You’re the guest!
“The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein.” (Ps 24:1) That’s not just a nice verse for a fridge magnet, it’s a line of ownership. Of authority. God isn’t circling above like Air Force One, waiting for someone to give Him access. He reigns. Always has. And His presence isn’t a concept to be managed. It’s a profound reality to be recognised.
We don’t host God. He’s the one who made room for us. Every breath we take, every space we gather in – it’s already His. He doesn’t wait for us to create the right atmosphere before He draws near. He’s already near. What He does invite, though, is response. “Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.” (James 4:8) That’s not God stepping in from the edge, that’s Him meeting us in our turning, revealing Himself to the willing, the weary, the hungry. Not because He was far, but because we couldn’t see. God’s always at work, but often it is as the military jet pilots say, ‘beyond visual range’.
I’m being a little naughty here, I understand the language many of us in the charismatic church have used; “Hosting His presence.” I’ve said it too. We want to honour Him. To prepare something worthy. But in trying to express our longing, we sometimes shaped our theology around it. Like God’s arrival depended on the mood we set, the prayers we prayed, the worship we offered. As though His presence was reactive. But it’s not. Understanding this is actually good news …
The veil wasn’t torn by intensity, or any ‘stuff-of-life’ things we do. It was torn by crucifixion. This is important for us. Christ entered the Holy Place by His own blood, not by ours. That changed everything. Why mention this? Access was granted not as reward, but as gift. Not to the spiritually elite, but to all who come through the Son. We’re not waiting for Him to enter, He’s already welcomed us in.
The Holy Spirit doesn’t rest on a meeting or a gathering because we finally got things just right. He dwells because Christ made it holy, made us holy. The church as we gather is sanctified by the Lamb, not the liturgy. It changes the way we gather, the way we pray, the way we think about presence because ultimately, we’re not creating an environment to convince God to come. We’re learning to live aware of the One who already has.
We are hungry for God’s presence. Probably more than we realise. The days of the Toronto outpouring seem so very long ago – and they are – but those times marked us, transformed us. That tangible, heavy, manifest presence of God was, well, just there … You’d be standing at your desk midweek and think about Jesus, and suddenly feel the weight of His Presence rest on you again. It was profound. And God knows that hunger we have. Perhaps there’s a call in this hour for a radical, audacious faith – to gather again. Not around the things we do (avoiding offense here!), but around His name alone. To cry out aloud – ”God, reveal Yourself. Unveil Your presence.” No agenda. No script. Just to wait. And wait. That’s what those early Wimber meetings were like in the 80’s. Unhurried. Tender. Expectant. He’d simply say, “Come, Holy Spirit.” And He did. Because He was already near, and the people were ready to respond.
None of this diminishes our very real hunger for God’s nearness. That longing is not misplaced and highly commendable, but it needs grounding. Are we longing for a moment, or for communion? For an emotional wave, or the One who abides? Stays. Remains. Jesus didn’t say, “If you build it I’ll come” like something from the Field of dreams film. Build something and I’ll visit.” He said, “Abide in me, and I in you.” That’s not a spiritual exchange. That’s invitation.
So when we speak of His presence, perhaps the better posture is not one of hosting, but of recognising. Of responding. The Lord of all has already drawn near. He’s the Great Host, calling us in, making space for the ones He redeemed – at His table, by His grace. He’s hosting – and we’re invited.
Hear the singing 288 years ago, “Bold I approach the eternal throne, And claim the crown, through Christ my own …” Charles Wesley 1738