Where God Lives
by Stan Smith
by Stan Smith
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For thus says the High and Lofty One Who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy: "I dwell in the high and holy place, With him who has a contrite and humble spirit, To revive the spirit of the humble, And to revive the heart of the contrite ones." (Isaiah 57:15)
In my forty years as a Christian, I don't know if I've ever heard a whole sermon devoted to this verse. It's a shame we've overlooked it for so long, for it gives keys to our obtaining something that many of us hope for: revival.
The verse is full of irony. Nothing is quite what it appears. God seems to have come up with an impossible mixture of high and low. It's like the beatitudes: the people who don't necessarily seem spiritual find a too-good-to-be-true sense of hope in this verse, while the self-righteous find themselves falling short.
The last two lines make God's purpose clear: He wants to revive the spirit of the humble and the heart of the contrite. But do we want to be the kind of people God will revive - and do we want to be sent to them?
We start by finding out where God lives: He lives in eternity, in the high and holy place, with the broken and contrite.
Ask any Christian where God lives, and we know the right answer: "He lives in me." And this is true; if we ask Jesus to come into our hearts, He comes in.
But He seems more at home in some of us than in others, and Isaiah's words show us why. Some of us carry our Christianity arrogantly - "Get out of my way, everybody; I'm a child of the King!" Or we carry Him in self-righteousness, sincerely praying like the Pharisee, "Lord, thank you that I'm not like other men…"
We mean well. He is the High and Lofty One; if He lives in us, doesn't that make us a bit higher and loftier too? And He is holy; hasn't He commanded us to be holy? If in fact He has made us new creatures in Christ, we really do have something to be thankful for. Is it wrong to thank Him for changing our lives?
There is something right about our boldness, our outspokenness, our gratitude. But we need to temper them with humility and brokenness, as God's prophecy in Isaiah says.
"Abide in Me," Jesus said. Isaiah's words tell us what this abiding will look like. He lives in eternity, so He isn't stuck in the same season or year we live in. He lives in a high and holy place; He is not shaped by our culture or nationality. He is too big to fit into our little categories - He condescends to meet us where we are, but He also calls us to rise up to meet Him where He is.
Who is God? He is the High and Lofty One - but He feels at home with the lowly. If we see only the grandeur of God, we miss the grandest thing about Him: His willingness to care for the least among His people.
We would think He's too big, too important.
The successful people of this world surround themselves with successful people. They can't afford not to. They don't have time to waste on people who have no vision, no power, no imagination. They avoid negative thinkers.
God is bigger than success. He doesn't have to do what successful people do. He has time for the broken, for the humble. He is willing to speak vision into us, and He patiently waits for our imaginations to grow large enough to embrace what He promises us.
He feels more at home with the broken than with the self-confident. Perhaps this is because He sees things as they really are. He sees past what we possess and the way we carry ourselves. He has provided the air we breathe, the DNA that gives us our talents and abilities, the food and water that nourish us. Whether we know it or not, without Him we can do nothing.
The humble know it. Perhaps this is why He feels at home with them.
Or is it that God Himself walks in lowliness? If we want Him to feel at home with us, we need to walk humbly. In my forty years as a Christian, the most surprising thing I have learned about God is that He is humble.
People argue with me. "Don't be silly; why should God be humble? You need to be; He doesn't."
I agree. Humility is appropriate for all of us, and God is so glorious that He has no reason to be humble. And yet somehow He seems to choose it.
When Adam and Eve hid from God, He knew exactly where they were. He could have surprised them in their hiding place and demanded, "How dare you try to hide from Me, the all-knowing God!" Instead he walked in the garden and asked plaintively, "Where are you, Adam?" He let Adam come out of hiding.
He lets intercessors talk Him out of planned judgments. Moses did it in Exodus 32-33; the Ninevites did it after they heard the preaching of Jonah; Amos did it in Amos 7; Paul did it in Acts 27. Who are we that we should have such power with God? Who is He that He gives us this power?
Jesus Himself confessed that He is "meek and lowly in heart." Perhaps He simply gravitates towards people who are like Him.
This is a revival recipe: God announces He will revive those who need Him. Many tell us we can have revival if we pay the price. Isaiah tells us what the price is: humility and contriteness.
The first part of the price is to cultivate brokenness in our own lives. We tend to put a lot of emphasis on what we can do for God: the power of our prayers, the consistency of our obedience, the richness of our revelation. But Jesus said the kingdom of heaven belongs to the poor in spirit. When we are truly convinced that our best efforts towards God are nothing special, brokenness begins. It's not about us and our faith; it's about Him and His faithfulness.
The second part of the price is that He sends us to the broken. The parable of the sheep and the goats gives us a picture: "I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me."
The disciples asked, "When did we see You hungry?" and so on. He replied,"Inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me."
Where is the revival? It may be in a big meeting or it may be in a small church. It can happen when an anointed speaker holds meetings, or when a pew-warmer picks up the phone. The key is that we don't just try to get God to come to our house; we go to His: the high and holy place in eternity, unshaped by man's fads and mores, where God hovers beside the humble and contrite, looking for a chance to revive them.
He wants to revive the broken ones, the widows and the fatherless, the people whose hopes have shattered. So He sends us to care for the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger - the needy who may not have the resources or the will to care for themselves.
To those who go, He promises a taste of His transcendence: glimpses of eternity, encounters in the high and holy place.
I tasted this one day. I saw a vision of Jesus in a living room as a little cluster of people gathered around a small child suffering from a rare form of epilepsy; I've been told a significant process of healing began that day.
