Uninhabitable Splendor: The Weight of Glory
Introduction: Tame Lions and Tame Worship
We live in an age of domesticated Christianity. We have taken the Lion of the tribe of Judah, declawed Him, defanged Him, and taught Him to purr on command. Our worship services are often designed with the primary goal of being non-threatening. We want God to show up, but only in a way that is manageable, comfortable, and affirming. We want a spiritual experience that feels like a warm hug, not a house fire. We want a God who fits neatly into our schedules, our buildings, and our emotional needs.
And so we read a passage like this one in Second Chronicles, and it feels like it is from another world entirely. It is not tame. It is not manageable. It is terrifying. Here, at the dedication of the central sanctuary of the Old Covenant, God shows up. And when He shows up, the first thing that happens is that the worship service has to stop. The professionals, the priests, the men whose entire job was to minister in God's house, were physically unable to do their jobs. They were driven out by the sheer, unshielded, weighty presence of the living God.
We must ask ourselves a hard question. If God were to answer our prayers for revival, for His presence to fall on our church, and He answered it like this, would we rejoice? Or would we call the fire department? This passage is a necessary corrective to our casual, consumeristic, and man-centered approach to the living God. It teaches us what the presence of God is actually like, and what the only appropriate human response to it is. This is not a quaint story about ancient pyrotechnics. This is a revelation of the character of the God we claim to worship every Sunday.
The Text
Now when Solomon had finished praying, fire came down from heaven and consumed the burnt offering and the sacrifices, and the glory of Yahweh filled the house.
And the priests could not enter into the house of Yahweh because the glory of Yahweh filled the house of Yahweh.
And all the sons of Israel, seeing the fire come down and the glory of Yahweh upon the house, bowed down on the pavement with their faces to the ground, and they worshiped and gave praise to Yahweh, saying, "For He is good, for His lovingkindness endures forever."
(2 Chronicles 7:1-3 LSB)
Divine Acceptance by Fire (v. 1)
We begin with God's dramatic answer to Solomon's prayer.
"Now when Solomon had finished praying, fire came down from heaven and consumed the burnt offering and the sacrifices, and the glory of Yahweh filled the house." (2 Chronicles 7:1)
Solomon, the federal head of the people, has just completed a magnificent prayer of dedication in chapter 6. He has asked God to attach His name and His presence to this house. And God's answer is not a gentle whisper or an inward feeling. It is an objective, undeniable, public spectacle. The answer comes in two parts: fire and glory.
First, the fire. This is not the first time this has happened. When the Tabernacle was dedicated, fire came out from before the Lord and consumed the offering (Lev. 9:24). When Elijah confronted the prophets of Baal, fire from the Lord fell and consumed the sacrifice, the wood, the stones, and the water (1 Kings 18:38). Fire from heaven is the divine exclamation point. It is God's signature on the contract. It signifies two things: acceptance and judgment. God accepts the sacrifice. The animal has taken the place of the people, and the fire that should have consumed the sinners consumes their substitute. This is a graphic picture of the gospel. The fire of God's holy wrath against sin is real, but in His mercy, He directs it to the substitute.
Second, the glory. The glory of Yahweh, the visible, manifest presence of God, the shekinah, fills the house. The word for glory, kabod, means weight, substance, honor. This is not an ethereal mist; it is a substantive reality. It is so real, so substantial, that it has physical effects, as we will see. Notice that it "filled" the house. This is the language of total occupation. God is not a visitor. He is not a part-time resident. He has taken possession of the place Solomon built for Him. He is moving in.
Unapproachable Glory (v. 2)
The immediate consequence of God moving in is startling.
"And the priests could not enter into the house of Yahweh because the glory of Yahweh filled the house of Yahweh." (2 Chronicles 7:2)
This is the part that should jolt us. The very men who were consecrated for ministry, the ones who were supposed to go into the house to serve, are barred at the door. The glory is too much. The holiness is too intense. This is not a design flaw in the ceremony; it is the entire point. This event establishes, beyond all doubt, who is in charge. This is God's house, and you enter on His terms, and only when He makes it possible.
