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Entering God's Presence Entering God's Presence Roger Fleming What I mean is that we have a high priest who sits at the right side of God's great throne in heaven. He also serves as the priest in the most holy place inside the real tent there in heaven. This tent of worship was set up by the Lord, not by humans. —Heb 8:1-2, CEV Since I began following Christ many years ago, a dramatic change has taken place in the amount and quality of religious resources that are available. Christian publishing has reached the scale of major secular publishers. Bible studies, books, and tapes by the very best preachers and teachers are available in Christian bookstore chains in major shopping malls. Religious television programs and networks with audiences of millions have permeated the airwaves. So much good teaching is now available one would think Christians would be full to overflowing, yet I meet many believers who confess to an unsatisfied hunger for God. Their lives are full of important activities but empty of the one thing they most desire: a personal sense of a living fellowship with God. When God revealed himself to Israel on Sinai, the noise of the trumpet, the fire and smoke, the overwhelming sense of his holy majesty, and his powerful voice filled them with fear. They begged Moses to ask God to speak only with him, and not to them directly, lest they die (Exod 20:18-20). Jesus Christ came to draw us near to God, but we often revert to the priest-and-people separation of the Old Testament because we would rather others do our seeking for us. We read books about how others sought God or listen to popular speakers tell what they have learned of God and his Word, much as Israel asked Moses to do the seeking for them. Our spiritual lives are often based on secondhand knowledge, but secondhand knowledge cannot satisfy our hunger for God himself. Early in my Christian experience I vented my frustration about my prayer life to God one morning. "Lord, I feel like I bring a shopping list to you each day. I know these things are important. I know you want these friends of mine to hear the gospel. But Lord, I don't know you. This daily routine of mine lacks a sense of reality, of your presence, of life." Soon afterward God brought along someone who encouraged me to learn to worship. His thoughts were so helpful I asked him to put them in a letter to me. I still have that letter from Jim Downing, written in 1960, because his suggestions on using the imagery of the Old Testament Tabernacle led to a transformation in my devotional life and my relationship with the Lord. The Tabernacle God instructed Moses to build for Israel provides symbols that guide me in my efforts to worship in spirit and in truth—to develop a deeper firsthand knowledge of God. The book of Hebrews explains some of the imagery of the Tabernacle, which the author says accurately portrays the tabernacle "set up by the Lord, not by humans," (Heb. 8:2-5, CEV). This imagery can help us worship God aright. Seeking God Through the Cross The closing chapter of Hebrews suggested the place where I should begin my meditation: "Jesus himself suffered outside the city gate, so that his blood would make people holy," (Heb. 13:12, CEV). Jesus suffered and died outside the city of Jerusalem. Just as the sin offering was burned outside the camp of Israel, Jesus Christ carried the reproach of our sin to the cross outside Zion's walls. Therefore, I begin each morning by contemplating what my Lord did for me on the cross. Sometimes using passages on the crucifixion, sometimes drawing upon passages such as Col. 2.11-15 that speak of his work, I seek to understand the full weight of his sacrifice. I try to visualize Christ on the cross and myself standing among the crowd as one of his disciples, but with one great advantage: I know about his resurrection. This allows me to contemplate what Jesus was doing there in a way his first disciples were unable to do. The wonder of his love ("Father, forgive them") or the power of his meekness ("He did not revile them who reviled him") come upon me in greater clarity. The contemplation of that cross erases the slightest fear that any sin of mine could be too great for his love to handle. At the same time the awful cost of that forgiveness forges deeper commitment to live in obedience to his will. Meditating on Jesus' great sacrifice makes me want to run to the Tabernacle to worship him for his great love. There I come to the great altar of sacrifice, deeply stained with the blood of numberless victims. This becomes my altar of thanksgiving. The odor of burning sacrificial animals and their spilt blood permeated the Tabernacle area, since sacrifice opened the way to God's presence. No one could appear before God without a sacrifice. The Christian's approach to God follows the same pattern. My first act, in the spirit of Rom. 12:1, is to freely give myself over to Christ in glad response to the pouring out of his life for me. In this way I become my own freewill offering to God. The Laver: Our Cleansing From Daily Defilement When the priest finished offering sacrifices he went to the laver to wash and change his garment before he entered the Holy Place. In the very service of God he became defiled, and it was necessary for him to follow this washing ritual to enter the presence of a Holy God. Jesus' act of washing his disciples' feet, described in John 13, speaks to me of this need for daily cleansing from the defilement I experience even in his service. He blesses an act of simple obedience, and pride seeks to claim what belongs to God alone. I seek to offer a word of encouragement and discover lustful motives mixed in with my desire to help. Here at the laver I make confession to the One who fully understands my conflict and humbly stoops to cleanse me from all unrighteousness. As I confess specific sins, I see him at my feet with his towel, receiving my words as he washes my feet. The seriousness of my sin, the wonder of his love and humility, and his understanding all weld a deep and profound bond between us. The priest also changed his garment as part of this cleansing ritual before he could enter the Holy Place; Jesus offers me his garment of righteousness that I may indeed go boldly into the presence of God. Together we enter that holy chamber. The Holy Place: Where We Encounter the Divine In the Holy Place three pieces of furniture speak to me of my Lord: the lampstand, the table of shewbread, and the altar of incense. The lampstand. God instructed the priests