Skip to main content

The Mercy Seat

Let us therefore come boldly into the
throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy,
and find grace to help in time of need.
Hebrews 4:16

In chapter six of Isaiah, the prophet has seen the Lord, high and lifted up. He has watched as the seraphim (the expression of God's holiness) serve Him upon His Throne. He has heard them cry, "Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of Hosts; the whole earth is full of His glory."

Perhaps Isaiah ponders what is next, for the seraphim are approaching him as it were in slow motion, with a live coal taken from off the altar. Mind you, he has just honestly confessed to The Lord of Hosts that he has a sin problem. 

Surely not Isaiah 
… who is about to write with a clear view
of Grace the humiliations and sufferings of Messiah.
Surely not Isaiah
... who will prophesy of Israel's exile to and the return from Babylon.
Surely not Isaiah
...  who will write concerning David's Righteous Branch
in the Kingdom-Age.
Surely not Isaiah
... who will inform the masses of the new heavens and the new earth.

Yet here was his confession:
Woe is me! for I
am undone; because I am a man of
unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst 
of a people of unclean lips; for mine
eyes have seen the King,
the Lord of Hosts.
Isaiah 6:5

So then how did God deal with the prophet with unclean lips who lived in a generation of unclean people? Sin was obviously all around him. and he had participated. 
God had the seraphim lay the coal directly on the problem.
I believe there was pain there.
A cleansing was taking place and
the hearing of the words,
"Lo, this hath touched thy lips, and thy iniquity is taken away,
and thy sin purged" was surely music to his ears

And then Isaiah heard the voice he obviously
was longing to hear, the Lord, saying, "whom
shall I send, and who will go for us?
Then said I, Here am I; send me."
Forgiven and cleansed, Isaiah was ready for service to God.

But how is it for us who are born in this Dispensation of Grace (the Church Age) about which the prophet wrote? The age of the Priesthood of the believer (I Peter 2) when all believers are unconditionally constituted a kingdom of priests. We can come boldly to the Throne of Grace because we are with Christ, in Christ, and have access to God in the Holiest (Hebrews 10).

Let us therefore come boldly into the 
throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, 
and find grace to help in time of need.
(Hebrews 4:16).

He wants us there. He made preparations for us to meet Him there. It is our place of refuge. What was, in dispensations past a judgment seat is now The Mercy Seat. It is the place of propitiation (hilasterion) the word used in the Septuagint for "Mercy Seat." (Hebrews 9; 4; Ex. 25)
In fulfillment of the type,
Christ is Himself the hilasmas:
(that which propitiates)
and the hilasterion,
(the place of propitiation) —the Mercy Seat
sprinkled with His own Blood.
Jesus can and does righteously show mercy,
for He met every demand of the law.
He paid the price at Calvary.
He shed His Blood to purchase our pardon.

The modern rendering of the song
erroneously implies that
Christ is seated upon the Mercy Seat.
Ah, much more than that—
He IS the Mercy Seat!
He IS the hilasmas (He Who Propitiates!)
He IS the hilasterion (The Place of Propitiation!)

Hebrews 9:5
I John 2:2
Romans 3:25

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

It was Over... The South Was Defeated

Isaac Payne rode with the last of his company to Appomattox on April 10 with no inkling of what to expect. He waited outside the perimeter. Enlisted men were not allowed to be present on the streets of the Courthouse area. Only commanding officers. Isaac was emaciated, just like all the other southern patriots who leaned hard against the white picket fence that surrounded the township. Tired, empty, and disheartened, they waited to know the end of the story. One man could scarcely be identified from the next. They all looked the same. Withered and wasted. Isaac dismounted and patted Glory. She was his only earthly possession besides his weapons. His only connection to home. He gripped the bridle and pressed his face to her thin neck, unconsciously rubbing his hand over her protruding bones. If he looked up in the distance he might see his father and brother riding the dusty road to Appomattox to join him, but how could that be? They were dead. The thought of their absence and

A Proper Welcome Home . . .

... After All These Years! My brother was born on May 28, 1945, the year World War II ended. In August of that same year, the Japanese had surrendered unconditionally. Unknown to my brother, who was less than three months old, the winds of war blew fiercely somewhere else on the far side of the earth as the Japanese occupied a spot north of the sixteenth parallel after the War had ended. In September of that year, Ho Chi Minh, leader of the Viet Minh, declared the Democratic Republic of Vietnam before a crowd of some 500,000 in Hanoi. But the major allied victors of World War II— the United Kingdom, the United States, and the Soviet Union—all agreed the area belonged to the French. As the French had not the wherewithal to retake Vietnam at the time, the major powers agreed that British troops would occupy the South and the Nationalist Chinese, the North. On September 14, 1945, Chinese forces disarmed the Japanese troops north of the sixteenth parallel and the British landed i

Upon These Fields of Glory—

It was hot and muggy. Historians declare it was steamy . Such is Mississippi in the summertime. From the banks of the swollen Tishomingo River on June 10, 1864, Union soldiers jumped by the thousands to escape the fire of a burning, raging battle in the Northeastern corner of the Sovereign State of Mississippi, in a little community known as Brice's Cross Roads. Confederate Major General Nathan Bedford Forrest pulled out all the stops to pull off one of the fiercest and most strategic battles of the Civil War. He won that battle, hands down. Late spring rains caused the narrow stream of water to overflow its banks. Union troops by the thousands, under the command of Brigadier General Samuel D. Sturgis slogged the gently sloping hills, their wagon trains pulled by mules dotting the landscape like flies on molasses, covering miles and miles of muddy terrain, until that day, untouched except by a few farm houses, a Reformed Presbyterian church, and an old log house, all set beneat