I love gifts. Maybe it’s my perennial Christmas spirit. But I prefer receiving to giving. So, it’s probably my year-long need for sanctification.
Or maybe it’s due to my charismatic upbringing. I grew up in a joyful chimera of seeming contradictions. Even as I write today as a Reformed Baptist pastor at an SBC church, the “Charismatic Reformed Pseudo-Baptist” hodge-podge is my inescapable spiritual heritage. My core church memories include prophesying, tongues, dancing, and one particular sister in Christ whom my brothers and I nicknamed “the banshee woman,” since she apparently thought that screeching like a Night Fury during worship was her personal spiritual gift.
My core memories also include expository preaching, sacrificial hospitality, and courageous evangelism. I can honestly say that I grew up in the presence of the Lord, like Samuel in the temple. It was in such churches that I learned to worship my Savior. It was in such churches that I learned to love God’s sovereign grace. And it was in such churches that I learned to pray prayers like Psalm 84:2:
My soul longs, yes, faints
for the courts of the LORD;
my heart and flesh sing for joy
to the living God.
I can honestly say that from childhood my soul has longed—yes, even ached and fainted—for the courts of the Lord. When I went to college and evangelized the campus alongside Baptists, Presbyterians, Pentecostals, Methodists, non-denoms, and even the odd Anglican, this one thing was consistent across the denominational board: we were all hungry for God, all desperate to know and be known by him, all eager to draw near to him in worship and experience his presence.
I would spend hours in prayer, on my face before God till my forehead was bruised, waiting for a vision, a word, an encounter—desperately wanting to see the Lord pass by. How did you know whether he’d passed by or not? Well, you’d just know.
I had inklings and nudges in my conscience, hints that perhaps this version of spirituality wasn’t the ideal picture of maturity that Christ intended for believers. However, I did not pause until I noticed people talk about worship services as though the whole point was to “get in.” On an especially moving Sunday, I’d hear comments about how “God really showed up today.” People would talk about God’s presence “manifesting,” or a leader might say, “Let’s just linger here in his presence for a moment.”
Such paradigmatic language inevitably has a redounding effect; these types of statements not only belied some underlying structuring metaphors, but they also reinforced them. I began to notice how people used the same language for their daily devotionals when I ran into a friend at a coffee shop who confessed he was “having a hard time getting into the presence of God” that morning.
I say all this as a twofold preface. First, my criticisms are of myself. The rough draft of this article was a me-sized mirror, a “note to self” in my struggle to shed a few spiritual pounds.
The second point is that this conceptualization of Christian spirituality and worship extends beyond the theological debate over continuationism. It extends bi-directionally, across denominations and spheres. It spans denominations because it is related to the utterly biblical desire to be with God (see Psalm 84). And it extends across spheres, impacting the way we approach and think about corporate services and private devotions, because it is a matter of worship. Everything in life is downstream from worship. The way we approach worship, whether we get it right or get it wrong, bears cosmic (and thus universal) significance.
For this reason, I want to warn my brothers and sisters in the faith about what I call a Cloudy Spirituality.
A Cloudy Spirituality
Cloudy Spirituality is the mindset that centers the Christian walk on the ideal of experiencing God’s presence in a subjective, yet tangible, way. Everything spiritual, from our worship services to our life decisions, is about either following, or getting into, or experiencing God’s presence.
I call it a Cloudy Spirituality because it reminds me of the motif of the cloud that permeates the Old Testament. From Egypt to the Temple, you find God manifesting his presence in the form of a cloud. He went before Israel “in a pillar of cloud” to lead them through the desert (Ex. 13:21–22). He exhibited his presence in a cloud when he gave manna (Ex. 16:10). He spoke to Moses “in a thick cloud” when he instituted his covenant with Israel at Mount Sinai (Ex. 19:9, 16; 24:15–18). The cloud signified his presence when he would stand and speak with Moses as a friend at the tent’s door (Ex. 33:9–10).
The cloud was the vehicle that displayed God’s glory when his tabernacle was finished (Ex. 40:34–35), and Israel was to follow his presence wherever the cloud led (Ex. 40:36–37). The Lord’s presence in this “cloudy” manner led Moses to say that the nations had heard “that you, O LORD, are in the midst of this people” (Num. 14:14). And when the Temple was established, the place was filled with God’s glory-cloud, in a recapitulation of the inauguration of God’s presence at the tabernacle (1 Kings 8:10).
