He took the testimony and put it into the ark, and put the poles on the ark and set the mercy seat above on the ark. And he brought the ark into the tabernacle and set up the veil of the screen, and screened the ark of the testimony, as the Lord had commanded Moses. He put the table in the tent of meeting, on the north side of the tabernacle, outside the veil, and arranged the bread on it before the Lord, as the Lord had commanded Moses. He put the lampstand in the tent of meeting, opposite the table on the south side of the tabernacle, and set up the lamps before the Lord, as the Lord had commanded Moses. He put the golden altar in the tent of meeting before the veil, and burned fragrant incense on it, as the Lord had commanded Moses. He put in place the screen for the door of the tabernacle. And he set the altar of burnt offering at the entrance of the tabernacle of the tent of meeting, and offered on it the burnt offering and the grain offering, as the Lord had commanded Moses. He set the basin between the tent of meeting and the altar, and put water in it for washing, with which Moses and Aaron and his sons washed their hands and their feet. When they went into the tent of meeting, and when they approached the altar, they washed, as the Lord commanded Moses. And he erected the court around the tabernacle and the altar, and set up the screen of the gate of the court. So Moses finished the work.
Then the cloud covered the tent of meeting, and the glory of the Lord filled the tabernacle. And Moses was not able to enter the tent of meeting because the cloud settled on it, and the glory of the Lord filled the tabernacle. Throughout all their journeys, whenever the cloud was taken up from over the tabernacle, the people of Israel would set out. But if the cloud was not taken up, then they did not set out till the day that it was taken up.
What would it look like if God actually moved into your life?
Not your Sunday morning schedule.
Not your playlist or polite prayers.
But your real life—your doubts, your decisions, your dining room table.
What if the same God who walked in the fire, whispered in the wind, and thundered on Sinai said to you, “I’m not just rescuing you—I’m moving in with you”?
That’s not just a good question—it’s the question of Exodus.
Because Exodus isn’t just a book of escape—it’s a book of encounter.
Not just about leaving bondage—but about entering glory.
Not just freedom from Pharaoh—but fellowship with the Father.
Beloved, we have come to the crescendo of a cosmic composition, the final stanza of a symphony of salvation. The book of Exodus has not merely taken us on a journey from slavery to freedom—it has escorted us from shame to glory, from groaning under Pharaoh to glory under God.
In chapter 1, Israel is in chains, but in chapter 40, they are in covenant. In the beginning, they are making bricks without straw, but here at the end, they are building a sanctuary of beauty. This is not just narrative progression—it is redemptive transformation. The same God who heard their cry in Egypt now houses His presence in their midst. The God who brought them out by blood and water now brings them in by glory and cloud.
Exodus is not merely a book about departure. It is a divine declaration that true deliverance is not complete until the Deliverer dwells with His people. God did not bring them out just to set them free—He brought them out so He could move in. That’s why the chapter doesn’t end with Israel singing a song of victory, but with the cloud descending, the glory settling, and God saying, “Here I am—I’m home among my people.”
Oh, brothers and sisters, this is more than architecture. This is announcement. This is not about gold and acacia wood—it’s about God coming down! This is not merely about the building of a tabernacle—it’s about the binding of God’s presence to a people He has redeemed.
You see, the Exodus doesn’t climax at the Red Sea—that was the liberation moment. The true climax is the habitation moment, when the glory cloud wraps itself around the tabernacle like a shawl of splendor. Because real freedom is not simply walking away from Pharaoh—it’s walking with the Father.
Let me put it plainly: until God fills the house, the journey is not over. Until God is in the center, you may be out of Egypt, but Egypt is not out of you. Until glory governs your camp, you’re rescued but not yet rooted. Because the God who saves is also the God who stays.
So today, we stand at the gates of glory, and our question is not merely historical—it is deeply personal: Has God moved into your life? Have you gone from ritual to reality, from religion to relationship, from deliverance to dwelling?
Let us walk through the text. And as we walk, let us ask four soul-searching questions: Why do we need the tabernacle? How does it work? Who is it pointing to? And where is it now?
Because when the glory shows up, everything changes.
Now that the glory has descended, now that the cloud has settled, now that Moses has finished the work—let us not rush past this sacred moment. Let us not sprint through the sanctuary. Let us, like Moses, take off our shoes and acknowledge that this is holy ground. Because before we can understand how the tabernacle works, before we can identify who it points to or where it lives now, we must begin with a deeper question—a soul-deep question, a question not just for ancient Israel but for every worshiper who longs to be near:
Why?
