Heaven’s Refrigerator Door

They cast their crowns before the throne… Revelation 4:10

In his apocalyptic vision John was given a magnificent view of God’s heavenly throne room. Surrounding the throne was an array of celestial beings so wonderful as to defy description: crowned elders on thrones of their own, mysterious creatures with multiple wings and eyes, and seven lamp stands representing the very fullness of the Spirit of God.

From the center of the throne came flashes of lightning and peals of thunder, and the One sitting there had the appearance of precious stones encircled by a rainbow. Day and night the assembly cried out, “Holy, holy, holy!” and joined in chorus giving glory to God.

Given this picture of eternal adoration, it is not hard to imagine that God is unimpressed by the quality of our earthly worship. God lives in eternity, in the beauty of utter holiness, and in perfect relational communion of the Trinity. God does not need our ceremony, or liturgy, or music. Yet, amazingly, God wants it. The hymn writer has rightly said, “Praise is God’s gracious choice.”

On the walls of our homes are often tacked and taped our children’s most recent creations of crayon, scissors, construction paper, glitter, and glue. Great artwork? Manifestly not. The delight of our hearts? Doubtless!

Even our best efforts at worship may be like our own sons and daughters bringing rudimentary artistic expressions to us for approval and display. As we often are less impressed by the work itself than by their desire to share themselves with us as a gift, so our worship may be, to God, like children’s drawings on the walls of heaven: the delight of our Father and, in his eyes, the promise of things to come.

Michael Denham

The Lord’s Delight

His delight is not in the strength of the horse… Psalm 147:10

Horses have always figured prominently as symbols of strength. Their value as beasts of burden or as instruments of war was recognized throughout the ancient world. Kings measured their wealth and the swiftness of their armies by the size of their stables.

God had forbidden Israel’s leaders to imitate royal courts of other nations by amassing horses, trusting only in the might of such a formidable arsenal. The Lord himself was their security, and his delight would be in those who recognized his strength and remembered his faithfulness.

Had they not once rejoiced over the destruction of Pharaoh’s forces, singing, “The Lord has triumphed gloriously; horse and rider he has thrown into the sea”? Another psalmist proclaims outright what Psalm 147 maintains obliquely: “The war horse is a vain hope for victory, and by its great might it cannot save.”

Deliverance for God’s people must come ultimately from God himself. Perhaps this is why, in the final pages of Scripture, Jesus Christ is pictured as a conquering rider on a white horse, with the armies of heaven following the only one called, “King of kings, and Lord of lords.”

Michael Denham

Answering Jesus

Who do you say that I am? Matthew 16:15

By all accounts in the Gospels, Peter understood the import of Jesus’ question. His affirmation, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God,” became bedrock theology for the Church. But Jesus is very clear that Peter had not simply come up with such an answer on his own. It had been revealed to him by God.

To the Jews, knowing someone’s name implied relationship, intimacy, even a measure of control. In the Old Testament, the God of creation willingly revealed himself as the Lord of covenant by carefully identifying himself by name. From the burning bush he told Moses to tell the people, “I AM has sent me to you…the Lord, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob has sent me to you.”

This unique designation gave to the Hebrews both a glimpse of God’s identity and sovereign self-existence, and of his character and steadfast loyal love. But their glimpse was offered to them only by revelation.

When Jesus asked his disciple, “Who do you say that I am?” he was asking if Peter recognized the divine identity our Lord was claiming, but also to realize that such recognition could come only as God made it possible. It seems the Son of God wanted to be clear about that.

Our own answer to this most compelling of questions depends, not on the quality of our search, but on that same revelation of God whereby we come to recognize Jesus’ radical and redeeming claims on our lives.

Michael Denham

Total Need

Take what you have, an offering for the Lord. Exodus 35:5

When the Lord spoke to Moses atop Mt. Sinai, he told the Israelites to bring him an offering, gathered from each one, “whose heart prompts him to give.” These gifts would adorn the Tabernacle – Israel’s center of worship and God’s dwelling place among his people.

The Lord himself had also chosen craftsmen, and had filled them with his Spirit to skillfully follow his blueprint, and build just as he had commanded. God was meticulous in calling for detail.

The worship of God does call for careful attention, but the Bible is clear about two things: God’s people prepare for worship with an offering from the heart, and should remember that even the skills used in so responding are a gift from God.

When Solomon built the great Jerusalem Temple generations later, he said, “Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain.” These words from Psalm 127 would have been an important reminder to the Hebrews that even the great stones of their capital and its temple rested on the security available only through God’s gracious care.

When we respond to God in worship, we also know the success of our efforts rests squarely on remembering our dependence on him. Jesus said, “Without me you can do nothing.” But we spend our whole lives recognizing our need of him is not partial, but total.

