What does it take to draw near to God? It takes a perfect priest, a finished work, and a broken body to open the way. In short, it takes everything, which is exactly what Christ has given for you.
What makes ancient Israel's Tabernacle so endlessly compelling has little to do with its furniture. That’s not to diminish the meticulous handiwork that went into fashioning each item according to God’s very specific instructions; it’s just to say that if you visited the Tabernacle and all you noticed was the furniture, safe to say, you missed the point. From the altar to the lampstand to the table with freshly baked bread on it, every single fixture was a divinely imagined token to highlight God’s presence with and for his people.
Ever since Adam and Eve were expelled from Eden, God’s trademark has been a rekindling of his fellowship with his creatures, and the Tabernacle puts all of that into tangible space (Exod. 25:8). The Israelites were sure to fumble and fail — they already had — so what was it that instilled confidence in them that the Lord wouldn’t let them go at the drop of a hat? Well, would you believe it’s the same thing that instills confidence in us as well?
The Light That Never Dies
One of the first references to the priesthood is one we might miss. After detailing what the Ark of the Testimony looked like and where it should be placed, along with all of the logistics for the Tabernacle courtyard, God introduces a command that’s specific to those who’d be ordained as priests. As you ventured into the Holy Place, you’d be greeted by the Altar of Incense directly in front of you. But to your left stood the Golden Lampstand, which is easily one of the most ornately designed furnishings in the whole place (Exod. 25:31–40).
Tending to and watching over the lamps was something the priests did continually, that is, in perpetuity. This wasn’t something they could shrug off, like when you happen to miss garbage day. The light from the lamps was a signal, a testimony to the constancy and dependability of God’s relationship to them and theirs to him. As long as the light burned, the people could be confident in God’s faithful love and covenantal mercies (cf. Zech. 4:1–7; Rev. 1:12–20).
A House Without a Chair
The point is that the priests’ charge to tend to the lamps “from evening to morning” was never over. To set aside the priestly task to tend the lamps in the Holy Place — trimming the wicks, refilling the oil, monitoring them day and night — would be akin to forfeiting what it means to be a priest. And it wasn’t just the lamps; it was the bread for the table (Exod. 25:30); it was sacrifices on the altar (Exod. 29:38, 42); and it was burning incense (Exod. 30:7–8). As has often been noted, as important as it is to consider the furniture that was included in God’s blueprints, it’s just as important to note what isn’t included: a chair.
There were no places to sit in the Tabernacle because priests weren’t afforded such a luxury, because their labor was never finished. The priest and the people he stood to represent continually needed the very thing his ministry represented — namely, peace with God, acceptance, assurance of favor, and the forgiveness of sins. Everyone in the covenant community was perpetually desperate to keep these things in remembrance, and without a Bible to announce the good news to them, the gospel had to be ritually reenacted through feasts, sacrifices, and ceremonies. But the good news for you and me isn’t located in ritual reenactment but in reality, in our actual High Priest, who actually stands on our behalf.
At the heart of the Book of Hebrews is the contention that Jesus Christ is the true and better priest, and at the heart of that contention is the writer’s stunning observation that Jesus sat down (Heb. 10:11–12). Whereas all those others never sat because their labor was never over, Jesus sits because his work is finished. There are no more sacrifices because he himself is the “single sacrifice for sins.” No more baking bread either, because he’s the Bread of Life. And no more lighting the lamps because he’s the Light of the World (John 8:12).
Walking Sermons
As God continues to describe the ministry of the priests to Moses, he presents the priestly ideal (Exod. 28:1–43). For forty-three verses, the Lord spends considerable time itemizing the priest’s “holy garments,” which were made “for glory and for beauty.” From the ephod to the breastplate to the turban to the robe, down to the very hem, all of it was symbolic.
The high priest was a walking sermon. Wherever he went, a predominant message was easily perceived. God made sure of that. “You shall make a plate of pure gold,” Moses is told, “and engrave on it, like the engraving of a signet, ‘Holy to the Lord’ . . . It shall be on Aaron’s forehead” (Exod. 28:36, 38). With this title stamped on their foreheads, there was no mistaking to whom a priest belonged. “Holy to the Lord” is both the benchmark and identity of those who belong to him. So, as Aaron was made holy by what he wore, so were the people made holy by who represented them.