Why a tabernacle in the wilderness? Why all this detail? Why does God ask for curtains and clasps, gold and linen, altars and incense? Why not simply say, “I am with you,” and leave it at that?
Ah, but you see, beloved, when heaven stoops to earth, when eternity invades time, when glory makes its home among the redeemed—it does not come casually. Glory must be prepared for. Glory must be hosted. And if God is going to dwell among us, we must understand why we even need Him to.
So lean in, beloved. Let us lift the veil on this sacred tent and ask our first question:
Why Do We Need the Tabernacle?
Because Glory Must Have a
Before there was a veil, there was a voice. Before there was a tabernacle, there was a desire. And that desire came not from man reaching up, but from God reaching down.
We need the tabernacle because God desires to dwell—not at a distance but at the center. Not on the fringes of your life but in the furnace of your heart. Not as a theological idea, but as a transforming Presence. The tabernacle is God’s answer to the ache for intimacy and the need for nearness.
You see, beloved, we are not just people in need of liberation—we are people in need of location. God didn’t just deliver Israel from Pharaoh—He was delivering them to Himself. He didn’t just break their chains—He built them a chapel. The point of Exodus is not merely freedom from Egypt, but fellowship with God. It is not enough to be out of bondage; we must be brought into glory.
Because There Is Another
The tabernacle was a declaration: “There is more than what you can see!”
In a world where everything is materialized and monetized, where everything is weighed, measured, and explained—God planted a tent and said, “There is still mystery. There is still majesty. There is still Me.”
The tabernacle stood as a living witness in the middle of the camp that declared to all of Israel: “There is a supernatural world.“
It said:You are not alone.
It said:Your life is not flat.
It said:Heaven is closer than it seems.
From Eden’s exile to Sinai’s summit, the story of Scripture is the story of God saying, “I still want to be with My people.”
Because There Is a
Every ancient culture—from Babylon to Beijing, from Egypt to Athens—understood that there is a gap between the holy and the human, between the sacred and the sinful. That there must be a bridge between God and man.
That’s what the tabernacle is. It is a divine bridge. A heavenly embassy in an earthly camp. It’s not just a place of beauty—it is a place of mediation. A God-designed, blood-drenched pathway into the presence of the Divine.
But oh! Don’t miss this: the very presence of the tabernacle teaches us there is both a separation and a solution.
Yes, the cherubim still stand guard like they did at Eden’s gate.
Yes, the veil still hangs like a warning: “Do not enter lightly.”
But the tent is pitched, the altar is burning, and God is saying, “I’ve made a way.”
We need the tabernacle because sin shut the door, but grace is knocking again. And the tabernacle says, “There is a way back to the Garden.”
Because the Human Soul Is
We were made for glory. Not Instagram glory. Not political power. Not temporary recognition. But true, radiant, holy glory. The kind that shook Mount Sinai and split the sea. The kind that hovered in the cloud and thundered through the fire. The kind that made Moses glow and made angels bow.
And the tabernacle says, “That glory can dwell among you.”
Do you see it?
Without God’s presence, we are just people wandering in a wilderness.
Without His glory, we are a camp with no compass.
Without the cloud, we are free—but lost.
Without the fire, we are delivered—but cold.
But with the tabernacle—God is no longer up there, far away in abstraction. He’s here.
He’s not just El Elyon, God Most High—He is Immanuel, God with us.
He’s not just the God of Sinai—He’s the God of the sanctuary.
Because the Modern World Has
We live in a world that thinks it can live without glory.
We put confidence in psychology, technology, sociology—but we’ve evacuated theology. We know how to build rockets to the stars, but we’ve forgotten how to build altars in our hearts. We’ve been to the moon, but we don’t know how to get to the mercy seat.
And yet, despite the modern world’s defiance, the human heart still hungers.
We long for transcendence, ache for purpose, thirst for the eternal.
We hunger for something that won’t decay, something death can’t delete.
The tabernacle whispers to us still:
“There is a place beyond your pain.”
“There is a presence greater than your problems.”
“There is a glory that can fill your soul.”
The tabernacle is a sermon preached in furniture and fire, in gold and grace:
God wants to dwell with you.
Lift your eyes, beloved. Look again at the curtain blowing in the desert wind. See the fire by night. Feel the cloud by day. Listen to the hush in the camp as the glory settles in.
The tabernacle is saying, “This is what you were made for.”
You were not created for sin.