Michael Denham

The True Face of Worship

Years ago, one of my seminary classmates asked our professor what he thought he’d be doing in heaven. “Standing there with my mouth wide open!” he mused. More recently, John Ortberg unpacked what this notion means for us in his foreword to Mark Labberton’s arresting book, The Dangerous Act of Worship (IVP):

The prophet Micah said a long time ago that the divine requirements for human life are not rocket science: Do justice, love mercy and walk humbly before your God. Worship is that humble walk. It’s the knee-buckling, jaw-dropping acknowledgement of the gap between the creature and the Creator, the finite and the infinite, the sinful and the Holy.

Every time we sing the great hymn Holy, Holy, Holy! or any other song that affirms the same convictions, we’re echoing Isaiah 6 and Revelation 4. These two reverberating, thunder- rumbling scenes of worship in heaven give us narrow but glorious glimpses of the One whose presence we purport to enter and whose blessing we seek. At the sound of unceasing seraphic antiphony, the prophet tells us the very doorposts and threshold of God’s envisioned temple shook to their core as the heavenly throne room filled with smoke:

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty; the whole earth is full of his glory.”

When Isaiah saw the Lord, high and lifted up, he said, “Woe is me! I am a man of unclean lips!” Recapitulating this reaction at the end of the biblical canon John says his apocalyptic vision of the Lord dropped him to the ground like a dead man.

We may or may not react the same way when we gather before the Lord on Sundays, but perhaps we should. The Creator of heaven and earth has not changed since the prophet and the apostle recorded their visions. It’s still appropriate to lead God’s people into prayer with the words, “Lord Most High…” The fact that Jesus makes available to us a new and intimate way of access to God has not diminished God. It simply and strikingly means that we can now call him “Papa,” “Daddy,” “Abba Father.”

Worship isn’t a performance, but it is a drama. It’s when we tell, re-tell, and re-tell God’s great story, the wonderful story of the Gospel, the unfolding drama of redemption.

Do you remember those times way back in elementary school, maybe on Friday afternoons, when we put away our textbooks and our lessons and we gathered around in a circle on the floor to hear our teacher read us a story? We all loved those times most of all. Everyone loves a good story. And when we tell and re-tell God’s story, what we do may not be a performance, but it is a drama with all the heightened expressive qualities we can muster and engage.

We may be in on the story, we may be part of the story, but ultimately we’re not the audience. Worship finally and truly has an audience of One. God is the audience in worship. This was Kierkegaard’s observation. It’s God who watches the drama.

I sang in a men’s chorus in college. My last year we went on a six-week tour of Europe. Great concert halls! Magnificent cathedrals! Historic churches! Forty concerts in forty-two days. No wonder we were tired!

Toward the end of our trip, as a result of winning first prize in an international choir competition there, we were privileged to sing for Queen Juliana of The Netherlands. We performed a full concert for her. But she wasn’t perched remotely away in the royal box in Amsterdam’s Concertgebouw . She was sitting in her summer palace on a single chair that looked pretty much like a throne—right in front of us. She was the only person there. It was an audience of one, except for her aides—one at each shoulder—and four soldiers with machine guns at every corner of the room. It was a big room.

As you might imagine our conductor had our full attention. After all we were singing for the Queen! Just the Queen! Her face was on the money in our wallets!

Through it all she treated us so graciously, like anyone’s kind and doting grandmother. And she created quite a memory for us. We’ll never forget being in her presence.

In worship we come into the presence of the Lord God of heaven and earth. He is holy. All creation is full of his glory. “Holy” translates a Hebrew word that simply means “set apart, distinct, unique.” It can refer to something as mundane as cookware. We probably use every day dishes for macaroni and cheese. But for Christmas dinner we use the Royal Wedgewood—“holy” dishes set apart for a special purpose.

The whole idea of “consecration” emerges from this. When something or someone is “consecrated,” it’s being “set apart.” This may help us understand the force of 1 Peter 1:15, “Just as he who called you is holy, so be holy in all you do.” We’re not commanded to be everything that God is. We’re called to be set apart to him, even as he is set apart and distinct.

Old Testament scholar Allen Ross asserts that when we say God is holy, “we ascribe a uniqueness to him that is almost incomprehensible,”[1] a singularity that characterizes every divine attribute. We use words like omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, eternal, righteous, and just to describe God, not ourselves. Certainly none of us shares or even fully understands these qualities. There is no one like God. God is distinct and unique—holy.

When we worship—together on Sunday morning, or in the seclusion of a quiet devotional moment—we’re given the privilege of singing for, praying to, learning from, being changed by, and finding true worth in the Lord God of heaven and earth.

His face isn’t on the money, but we do see him in the face of our gracious Savior. Jesus brings us into the presence of the Father. He makes his Father our Father. And in this tremendous and tender encounter we discover what true worship is all about.

Dr. Michael Denham has served over twenty-two years as Director of Music Ministries at The National Presbyterian Church in Washington, DC.

[1] Allen P. Ross, Recalling the Hope of Glory: Biblical Worship from the Garden to the New Creation (Kregel, 2006), 43.