reasons, their excuses. “The time hasn’t come yet,” they said. Maybe they were waiting for perfect conditions, for all opposition to disappear, for their own lives to be completely settled first. But perfect conditions never arrive, do they?

What strikes me about God’s message through Haggai isn’t condemnation. It’s an invitation to reconsider. To look honestly at what they valued most. Their problem wasn’t building homes – it was making those homes the center while the true center lay neglected.

And here’s what’s fascinating – when the people finally did turn their attention to rebuilding the temple, they discovered something. Their previous efforts at securing their own comfort hadn’t actually worked. “You have sown much, and harvested little,” Haggai told them. “You eat, but you never have enough; you drink, but you never have your fill.”

Isn’t that the paradox? When we make our own comfort primary, it never quite satisfies. Something remains missing.

The message of Haggai isn’t about guilt trips or rigid religious obligations. It’s about alignment. About recognizing what truly matters at the center of our lives and communities.

So maybe today we could take a quiet moment, look around at our own lives, and ask that Haggai question: What centers have I neglected while building my personal comforts? What sacred spaces – physical or spiritual – lie in ruins while I attend to lesser things?

The answer might surprise us.

And like those ancient Israelites, we might discover that realigning our priorities doesn’t diminish our lives – it’s actually the path to the fullness we’ve been seeking all along.