You were not fashioned for fear.
You were not built for bondage.
You were made to be indwelt.
You were made to be filled with the glory of God.
We have seen that we need the tabernacle because glory must have a dwelling. But the question now turns from necessity to functionality. If we need the tabernacle, how does it work? What is the purpose of every priestly garment, every incense offering, every lampstand flickering in the holy place?
This tabernacle isn’t just decoration—it is declaration. It is more than aesthetics—it’s access. God is showing us something here. The architecture is theology. The order is revelation. He is not just telling us He is holy—He is showing us how holiness makes a way for sinners.
It’s not just that the tabernacle exists—it’s that it operates from the inside out. From the ark to the altar, from the mercy seat to the outer court, from the glory of God to the grit of man’s hands. So then, let us walk with Moses through the holy ground and ask our second question:
How Does the Tabernacle Work? — From Separation to Access, From Curtain to Communion
God is a God of order. He is not chaotic in His glory, nor reckless in His holiness. And so when Moses builds the tabernacle, he builds it from the inside out—because that’s how God works. From the ark to the altar, from the glory to the gathering, God moves from the center of His holiness outward to the edge of human need.
He starts with Himself—and then He makes a way to us.
This is not haphazard. This is holy.
From the Mercy Seat to the Courtyard—The
Notice the flow in Exodus 40: Moses doesn’t begin with the outer courtyard—he starts by placing the ark of the covenant in the Most Holy Place (v. 20). That ark is more than furniture—it is a throne of mercy. It is where the blood is sprinkled, where justice meets grace, and where God says, “I will meet with you.”
From there, Moses builds outward:
The table with the bread—God providing for His people.
The lampstand—God illuminating their darkness.
The altar of incense—prayers rising like sweet aroma.
The basin—cleansing for sinful hands.
The altar—where substitutionary blood is shed.
Do you see the movement? It’s not man working his way in. It’s God working His grace out.
The tabernacle shows us that access to God is possible—but it is costly. The fire does not fall without the sacrifice. The presence does not come without the blood. The curtain does not open without the cleansing.
But praise God,there is a way in!
The Curtain Speaks—God Is Holy, But God Is Not
There’s a tension in the tabernacle—a holy paradox. God is present, but veiled. He is near, but not casual. He is with His people, but not without boundaries.
The curtains preach. The veils cry out: “He is holy, holy, holy!”
The closer you get to the inner sanctum, the more you recognize the weight of His glory. There are layers—not to keep God away, but to prepare our hearts to draw near. You can’t just stroll into the Holy of Holies like it’s a backyard barbecue. You must come reverently, cleanly, properly, sacrificially.
Because the tabernacle tells us not only that God is with us—but that He is not like us.
The God who made the stars and stirred the sea does not wink at sin. He does not turn a blind eye to rebellion. He does not trade His throne for familiarity. And yet—He still wants to be with us.
That’s the mystery! He makes a way. Curtain by curtain, He invites us closer.
The Altar Speaks—There Is No
Every step closer to the Holy Place had to pass by the altar.
You could not come to God without blood. Without a substitute. Without a sacrifice.
That lamb whose blood was spilled?
That goat whose body was burned?
That smoke that rose from the bronze grating?
All of it was crying out: “You are not enough. But another has paid.”
That altar was not a decoration. It was a declaration that the wages of sin is death. But it was also a declaration that God has made provision.
So before you stepped into the holy, you had to confront your unholiness.
Before you entered the tabernacle, you had to acknowledge your guilt.
And in doing so, God wasn’t pushing you away—He was pulling you into something deeper than forgiveness. He was pulling you into worship. Into wonder. Into awe.Because when you realize the cost of communion, you cherish the nearness of God all the more.
The Basin Speaks—You
After the altar came the laver, the bronze basin filled with water. Moses, Aaron, and the priests could not even approach the tent without washing their hands and feet (vv. 30–32). This wasn’t about hygiene—it was about holiness. Because even those who served in the sanctuary needed cleansing.
Even the priests needed washing.
Even the leaders needed grace.
Beloved, the basin says,“You are not clean by nature.”You may be set apart, but you are not self-sufficient. You need the water. You need the Word. You need the cleansing. And only God can provide it.
This is the rhythm of grace:
Come dirty. Be washed. Enter clean.
Come guilty. Be forgiven. Enter holy.
The Glory Confirms—Access Has Been
Verse 33 tells us,“And so Moses finished the work.”And what happens next?
