The Terrible Mercy of a Holy God Text: Ezekiel 9:3-7
Introduction: When God Abandons His Post
We live in a sentimental age, an age that has manufactured a god in its own image. This god is a kindly, avuncular deity who would never hurt a fly, a celestial therapist whose only job is to affirm our choices, whatever they may be. He is a god who would never, ever judge. But this god is an idol, a fiction, and he does not exist. The God of the Bible, the God who actually is, is a God of terrifying holiness. He is a consuming fire. And when His people, who bear His name, begin to treat His holiness with contempt, His patience has a limit. This passage in Ezekiel is one of the most sobering and terrifying in all of Scripture precisely because it shows us what happens when that limit is reached.
Ezekiel has just been given a guided tour of the Temple in Jerusalem, not as a place of vibrant worship, but as a chamber of horrors. He has seen the secret idolatries of the elders, the women weeping for Tammuz, and the men in the inner court turning their backs on the sanctuary to worship the sun. The house of God has become a den of idols. The covenant has been thoroughly and grotesquely violated. And so, what we witness here is not an arbitrary outburst of divine anger. It is the just and necessary consequence of high-handed treason. It is a judicial sentence being carried out.
The scene is set. The executioners, angelic beings armed with shattering weapons, have been summoned. But before the slaughter begins, we see a momentous event: the glory of God, the visible manifestation of His presence, moves. It leaves its place above the cherubim in the Holy of Holies and moves to the threshold of the Temple. This is the beginning of God’s departure. Before the house is destroyed, the owner of the house moves out. God is abandoning His post. When the glory of God departs, judgment is not far behind. This is a principle that runs through all of Scripture. When a church, a nation, or a civilization plays the harlot with other gods, the first step in judgment is God withdrawing His protective presence. He gives them over to what they wanted all along.
This passage forces us to confront the hard edges of the faith. It forces us to ask questions we would rather avoid. What does it mean for God to be holy? What is the nature of His judgment? And in the midst of a culture saturated with abominations, where is the line between righteous grief and sinful compromise? This is not just ancient history for Judah; it is a live round for the church today.
The Text
Then the glory of the God of Israel went up from the cherub on which it had been, to the threshold of the house of Yahweh. And He called to the man clothed in linen at whose loins was the scribe’s case. Yahweh said to him, “Go through the midst of the city, even through the midst of Jerusalem, and put a mark on the foreheads of the men who sigh and groan over all the abominations which are being done in its midst.” But to the others He said in my hearing, “Go through the city after him and strike; do not let your eye have pity and do not spare. Kill to utter destruction old men, chosen men, virgins, little ones, and women, but do not touch any man on whom is the mark; and you shall start from My sanctuary.” So they started with the elders who were before the house. And He said to them, “Defile the house and fill the courts with the slain. Go out!” Thus they went out and struck down the people in the city.
(Ezekiel 9:3-7 LSB)
The Divine Departure and the Scribe of Mercy (vv. 3-4)
The action begins with a solemn and dreadful movement.
"Then the glory of the God of Israel went up from the cherub on which it had been, to the threshold of the house of Yahweh. And He called to the man clothed in linen at whose loins was the scribe’s case." (Ezekiel 9:3)
The glory cloud, the Shekinah, which represented God's personal, covenantal presence with His people, is on the move. It had dwelt between the wings of the cherubim on the Ark of the Covenant. Now, it lifts off and moves to the doorway of the Temple. It is a picture of a king about to leave his defiled palace. This is Ichabod, "the glory has departed," in slow motion. God is making it clear that the judgment to come is not a sign of His defeat, but of His deliberate withdrawal. He is not being driven out; He is leaving. The Babylonians are not conquering Yahweh; Yahweh is using the Babylonians as His battle-axe.
From this new position at the threshold, God gives two distinct commands. The first is a command of mercy, directed to a unique figure, a man clothed in linen with a scribe's inkhorn. This linen attire marks him out as a priestly or angelic figure, one set apart for a holy task. He is not one of the six executioners. His job is not to destroy, but to preserve.
"Yahweh said to him, 'Go through the midst of the city, even through the midst of Jerusalem, and put a mark on the foreheads of the men who sigh and groan over all the abominations which are being done in its midst.'" (Ezekiel 9:4)
Even in wrath, God remembers mercy. Before the judgment falls, a remnant must be sealed for salvation. This is a consistent pattern. Before the flood, Noah is secured in the ark. Before the destruction of Sodom, Lot is dragged out. And here, before the slaughter of Jerusalem, a faithful remnant is marked. The mark is the Hebrew letter Tau, which in the ancient script looked like a cross. This is a beautiful foreshadowing of the ultimate mark of salvation, the cross of Christ, by which we are sealed by the Holy Spirit for the day of redemption (Ephesians 4:30).
But who receives this mark? It is not for the outwardly religious or the culturally respectable. It is for those "who sigh and groan over all the abominations." The mark of the true believer is a broken heart. It is a holy grief over sin, both their own and the sins of their culture. These are the people who have not made peace with the idolatry, the injustice, and the perversion around them. They are spiritually vexed, like Lot in Sodom (2 Peter 2:8). They take God's side against the sin of their own people. This is the opposite of the celebratory, affirming spirit of our age. The remnant is not marked by their tolerance, but by their torment. Their holiness is demonstrated by what horrifies them.
