
Beloved, come with me this morning not to a meadow or a marketplace, not to the smooth plains of Canaan or the bustling streets of Jerusalem—but to a mountain that burns with fire. Mount Sinai stands like a divine volcano, erupting not with lava, but with law; not with smoke of destruction, but the smoke of divine disclosure. It is the place where God has come down to dwell with man.
And it is there, in that sacred and searing place, that the Lord speaks—not in riddles or whispers—but with clarity, with command, with covenant. He tells Moses to prepare the people, to sanctify them, to wash their garments. Why? Because God does not come down casually. He does not stroll into the lives of sinners as a tourist but as a holy King who demands awe, reverence, and obedience.
From Exodus 25 through 31, God gives Moses the blueprint for holy living and holy worship. Instructions flow like a river from the mouth of God: the ark of the covenant, the mercy seat, the table for the bread of presence, the golden lampstand, the altar of incense, the consecrated priests—all pointing to one singular truth:
God desires to dwell among His people, but not without holiness.
We arrive now at Exodus 28–34—a stretch of Scripture where holiness meets horror, where glory descends and sin erupts. In these chapters, we are not simply observers—we are participants. This is not a museum of ancient mistakes. No, this is a mirror for the modern heart. Because, church, if we’re honest, there’s a bit of Israel in every one of us.
We, too, stand at the base of a mountain where God has spoken. We, too, are recipients of a holy law. We, too, have been brought out of bondage—not from Egypt, but from sin and death. And yet—how quickly we forget! How easily we exchange the invisible glory of God for the tangible idols of money, comfort, success, and control.
While Moses is up on the mountain receiving the law, the people are down in the valley breaking it. While God is ordaining garments for glory, the people are crafting idols of shame. What irony! What tragedy! While God is making a way to dwell with them, they are already dancing their way away from Him.
But oh, here is the wonder of the gospel; God does not cast them off! Even though the covenant is broken, God remains faithful. Even though the tablets are shattered, the mercy of God stands unbroken. In the place where Israel deserved judgment, God gives grace.
This section of Exodus is not just a narrative of garments and gold, of rebellion and renewal—it is a gospel-laced masterpiece of how God comes down in glory to dwell with a people who do not deserve Him. It is a story of substitution. A story of mediation. A story of intercession. A story of grace shining through the smoke.
Yes, glory came down on Sinai. But ultimately, glory came down in a manger in Bethlehem. Glory hung on a cross at Golgotha. Glory burst forth from an empty tomb on the third day. And glory now sits at the right hand of God, where our Great High Priest ever lives to intercede for us.
So let’s journey through these seven chapters—Exodus 28 through 34—with the eyes of faith and the ears of the Spirit. Let us behold how God makes a way for sinners to draw near—not by ignoring sin, but by providing a Mediator who bears the weight of it. Let us see what happens, beloved, when glory comes down.
So now, with smoke still rising from Sinai, and the voice of God still echoing in Moses’ ears, we lean in and listen. What does this holy God require for communion with His covenant people? What provision does He make for sinful man to draw near without being consumed?
The answer doesn’t begin in the valley of rebellion but on the mountain of instruction. Before the golden calf is crafted, before the covenant is shattered, God already provides a picture of mediation. He commands the creation of garments—not for style, but for salvation. Not for appearance, but for access.
Let us step now into the divine tailor’s workshop in Exodus 28 and 29, where every thread preaches, every gem proclaims, and every drop of blood points to Christ. Let us behold the garments of glory and the God who graciously draws near.
The Garments of Glory and the God Who
Near (Exodus 28–29)
Exodus 28:2 ESV
And you shall make holy garments for Aaron your brother, for glory and for beauty.
God’s Glory Requires a
Before God gives them Canaan, He gives them a clothing code—not to impress Pharaoh, but to approach Yahweh. Because God’s holiness is not a matter to be managed; it’s a mountain to be feared. If you come into His presence without a covering, you will be consumed.
That’s why He appoints Aaron as high priest—to stand between a holy God and a sinful people. But Aaron doesn’t come in jeans and sandals. He wears robes designed by the mind of God Himself—garments for glory and for beauty.
