The Geography of Glory Text: Psalm 26:6-8
Introduction: Worship is War
We live in an age that treats worship like a consumer preference, a matter of taste, like choosing a favorite brand of coffee. We are told to find a worship experience that "meets our needs," that makes us feel authentic, or that aligns with our personal spiritual journey. This is the limp, sentimental, and utterly man-centered view of worship that has hollowed out the modern church. It is a theology built on the soft sands of personal feelings, and it cannot stand.
The Bible knows nothing of this. Biblical worship is not about finding yourself; it is about losing yourself in the blinding glory of the living God. It is not about your needs; it is about His worth. And it is not a peaceful, therapeutic session. It is a declaration of war. When the people of God gather to worship, they are not just singing songs. They are re-enacting a cosmic battle. They are ascending the holy hill of Zion, entering the command center of the universe, and standing before the throne of the great King. From this place, judgments are issued, nations are discipled, and demons are routed.
This is why David, in this psalm, is so concerned with his personal integrity and his corporate location. He understands that you cannot waltz into the war room of the Almighty with dirty hands and a divided heart. You cannot claim allegiance to the King while fraternizing with the enemy. The world, with its wicked schemes and its bloodthirsty men, is on one side. The house of God, the place where His glory dwells, is on the other. There is no middle ground. To worship God rightly is to choose a side, to pick a team, and to stand with the saints against the sinners. It is to declare that your ultimate loyalty, your deepest love, is for the habitation of His house, the place where true reality is centered.
In these three verses, David gives us a short but potent theology of worship. He shows us that true worship requires preparation, it results in proclamation, and it is fueled by a deep, abiding passion for the presence of God among His people.
The Text
I shall wash my hands in innocence,
So I will go around Your altar, O Yahweh,
In order to proclaim with the voice of thanksgiving
And to recount all Your wondrous deeds.
O Yahweh, I love the habitation of Your house
And the place where Your glory dwells.
(Psalm 26:6-8)
Preparation for Presence (v. 6)
David begins with the necessary prerequisite for approaching God.
"I shall wash my hands in innocence, So I will go around Your altar, O Yahweh," (Psalm 26:6)
The first thing we must see is that this is not the boast of a sinless man. This is not David claiming a kind of moral perfection that qualifies him for God's presence. If it were, he would be the first and only man to do so. No, David is a sinner, and he knows it well, as his other psalms testify. So what does he mean? He is speaking of integrity, of covenant faithfulness. He is saying, "I have not thrown in my lot with the wicked. I have hated the assembly of evildoers. My life is oriented toward you, not them."
But the image of washing hands is a ceremonial one, pointing to a deeper reality. Under the Old Covenant, the priests had to wash at the bronze laver before approaching the altar. It was a ritual cleansing that symbolized the need for moral purity. But this ritual could never actually remove sin. It was a signpost, a shadow, pointing forward to the ultimate cleansing. This is what we must grasp. David's "innocence" here is not a self-generated righteousness. It is a righteousness that must be received, one that is symbolized by the very altar he is approaching.
For us, in the New Covenant, this verse is fulfilled in Jesus Christ. We do not wash our own hands in some vain attempt at self-justification. Pontius Pilate tried that, and the stain of his guilt remains. Rather, we are washed in the blood of the Lamb. Our innocence is an alien righteousness, a righteousness imputed to us by faith. God made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God. This is the great exchange. We come to God with filthy hands, and He clothes us in the perfect innocence of His Son. This is justification.
And on the basis of that declared innocence, we too can "go around Your altar." The altar is the place of sacrifice, the place where sin is dealt with. For David, it was the bronze altar where lambs were slain. For us, the altar is the cross of Jesus Christ, and the remembrance of that sacrifice is the Lord's Table. The Lord's Supper is our altar, where we feast on the Lamb who was slain. It is the heart of our worship, the place where our covenant with God is renewed. We come, not trusting in our own innocence, but in His. We come, washed, declared clean, and therefore qualified to stand in His presence.
The Proclamation of Praise (v. 7)
The purpose of approaching the altar is not navel-gazing introspection. It is loud, public, and directed outward.
