Counselor, Approach the Bench

One night in my mid-teens, I was at Bethel Camp on that week's featured event: a nighttime hayride. The tractor was pulling the huge wagon loaded with hay bales behind it, and kids and counselors were piled all over it. This was the second hayride of the week -- the first time had been during the day. Now we were on a nighttime venture along the gravel mountain roads behind the camp.

It was a clear night. There was a moment when I was leaning back against one of the bales and looking up at the stars when the noise of the tractor faded and the laughter and talking of the people around me quieted as the beauty of the heavens washed over me. The stars were so thick and numerous, that the points of light were no longer separated, but made a glow of brilliance amid the constellations. 

One of the counselors broke spontaneously into Rich Mullins' song: Our God is an Awesome God, and the rest of us joined in hushed voices. It was a powerful moment, and that moment carried through as we returned to camp and took our seats around the fire for worship. 

Camp had a normal curfew where all of us were supposed to be in bed, but that night, curfew got scrapped. I didn't realize this, because the Holy Spirit was moving so powerfully around that campfire as young people stood with faces upturned, singing and worshiping the great Creator.

It felt like minutes, and I wanted it to go on and on. We were on holy ground, and there was nothing better. Eventually, the camp director quietly dismissed us, and we began to head back to our cabins, full of joy and awe. I looked at my watch as I climbed the hill, and was shocked to realize it was 2:30 a.m. What had seemed like a couple of minutes had stretched into approximately five hours.

We had stood in the greatest amphitheater and worshiped the Creator of the heavens and earth, and time had stood still.

I have been guilty of criticizing the worship experience at church sometimes. "I just didn't feel it today. Did you hear the mic squeal? And the songs weren't ones I knew very well."

I just didn't feel it?!

I've got no words to describe how ridiculous it is to stand before the Creator of the heavens and earth, the Holy One, the Ancient of Days, before whom the heavens roar their praises, the Light that is greater than the sun...

And say "I just didn't feel it."

This awe and holiness is present in Exodus 19 where the Israelites have come after three months travel to Mt. Sinai. There, the Lord takes Moses aside and tells him He is going to speak to him on the mountain. "I am going to come to you in a dense cloud, so that the people will hear me speaking with you and will always put their trust in you." 

Then the Lord gives some specific directions regarding the Israelites in relation to this mountain where the Presence of the Lord will be: "Go to the people and consecrate them... On the third day, the Lord will come down on Mount Sinai in the sight of all the people. Put limits for the people around the mountain and tell them: 'Be careful that you do not go up to the mountain or touch the foot of it. Whoever touches the mountain shall surely be put to death. He shall surely be stoned or shot with arrows; not a hand is to be laid on him. Whether man or animal, he shall not be permitted to live."

Honestly... that sounds terrifying!

Somewhere along the way, in our modern-day living, we have managed to drag our ideas of God through a transformative process that mashes His image into that of a fuzzy, warm teddy bear -- where He's comfortable and soft and loving and does not in any way demand that we live in holiness, because a loving God wouldn't do that.

Point #1 and perhaps my only point: He is God, we are human with a sin nature, and because of the corruption of that sin... we cannot enter the holy presence of God without the blood of Jesus that makes a bridge from us... to Him... in the greatest Passover act of all time.

There's so much here; let me try to sum up:

Daniel 7 gives us a scene of the holiness of God: "As [Daniel] looked, thrones were set in place, and the Ancient of Days took His seat. His clothing was as white as snow, the hair of His head was white like wool. His throne was flaming with fire, and its wheels were all ablaze. A river of fire was flowing, coming out from before Him. Thousands upon thousands attended Him; ten thousand times ten thousand stood before Him. The court was seated... and the books were opened" (Daniel 7:9-10).

Every time I read that line, I hear a deep, stentorian boom echoing through this chamber. The gravitas and the holiness and the grandeur of this solemn moment needs an echoing boom.

There's a separation between the Judge... and the people, an eternal rift between Him... and us. Until...