This isn’t fashion; it’s theology stitched into fabric. The ephod, woven with gold and scarlet threads, is not just dazzling—it’s declaring: “God is not like us, and we cannot approach Him apart from one who is chosen, consecrated, and clothed.”
On his shoulders, Aaron bears two onyx stones, engraved with the names of six tribes each. On his chest, twelve precious stones represent the twelve tribes of Israel. He bears the names of the people before the Lord—over his heart and on his shoulders. The message is clear: the high priest enters God’s presence not just for the people, but with the people.
This is a shadow of our Great High Priest, Jesus Christ. He, too, bears our names—engraved not on stone, but on the palms of His hands
Isaiah 49:16 ESV
Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are continually before me.
He carries us on His heart in love and on His shoulders in strength. He doesn’t just bring us to God; He brings God to us.
And unlike Aaron, Jesus never removes His robes. He is always holy, always interceding, always able to save to the uttermost.
Hebrews 7:25 ESV
Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them.
The
But Aaron cannot just put on the garments and walk in. He must be set apart, washed, anointed, and bloodied—because access to God is always preceded by atonement.
In Exodus 29, the consecration ceremony is elaborate. Aaron and his sons are bathed—cleansing from impurity. They are robed—covered with righteousness not their own. They are anointed with oil—marked as holy. But then, the most critical moment: the animals are brought forth.
Three sacrifices are made: a bull for sin, a ram for burnt offering, and another ram of ordination. The blood is placed on Aaron’s right ear, right thumb, and right big toe. What is God saying?
He’s saying: “Your hearing must be holy. Your doing must be holy. Your walking must be holy.” From head to toe, the priest must be consecrated.
But the blood does more than consecrate. It preaches. It declares that access to God is costly. Someone has to die. Innocence must be sacrificed to cover the guilt of another.
Every drop of that blood was a down payment on Calvary. Every slain animal pointed forward to the day when Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, would bleed not just on the ear and the toe, but from His head, His hands, His feet, and His side.
And what of the garments? Aaron wore them temporarily. But Christ clothes us permanently in His righteousness. We, too, are washed—not with water, but with the Spirit. We, too, are anointed—not with oil, but with power from on high. We, too, are made priests—not by the law of a fleshly commandment, but by the power of an indestructible life.
God’s glory is not diminished by our sin, but neither is His holiness compromised by our need. He provides a Mediator. He designs a way for sinners to be brought near—not by ignoring justice, but by satisfying it through substitution.
Exodus 28–29 teaches us that every worshiper needs a representative. Every sinner needs a sacrifice. And every approach to God must be through blood. These garments of glory are not outdated relics of Old Testament religion—they are previews of the glorious garments we wear in Christ.
So the question before us is:
Are you trusting in your own robes of self-righteousness, or are you clothed in the splendor of Christ’s holiness?
Because, beloved, when you are robed in Christ, the glory of God does not destroy you—it dwells in you.
Now that we’ve walked through the heavenly tailor’s shop, where garments are sewn in gold and holiness is stitched into every seam, we descend with Moses back down the mountain. But what greets us is not reverence, not repentance, not readiness—but rebellion.
God was preparing a dwelling place. The people were building a golden god. God was adorning a priest to mediate His presence. The people were undressing their hearts and giving themselves to idolatry. Oh, what a contrast! The mountain is glowing, but the camp is groaning under the weight of their sin.
Here we see the tragedy of humanity: God preparing to dwell among His people, and His people preparing to dance before a god of their own making. This is not merely a historical moment—it’s a mirror for every soul. So let us enter the valley now. Let us feel the weight of sin and the horror of covenant betrayal in Point II: The Calf of Gold and the Crisis of Covenant.
The Calf of Gold and the
of Covenant (Exodus 32)
Exodus 32:8 ESV
They have turned aside quickly out of the way that I commanded them. They have made for themselves a golden calf and have worshiped it and sacrificed to it and said, ‘These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!”