“Then the cloud covered the tent of meeting, and the glory of the LORD filled the tabernacle.”
Hallelujah!
The tabernacle was not complete when the last pole was polished or the last curtain hung. It was complete when the glory came down. Because the goal was never the tent—it was the Presence. God says, “You’ve obeyed. You’ve prepared. Now I will dwell.”
When the smoke of the altar met the cloud of glory, when the washing of the priests was met with the weight of the Presence, when the obedience of Moses was crowned with the arrival of Yahweh—then, and only then, was the tabernacle truly open.
God had made a way. And it worked. Glory had returned.
So what does the tabernacle teach us?
It teaches us that grace is costly, but it is real.
That holiness is required, but access is possible.
That God is transcendent, but He is not untouchable.
It teaches us that God moves from glory to grace, from the inside out.
That He prepares a path from the Holy of Holies to the human heart.
And the tabernacle, beloved, is not just a tent in the past—it’s a testimony in the present:
“Come near… but come clean. Come boldly… but come through blood. Come hungry… but come by the bread. Come broken… but come to the basin. Come trembling… and I will meet you in glory.”
Now we’ve seen the structure. We’ve seen the sacred scaffolding of grace. We’ve seen the curtains and the courtyards, the priests and the washing basins. But a deeper question echoes through the sanctuary—a question pregnant with promise:Is this all there is?
Could animal blood really open the way to the Almighty? Could gold-covered wood truly carry the weight of God’s glory? Could a tent in the wilderness become a permanent home for the Eternal?
No, beloved. The tabernacle is not the destination—it is the direction. It is not the fulfillment—it is the foreshadowing. It is a finger pointing forward to a greater priest, a better altar, a final sacrifice, and a once-and-for-all entrance into the presence of God.
So now, with hearts trembling and eyes lifted, we ask our third question:
Who Is the Tabernacle Pointing To? — Christ, Our Priest, Our Sacrifice, Our Glory
By now, we’ve walked through the outer court. We’ve approached the altar, passed by the laver, and stepped into the holy place. And standing before the veil, the curtain that separates man from Majesty, the question thunders louder than ever:
Who can go in?
Who can step behind the veil?
Who can bear the glory?
Who can make a way for sinners to dwell with a holy God?
The answer is not a what—but a who. And His name is Jesus.
The tabernacle, beloved, is not an end in itself—it’s a shadow. A silhouette. A signpost. It is not the substance, but the symbol. And all of its symbols stretch out their hands and point to Christ.
Jesus is not just connected to the tabernacle—He is the fulfillment of it.
He Is the Presence of God—Tabernacled in
John 1:14 “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us…”
The Greek says, “tabernacled among us.” Pitched His tent. Made His dwelling. Walked our streets. Sat at our tables.
Jesus is the tabernacle walking, the glory talking, the presence breathing.
No longer hidden behind a veil, but wrapped in swaddling clothes.
No longer confined to a tent of cloth, but now found in a body of flesh.
No longer a symbol of what is to come, but the substance of what has come.
He is not just the God above us—He is the God with us. Immanuel. And when the Son of God stepped into time, the cloud came down again—not as smoke but as a Son.
He Is the
In the tabernacle, only the high priest could go behind the veil—and only once a year. And even then, he had to come trembling, with blood on his hands, and a rope tied to his foot in case he died in the glory.
But now we have a better priest. A greater priest. A perfect priest.
Hebrews 4:14–16 declares that
Hebrews 4:14–16 ESV
Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession.
For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.
Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.
He didn’t go into a tent made by men—He went into heaven itself. He didn’t offer the blood of bulls and goats—He offered Himself.
He didn’t enter with fear—He entered with finality. And now He says, “Come boldly to the throne of grace.”
Because the Priest who intercedes is also the Lamb who was slain.
He Is the
Every day in the tabernacle, the blood ran like a river. Every morning. Every evening. Lamb after lamb. Goat after goat. And still—it was not enough.
But Jesus—the spotless Lamb of God—climbed Mount Calvary and laid Himself on the altar.
No priest stood beside Him—He was both priest and sacrifice.
No rope tied to His foot—He willingly bore the wrath.
No curtain remained closed—for when He died, the veil was torn in two.
Matthew 27 says the veil in the temple was ripped from top to bottom, not by human hands, but by the hand of heaven. As if God Himself said, “This tabernacle has served its purpose. The true and living Way has now been opened.”
Oh, beloved—what the tabernacle pointed to, the cross fulfilled.