This is a recurring theme in Scripture. When Moses came down from the mountain after being in God's presence, his face shone with a reflected glory so terrifying that the people could not look at him (Ex. 34:30). When Isaiah saw the Lord, high and lifted up, his response was not "Wow, what a great worship experience." It was "Woe is me! For I am lost" (Is. 6:5). The unmediated presence of a holy God is fatal to sinful men.
This verse is a polemic against all man-centered religion. We think we are doing God a favor by showing up for church. We think we can waltz into His presence on our own terms. This verse says no. The holiness of God is a barrier. It is an uncrossable chasm. Without a mediator, without a provision made by God Himself, no one can stand in His presence. The priests being locked out of the Temple is a sermon in itself, preaching the necessity of a better priest and a better way in.
The Only Sane Response (v. 3)
While the priests are stuck outside, the people have their own reaction.
"And all the sons of Israel, seeing the fire come down and the glory of Yahweh upon the house, bowed down on the pavement with their faces to the ground, and they worshiped and gave praise to Yahweh, saying, 'For He is good, for His lovingkindness endures forever.'" (2 Chronicles 7:3)
Their response has two parts, and we must get them in the right order. First, the posture. Second, the proclamation. Upon seeing the fire and the glory, they did the only sane thing a creature can do in the presence of the Creator: they got as low as they possibly could. They fell on their faces on the stone pavement. This is not optional expressive worship. This is an involuntary, instinctual recognition of the infinite distance between God and man. True worship begins with the body. It begins with a physical acknowledgment of our creatureliness, our smallness, and His majesty.
But they are not silent. From their prostrate position, they speak. And what do they say? They do not offer up their own novel, sentimental thoughts. They do not say, "I just feel like God is so awesome right now." They fall back on the sturdy, reliable truth of revealed liturgy. They quote the psalms. "For He is good, for His lovingkindness endures forever" (Psalm 136:1). This is the great paradox. The same God whose glory is so terrifying it drives the priests out of the Temple is, at His core, good. His lovingkindness, His covenant loyalty, His hesed, endures forever. The terror and the goodness are held together. He is a consuming fire, and He is our Father. His holiness demands our prostration, and His hesed invites our praise. To grasp one without the other is to create a god of our own imagination.
The Glory in Our House
This is a glorious story, but it is an Old Covenant story. The Temple is gone. The fire does not fall on our buildings. So what does this mean for us?
The New Testament answers this question directly. The glory of God has moved house. John tells us that "the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth" (John 1:14). Jesus Christ is the new Temple. He is the place where the fullness of God's glory dwells in bodily form (Col. 2:9). The fire of God's acceptance and judgment fell on Him at the cross. He is the ultimate sacrifice, consumed for us.
And because of His sacrifice, the barrier is removed. When Christ died, the veil of the Temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The way into the holiest place was thrown open (Heb. 10:19-22). The priests were kept out by the glory, but now, through Christ, we are invited in. In fact, it is more radical than that. God does not just invite us into His house; He makes us His house.
At Pentecost, fire came down from heaven again. But this time, it did not fall on a building. It came as tongues of fire and rested on each of the disciples (Acts 2:3). The glory of God, in the person of the Holy Spirit, filled not a house of stone, but a house of living stones. You, believer, are the temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Cor. 6:19). The church, corporately, is the house of God (1 Peter 2:5).
The same glory that drove the priests out now dwells within us. This should produce in us the same response it produced in the Israelites. It should produce a profound humility, a prostration of the heart before a holy God who would condescend to dwell in such unworthy vessels. And it should produce a constant, liturgical praise. Our whole lives should be a declaration, in word and in deed, of the central truth they confessed. In the face of our sin, our failures, our suffering, and our triumphs, we look to the God who has taken up residence in us by His Spirit, and we say, with all the saints, "For He is good, for His lovingkindness endures forever."