The
Israel had heard the voice of God with their own ears. They had seen the fire, felt the quake, received the commandments. And yet, when Moses delayed to come down from the mountain, they demanded a god they could touch.
Exodus 32:1 ESV
When the people saw that Moses delayed to come down from the mountain, the people gathered themselves together to Aaron and said to him, “Up, make us gods who shall go before us. As for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him.”
They weren’t looking for theology. They were craving immediacy. They didn’t want revelation—they wanted something they could control. So they gave their gold, the earrings from Egypt, the ornaments of deliverance—and they melted them down into the mold of disobedience.
Aaron—the man who should’ve stood up—steps aside. The same man who would wear the ephod becomes the one who makes the idol. The same hands that were anointed for consecration are now crafting corruption.
Beloved, do you see the irony? God is forming a priesthood above; the people are forming a perversion below. God is giving them access; they are choosing absence. This is not just Israel’s folly—it’s ours. We may not bow before a calf, but how often do we shape a god in our image? A god who approves our sin. A god who never says no. A god who looks just like us.
Calvin said, “The human heart is an idol factory.” And left unchecked, we will always choose a god we can control over a God who controls all.
The
Moses descends—in his hands are the stone tablets, carved by the finger of God. These are not merely commandments—they are the terms of the covenant. The legal bond between the Redeemer and the redeemed.
But when Moses sees the people singing and dancing around the calf—he hurls the tablets down and shatters them at the foot of the mountain (v. 19).
Exodus 32:19 ESV
And as soon as he came near the camp and saw the calf and the dancing, Moses’ anger burned hot, and he threw the tablets out of his hands and broke them at the foot of the mountain.
This is not a temper tantrum—it is theological theater. The covenant has been broken. The relationship fractured. The vow violated. The marriage between God and His people has ruptured before it even began.
Sin always shatters. It never builds. It breaks what is sacred. It fractures what is whole. That’s why Moses burns the calf, grinds it to powder, scatters it on the water, and makes the people drink it (v. 20)—because idolatry must not be cherished; it must be consumed, destroyed, swallowed in grief and shame.
The Mercy of Intercession and the
In a scene soaked in sorrow, Moses returns to the mountain. He knows that God’s wrath is righteous. He knows that justice demands judgment. And yet, like Christ, he stands in the gap and says:
Exodus 32:32 ESV
But now, if you will forgive their sin—but if not, please blot me out of your book that you have written.”
This is a foreshadowing of gospel glory. Moses offers to trade places. “Let me die, so they may live.” But God says no. Why? Because Moses is not the spotless Lamb. Moses is not the sufficient substitute.
But oh, praise God—there is One who would come, who was sinless, who could stand in our place. Christ Jesus, the greater Moses, would not just offer, but be offered. He would not just plead for sinners—He would bleed for them.
At the cross, justice and mercy would meet. The covenant shattered at Sinai would be restored at Calvary. The fire of Sinai would be satisfied by the blood of the Savior.
The golden calf was not just a lapse in judgment—it was a leap into treason. It was the spiritual equivalent of adultery on the wedding night. And yet—God did not destroy. He disciplined. He judged. But He preserved.
Why? Because a Mediator stood in the breach. And that, beloved, is our only hope. We have all formed idols in the dark caverns of our hearts. We have all broken the covenant. But the One who descended from a far greater mountain—Christ Himself—has stood in our place. He was blotted out so that we could be written in.
So I ask you today: Have you given your gold to a god who cannot save? Have you danced around what you should have destroyed?
Tear it down. Grind it up. Drink the bitterness of repentance—and turn your face toward the mountain of mercy.
We have been with Moses in the glory of the sanctuary. We have stood in horror at the foot of a rebellious camp. We have seen priestly robes soaked in consecrating blood, and we have watched covenant tablets dashed to pieces at the base of Sinai.
And now—now we come to the place where hope flickers again. We ascend once more with Moses, up that sacred mountain—not for new instructions, but for intervention. Not for blueprints, but for beholding. Not for judgment, but for justification. What we witness in chapters 33 and 34 is a moment of divine disclosure—where God reveals not just what He demands, but who He is.