God lives in a high place with lowly people. Be lowly; go to the lowly. God will make Himself at home with you.
In my forty years as a Christian, I don't know if I've ever heard a whole sermon devoted to this verse. It's a shame we've overlooked it for so long, for it gives keys to our obtaining something that many of us hope for: revival.
The verse is full of irony. Nothing is quite what it appears. God seems to have come up with an impossible mixture of high and low. It's like the beatitudes: the people who don't necessarily seem spiritual find a too-good-to-be-true sense of hope in this verse, while the self-righteous find themselves falling short.
The last two lines make God's purpose clear: He wants to revive the spirit of the humble and the heart of the contrite. But do we want to be the kind of people God will revive - and do we want to be sent to them?
We start by finding out where God lives: He lives in eternity, in the high and holy place, with the broken and contrite.
Ask any Christian where God lives, and we know the right answer: "He lives in me." And this is true; if we ask Jesus to come into our hearts, He comes in.
But He seems more at home in some of us than in others, and Isaiah's words show us why. Some of us carry our Christianity arrogantly - "Get out of my way, everybody; I'm a child of the King!" Or we carry Him in self-righteousness, sincerely praying like the Pharisee, "Lord, thank you that I'm not like other men…"
We mean well. He is the High and Lofty One; if He lives in us, doesn't that make us a bit higher and loftier too? And He is holy; hasn't He commanded us to be holy? If in fact He has made us new creatures in Christ, we really do have something to be thankful for. Is it wrong to thank Him for changing our lives?
There is something right about our boldness, our outspokenness, our gratitude. But we need to temper them with humility and brokenness, as God's prophecy in Isaiah says.
"Abide in Me," Jesus said. Isaiah's words tell us what this abiding will look like. He lives in eternity, so He isn't stuck in the same season or year we live in. He lives in a high and holy place; He is not shaped by our culture or nationality. He is too big to fit into our little categories - He condescends to meet us where we are, but He also calls us to rise up to meet Him where He is.
Who is God? He is the High and Lofty One - but He feels at home with the lowly. If we see only the grandeur of God, we miss the grandest thing about Him: His willingness to care for the least among His people.
We would think He's too big, too important.
The successful people of this world surround themselves with successful people. They can't afford not to. They don't have time to waste on people who have no vision, no power, no imagination. They avoid negative thinkers.
God is bigger than success. He doesn't have to do what successful people do. He has time for the broken, for the humble. He is willing to speak vision into us, and He patiently waits for our imaginations to grow large enough to embrace what He promises us.
He feels more at home with the broken than with the self-confident. Perhaps this is because He sees things as they really are. He sees past what we possess and the way we carry ourselves. He has provided the air we breathe, the DNA that gives us our talents and abilities, the food and water that nourish us. Whether we know it or not, without Him we can do nothing.
The humble know it. Perhaps this is why He feels at home with them.
Or is it that God Himself walks in lowliness? If we want Him to feel at home with us, we need to walk humbly. In my forty years as a Christian, the most surprising thing I have learned about God is that He is humble.
People argue with me. "Don't be silly; why should God be humble? You need to be; He doesn't."
I agree. Humility is appropriate for all of us, and God is so glorious that He has no reason to be humble. And yet somehow He seems to choose it.
When Adam and Eve hid from God, He knew exactly where they were. He could have surprised them in their hiding place and demanded, "How dare you try to hide from Me, the all-knowing God!" Instead he walked in the garden and asked plaintively, "Where are you, Adam?" He let Adam come out of hiding.
He lets intercessors talk Him out of planned judgments. Moses did it in Exodus 32-33; the Ninevites did it after they heard the preaching of Jonah; Amos did it in Amos 7; Paul did it in Acts 27. Who are we that we should have such power with God? Who is He that He gives us this power?
Jesus Himself confessed that He is "meek and lowly in heart." Perhaps He simply gravitates towards people who are like Him.
This is a revival recipe: God announces He will revive those who need Him. Many tell us we can have revival if we pay the price. Isaiah tells us what the price is: humility and contriteness.
The first part of the price is to cultivate brokenness in our own lives. We tend to put a lot of emphasis on what we can do for God: the power of our prayers, the consistency of our obedience, the richness of our revelation. But Jesus said the kingdom of heaven belongs to the poor in spirit. When we are truly convinced that our best efforts towards God are nothing special, brokenness begins. It's not about us and our faith; it's about Him and His faithfulness.
The second part of the price is that He sends us to the broken. The parable of the sheep and the goats gives us a picture: "I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me."
The disciples asked, "When did we see You hungry?" and so on. He replied,"Inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me."
Where is the revival? It may be in a big meeting or it may be in a small church. It can happen when an anointed speaker holds meetings, or when a pew-warmer picks up the phone. The key is that we don't just try to get God to come to our house; we go to His: the high and holy place in eternity, unshaped by man's fads and mores, where God hovers beside the humble and contrite, looking for a chance to revive them.
He wants to revive the broken ones, the widows and the fatherless, the people whose hopes have shattered. So He sends us to care for the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger - the needy who may not have the resources or the will to care for themselves.
To those who go, He promises a taste of His transcendence: glimpses of eternity, encounters in the high and holy place.
I tasted this one day. I saw a vision of Jesus in a living room as a little cluster of people gathered around a small child suffering from a rare form of epilepsy; I've been told a significant process of healing began that day.
God lives in a high place with lowly people. Be lowly; go to the lowly. God will make Himself at home with you.
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