"In order to proclaim with the voice of thanksgiving And to recount all Your wondrous deeds." (Psalm 26:7)
Worship is not a silent, private affair. It has a voice. It is a proclamation. The word here means to publish, to declare, to make known. And what are we to make known? Two things: our thanksgiving and His wondrous deeds. The two are inextricably linked. Our gratitude is the engine, and His mighty acts are the subject matter.
This is a direct assault on the quiet, dignified, and often dead formalism that passes for worship in many places. It is also a rebuke to the sentimental, emotionalism that focuses on how we feel about God instead of on who God is and what He has done. Biblical worship is objective. It recounts history. It tells the story of creation, the fall, the flood, the call of Abraham, the exodus, the conquest, the cross, the resurrection, and the coming kingdom. It declares that our God is the God who acts. He doesn't just exist; He intervenes. He does wondrous deeds.
And our response to these deeds is a "voice of thanksgiving." This is not a mumble. It is a joyful noise. This is why we sing the psalms, why we shout our amens, why we confess our faith aloud. We are recounting the mighty acts of God. When we come to the Lord's Table, we "proclaim the Lord's death until He comes." We are telling the world what He did. Corporate worship is the assembly of the redeemed, gathered to tell the story of their redemption to one another, to their children, and to the watching world. It is the voice of the bride exulting in her Husband.
The Passion for His Place (v. 8)
Finally, David reveals the heart-motivation behind this worship. It is not duty, but delight. It is not obligation, but love.
"O Yahweh, I love the habitation of Your house And the place where Your glory dwells." (Psalm 26:8)
This is the affection that drives everything else. David loves the place where God has chosen to put His name. For him, this was the Tabernacle, and later the Temple. It was a physical location in Jerusalem. This was the "habitation," the dwelling place, the house of God. It was the place where heaven and earth met. And what made it special? It was "the place where Your glory dwells." The Shekinah glory, the visible manifestation of God's holy presence, resided there above the mercy seat.
Now, where is that place for us? The book of Hebrews tells us that we have not come to a physical mountain, but to the heavenly Jerusalem, to the assembly of the firstborn. The New Testament is clear: God's house is no longer a building made of stone and cedar. God's house is His people. The church is the temple of the living God. "Do you not know that you are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in you?" Paul asks. The place where God's glory dwells now is the gathered, local, visible church.
This is a truth we have almost entirely lost. We have traded a love for the tangible, assembled body of Christ for a vague, free-floating "spirituality." But David's love was located. He loved the assembly. He loved being with God's people in God's place. This means we are to love our local church. Not an abstract, invisible idea of the church, but the actual gathering of saints you meet with every Lord's Day. This is the habitation of God. This is where His glory dwells now, in the preaching of the Word, in the administration of the sacraments, and in the fellowship of the saints. Christ has promised that where two or three are gathered in His name, He is there in the midst. The glory has not vanished; it has been transferred from a building to a body.
To love the church is to love Christ's bride. To be indifferent to the corporate gathering is to be indifferent to the place where God's glory dwells. This love is the fuel of our worship. We come because we love to be where He is, among His people. This is our home. This is the embassy of heaven on earth. And our love for this place, this assembly, is the truest indicator of the orientation of our hearts.
Conclusion
So then, the path to worship is clear. We begin not with our own goodness, but with the cleansing provided by the sacrifice of Christ. Washed in His innocence, we are qualified to approach His altar, the Table He has prepared for us. As we gather there, our purpose is not to be silent consumers but loud proclaimers, recounting with thanksgiving the mighty acts of our God in history. And the entire enterprise is animated by a deep, settled love for the church, the house of God, the place where His glory now dwells.
This is the geography of glory. It is not found on a mountaintop in solitude. It is not found in the recesses of your own heart. It is found in the assembly of the saints. It is found when we gather, prepared by Christ, to proclaim His worth. This is where heaven touches earth. This is the center of the world. Therefore, love the church. Give yourself to her. For in doing so, you are drawing near to the very dwelling place of God.