Christians walk into church through a door. All of them can come in. There’s no restricted access.
Inside, there’s a lectern with a Bible, a table with food, a pastor in white. In some churches, the aroma of incense fills the air. It’s the holy place; in fact, the most holy place, with the three gifts of the ark (word, bread, priestly staff) openly displayed.
Nothing keeps us from seeing these gifts. There is no veil, no oil-wood doors, no golden lid. There are no cherub guardians. Whatever cherubs there might have have become chubby babes, not terrifying griffins.
The Christian sanctuary is modeled on the undivided sanctuary of heaven. Every time we walk into church, we see that heaven has come to earth.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Lift My Chin, Lord
Lift my chin, Lord,Say to me,“You are not whoYou feared to be,Not Hecate, quite,With howling sound,Torch held…
Letters
Two delightful essays in the March issue, by Nikolas Prassas (“Large Language Poetry,” March 2025) and Gary…
Spring Twilight After Penance
Let’s say you’ve just comeFrom confession. Late sunPours through the budding treesThat mark the brown creek washing Itself…
