God's Tent and Our Sin
Introduction: The Architecture of Redemption
We are in the midst of a detailed, almost tedious, accounting of the construction of the Tabernacle. We have lists of materials, measurements, and methods. It is very easy for the modern Christian, accustomed to a diet of spiritual abstractions, to let his eyes glaze over. We want the soaring principles, not the specifications for goat hair curtains and bronze clasps. But to do this is to miss the point entirely. God is a builder. He is an architect. And He is teaching us something profound about Himself, about His creation, and about the nature of our redemption in these very details.
The book of Exodus has three major movements: deliverance, law, and tabernacle. First, God powerfully saves His people from bondage in Egypt. Second, He gives them His law at Sinai, teaching them how to live as His covenant people. Third, He gives them the blueprints for the tabernacle, condescending to dwell in their very midst. Notice the order: grace, then gratitude, then communion. He saves them, He instructs them, and then He moves in. This is not just Israel's story; it is the pattern of all true religion. God's presence with His people is the goal of redemption. The tabernacle is a portable Eden, a recovery of the fellowship lost in the garden.
But this dwelling is not a simple matter. A holy God cannot simply set up house with a sinful people without some serious arrangements being made. Every detail of this tent, from the innermost curtain to the outermost covering, speaks of this problem and its glorious solution. The tabernacle is a sermon in fabric, wood, and metal. It is a scale model of the cosmos, and it is a profound prophecy of the person and work of Jesus Christ. He is the one who ultimately "tabernacled among us" (John 1:14). So as we look at these outer coverings, we are not just looking at ancient camping equipment. We are looking at the clothing of God's presence, and we are seeing a picture of the gospel.
The Text
Then he made curtains of goats’ hair for a tent over the tabernacle; he made eleven curtains in all. The length of each curtain was thirty cubits and four cubits the width of each curtain; the eleven curtains had the same measurements. He joined five curtains by themselves and the other six curtains by themselves. Moreover, he made fifty loops on the edge of the curtain that was outermost in the first set, and he made fifty loops on the edge of the curtain that was outermost in the second set. He made fifty clasps of bronze to join the tent together so that it would be a unit. He made a covering for the tent of rams’ skins dyed red and a covering of porpoise skins above.
(Exodus 36:14-19 LSB)
The Tent of Goat's Hair (vv. 14-18)
The first layer we encounter in our text is the tent made of goat's hair, which covered the beautiful inner tabernacle.
"Then he made curtains of goats’ hair for a tent over the tabernacle; he made eleven curtains in all. The length of each curtain was thirty cubits and four cubits the width of each curtain; the eleven curtains had the same measurements. He joined five curtains by themselves and the other six curtains by themselves. Moreover, he made fifty loops on the edge of the curtain that was outermost in the first set, and he made fifty loops on the edge of the curtain that was outermost in the second set. He made fifty clasps of bronze to join the tent together so that it would be a unit." (Exodus 36:14-18)
Immediately, we should be struck by the contrast. The inner curtains, which we read about just before this, were of fine twisted linen, blue, purple, and scarlet, with cherubim skillfully worked into them. That was the interior decorating, the part seen only by the priests. It spoke of heaven, royalty, and glory. But this next layer, the one that actually formed the visible tent, was made of goat's hair. This was a coarse, durable, dark-colored fabric, the common material for tents throughout the ancient near east. It was utilitarian. It was plain.
What is the significance of this? First, it speaks to the nature of sin and atonement. Throughout the law, the goat is particularly associated with the sin offering (Leviticus 4:23) and most famously with the scapegoat on the Day of Atonement (Leviticus 16). One goat was sacrificed for the sin of the people, its blood brought into the Holy of Holies. The other goat, the scapegoat, had the sins of the people confessed over its head and was then driven out into the wilderness to bear their iniquity away. So, this outer tent, made of goat's hair, is a picture of our sin being borne. The beautiful dwelling of God is covered by a constant, visible reminder of the sin that separates us from Him and the sacrifice required to cover it.
