What Happens in the Meeting Place

When I was in REACH a number of years ago, our four-member outreach team had a situation that nearly caused the mission organization to disband our team and send us home before we were able to head to our outreach posts. While we were still in our three-month training in Columbus, Ohio, two members of our team butted heads. There was nothing overt at first -- it came about through some misunderstandings and perhaps some personality quirks. There was an uncomfortable feeling of general disconnection. 

Things came to a head about a month and a half into the training period when one team member called out the other team member and said that -- unless something changed -- he would be unable to work with the other person in any kind of ministry capacity.

When this happened, the leader of the team called for a time of intercession and prayer. It seemed we had reached an impasse. The four of us gathered in the "carriage house" (the training center was a beautifully remodeled Victorian mansion complete with a carriage house in the back, now in use as a classroom), and we spent a long time on our faces before the Lord, asking Him what to do.

Out of that prayer time, the Lord showed us the lack of communication happening between these two people. Because of the differences in personalities, perhaps, each of these two preferred to spend time separately, their focuses in different directions, and that -- in and of itself -- was a problem. There was simply no engagement.

So for the next month and a half of training, the two team-members made a concentrated effort to change. They scheduled one-on-one times together. They took long walks, they skipped right by the polite, neutral, easy conversation points, and they asked each other hard questions. They gave each other honest answers. They stretched and strained to truly see the other person's perspective.

Sometimes, it was difficult -- the efforts both people put into engaging each other didn't magically cure every shortcoming and lack of connection overnight. But those times together did act as a rudder, and the ship's course slowly turned. What was once complete lack of connection turned into a relationship, which turned gradually to friendship, which turned into a brother-sister closeness. Somehow, we'd become family. At the end of the year of ministry, it was hard to hug him goodbye.

Yeah, I was the other half of that story (in case you hadn't already guessed).

This morning, I was reading the next chapter in Exodus. We've gotten to chapter 27, and now I'm learning all about the cubit dimensions of the Tabernacle's courtyard, the horns and the grate for the altar of burnt offerings, and the oil for the lampstand. This seems dry to most of you; I know it does, because I've thought so for years and years, too. In fact, when my small group met on Zoom the other day, we were ruefully laughing about how mind-numbing it is to get through Leviticus and Numbers.

I just want to say, I get it. I understand. But I also want to challenge you: This stuff is put in the Scripture for a reason, and even though the numbers and the measurements and the artifacts and their descriptions really don't make for good Friday night entertainment -- there is so much that can be understood about the heart of God, and His bigger plan and purpose of redemption, salvation, His Big Story -- from the details of altars, curtains, and poles. 

Today, the Lord took me to the oil used for the lampstand. In Exodus 27:20-21, it says: "Command the Israelites to bring you clear oil of pressed olives for the light so that the lamps may be kept burning. In the Tent of Meeting outside the curtain that is in front of the Testimony, Aaron and his sons are to keep the lamps burning before the Lord from evening till morning. This is to be a lasting ordinance among the Israelites for the generations to come."

Awhile back, I had done some research into the making of olive oil. My main takeaway from that experience is that olives only give up their oil when they're pressed and... yep, you got it... destroyed. In that time, unripe olives were put into a mortar and mashed, and then the resulting pulp was put into a cloth and allowed to drain -- completely strained -- into a bowl. 

Look, Tamara, pay attention. 

1.) The fruit of that labor is a clear oil that burns with very little smoke (in comparison to tar or pitch or other dirty substances). The purest oil -- is the result of crushing. The oil that gives the clearest light -- is the result of destruction. There is a transformative process that takes place in the olive press -- a turning from the fruit of a tree into an oil that gives clear, untarnished, unhazy light.

I mean... are you feeling crushed? This year has squeezed me like no other. Are you feeling pushed and pressed and mashed and sensitive beyond anything you ever thought you'd have to face? *Raises hand. Can I encourage you to look for the end result? It's hard, maybe impossible to see, while you're in the press. But the oil is going to be amazing, and the harder the press, the more the resulting oil.

2.) The lamp that Aaron and his sons are to tend is only lit at night. When the light returns the next morning, the lamps are put out or allowed to gutter to extinction. 

In Proverbs 4:18, it says: "The path of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawn, shining ever brighter till the full light of day."

Most of us walk through the night at some point in our lives. For many of us, this point in time is our night. But the funny thing about night is... it always ends. The morning always comes. Dawn always breaks in the east, and it doesn't just break, it gets brighter and brighter.

The oil only needs to burn when it's dark. The Lord will send the sunrise; He will. "Weeping may remain for the night, but joy comes in the morning" (Psalm 30:5). 

And when the Lord's light takes over, we're allowed to rest.

3.) The lamps burn their oil in the Tent of Meeting, which is the place set up -- not for collective worship whenever -- but where the Lord meets, by appointment, with His people. Exodus 29:42 says: "There [in the Tent of Meeting] I will meet you and speak to you."

The Lord doesn't accidentally meet us. He doesn't happen to stumble over us: "Oh hey, look at you and your little light shining. Good for you; keep it up. Morning's almost here." He doesn't give us a thumbs up and walk off.

He intentionally, with purpose, shows up and waits for us to come to Him. Sometimes... to my shame, I've made Him wait at that Tent of Meeting while I was a no-show. Or I've been late, running in for a second and blurting out, "Sorry, I've only got a minute. Need to tell me anything? All right, I'll see you later."

His intentionality never fails; He will never be a no-show.
My intentionality needs work. 

But I'm getting there. It doesn't happen overnight. Sometimes, there's some pressing that needs to happen. Sometimes, I have to experience the pain of wandering off by myself to realize that's not where I want to be. Other times, I enter the hard conversations with my Friend, realizing simple pleasantries just won't cut it, and we get right to the meat of the matter: "Why are You doing this to me? It hurts!" 

No matter what the subject matter, whether its painful or joyful, the point is: The conversation happens. He waits for me. I meet with Him. We talk. We listen. We laugh. We cry. I worship Him. He loves me. 

This walk isn't just about an all-powerful God and a peon human. This is about the Meeting Place and what happens there.