I was reading Exodus. Exodus 40, to be exact, all about how Moses set up the Tabernacle. How he hung a beautiful curtain to conceal the Ark of the Covenant, marking it "out of bounds" for anyone who was not properly purified. Because that was the Holy Place, the meeting place with God. It was the place where the Lord's presence was going to dwell - or at least, the symbol of His presence with Israel, as He is bigger than that room. It was the place the priest went to mediate with God on behalf of the people.
As I read, I found myself desperately wanting to go behind that curtain. To step into that room, away from the rest of the Tabernacle and worship in that Holy Place. I longed to go into the presence of the Lord, to bend knee at the Ark of the Covenant, to worship my God in the light of His lampstand, surrounded by the smell of the incense offering.
I felt as though I was there, in that camp of the Israelites. And for all my longing, I found my way barred. Barred from entering into my presence of my Lord and Saviour. For only the High Priest could enter in there, could worship in there.
And it hurt.
Not in the "I've been rejected" way, but in a deeper way. A raw sorrow, an ache, a desire for something more. And the sorrow was real. My way to God, I felt, was blocked by my own sinfulness. Because that's what the curtain was - an expression of a separation caused by human sinfulness. It was not there to protect God from us, from Israel. It was there to protect us, to protect Israel, from God's holiness.
And it was so... odd. So strange. I felt odd, off kilter. And whilst my head sought to remind me of Jesus and the curtain torn in two, I still felt sad I felt stuck in this camp. In that day. And I felt so sad. So very, very sad.
Because it wasn't right. It's not how it was ever meant to be.
And I wondered, if I had actually been there that day - not as an Israelite, but as me, a Child of God who trusts in the work of Jesus on the cross - if I had been there and had cried out to God, begging to stand in the Holy Place for just one minute, to worship Him there, would He have allowed it? Or would He have denied it? I had no answers.
But I felt, for the first time, I felt something of what it must be like to be barred from God at God's insistence, rather than my own stubbornness. All my life I have trusted in the One sacrifice that rent that curtain in two. For all my life I have called God Father, and been sure that He called me daughter. I may have avoided Him as a naughty child avoids their dad or mum from time to time. I may have worried that this time I've blown it. But I've never believed that the way to the Lord's throne room was closed to me.
But now, in my heart and mind, I found myself standing before the Holy Place and I found my way was barred by a curtain. A curtain placed there by His orders, not my own guilt. And the loneliness, the agony of separation, was deep. I did not even feel - sitting in my 21st century bed that I could call out to Him. That I could turn and see Him. And so I began to write. I wrote it all down.
But now my heart is pushing me to read Mark 15. And so I will.
The first thing I notice is the trial with Pilate. In Pilate's question "are you the King of the Jews?" I see something in a way I had never seen it before. Jesus is the God-Man. He is God become flesh, dwelling and interacting directly with humans. But the curtain has not yet been torn. The way to God is still barred. But here He is, standing amongst His people. He has stepped out from behind the curtain - as it were. He has left the Holy Place and joined the world.
He came to us!
He. Came. To. Us.
HE CAME TO US!!
Which is why this time of year - this celebration of His Incarnation - is so important. It is the celebration of the time God stepped out from behind the curtain and joined our world. Joined it not as a cruel, overbearing, powerful king as some might expect, but as a baby. One who would grow up somebodies son, somebodies brother, somebodies friend. One who would weep at the grave of His friend. One who would crack jokes with His friends. One who would live life with the common folk, the rejects. Yeah - that's a mighty fine thing to celebrate!
The second thing I notice is in the irony of the mockery the priests spit at Him. "He saved others, but He can't save Himself!" And for some reason, I'm reminded of that scene in Lord of the Rings when Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli go looking for those cursed souls that help them win the battle for Gondor. Along the way, the are repeatedly told "the way is closed, it is guarded by the dead" - until the dead realize that Aragorn is the one person who can save them.
I'm still not entirely sure why I was reminded of that, but I do know that the priest were mocking Jesus and His ability to save others. Not realizing that He was the One person who could reopen the way to God - saving many. And that He could only do it through His own death. And He did it. He died that death. And because of that, the curtain tears.
Not only did God Himself step out from behind the curtain, God Himself tore apart that curtain. He reopened the way to Himself for us - at great personal cost. And He tore apart that blasted dividing curtain.
And the final thing I noticed - the point I finished on - was verse 36. When the Roman Centurion (of all the people standing there!) understands something of what has happened. "This man truly was the Son of God". It's not the priests with all their Law and Old Testament history and prophecy who finally understand. It's not Jesus' friends and followers piecing together everything Jesus had said and done. It is the Roman officer charged with making sure He dies. He is the one who realizes that this man was no ordinary man and this death was no ordinary death.
And this tells me that not only was God the One who stepped out from behind the curtain, not only was He the One who tore the curtain up and opened the way, He is also the One who reveals the truth to us.
We can't think ourselves to Him. We can't feel ourselves to Him. We can't interpret the Scriptures to Him. He - and He alone - is the One who shows us the truth. Who reveals Himself to us. He is the One who invites us into the Holy Place and invites us to stay there forever.
And I am glad (so very glad!) that I live on this side of the Cross. I am glad that I live now. I am glad that I live in the time when the way is open, the separation is gone. The curtain is no longer barring the way into God's presence. The Holy Place is open for all who choose to enter.
I tried to return in my heart to that moment I had earlier. The one where I felt as though I stood in front of the curtain and longed to move past it. I wanted to see the curtain tear. But something stopped me. Probably God, because the curtain was already gone. And I was already in the presence of the Lord. Why return to then anyway?
And let me tell you, I danced and I sung. And my soul still cries out "Hallelujah! Praise and honour unto thee!"