Inscribed on onyx stones that sat on the shoulders of the high priest were the names of Israel’s tribes, serving as a constant memorial to the people whose eternities the priest carried with him. This wasn’t mere ritual, nor was this just a burden placed on their shoulders; this was a charge put on their hearts (Exod. 28:15–21). Resting on the ephod sat the Breastpiece of Judgment, which bore twelve precious stones, all inscribed with “the names of the sons of Israel.” Thus, when he went into the Holy Place, he did so with his people’s names literally on his heart (Exod. 28:29–30).
Names Carved into Scars
And just as the priest bore his people’s names, he also bore their judgment as well. As Aaron was “accepted before the Lord,” so were the people (Exod. 28:38). His verdict and identity became theirs. The holy garments Aaron and every succeeding priest wore weren’t given to them because of what they were in themselves (cf. Zech. 3:1–5). Rather, each accouterment of the priestly wardrobe preached the same message: no one can stand before the holy Lord of all things on their own, not even the high priest.
In that way, even these garments remind us of our urgent need for Jesus, who isn’t a priest with “Holy to the Lord” stamped on a plate on his forehead. He’s a Priest whose holiness springs from who he is, the Son of God and the Incarnate Word. And it gets even better, since Jesus doesn’t just have our names inscribed in stones that he wears. Instead, our names are carved into the scars “on the palms of [his] hands” (Isa. 49:16). He bears our guilt, shoulders our judgment, and gives us his identity. His status as the Beloved of God is now yours.
Access: Forbidden
But to what end does the priest labor without ceasing and carry the names of the sons of Israel on his heart? Well, all of it, every last movement of every last ritual, was driving toward one word: access. The gist of the entire priesthood, from what they wore to what they did, brought God’s people near to God himself. There was just one massive problem: sin.
Approaching the Father by way of the Tabernacle wasn’t like strolling into Walmart without a care for what you have on. Everything about us must be as pure and holy as God is, and the same was true for Israel’s inaugural high priest. Before he could ever set foot in the Tent of Meeting to represent anyone before the Lord, he had to be made “fit” for the Lord’s service. This is why, along with the “holy garments,” God details the specific sequence they were to follow to anoint, ordain, and consecrate Aaron and his sons into the priesthood (Exod. 28:41; 29:1–46).
First came the washing (Exod. 29:4), in which the priests bathed in the Bronze Basin (cf. Exod. 30:17–21) and were cleansed of their filth, since no one can serve the Father with the grime of sin still on them. Next came the clothing (Exod. 29:5–9), where the holy garments were put on them, signaling their new calling. Next came the anointing (Exod. 29:7), as the oil spilled over the priest’s head as a sign that he’d been set apart for God’s service. Last came the blood (Exod. 29:10–25), in which, through a series of sacrifices, the priests were admitted to ministry.
And only after all the washing, the robing, the anointing, and the atoning could a priest go where no one else could, which preaches the same message to us: no one can get close to God on their own.
Everything It Takes
One of the most devastating realities of sin is that it bars access to the Father. And yet, this is precisely what God in Christ is so eager to restore, so much so that everything that’s done to Aaron, Christ is and does for us.
- Jesus is our washing. In him we are scrubbed clean and set apart (1 Cor. 6:11).
- Jesus is our clothing. By faith we are arrayed in all that he has done for us (Gal. 3:27).
- Jesus is our anointing. He’s the one who pours his Spirit in our hearts and fits us for his service (2 Cor. 1:21–22).
- And it’s Jesus’s blood that paves the way to the Father — not the blood of animals but his own (Heb. 9:12).
The good news that rings loud and clear for us is that we have access through him, by faith (Eph. 3:11–12; Rom. 5:1–2). Christ’s labor is ours, his identity is ours, and his access is ours. And because of him, nothing’s preventing you from drawing near. Thus, what does it take to draw near to God? It takes a perfect priest, a finished work, and a broken body to open the way. In short, it takes everything, which is exactly what Christ has given for you.