This final movement is not about rebellion, but renewal. Not about what we do for God, but what God does in us. It is about the glory of God and the grace that transforms. Let us now stand with Moses in the cleft of the rock, and behold the glory of the Lord.
The Glory of God and the
That Transforms (Exodus 33–34)
Exodus 33:18 ESV
Moses said, “Please show me your glory.”
The Agony of Absence and the Cry for Presence
After the golden calf, God makes a devastating pronouncement:
Exodus 33:3 ESV
Go up to a land flowing with milk and honey; but I will not go up among you, lest I consume you on the way, for you are a stiff-necked people.”
Can you feel the heartbreak in those words? The Promised Land—yes. The milk and honey—yes. But the presence of God? No.
This is the true cost of sin—not merely punishment, but separation. The withdrawal of God’s nearness. His absence is worse than affliction. His silence is more deafening than thunder.
But Moses, the intercessor, will not accept a future without the fellowship of God. He climbs back up the mountain and utters one of the most pivotal prayers in all of Scripture:
Exodus 33:15 ESV
And he said to him, “If your presence will not go with me, do not bring us up from here.
What a pastoral cry. What a covenantal plea. Moses would rather stay in the wilderness with God than live in a paradise without Him. Because the land is not the treasure—God is the treasure. And that is the heart of a true worshiper. He doesn’t just want gifts from God, he wants God Himself.
What about you, beloved? Do you desire His presence more than His provision? Do you long for His face more than His hand? If He took away every earthly blessing and left you only with Himself, would that be enough?
The Revelation of God’s Name and the
In response to Moses’ yearning, God does something unprecedented: He hides Moses in the cleft of the rock and causes His glory to pass by—not the fullness of His face, but the trailing edge of His goodness. And what does Moses hear? A sermon—not of power, but of personhood.
Exodus 34:6 ESV
The Lord passed before him and proclaimed, “The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness,
This is not God describing what He does—this is God declaring who He is.
Merciful and gracious — God does not treat us as our sins deserve.
Slow to anger — He is not impulsive with wrath; He is patient in love.
Abounding in steadfast love — His covenant love doesn’t trickle—it overflows.
Keeping steadfast love for thousands — His faithfulness is generational.
Forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin — The whole catalog of our corruption is covered by His compassion.
But who will by no means clear the guilty — He is just. He does not sweep sin under the rug. He deals with it—either in the sinner, or in the substitute.
This moment is the gospel in shadow. The cleft of the rock is a type of Christ. Moses is hidden so the glory doesn’t consume him—because Christ is the Rock who shields us from the wrath we deserve, and reveals the grace we need.
Paul will echo this in Romans 3: God is “just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus.” In other words, He doesn’t choose between justice and mercy—He satisfies both at the cross.
The Radiance of
After the renewal of the covenant, Moses comes down the mountain—but this time, something has changed.
Exodus 34:29 ESV
When Moses came down from Mount Sinai, with the two tablets of the testimony in his hand as he came down from the mountain, Moses did not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God.
Moses didn’t preach a sermon. He was the sermon. His countenance became a canvas for the glory of God. His face radiated with residual light—not because he had climbed the mountain, but because the mountain had changed him.
And the people? They were afraid. They couldn’t bear the light. So Moses veiled his face—because the old covenant came with a fading glory
2 Corinthians 3:7 ESV
Now if the ministry of death, carved in letters on stone, came with such glory that the Israelites could not gaze at Moses’ face because of its glory, which was being brought to an end,
But we, beloved, live under a better covenant. We no longer need a veil, for Christ has removed it. And Paul says:
2 Corinthians 3:18 ESV
And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.
This is sanctification—not a change in circumstance, but a change in character. Not a glow on the face, but a fire in the soul. When you behold Christ, you don’t just reflect Him—you begin to resemble Him.
In Exodus 33–34, we see the heart of the gospel in its embryonic form: a holy God making Himself known to a sinful people—not by relaxing His standards, but by revealing His nature. He is merciful and just, patient and righteous. His glory does not destroy—it transforms.
