A Year Held in His Hands| A New Year Sermon
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You ever read a chapter in the Bible that just grabs you and doesn’t let go? That’s Ezekiel 43. After all the heavy judgment, deep lamenting, and symbolic acts we've trudged through in the earlier chapters of Ezekiel, chapter 43 bursts through like the dawn. It's like the entire book of Ezekiel has been building up to this moment: God returns to His temple. Not metaphorically. Literally. This is one of the most beautiful pictures of restoration in all of Scripture, and honestly, it brings a little tear to my eye when I think about the mercy of God.
Let’s break it down.
“Then the man brought me to the gate facing east, and I saw the glory of the God of Israel coming from the east…” (Ezekiel 43:1-2)
Right off the bat, this is different. Remember back in Ezekiel 10 when the glory of the Lord left the temple? It was a tragic moment, like watching a loved one walk out the door and knowing they might never come back. That eastern gate—the same one God exited from—is now the same one He’s coming back through. That detail matters. It's poetic. It’s holy.
And Ezekiel says the sound of His coming was like the roar of rushing waters, and the earth shone with His glory. Man, you can feel it. The presence of God is not subtle. It overwhelms the senses. When the Lord shows up, He doesn't sneak in the back door—He arrives in full majesty.
Then Ezekiel says something that echoes his first vision way back in chapter 1:
“...the vision I saw was like the vision I had seen when he came to destroy the city and like the visions I had seen by the Kebar River, and I fell facedown.” (v.3)
This moment is so intense, Ezekiel just drops. Flat on his face. That's what the presence of God does—it humbles. That same presence that was once associated with judgment is now here as a sign of hope.
And then we read:
“The glory of the Lord entered the temple through the gate facing east. Then the Spirit lifted me up and brought me into the inner court, and the glory of the Lord filled the temple.” (v.4–5)
Wow. Just... wow.
That inner court getting filled with glory? That’s the culmination of longing. Restoration. Reconciliation. The glory that once departed has now returned—and it's a declaration that God’s mercy always outlasts His judgment.
Once the glory settles in, Ezekiel hears God speak to him from within the temple. This is God taking up residence again, and He’s got something to say.
“Son of man, this is the place of my throne and the place for the soles of my feet…” (v.7)
That phrase—“the soles of my feet”—is so intimate. It’s as if God’s saying, “I’m home now.” The throne isn't just about authority; it’s about residence. God's not just visiting. He’s moved in.
But He sets some conditions:
“...no longer will the people of Israel defile my holy name—neither they nor their kings...”
Here’s the thing: God wants to dwell with His people, but He’s not gonna cohabitate with idolatry. He’s not sharing His temple with spiritual infidelity. Verse 8 points to how kings placed their thresholds beside God's threshold, and their doorposts beside His—trying to merge the secular and the sacred.
Does that sound familiar in our world today? The way we try to mix devotion to God with devotion to power, success, influence? God's not having it. He says plainly in verse 9:
“Now let them put away from me their prostitution and the lifeless idols of their kings, and I will live among them forever.”
You want Me to stay? Then cleanse the house.
This moment is powerful. God’s return is conditioned upon repentance. It’s not a free-for-all. His love is unconditional, yes, but His presence dwells in holiness. That’s the heart of covenant relationship—He's not demanding perfection, but He is requiring loyalty.
Then comes a bit of a shift.
“Son of man, describe the temple to the people of Israel, that they may be ashamed of their sins. Let them consider its perfection...” (v.10)
Now, this is interesting. Ezekiel is told to show them the design of the temple. The blueprints. Why? So they’ll be ashamed. That might sound harsh at first, but let’s dig into the why.
The perfection of the temple is meant to serve as a mirror—revealing how far they’ve strayed. It’s like God is saying, “Look at what holiness looks like. Compare that to your own house.”
And that shame isn't for condemnation—it’s for conviction. It’s to stir their hearts to long for that kind of order, that kind of beauty again.
Then in verse 11:
“...write down before them all the specifications of its design and all its regulations, and tell them to follow them.”
Obedience matters. God doesn’t give random instructions. Every measurement, every cubit, every regulation—it all carries meaning. His design reflects His character: order, purpose, and holiness.
Then in verse 12:
“This is the law of the temple: all the surrounding area on top of the mountain will be most holy.”
