Revelation 21:22-27
I saw no temple [sanctuary] in it, for the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb are its temple. And the city has no need of the sun or of the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God has illuminated it, and its lamp is the Lamb. The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it. In the daytime (for there will be no night there) its gates will never be closed; and they will bring the glory and the honor of the nations into it; and nothing unclean, and no one who practices abomination and lying, shall ever come into it, but only those whose names are written in the Lamb’s book of life.

Upon reading these passages my mind goes immediately to questions that have to do with how things work. I don't think my approach to things is off base or a distraction, by mainly it's in my nature to ponder stuff, like how stuff works. I'm fascinated by watching a master craftsman build a delicate piece of art. I want to know how they work out the details and even more interesting to me is how they learned to make the things they do. I look at a place or a situation and instead of having an emotional reaction to that experience, I want to consider the possibilities and pitfalls, processes and strategies.

For me, Revelation 21 is not a mood piece. It is the finished work, shown from the outside and then from the street, and John keeps noticing what is missing because the absences are the design. For instance, in today's passage it is said that John noticed there is no sanctuary in the City of God. And he also noticed God's light illuminates everything and The Lamb is the lamp. That's very interesting and important to me.

Why is this layout and process important?

I've always said that you can understand a local church's relationship with God by the layout of its sanctuary and by its furniture. The layout matters because a sanctuary is a worked-out answer to a problem, and the furniture shows what the builders believe the problem still is.

In the tabernacle and the temple the floor plan was theology you could walk on. Outer court, holy place, most holy place. Altar before you could go farther. Laver before you could serve. Lampstand, table, incense, veil. The whole setup is an approach. Priests in one zone, high priest in another, and only on a schedule. Every wall and every vessel said the same thing; here's God, He's over here, He's in here, here's how we get to Him. God is here, you are not fit to be where he is, and approach has to be managed or someone dies. It's a problem being sorted out. The furniture was not decoration. It was process. Change the layout and you have changed its claim about access to God.

So, a local worship room teaches a doctrine of relationship whether anyone announces it or not. A fenced chancel with a distant table says mediation is still the main work of the gathering. A platform built as a stage, with the book off to the side and the seats ranked toward a performer, says the center is the speaker’s moment. A bare table in the middle of the people, with the Scriptures read and the supper shared in reach of the body, says something closer to priesthood of believers and to presence among, not presence behind a rail. No sanctuary room is neutral in its approach. They are all small answers to the same question the temple answered in stone. Where is God in relation to the people, and what has to happen before they can draw near to Him?

In the City of God, these details are important because the Creator has retired the whole class of questions and answers. People aren't asked or expected to furnish an answer to any questions anymore. No one has to figure out how to light the sanctuary because God is the light and the Son is the lamp.

No one in that city is asked to design an approach, staff a mediation, keep a lamp filled, or decide how close unfit people may come. Everyone in that City is found righteous.

The city does not furnish an answer because the answer is the One who fills it. What is not retired is activity. The nations still walk by that light. The kings of the earth still bring glory and honor in through gates that never close. Immediately upon reading this my mind saw a very busy place, akin to a packed theme park in the middle of the afternoon. Gates that never close, nations walking, kings carrying glory and honor in, and no night to empty the streets. It seems that this truly is the city that never sleeps. But is this the case?

The gates stay open because the condition that made closing them necessary has been removed, not because the residents refuse to stop. No night means no dark interval in which the glory fails, the streets go unsafe, and the unclean use the hour. There's no witching hour there. The Lamb’s lamp does not go off shift.

Psalm 121 said of the Lord that he neither slumbers nor sleeps. That said, nothing in chapter 21 cancels rest. It cancels the dark. Human activity and rest are no longer split by sunset, with one half of life handed over to threat, fear, and exhaustion. It is said they will find rest. So, the light replaces the need to fear the dark.

So, these do not stay full because someone is being driven past the point of rest. The glory illuminates, the Lamb is the lamp, and the work of bringing honor in happens in a day that has no fear. There is only time for rest in this sense. Everything is rest. Even bringing honor is rest. Their rest is the satisfaction of a completed work. Work is rest now because it is no longer done under the curse. No more futility, threat, and exhaustion. Walking by the light is still walking. Bringing the glory and honor of the nations in is still bringing. They are the city’s ongoing life.

Bringing honor in is rest in the sense that it is not labor in vain, not tribute dragged in under threat, not a shift that ends in collapse. It is work with the friction removed. Imagine a day of work without all the aches and pains that need to be soaked away in a tub.

How would you feel about that?

I wonder if I'd miss the feeling of soaking away the muscle ache?

Probably not because I don't think we "miss" anything anymore. There wouldn't be the need, because there is no need for the relief of a damage that no longer happens. Muscle ache is not the work. It is the tax on the work. Under the curse the body spends itself faster than it restores, so the hot soak feels like mercy. Now, in the City of God, every moment is a mercy. Hard work feels like a blessing.

In the City of God misery has been retired. Every moment is a blessing. Not a continuous series of rescues from aches and pains, it is life perfected. Holy and good. Right in every way. All the old things have passed away and every detail I'm finding distinctions for aren't even a concern because concern isn't a thing.

But John and I are viewing this scene from a still on planet earth perspective. John doesn't find a sanctuary, which means he was looking for one. He doesn't see a sun and moon because he was still looking for one. He observed multitudes coming and going and none of them are concerned about these absent elements.

John is not a resident filing out a report from inside the day that has no night. He is being shown the city. He is a resident yet. The absences he notes are only an absence from the side that still remembers the workshop created by human hands.

And the same goes for me.

And what that says to me is my own tendency will finally find rest in that City of God. No more viewing the layout and what it was built to solve, what the furniture claims, what is missing and why the absence is doing work. No need to write comments or even study the word.

What ends is study as a workaround. In that City there is no need to comment about how the layout is a lie, because it never could be. No study about the word because the Word is illuminating the City.

Every sanctuary room on this side can still make a false claim about access to God. A rail that keeps God at a managed distance, a stage that puts the speaker where the table should be, a lamp tended as if the light were a problem the furniture must solve. Commentary exists, in part, to say so. In the city John sees, that job is gone. God and the Lamb are the temple. The glory illuminates, and the Lamb is the lamp. There is no furniture left that could misstate the relationship. There are absolutely no idols anywhere, and no dark interval in which a false layout could be smuggled in. No need for comment. No need to set the record straight because the Word is illuminating the City.

Abomination cannot enter. There is no dark hour in which a substitute could be set up and called the light.

So, the absences are the design. Meanwhile, every sanctuary on this side is still a worked out answer to a problem of access to God, and the furniture can still misstate it. Today, we notice the missing pieces because we are not residents yet. The glory is that the residents of the City of God do not notice what's missing. Concern stops, but attention does not. They're very busy bringing glory in. And the gates never close. I suppose there's just a whole lot of glory to bring in. And the record is already straight. The Word illuminates the city, and the bringing does not end.

Praise God!
Hallelujah and amen 🙏🏼