Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them and be their God. Rev 21.3
The essay pierces with its insistence that holiness is not an abstraction but a dwelling, a habitation, a taking up of residence within the very life of God. And yet, the questions it poses are unnerving in their simplicity, Do I feel more at home in the world or in the Church? The answer, if honest, will likely unsettle.
The Tabernacle was never just a tent, it was a threshold, a place where the unbearable purity of God pressed against the fragility of human flesh. And now, the same demand is made of us: You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy. Not as moralism, but as an ontological reckoning… a transformation so total that it alters the fabric of being.
But here’s the rub: the modern soul, even the devout one, resists such absolutes. We prefer a holiness that accommodates, that fits neatly between appointments and distractions. The essay’s call to consecration: Does the form and structure of my day differ from that of people who do not know Christ?, feels almost offensive in its directness. It suggests that sanctification is not a mood but a manner of existing, one that must, inevitably, estrange us from the rhythms of a world that has no room for the sacred.
And then there is worship, not as an activity, but as the axis around which all else must turn. Is my life organized around my worship, or is my worship organized around my life? The question lingers like a verdict. Because if worship is secondary, then God is secondary, no matter how fervent our prayers.
Your final conclusion, Christ longs to lead us, is both balm and provocation. For His longing demands ours in return, a thirst that refuses to be slaked by the brackish puddles of this age. The invitation to the waters is free, but the drinking? That will cost us everything.
Thank you, Sister. ❤️
The essay pierces with its insistence that holiness is not an abstraction but a dwelling, a habitation, a taking up of residence within the very life of God. And yet, the questions it poses are unnerving in their simplicity, Do I feel more at home in the world or in the Church? The answer, if honest, will likely unsettle.
The Tabernacle was never just a tent, it was a threshold, a place where the unbearable purity of God pressed against the fragility of human flesh. And now, the same demand is made of us: You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy. Not as moralism, but as an ontological reckoning… a transformation so total that it alters the fabric of being.
But here’s the rub: the modern soul, even the devout one, resists such absolutes. We prefer a holiness that accommodates, that fits neatly between appointments and distractions. The essay’s call to consecration: Does the form and structure of my day differ from that of people who do not know Christ?, feels almost offensive in its directness. It suggests that sanctification is not a mood but a manner of existing, one that must, inevitably, estrange us from the rhythms of a world that has no room for the sacred.
And then there is worship, not as an activity, but as the axis around which all else must turn. Is my life organized around my worship, or is my worship organized around my life? The question lingers like a verdict. Because if worship is secondary, then God is secondary, no matter how fervent our prayers.
Your final conclusion, Christ longs to lead us, is both balm and provocation. For His longing demands ours in return, a thirst that refuses to be slaked by the brackish puddles of this age. The invitation to the waters is free, but the drinking? That will cost us everything.
Thank you so much for these!
So good these reflection questions 🥹🙏praise God ☦️ 🤍