“I saw the Lord seated on a high and lofty throne, and His robe filled the temple.
Seraphim were standing above Him; each one had six wings:
with two he covered his face, with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew.
And one called to another: Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of Hosts; His glory fills the whole earth.”

Isaiah 6:1-3

How Did I Forget That’s Who He Is?

How did I forget the untamed glory of the King who consciously walked away from all of it and wrapped Himself in the anonymity of humanity?

I’m so used to picturing the dirty, overcrowded stable and the manure-trodden hay, that I had forgotten all the otherworldly glory wrapped up in those swaddling clothes. Jesus has become too familiar to me. So before I meet Him at the manger, I need to go back and meet Him again as He appears in the heavens.

Over His cries and tiny baby burps, I need to hear the angels singing.

I need to hear the roar of a million angels with their wings beating a wild wind of worship all around us; I need to look up, up high above me.

The Lord God of the galaxies, the infinities, who spoke the sun’s ball of fire into being, who wraps the world in the cool of night and gives us the streaming gift of the Milky Way, of stars uncountable, of planets unknowable. Who knows by name every one of the leviathan creatures we can only try to imagine that plum the depths of the ocean. Each one of them tuned to the will, the creativity, the imagination of its maker.

There are choirs we can’t hear.

There are indescribable beings that fill their lungs with worship 24 hours a day. There is glory we can’t fathom.

Oh, dear Jesus, thank you for walking away from all that for me.

Forgive me my inability to see, to truly know what it took for You to come and meet me here. In my neighborhood.

Thank You for quieting Your glory so that I wouldn’t be afraid.

Thank You for the ridiculous accessibility You grant us.

But help me not to forget. Not to forget Your royalty. Your divinity. So much so that even a tired mom can be moved to tears at her dining room table and fling her arms high in the air above her and sing off-key, “Holy, Holy, Holy, is the Lord God almighty.”

Let me sing with the heavenly chorus I can’t hear.

Take my small offering and know I give it to You with all the awe my impossibly limited humanity can offer. But I give it regardless. My gold, frankincense, and myrrh of worship — so utterly inadequate for a cosmic king of the galaxies, the heavens and the earth – the past, the present, and the future.

But I will remember to bring it. My reverence. My wonder. My awe. My eyes tilted back to try and take in the vast expanse of the skies above me to give me an inkling of Your vastness.

Dear Holy Creator of Everything, I stand here with my arms spread wide and I bear witness to Your glory that fills the whole earth. Filling my house and my kitchen and yes, this moment at a laptop typing as fast as I can, the wonder I feel running down my cheeks.

Amen.

PS: This is the song I had on repeat while I was writing — listen and stop and remember God’s wild glory.

Q: When was the last time you let yourself pause and try to take in the glory of the God that came to us wrapped up in the anonymity of humanity? How does it make you feel?

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