pitching tents

"Alright. I'm here," He thinks as He looks around. The grassy area was covered with tents. He'd known this trip was coming for sometime now. Though He could have hidden all sorts of luxuries in His pack, He'd decided against it. Instead He came with nothing. He found the nearest sports store, chose a commonplace tent, went back to the camping ground and pitched this new, canvas shelter. Just like everyone else, He hammered in each stake ensuring that the elements wouldn't push it over in the middle of the night. When He had finished He stepped back to look at it.


This morning as I read from the first chapter of John, I became intrigued with the Greek word translated dwell. It means to dwell or to pitch a tent. And, as we go back to the Old Testament, God meets with His people by dwelling in a tent. A holy tent. One with specific instructions and regulations as far as its size and shape and the material it was to be made from. But, it was a tent no less. The imagery of Christ pitching a tent to live with us for a while has been dwelling in my thoughts all day.

I love the way the New Testament compliments the Old. I love that we serve a God who was the same yesterday, is the same today, and will be the same tomorrow. And, I love that He cared enough for us that He shed His heavenly mansion to come down and pitch a simple tent just to be with us, just to know what it is like to live in our little campground.

Yeah, that's the God I serve. The one that put skin on for a while. The one that dwelt with us.