If you have ever read Hebrews, you know that through Christ, we are all priests, because we have a High Priest who became one of us, so that we might have direct access to God, the Holy of Holies, unveiled, undefiled, and previously, untrammelled by anyone other than the High Priest, once a year. We no longer require an intermediary; we do no longer look at shadows cast by the light, but rather, we are able to stare directly into the light. Through Jesus, we are all saints in Christ: no longer must we be of an elect group or tribe (the Levites), or race (the Hebrews). However, if you have ever read Leviticus, you will know that the calling of a Priest is no easy ride. If we are truly to be agents of Christ on earth ('the righteousness of God') we must conduct ourselves accordingly.
Paul tells us that we will one day judge even the angels – what a calling! Indeed, Jesus gives his disciples dominion over all types of evil, to cast out demons and perform wonders in His name. Moreover, he commands them to employ this novel authority, by going out to all the nations and making disciples of all people. But we also know that we must remove the log out of our own eye before we can see clearly enough (or indeed have the moral authority) to perform surgery on somebody else's for the sake of removing a speck. Indeed, Jesus would recommend removing the eye if it causes us to sin: vision would be clearer with only one eye! Paul also tells us that we are given the Mind of Christ. But we also know from Ecclesiastes that with much wisdom comes much grief!
We have been given a great privilege, and also a great responsibility. Examine the following passage from Luke: “As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem. And he sent messengers on ahead, who went into a Samaritan village to get things ready for him; but the people there did not welcome him, because he was heading for Jerusalem. When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, "Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?" But Jesus turned and rebuked them, and they went to another village.” On a separate occasion, Christ commands Peter to “get behind Me, Satan!” What was wrong with the disciples? What were they doing wrong?
To be a saint, to live out our priestly calling, is to deny the self. To put on the robe of righteousness is to be pure in God's eyes. By definition, as the world has not understood the light, because it is in darkness, that means humbling ourselves through the lens of the world. That includes our own pretensions of grandeur. The robe is indeed spectacular: the chest-plate that the High Priest wore was embellished with all manner of precious minerals. But three points are noted. First, how brilliant is a stone without light? Our glory must be purely a reflection of the only source of true light, that is, Christ. As vessels, we convey light; we do not conduct it. Second, how brilliant is a stone to blind man? If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and we are living among the spiritually blind, then we will not be praised for taking on this holy role. Third, how heavy is the chest-plate? It is burdensome, and will weigh us down at times. It requires purity, which given our human conditions, requires purification.
Indeed, purification is a fundamental practice of the Priest. To deny our selves, and to allow Christ within us to take the reigns, we must expel those sinful elements that would threaten the transmission of will. For me, this is a very personal matter; for the High Priest, it involved all manner of rigid ritual. I think that we can take a lesson from such discipline: purification must be regular, and importantly, it will not always be what we want – indeed, given its purpose, it is most likely the exact opposite of what we want at the time! It is here that I respect the apparent inflexibility of Catholicism and Orthodoxy (along with Judaism, Islam, and most other religions!). If we are pure of heart, we can indeed do whatever we want – because what we want will be what God wants. The key, however, is that in such a scenario, one is already pure. We must first become holy, before we can enter into the Holy of Holies.
Purification is painful, involving the type of heat, chiselling and re-shaping that is required of the precious metals that adorn our robes. Christ died for us: the only One who had no sin became sin, so that through Him, we might become the righteousness of God. Heaven is a free gift. But Paul tells the Church that the spiritual walk is one of growth and maturity. If we are to reside with God, we must resist ourselves with self-control. If we are to dwell in the Shelter of the Most High, to abide in the Shadow of the Almighty, we must first allow Him to change us in such a way as to be presentable.
We cannot show up to the wedding unprepared. It is impossible to show up uninvited, for all are welcome – that is the freedom of the gift. But it is possible to show up without adequate preparation. We must continually ensure that we have enough oil for our candles. The supply is infinite, but our apparatuses require constant refilling. “Salt is good, but if it loses its saltiness, how can you make it salty again? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with each other."
His yoke is easy, and His burden is light, but only if we allow Him to help us carry that cross daily. Indeed, the very definition, in my opinion, of carrying our cross daily is to let Him carry it. That is the hardest part of self-denial, and the ultimate goal of self-control! If non-Christians are guilty of leaving the cross behind them, we Christians are often guilty of trying to do all the work ourselves!
One final point about holiness. Why is that Jesus tells his disciples that they should be “like children” if they want to enter the Kingdom of God? I would posit that children are 'unpolluted'; they have not yet accumulated the need for purification (although of course, inherently, everybody must be cleansed). It is often the simple things that drive faith. Solomon finds that all of his earthly endeavours, his elaborate adventures, his extravagant pleasures, and his sophisticated knowledge, all led to nothing: worse, they led him to “hate his labour” and to “despise his life”. There is a secret knowledge, an infinite mystery, that is God the father. The Orthodox branch of Christianity has captured this commendably in their mystic practices of worship and study. However, the fundamental truth, the basic tenant of our existence, survival, and calling, is one of love. To understand love is to be human. And the truth of love exists in action. Love has no greater truth than for one to sacrifice himself for a friend. The priestly calling is one of constant maturity, but to purify oneself is to return to our maker, and our making. Though we are his ambassadors, we are also his children.
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