to keep the lamp burning continuously. This lampstand provided the only light in the cubicle known as the Holy Place. Jesus Christ announced that he was the light to a darkened world (John 8:12). He lights the path of life for me. In his presence I need never stumble. Just as he opened the eyes of one born blind, so he opened my eyes to see his truth. A similar metaphor applies to the Word of God. "Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path," (Ps. 119:105). Shortly after my conversion a friend gave me a New Testament. As I set apart time each morning to read a chapter and pray, the Lord met me there. My heart burned within me as I read line after line. He seemed to stand at my shoulder pointing out truth to me, encouraging me, convicting me of sin, drawing obedience from me. This was a living book. The Lord Jesus Christ opened my eyes to see the light of his holy word. The priest kept the lamp burning by feeding a single bowl with oil. Since the Holy Spirit is sometimes pictured as oil, the burning lamp also reminds me of the source of the light God gives us, his Holy Spirit. He uses me as a vessel through which he can shed his light in my world. Without him there is no light, no matter what effort I make to kindle fire (Isa. 50:11).   The table of shewbread. Next my mind's eye travels to the table of shewbread. Here the priest placed 12 loaves of bread in remembrance of the manna with which God miraculously fed Israel, a nation of at least 2 million people, every day for 40 years while they wandered in the wilderness. Jesus Christ fed 5,000 men, plus women and children, with five loaves and two fishes that he might reveal himself as the true bread of life. Once again he reminds me of his sacrificial death on my behalf. God refers to his word as bread as well as light. One reason he led Israel 40 years in the wilderness was to teach them that their lives were dependent on the words of God as well as upon daily food (Deut 8:3). Jesus quoted the passage in Deuteronomy when he was tempted by the devil to turn stones into bread (Matt 4:4). God has called me to live under the authority of his word as a part of my submission to the authority of his Son. The altar of incense. At this point in my meditation I turn to the altar of incense, a golden table that sits centered before the veil. On this table the priest burned a mixture specially prescribed by the Lord that filled the chamber with its sweet odor. When the Spirit of God opens the doors of heaven to us in the book of Revelation, we find an angel with a golden censer offering incense with the prayers of all the saints upon the golden altar before the throne (Rev. 8:3). This altar teaches me that my prayers ascend as a delightful incense to Almighty God. He is pleased with my presence before his throne. I may present my petitions to him with confidence. Sometimes only mentally, sometimes physically, I kneel as if before this altar and lift my eyes toward the throne positioned behind the veil. Wonder of wonders, the veil that remained closed for centuries has been torn from top to bottom, revealing the glory and splendor of the throne of grace. Another facet of the work of Christ on the cross calls forth praise and thanksgiving, for that veil represents his body which was torn to provide us access into the Holy of Holies. (Heb. 10:20). The Mercy Seat: The Throne of God What kind of a throne sits so secretively beyond that veil? Little more than a box with a gold cover. This box contained the tablets on which God inscribed his Law with his finger. That Law calls forth my judgment. But the gold cover is spattered with blood, the blood of my High Priest, who sprinkled it there to assure me a place in the presence of the Holy One of Israel (Heb. 10:19). This is the mercy seat. And it is here God said, "I will meet with thee, and I will commune with thee," (Exod. 25:22, KJV). When Isaiah saw the Lord he heard angelic beings crying, "Holy, holy, holy," (Isa. 6:3). These are my first thoughts in this Most Holy Place. He occupies my attention, he fills my mind. No matter how feeble, no matter how inadequate or stumbling my efforts, I must praise him. Sometimes I recall his attributes, naming them before him, expressing my love for the beauty of his holiness, the perfection of his righteousness, the glories of his judgments, the greatness of his wisdom, the infinite quality of his love. Sometimes I rehearse his names and praise him for the revelation of himself in each one. Perhaps a psalm will help me express praise to him. My next step is to open the Bible for my devotional reading for the day. God said he would commune with us from the mercy seat. He has something to say to me as well as listening to me speak to him. As I open the Bible in his presence I have a sense of expectation that I will hear his voice. Yet we are not engaged in two lengthy monologues; I find I must respond to what I am reading. For example, one morning as I read through Luke 7:1-10, I noticed that the Jews said the centurion was worthy while the centurion sent word to Jesus that he was unworthy. I needed to pause and ask the Lord if I had a proper view of myself in the way I was relating to him. Other issues also came to light as he instructed me from this passage. As I read the Scriptures, God leads and directs my "conversation." When I have completed the reading for the day, I bring out my prayer list. At this point the lead in the conversation shifts to me. God has spoken to me about issues of concern to him; now I may speak to him about issues of concern to me. My greatest struggle is to discipline myself to pause as I pray over my list so he can interject a word if he so desires. My tendency is to run on through the list as if God had nothing to say about what I ask of him. When I remember to stop and grow quiet for a moment, he may show me that I am overlooking some very basic and major needs. When it is time to leave I must remember that I am not leaving his company because I am departing from his throne room. He has promised never to leave me or forsake me (Heb. 13:5). We have enjoyed a wonderful private communion—now I have the opportunity to engage in the business of the day with him. We are not so much occupied with one another as with the tasks at hand, yet the aroma of the incense, the glow of his light, the satisfaction of his food, and the joy of his presence continue through the day. Roger Fleming and his wife Jean serve on staff with The Navigators in Montrose, Colo. This article first appeared in the March/April 1987 issue of Discipleship Journal.