Here’s the point—holiness is not confined to one little room inside the temple. It radiates outward. The entire mountain is holy now. When God dwells somewhere, everything around Him becomes transformed.
Now we move into the section on the altar, and it's honestly quite detailed. We get measurements—cubits, height, width, ledges, steps. It’s tempting to skim over these parts, but there’s treasure here.
The altar was the centerpiece of worship. It was the place of sacrifice. And the detailed instructions emphasize that God deeply cares about how we approach Him.
There’s something sacred about order. Not rigidity—but intentionality. God’s not casual about worship. The design of the altar reminds us that atonement is serious business. You don’t slap together a few stones and call it holy. You build with reverence.
The altar had three tiers, and each tier got smaller as you went higher—almost like a stairway to heaven. And that’s not coincidence. The design reminds us that approaching God involves elevation—not physically, but spiritually. It's a process of drawing near through surrender.
The final section of Ezekiel 43 focuses on how the altar gets consecrated. And again, it’s not a one-and-done thing—it’s a seven-day process.
“You are to give a young bull as a sin offering to the priests, the Levites, of the family of Zadok...” (v.19)
Ah, the family of Zadok. These were the faithful priests. Remember back in chapter 44 we’ll see God honor them because they didn’t stray like the others. Loyalty matters. And God chooses faithful people to carry out sacred tasks.
In verse 20:
“You are to take some of its blood and put it on the four horns of the altar...”
Blood on the horns. Why? Because atonement starts at the point of strength. The horns of the altar represent power, and that power has to be redeemed. There's no room for corrupted strength in God’s temple.
Then for seven days they are to offer sacrifices—goats, bulls, rams. The altar has to be purified before it can be used. Nothing can be holy unless it’s been cleansed first. Not even an altar.
And then finally, in verse 27:
“At the end of these days, from the eighth day on, the priests are to present your burnt offerings and fellowship offerings on the altar. Then I will accept you, declares the Sovereign Lord.”
And there it is.
“Then I will accept you.”
That phrase hits like a wave.
The glory returns. The altar is restored. Worship is re-established. And God says: Now... I accept you.
It’s not just ritual. It’s relationship. The entire point of this process is reconciliation. A restored temple leads to restored fellowship.
Now you may be thinking—what does all this stuff about blueprints, measurements, and animal sacrifices have to do with me today?
More than we think.
This is the heartbeat of Ezekiel 43. God is not distant. He’s not aloof. He wants to be with His people. The whole purpose of the temple, of the altar, of the regulations—it’s all to make space for God to live among us.
Today, we are the temple (1 Corinthians 6:19). His Spirit dwells in us. But the principle remains: God’s presence requires holiness. Not perfection, but a life surrendered, purified by Jesus.
Maybe you’ve experienced the glory leaving. You’ve felt that emptiness, that distance. But Ezekiel 43 tells us it’s not final. The same glory that departed can return. And when it does, it fills every corner.
If you feel spiritually dry, if you’re longing for more of God, then take heart: He longs to return to you, too.
The temple blueprint wasn’t random. Neither is God’s design for your life. Every cubit had a purpose. Every instruction had meaning. God doesn’t do chaos. He’s a God of intentionality. He’s designing something beautiful in you—even if you don’t fully see it yet.
Trust the Architect.
Remember how the entire mountain became holy? When God is present in a life, that life starts to affect others. It spreads. Holiness isn't just personal—it becomes cultural. Your obedience can create ripple effects in your family, your workplace, your community.
Don’t underestimate your influence when you walk closely with God.
The altar wasn't ready in a day. It took seven days of blood, sacrifice, fire. Same with our hearts. Healing takes time. Restoration is a process. But stay with it—because on the eighth day, something new begins.
Ezekiel 43 is one of those chapters that reminds us just how patient and persistent our God is. He doesn’t give up. He doesn’t abandon forever. He disciplines, yes. He corrects, yes. But He always returns to dwell.
And He wants to dwell in you.
Let this chapter be more than history or prophecy. Let it be a picture of what God can do in your life. His glory can return. Your altar can be restored. Your temple can be filled again.
But first—clean the house. Welcome Him. And let Him write His blueprint on your heart.
Because when He enters the gate again… everything changes.
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