Tabernacle

“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’” (Psalm 91:1-2)

“You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.” (Psalm 32:7)

This is how I know I am the daughter of the King:

It’s as if in that throne room, the Holy of Holies, shrouded as it is in His glory and wrapped in the richness of hues—purple, scarlet, blue—there is a heap of something soft I can sleep in wedged between the west wall and the Ark of the Covenant. The warm scent of acacia and anointing oil, cinnamon and myrrh, carries me away in the restful quiet. That space is lit with the glow of His presence, and my face is cast with the shadows of the upright wings of the cherubim who fiercely guard the mercy seat.

“Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though war break out against me, even then will I be confident. One thing I ask of the LORD, this is what I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to seek him in his temple. For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling; he will hide me in the shelter of his tabernacle and set me high upon a rock.” (Psalm 27:3-5)

This is the day of trouble—we live in a besieged city, a hurricane brews on the coast, wars rage and nameless souls are smote from the earth or merely fade away from hunger pains, bloodthirsty men rise up against us, misusing Your name with evil intent. They set traps and prowl outside Your tent, hungry lions dripping poison from sharp tongues, wicked fangs. The Enemy lurks in our own backyard.

“If the LORD had not been on our side when men attacked us, when their anger flared against us, they would have swallowed us alive; the flood would have engulfed us, the torrent would have swept over us, the raging waters would have swept us away.” (Psalm 124:2-5)

The Lord has made a place for me under the ruffling of His feathers—a spacious place of even ground built firmly on rock, not sand: this place, where beyond the east curtain, gold glitters on all sides, the gleeful work of everlasting oil bright burning from the almond blossom lampstand. From there too, the richness of incense smoke drifts in—frankincense offered up by the Israelites, a holy perfume. Sometimes the jingle of bells and chanting in courtly procession attends it.

 

“How great is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you, which you bestow in the sight of men on those who take refuge in you. In the shelter of your presence you hide them from the intrigues of men; in your dwelling you keep them safe from accusing tongues.” (Psalm 31:19-20)

Perhaps the priests are annoyed for my wandering carelessly thus in my daddy’s house, but I pay them no mind. I think the rope around the high priest’s ankle is sad and ridiculous and weighty when I dance, bare- and light and free of foot and cuddle with the cushions and hide my face in the curtains in my secret space behind the Ark, confident before the throne of grace.

“You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday. A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you… If you make the Most High your dwelling—even the LORD, who is my refuge—then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent.” (Psalm 91:5-7, 9-10)