This points us directly to Christ. The prophet Isaiah says of the Messiah, "he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him" (Isaiah 53:2). To the world, Jesus was unremarkable, a common man. His divine glory, the fine linen and cherubim, was veiled in humble flesh. And on the cross, He became the ultimate sin offering, the true scapegoat. "For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God" (2 Corinthians 5:21). The goat's hair tent is a picture of Christ in His humiliation, bearing our sin in His own body.
Notice also the details of construction. Eleven curtains, joined into two large sections, and fastened together with fifty bronze clasps. Bronze in the Bible is consistently a symbol of judgment. The altar of burnt offering was overlaid with bronze, where the fire of God's judgment consumed the sacrifice. The serpent Moses lifted up in the wilderness was made of bronze. So here, the very clasps that hold this tent of sin-bearing together are clasps of judgment. It is a unified picture: the sin is borne, and the judgment is met. This is what happened at the cross. The full measure of God's wrath against our sin was poured out on His Son, and in Him, it was fully satisfied.
The Outer Coverings of Sacrifice and Protection (v. 19)
On top of the goat's hair tent, there were two more layers of protection.
"He made a covering for the tent of rams’ skins dyed red and a covering of porpoise skins above." (Exodus 36:19 LSB)
The first of these is the covering of rams' skins dyed red. The ram was the animal of consecration. It was the sacrifice offered at the ordination of priests (Exodus 29). It was also the substitute sacrifice that God provided for Abraham in the place of Isaac on Mount Moriah (Genesis 22). It is a picture of substitutionary atonement and dedication. The fact that these skins are dyed red speaks plainly of blood. The entire tabernacle, the dwelling place of God, is covered by a bloody sacrifice. This is the only way a holy God can dwell with sinful men. As the writer to the Hebrews says, "without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins" (Hebrews 9:22). This red covering shouts the central message of the entire Bible: we are saved by the blood of a substitute.
The final, outermost layer was a covering of "porpoise skins." The Hebrew word here is uncertain; it could refer to the skins of dolphins, dugongs, or perhaps badgers. Whatever the specific animal, the function is clear. This was a tough, durable, weather-resistant leather. This was the layer that faced the harsh realities of the wilderness: the scorching sun, the driving rain, the abrasive sand. It was not beautiful. It was rugged. It was practical. It was the shield that protected the holy things within from the harshness of the outside world.
What does this teach us? It teaches that God's presence with His people is not a fragile thing. It is robustly protected. Christ, our tabernacle, endured the full hostility of the world. He faced the sun of persecution, the storms of temptation, and the grit of human betrayal, and He was not overcome. The church, which is the temple of the Holy Spirit, is likewise protected. Jesus promised that the gates of Hell would not prevail against it (Matthew 16:18). From the outside, the church may look like nothing special, just a tough, weather-beaten hide. But within are the glorious realities of God's presence, protected from all external assault by the power of Christ.
From the Outside In
So let us put it all together. Imagine you are an Israelite in the camp, walking toward the tabernacle. What do you see? You see a rugged, unattractive outer covering of leather. It looks like a functional, durable shelter, nothing more. This is the world's view of Christ and His church. Nothing to see here. No outward beauty to attract them.
But as you draw closer, as God draws you in, you begin to see more. You pass through the gate and into the courtyard, and you see the altar of judgment and the laver of cleansing. And as you look at the tent itself, you see that under the protective leather is a covering of rams' skins, dyed red with blood. You are being taught that the way to God is through blood sacrifice. This is the gospel in its stark reality.
And if you were a priest, permitted to go further, you would see that the tent itself is made of goat's hair, a constant reminder of the sin offering, the bearing away of iniquity. And only when you pass inside, into the Holy Place, do you see the breathtaking beauty of the fine linen, the gold, the brilliant colors, and the woven cherubim. Only on the inside do you see the glory.
This is the Christian life. We begin on the outside, seeing only the plain exterior. But as God calls us, we are confronted with the blood of the sacrifice. We must deal with the reality of our sin and the judgment it deserves. But as we come to Christ, as we are brought into His body, we begin to perceive the inner glory. We begin to understand the beauty of holiness, the majesty of God, and the fellowship of the saints. The world sees nothing, but the believer, the one brought inside the tent, sees everything. God's architectural plans are not arbitrary. They are a map of our salvation, leading us from the wilderness of the world, through the blood of the cross, into the glorious presence of God Himself.