Moses came down the mountain shining, but Christ came down from heaven incarnate. And when we behold Him—when we see the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ—we are changed from the inside out.
So let me ask you, beloved: Are you beholding His glory? Are you spending time in the cleft of the Rock, hidden in Christ, allowing the Spirit to conform you to His image?
Don’t be content with a dull face and a distracted soul. Climb the mountain of communion. Hide yourself in the Rock. Ask God, like Moses, “Show me Your glory!” And when you do—grace will come down, and glory will rise up within you.
We have journeyed, beloved, from the heights of the mountain to the depths of human failure. We have stood in the holy hush of priestly preparation, watched as sacred garments were embroidered by divine command, and seen blood placed on ears, thumbs, and toes—proclaiming that even the most anointed among us must be cleansed to come near.
We have trembled in the valley where gold became god and dancing replaced devotion. We’ve seen the horror of idolatry and the heartbreak of a covenant betrayed. We’ve stood beside Moses as he shattered the stone tablets—not in anger alone, but in sorrow, as a priest whose people had already broken the bond.
But oh, how grace rewrote what sin tried to erase.
We’ve climbed again with Moses, not just to receive instruction, but to intercede. Not to get regulations, but to beg for relationship. And God, in His mercy, comes down again—not with consuming fire, but with steadfast love. He doesn’t send an angel to finish the job—He reaffirms His presence with His people. He doesn’t rewrite the covenant in lesser terms—He renews it in the fullness of His name.
We’ve seen glory—reflected in Moses’ face, announced in God’s name, and fulfilled in Christ our Mediator. And now, that same glory—through the Spirit—dwells not on stone tablets, not behind a veil, but within the hearts of those who believe.
So I leave you with this, child of God: What will you do with the glory?
You can no longer plead ignorance. You have seen His holiness in the garments. You’ve witnessed His mercy in the intercession. You’ve beheld His glory in the cleft of the Rock and the shining of the mediator’s face.
So what now?
Stop Fashioning Golden Calves and Start Worshiping the Glorious Christ
Don’t give your heart to what you can’t control. Destroy the idols you’ve dignified. Crush them. Burn them. Grind them into dust. Whether it’s the idol of security, comfort, career, image, success, or pleasure—anything that steals glory from God is a calf that must die.
1 John 5:21 ESV
Little children, keep yourselves from idols.
Stop Trying to Approach God in Your Own Righteousness and Clothe Yourself in Christ
You can’t enter the holy place in your own garments. Filthy rags won’t do. Moral achievements won’t do. Church attendance won’t do. You need the robe of righteousness that only Jesus Christ can provide.
Isaiah 61:10 ESV
I will greatly rejoice in the Lord;
my soul shall exult in my God,
for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation;
he has covered me with the robe of righteousness,
as a bridegroom decks himself like a priest with a beautiful headdress,
and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
Stop Settling for the Promised Land Without the Promised Presence
Moses said, “If You don’t go with us, don’t bring us up from here.” Can you say that?
Is your Christianity built around God’s presence, or just His perks?
Would you be satisfied with the blessings of life even if the Giver of life were absent?
Ask Him: “God, don’t let me succeed without You. Don’t let me grow without You. Don’t let me preach, parent, lead, or live without You.”
Psalm 16:11 ESV
You make known to me the path of life;
in your presence there is fullness of joy;
at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.
Hide Yourself in the Rock and Behold His Glory
There’s only one safe place to stand in the presence of a holy God—and that’s in the Rock. That Rock is Christ. Hidden in Him, you won’t be destroyed by glory—you’ll be transformed by it.
2 Corinthians 3:18 ESV
And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.
So ask Him today—like Moses did—not for more stuff, but for more sight. Not for more gold, but for more glory. Say it with trembling and with trust:
“Show me Your glory!”
And when you pray that—sincerely, daily, desperately—glory will come down, and grace will rise up within you. Your face might not shine like Moses’, but your life will glow with the presence of the One who dwells in you.
You will walk different. Love different. Forgive different. Worship different. Lead different. Preach different. And when you finally see Him face to face, the glory that once descended will become the glory you dwell in forever.