He Is the
Remember Moses? He said, “Lord, show me Your glory.” And God said, “You can’t see My face and live.” But now, in the face of Jesus Christ, we behold the glory of God—not dimmed, not distant, but dazzling in grace and truth (2 Corinthians 4:6).
2 Corinthians 4:6 ESV
For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.
Jesus is the glory that doesn’t kill on contact—but gives life in fullness.
He is the fire that warms, not the wrath that consumes.
He is the cloud that covers, not the curse that condemns.
He is the Shekinah that settled—and stayed.
And when He said from the cross, “It is finished,” He wasn’t just ending His life.
He was completing the pathway.
He was fulfilling the tabernacle.
He was opening the holy of holies.
He said, “You don’t have to stand outside anymore.”
He said, “You don’t need a veil. You don’t need a rope. You don’t need a substitute—because I AM the substitute.”
The altar has been satisfied.
The priest has sat down.
And the glory has come home.
So who is the tabernacle pointing to?
To the One who is the Door.
To the One who is the Bread.
To the One who is the Light.
To the One who is the Mercy Seat.
To the One who is the Glory in flesh and the Lamb on the cross.
The tabernacle is a sermon. And the sermon is titled: “Behold the Lamb of God.”
We’ve been standing in the shadow of the tabernacle. We’ve watched as Moses assembles it, piece by piece. We’ve seen how the holy God makes a way for unholy people to draw near. And we’ve seen that the tabernacle was not the end goal—but the signpost pointing to Jesus Christ, the true and better tabernacle.
But now we must ask the pressing question of this present moment, not about then, but about now. Because the gospel is not merely history—it is habitation. It is not locked in Exodus—it walks the streets of Birmingham and New York and wherever your feet may tread.
Where is the tabernacle now?
Where does the glory dwell today? Where is the altar now? Where does the fire fall, and where does the cloud lead? Where can the world see what Eden promised and what Christ fulfilled?
Let me tell you: it’s not in a tent or a temple made by human hands. It is in the hearts of those who have been redeemed. It’s in the Church. It’s in you. It’s in me. It’s in us.
So let’s ask our final question together, with hearts yearning for glory:
Where Is the Tabernacle Now? — In Us, Among Us, Through Us
The glory has not departed.
The fire has not gone out.
The cloud has not dissipated.
No, beloved—the tabernacle has moved again.
It is no longer stitched into the linen of a tent or confined to the stones of a temple.
It now pulses with breath. It now walks on feet. It now worships with raised hands and weeps with open hearts.
The tabernacle is in us.
The same glory that filled the tent in Exodus 40 now fills the temples of living believers. The same Spirit that rested on the ark now rests in every blood-bought, born-again child of God.
How do we know?
Because Acts 2 tells us the fire fell again—not on a mountain, not on a building—but on people.
Tongues of fire sat on their heads.
The wind blew through the upper room.
The glory returned—and this time, it came to stay.
*The Tabernacle Is in You — Christ
1 Corinthians 6:19 says:
Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own,
Oh, my brothers and sisters, the most sacred place on earth is not the pulpit.
It is not the platform.
It is the soul of a Spirit-filled believer.
You are not just a worshipper—you are a walking sanctuary.
You are not just a servant—you are a Spirit-filled dwelling.
You are not just saved—you are saturated with shekinah.
That means every place your feet touch becomes holy ground.
That means your workplace becomes a tabernacle.
That means your dinner table becomes an altar.
That means your Monday morning commute becomes a procession of glory.
You don’t have to light incense to get His attention.
You don’t have to tie a rope to your ankle.
He is already inside, and He’s not going anywhere.
The veil is gone.
The mercy seat is open.
The glory is in residence.
The Tabernacle Is Among Us — The Church Is a Living Sanctuary
1 Peter 2:5 says
you yourselves like living stones are being built up as a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.
The tabernacle is not just individual—it is corporate.
The Church is not a social club, a self-help group, or a moral society. It is the dwelling place of God on earth. When we gather in His name, the glory doesn’t just descend—it dwells.
When we worship together, glory is present.
When we forgive one another, glory is revealed.
When we break bread, bear burdens, and bind wounds—the beauty of the tabernacle is put on public display.
Moses adorned the tabernacle with gold, silver, and linen. But we are called to adorn the Church with love, humility, unity, and holiness.
Let the Church be the most beautiful place in the city—not because of its chandeliers or stained glass, but because grace flows freely and glory sits heavy.Let the people say, “Surely the Lord is in this place.”
