ROBED

I'm not one to wave a wish-list at Christmastime, but when my daughter-in-law asked what I might like, I thought of my, uh, very pilled, tired plush bathrobe. About thirty years ago, it was a soft and quite cozy. But now it was, well, ratty instead of royal, the “plush” spiked and thin.

I'm not fussy about robes; probably that old one came form a clearance rack. But its “aging” condition got me thinking about the history of robes and their spiritual connections. In reading the book of Isaiah, I always pause at the beginning of chapter 6. The prophet Isaiah wrote: “In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord seated on a throne, high and exalted, and the train of his robe filled the temple” (Isaiah 6:1). Isaiah goes on to describe heavenly beings (seraphs with six wings) whose praise of God was so great that the temple's doorposts and thresholds shook, and the temple was filled with smoke.

Shaken greatly by this vision, Isaiah exclaimed, “Woe is me!” Then God commissioned him to prophesy to his wayward nation. That included advising King Uzziah, who would die of leprosy as a divine punishment for burning incense in the temple—a rite strictly belonging to the priests. So yes, pride led to the king's fall.

That whole thing of “pride” figures in other parts of robe history. Think of the Genesis account of teenage Joseph strutting about in his daddy's gift of a richly ornamented robe, to the disgust of his older half-brothers. That story didn't end happily for many years.

As history continued, the length and “drag” of a robe came to represent wealth and status. Robes of expensive material with lots of “drag” denoted that the wearer was either wealthy, distinguished in some way, or royalty. When King Charles was crowned last year, he entered Westminster Abby wearing the historic 14-foot-long “Coronation” robe which his mother had worn in 1953. He exited wearing the 21-foot “Imperial State Robe,” fifteen pounds dragging from his shoulders.

Not something you'd wear to wash the dishes or change the oil in the car....

Back to Isaiah's vision of Heaven and the enormous train from the throne of God. Remember, it was a vision, a way that God communicated concepts too great and wonderful for our human language. That's also true of how the apostle John, in an incredible vision he had of heaven (now our Biblical book of “Revelation”), described celestial garments of martyrs. They were white, “washed...in the blood of the Lamb” (Rev. 7:14).

I can't wrap my mind around that. But I gladly wrap my (new) robe around me these cold nights. At times I still pull on my late husband's old robe, generous and warm. It's all that's left of his once-full closet, the rest of his clothes now given to people in need. I miss his hugs, but the robe reminds me that now I am wrapped in “the hug of God.” And knowing that brings great comfort.

Floods and fickle trickles

It goes by the prosaic name “Dry Falls,” and when you look across the sedate coulee in central Washington State, you can only imagine its former thunderous, foaming glory. Scientists say about 16,000 years ago, an ice dam created an enormous lake that stretched into today’s western Montana. Then it burst. The resulting cataclysmic flooding scoured layers of basalt and dug out deep coulees, resulting in monstrous falls. This one was probably three and a half miles wide and 400 feet high, ten times larger than the present Niagara Falls. Yes, Niagara Falls—the foaming behemoth that a tight-rope walker successfully crossed just a few weeks ago as the world wondered, would he fall?


When a cross-state journey recently took us by Dry Falls, I thought of how easily as Christians we’re content with a “fickle trickle of God.” We want the label of “Christian,” the assurance of Heaven when we die, but we're like the lakes at the bottom of Dry Falls: just sitting there. Or, deep within us, we’re yearning for more spiritual power, as David expressed: “O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water” (Psalm 63:1).

Those who feel stuck as spiritual “dry falls” can learn from Psalm 63 how to move out of there.

Get a glimpse of God. David wrote, “I have seen you in the sanctuary and beheld your power and your glory” (v. 2). Of course, we don’t “see” God, but in worship we’re reminded of His power, authority and holiness. When Isaiah had a vision of the throne room of God, his first reaction was “Woe to me!” (Isaiah 6:1). He realized how unworthy He was in God’s absolutely pure presence. The same lesson comes to us. Getting closer to God requires confessing the sin that looms as a barrier between us. David lived for months with spiritual dryness from trying to cover up his adultery and murder. When these were exposed, David cried out, “Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity!” (Psalm 51:2). This was no stain-stick fix. This was thorough, harsh soul-scrubbing. Remember that “sin” includes wrong things we do (“sins of commission”) and things we’re wrong in not doing before God (“sins of omission”). Confession that breaks down sin barriers is the first step toward God’s purifying, holy flood.

Worship in community. When David encountered God in the worship center, he wasn’t alone. It was always filled with worshippers. Even as king, he needed the connections of other God-fearing people—the “all who swear by God’s name [and] praise Him” (v. 11). We, too, need the community of believers to pull us out of spiritual apathy. “Bedside Baptist”/”Pillow Presbyterian”/”Mattress Methodist” (or whatever tongue-in-cheek term you have for staying away from public worship) doesn’t do it. Yes, it takes effort to get to church and it’s risky to establish relationships, but there’s no other way to build a spiritual support network. “Let us not give up meeting together,” warns Hebrews 10:35, “as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another.”

Choose to praise. David could draw on the praise songs he composed during his lonely tenure as a shepherd boy. He also had the Hebrew scriptures to buttress his understanding of God’s praiseworthy attributes. Praise grows out of a deep appreciation for all that God has done for us and an intimacy with the Bible through reading, meditation, and memorization. “If your law had not been my delight,” says Psalm 119:92, “I would have perished in my affliction.”

Focus on God rather than negatives. David wrote of remembering God while in bed at night (v. 6). Instead of mulling over problems, turn heart-tugging scriptures into prayers. I remember a difficult time when Psalm 18 seemed to glow in neon lights from the pages of my Bible. I’d pray (from verse 33), “You promised to make my feet like the feet of a deer. I’m feeling wobbly now. Help me to stand on the heights. Train me for this battle to come.”

Don’t limit God. He can do amazing things. Ironically, after seeing Dry Falls, we spent the night at Post Falls, Idaho. As I took a photo of these falls the next morning, I thought of Jesus, days away from His death, standing near a public water source in Jerusalem and crying out, “Whoever believes in me, as the scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him” (John 8:38). Not Dry Falls. Not Niagara Falls. Something far greater, far better, and far more satisfying!