The Unsparing Sword of Judgment (vv. 5-6)
Having provided for the remnant, God now issues His second command, this one to the six executioners. The contrast is stark and brutal.
"But to the others He said in my hearing, 'Go through the city after him and strike; do not let your eye have pity and do not spare. Kill to utter destruction old men, chosen men, virgins, little ones, and women, but do not touch any man on whom is the mark...'" (Ezekiel 9:5-6a)
This is holy war language. It is the language of cherem, of utter devotion to destruction. This is difficult for our modern sensibilities, which have been softened by a therapeutic gospel. We want a God who is only loving, never severe. But God's love and His wrath are not in conflict; they are two sides of the same coin of His absolute holiness. Because He is perfectly good, He must perfectly hate and judge evil. The command is to be unsparing. "Do not let your eye have pity." This is not a call for sadistic cruelty, but for unflinching, judicial righteousness. The time for mercy has passed for the unrepentant.
The scope of the judgment is comprehensive. It includes old men, young men, virgins, children, and women. This is shocking, but it demonstrates the principle of corporate solidarity. The entire culture had become corrupt. The idolatry was not confined to a few leaders; it had permeated the whole society, from the top down. The children were being raised in a culture of abomination, dedicated to false gods. When a society commits itself wholesale to rebellion, the judgment is likewise corporate. This is the terrifying reality of covenantal judgment.
But there is that crucial exception: "do not touch any man on whom is the mark." God knows His own. The mark of the Tau is their absolute security. In the midst of the most sweeping judgment, God makes a perfect distinction between the righteous and the wicked. His justice is not indiscriminate. The angels of destruction have their orders, and they will not, they cannot, harm those who belong to God.
Judgment Begins at the House of God (vv. 6-7)
The final part of the command specifies the starting point for this terrible cleansing.
"...and you shall start from My sanctuary.” So they started with the elders who were before the house." (Ezekiel 9:6b)
This is a foundational principle of divine justice. Judgment begins at the house of God (1 Peter 4:17). Why? Because to whom much is given, much is required. The elders of Israel, the spiritual leaders, had been given the Law, the covenants, and the very presence of God. They were the guardians of the sanctuary. Yet, as Ezekiel 8 showed, they were the very ones leading the people into the deepest forms of idolatry, practicing their secret abominations "before the house." Their sin was the most egregious because their privilege was the greatest. Therefore, the judgment must begin with them. When the shepherds lead the sheep into apostasy, they will be the first to feel the sword.
This is a permanent warning to the church. The greatest danger to the people of God is not the pagan culture outside, but the corruption and compromise within, especially among its leaders. When the pulpit becomes weak, when the elders wink at sin, when the church makes peace with the world's abominations, it is placing itself at the front of the line for God's purifying judgment.
"And He said to them, “Defile the house and fill the courts with the slain. Go out!” Thus they went out and struck down the people in the city." (Ezekiel 9:7)
This is the final, shocking command. "Defile the house." The very place that was to be the center of holiness and purity in the world is to be polluted with corpses. This is a graphic illustration of the lex talionis, the law of retribution. The people, led by the elders, had defiled God's house with their idols. Now, God will defile it with their dead bodies. The punishment fits the crime perfectly. They had rendered the temple profane by their sin, so God now treats it as a profane place. He turns it into a slaughterhouse. The symbol of its holiness is removed, and it becomes a monument to their judgment. The command "Go out!" is the final release of the executioners upon the apostate city.
Conclusion: Marked for Life or Death
This is a hard passage. There is no way to domesticate it. It shows us a God who is jealous for His own glory and who will not tolerate rivals in His own house. It reveals that corporate apostasy leads to corporate judgment. It teaches us that the highest privileges, if abused, lead to the severest penalties.
But in the center of this storm of judgment stands the man with the scribe's inkhorn. In the midst of this terrifying scene, there is a mark of grace. That mark distinguishes between two groups of people, and there is no third group. You are either marked for preservation or you are left unmarked for destruction.
The question this text presses upon us is this: what is our reaction to the abominations of our own day? Do we wink at them? Do we accommodate them? Do we celebrate them? Or do we sigh and groan? Does the rampant idolatry, the sexual chaos, the shedding of innocent blood, and the arrogance of our culture grieve our spirits? A calloused heart, a spirit that can make peace with wickedness, is a terrifying spiritual condition. It is the condition of being unmarked.
The good news of the gospel is that the ultimate mark, the Tau, has been applied at Calvary. Jesus Christ, the truly innocent one, stood unmarked before the executioners. He took the full force of God's unsparing wrath so that we, who deserved it, could be marked with His righteousness. He was cast out so that we could be brought in. Through faith in Him, we are sealed by the Holy Spirit. We are marked as God's own possession.
But to be marked by Christ is to receive the heart of Christ. It is to begin to love what He loves and hate what He hates. It is to have our hearts broken by the things that break His heart. Therefore, let us not be afraid to be the ones who sigh and groan. Let us not be ashamed to weep over the sins of our nation and the compromises of the church. For that holy grief is not a sign of weakness, but the very mark of our salvation. It is the evidence that we have been sealed for life in a world that is rushing toward judgment.