The Tabernacle Must Work Through Us —
In Exodus 40, when the cloud lifted, the people moved.
When the glory rose, the camp followed.
When the fire traveled, they set out.
Because glory doesn’t make us stagnant—it makes us sent.
God didn’t fill the tabernacle so Israel could sit and stare. He filled it so they could walk in step with Him.
He didn’t move in so they could stay still.
He moved in so they could move forward.
Beloved, the tabernacle is now on mission.
We carry the Presence into the prisons.
We carry the fire into forgotten neighborhoods.
We bring the altar into broken marriages.
We bring the basin to wash the feet of enemies.
We bring the lampstand into the darkest places.
Wherever we go, the tabernacle goes.
Wherever we serve, the glory speaks.
Wherever we give, the incense rises.
We are not just saved from the world—we are sent into it, glowing with glory.
So where is the tabernacle now?
It’s in your hands when you serve.
It’s in your tears when you pray.
It’s in your heart when you worship.
It’s in your feet when you go.
It’s in your voice when you witness.
It’s in the pew when the saints gather.
It is in you, it is among us, and it must move through us.
We are the new tent of testimony, the new court of communion, the new ark of witness.
The tabernacle has moved again. And this time—it’s never going back.
Beloved, Exodus does not end with a monument—it ends with movement. It doesn’t close with Israel celebrating what they’ve done; it concludes with the glory of the Lord declaring what He will do. “The cloud covered the tent of meeting, and the glory of the LORD filled the tabernacle…” God moved in!
The One who spoke from the bush now settles in the tent. The same God who thundered from Sinai now whispers in the sanctuary. The transcendent becomes imminent. The glorious becomes present. The invisible becomes personal.
And when God moves in, everything changes.
He does not wait for perfection—He comes in grace. He does not require greatness—He reveals glory. He does not just rescue His people—He resides with them. And He does not simply dwell near you—He desires to dwell in you.
That’s why the gospel doesn’t stop at Calvary—it moves on to Pentecost. The veil was torn so the Spirit could be poured. The cross was lifted so the glory could descend. And now, my brothers and sisters, the glory doesn’t live in a tent of cloth, but in temples of clay. The glory doesn’t hover over a camp—it inhabits your chest.
You are the new tabernacle. The Church is the living sanctuary. And the Spirit of the living God does not visit—He abides.
So the question today is not, “Will God dwell?”
The question is, “Will we make room?”
Call to Action: “Don’t Just Visit the Glory—Live in It”
To the Sinner Still Standing Outside the Tent:
My friend, if you have never come to Jesus Christ in faith, I plead with you today—not as a judge, but as a beggar who found bread. Don’t settle for being near the glory. Don’t camp outside the tent. Don’t admire the beauty from afar while remaining spiritually homeless.
The blood has already been shed. The veil has already been torn. The altar has already burned. You don’t need to fix yourself to come in—you need to come in so God can fix you.
The glory that once killed now heals. The fire that once consumed now purifies. The cloud that once hovered now covers.
You don’t have to be good to get God. You need God to make you new.
So come.
Come with your shame—He’ll cover it.
Come with your sin—He’ll cleanse it.
Come with your fear—He’ll fill it with faith.
Don’t wait for a better moment. This is the moment.
Don’t wait until you “feel” it. This is faith.
Don’t wait until you’re worthy. Christ is your worthiness.
Say yes. Step in.
Because once the glory moves in, everything changes.
To the Christian Who Has the Glory Within:
Child of God, if the tabernacle has moved in—then so must your life move out.
You were not saved to sit.
You were not filled to hide.
You were not cleansed to remain quiet.
You are now the place where heaven touches earth.
So live like it.
Let your heart be the holy place.
Let your home be a sanctuary.
Let your friendships be filled with fragrance.
Let your worship be soaked in wonder.
Let your walk reflect the weight of glory within you.
You are the lampstand now—so shine.
You are the altar now—so burn with sacrifice.
You are the priesthood now—so intercede with tears.
You are the tabernacle now—so carry the glory with reverence and joy.
Don’t grieve the glory. Don’t hide the glory. Don’t waste the glory.
Walk with it.
Speak with it.
Weep with it.
Serve with it.
And show the world that the God who filled a tent in the desert now fills temples of flesh in the streets.
Because when the world sees the Church shining with tabernacle beauty, they will ask, “What is this fire? What is this fragrance?” And you will say, “The glory has moved in.”