"In my vision at night I looked, and there before me was One like a Son of man, coming with the clouds of heaven. He approached the Ancient of Days and was led into His presence. He was given authority, glory, and sovereign power; all peoples, nations, and men of every language worshiped Him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and His kingdom is one that will never be destroyed" (Daniel 7:13-14). 

Jesus does the impossible: He bridges the gap between the defendant stand and the Judge's bench, and He mediates for us. He approaches the Ancient of Days -- what we can never do without Him -- and He shows the Judge His perfect, sinless blood that has washed our sins whiter than snow.

We are clean, because Jesus makes us clean, and stands before His Father, the holy Ancient of Days, and says: "These are mine. Bought with a price. Requirements fulfilled. Paid in full." He motions across the rift. "They are the chosen, the elect, the firstborn, and I have made them perfect." He is our Author; He is our Perfecter. 

Mt. Sinai was terrifying in its holiness. But there's another mountain the writer of Hebrews describes in Hebrews 12:22: "But you have come to Mount Zion, to the heavenly Jerusalem, the city of the living God. You have come to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly, to the church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven. You have come to God, the Judge of all men, to the spirits of righteous men made perfect, to Jesus the Mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel" (Hebrews 12:22-24).

Look at these two mountains: one offers untouchable holiness, the other offers holiness through redemption. One offers an untouchable kingdom, the other offers an eternal kingdom where we will live forever. 

"At that time, His voice shook the earth, but now He has promised, 'Once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heavens. The words 'once more' indicate the removing of what can be shaken -- that is, created things -- so that what cannot be shaken may remain. Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe, for our 'God is a consuming fire'" (Hebrews 12:26-29).

This year has shaken me, sometimes to the core. But in that shaking, I've found the things worth holding on to -- the things that don't get shaken because they are of eternal importance. All around me, the unexpected happens. The world tilts a little further on its axis. A few more unthinkable things become thinkable. 

But our God is a consuming fire. He's the same yesterday, today, and forever. His compassions never fail; they are new every morning. He is the Ancient of Days; the court is seated before Him, and the books are opened.

Boom.

This morning, I was thinking and praying about symbols the Lord uses to teach me, and I recalled very specifically a vision He'd given me several months ago. To recap: I was standing in a dry field at harvest time. Yellow corn stalks were broken and leaned over. The earth was hard and unyielding, the sun was setting in the west. In front of me, a water bottle was turned upside-down, and a single clear drop of water hung from its rim. I looked to the side and saw a wide cistern opened far down into the earth -- it looked like a missile silo. When I peered down inside of it, there was a man at the very bottom measuring a puddle of water. Only an inch or so remained of what had once been a full cistern.

It was one of the clearest visions I've never had. I understood that night was coming. Testing was coming. Lack was coming. There was an olive-press on its way for the church. 

Then as I was praying a few days ago, I saw another scene, this time, a vision of a cloudy night. It was completely dark, gloomy, fogged over. I stood outside, and as I looked up at the sky, the clouds broke apart. The sight took my breath away -- the stars were incredible. The galaxies were visible, and the phenomenal glory of God's creation showed through the gloom and darkness.

There was no bright light, just the light of the stars. There was no clear direction, just the sense of "Hold on to what you have until I come" (Revelation 2:25). The Lord reminded me of Psalm 8: "When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and the stars which You have set in place, what is man that You are mindful of him, the son of man that You care for him?" (Psalm 8:3-4) He reminded me of the glory and the power of His great Name. He reminded me that when it's dark outside and hard to see, His glory will lead us through.

And after the night, morning comes, and the much greater light of day replaces the starlight. "Only hold on to what you have until I come."

When the heavens and the earth shake... hold on to what you have until He comes -- because the whole reason we're shaking is so that what can't be shaken will be all that's left. 

He's the eternal One, the unshakeable One, and He's the only One to which we can cling, the only Mediator, the only Approacher of the bench where the Ancient of Days is seated. The roll is called, and the books are opened.

Boom. Amen.