In His Temple

[phareztamar]

CHAPTER ONE

In His Temple

Who humbleth himself to behold the things that are in heaven, and in the earth.

Our Lord is great…far and beyond our daily bread. Like the dwarf door at Chic-filet; he must stoop very, very low, to behold the things that are in heaven. By the way…an endless, spectacular heaven…a fully active universe. And stooping lower still…to the tiny mouse-hole in the dwarf door…he beholds the things that are in the earth. This is but the beginning of our Lord’s elevation…his great expanse and breadth and height. It is much beyond universal…or even eternal…which twain, are still beyond us.

One gets an early feel for this enormity, in reading the book of Job. Here, it seems a set location is known by the sons of God. A set location; where they are to assemble, and present themselves before the Lord. Nearly as striking, is that there are scheduled days for these meetings, though we are made privy to just two of them.

The question my Lord poses, at once sets the girth of this landscape.

Whence comest thou?

At this somewhere-far-away meeting of the sons of God…this conference of accountability…God asks Satan: “exactly where is it you’ve journeyed from to be here?” By definition, his question admits options. As if several answers were possible.

Satan’s answer sort of Google’s in on the earth. Of all the jurisdictions…here at the sons of God assembly…this Satan has come from the earth.

From going to and fro in the earth and walking up and down in it.

The walking up and down in it we know…as the pain and death of life. It’s the going to and fro in the earth which baffles us.

In context then, with what we’ve learned about our vast universe, this statement becomes remarkable. Earth is but a tiny dot in the heavens. And who can count the innumerable charges, of these sons of God here gathered, in so wide a universe? So wide that Satan must narrow in on his charge…this speck called earth. This tiny dot in the universe, from whence he comest.

As almost a side-bar then, my Lord poses his next question. “Since it’s the little earth we’re talking about…have you noticed my servant Job? Because, despite these many representatives before me…these trillion sons of God, each one from whence they came…yet do I know the number of hairs on Job’s head. Welcome to my largeness.”

In 6,000 years, we’ve yet to figure out this tiny earth that he has given us.

The heaven, even the heavens, are the Lord’s: but the earth hath he given to the children of men.

We live life atop a thin crust; encasing a huge, molten iron ball. We are an immense magnet, twirling at 1,000 miles per hour. How scarcely then, have we grasped our Lord’s early name: The Lord of Hosts. Our tiny earth…in so great a universe…doth not a host make. This thing is big. Really big.

Nor is the vastness of my Lord confined to the book of Job. For he is also that conquering general Joshua, over so great a spiritual Canaan. And we…the Body of Christ…are upon that noble white steed. Not just here against present foes; but there also, against eternal ones.

When one paints this true breadth of the land…of how big our Lord really is…then does the fog begin to lift. Because in the Holy Ghost, Israel’s simple battles become blossoming flowers…revealing their secrets. Their journeys and wars are stick-pictures, of what’s really going on in the heavens. These are our trail markers, on the path to our eternal purpose.

In those heavens; all of our children’s angels behold the Father’s face…at all times. In the heavens, Michael wrestles Satan for the body of Moses. There, the stars in their courses do fight against Sisera. And there, my Lord prepares a place for us, in his Father’s house.

We see through a glass so darkly. And for that reason alone, we ought to hug the more tightly to the path…the narrow way. We should find refuge in the structure and mission of the church, and safety in her rules and standards. These are our Goshen hedge, until that curtain of dark, rise round about us at once. Then suddenly we shall see clearly, what’s been going on all along. Like waking from a dream.

Would that we could see: our simple fellowships with brethren, are actually strongholds coming down. Our worship to our Lord, is as army’s aslaughter in that place. When together we sing the songs of Zion…we stand as the rag-tag 4th Street slum band, next to the royalty of heaven’s choir. Yet am I persuaded, that all of this great heaven is stilled when we sing. For no song is sweeter to our Lord. Pastored…preached to…and broken betimes…what breath-taking victories in the heavens we do wage, in these simple things. Chasing away the dogs of hell…and all of it by faith in things hoped for…in things not yet seen.

For we cling not to this spinning earth, hanging on for dear life. No, we stand in the name of Jesus, the Christ of God, and dare the heavens. Such is the touch of his love…the fruit of his tender mercy. Because a life well lived for God, does not fear the door knock of death. Nay, but that life swings wide his door; and laughing a holy laugh declares: “You’re too late. I’ve already changed my world.”

For this God is our God for ever and ever: he will be our guide even unto death.