The cloud was an image, a tangible demonstration to the Israelites—and to the watching nations—that God was fulfilling his promise to be with them; they are his people, and he is their God. The cloud must have felt like a down payment (though we know from our vantage it was more of a foretaste) of the fulfillment of his promise-plan. And Israel seemed to know there was something more, something better, yet to come: Isaiah prophesied a day when “the branch of the Lord” would be glorified (Isa. 4:2). When this messianic silhouette came into focus, the presence of God would not be restricted to one pillar that leaves and leads, but rather
Then the LORD will create over the whole site of Mount Zion and over her assemblies a cloud by day, and smoke and the shining of a flaming fire by night; for over all the glory there will be a canopy. (Is. 4:5, emphasis added)
Surely Christ’s disciples would have had all these and more images in mind when God spoke from a bright cloud, sudden and fearsome, to declare that Jesus was his beloved Son to whom they should listen (see Matt. 17:5; Mark 9:7; Luke 9:34).
It is no surprise then that when this great thread running through Scripture meets with our yearning to see the Savior face to face; we should long to stand where our fathers have stood. It is not surprising that we should yearn to behold Christ’s countenance. Not only because we have affection for him, but also because we want assurance—we want to know that we have not veered off the path or neglected to do what he has called us to.
But such a yearning can also become a danger, when it derails our worship in private and public. I worry that many have, like me, learned to misguidedly yearn for the Old Covenant pattern of God’s pillar of cloud.
Tangible, Yet Not Substantial
In our hearts, we want the cloud. We make decisions like the Israelites, testing by our emotions and subjective senses where to go and how to obey. And we yearn for the same in worship: in our private devotions, we search and study and sit still and quiet to hear his voice. … And we often close the book in frustration or confusion after reading, because we feel like we didn’t.
In services, we also look for the cloud to descend, desiring some tangible experience of the presence of God. Some of us look for a literal “shekina” to appear on the stage or leak through our Bibles. And some settle for the theatrical display, our performances producing haze in more ways than one. In all cases, our vision is clouded, and clarity is overshadowed. We want a pillar of presence, and in the pursuit, we have wandered our worship into murky territory.
Ironically, we have preferred the tangible over the substantial. Yet another reason to call it a Cloudy Spirituality. This spiritual mood exchanges mature decisiveness for nervous hesitancy, stable sober-mindedness for sentimental emotionalism. The longer we sojourn in these foggy fields, the more we slip into chasing a shadow in the mist. And, even more troubling, the more we are dissatisfied with the God who is in our midst.
Is God Really With Us?
The season of Advent crystallizes the problem. The cloudy pursuit of spiritual “presence” actually risks missing Christmas! As someone who has grown up a continuationist and happily defended this distinctive for years, there is a bitter irony in the fact that we may have withheld from ourselves and others the great gift: the revelation of Immanuel, the guarantee that God is with us through Jesus Christ, whose Spirit indwells us.
The issue is, first and foremost, one of covenantal discontinuity. Cloudy Spirituality is not the ideal God desires for us as new covenant saints. The clouds at Sinai and at the tabernacle were both a blessing and a barrier. They were a mark of the Old Covenant, of the impassibility between God’s holiness and man’s sin. The cloud meant God’s glory and presence, yes—but such that one could neither see nor enter in.
If you survey the “cloud” motif in Scripture, you’ll notice not only the awe and wonder, but also the imperfection of the cloudy presence of God in Israel. God came close; the people shrank back (Ex. 20:18–21). Moses trembled (Heb. 12:21). He was unable to enter the tent because of the cloud (Ex. 40:35), and when the temple was consecrated, God’s glory again barred his servants from coming close (1 Kings 8:10–11). The cloudy presence of God in the Old Testament was a mixed message of both blessing and judgment; just like the Old Covenant in its other facets, it clearly showed them where God was, and yet it did not make him more accessible because of their sin.
It is easy to idealize the glorious, tangible presence of the Lord, wishing we could see and experience him. But if he showed up in this way during our worship services, the wisest and holiest among us would most likely fall on their faces in fear (see Matt. 17:6; cf. Isa. 6:5).
We must ask the question: How, if it’s better to have the tangible presence of God, can Jesus say, “It is better for you that the Holy Spirit should come” (John 16:7)? How can Jesus say, “Blessed are those who do not see, and yet believe”? How can we say, on this side of the resurrection and ascension, when we have no cloud, no pillar, no physical bodily presence?
God Really Is With Us
“Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere,” Christian brothers, from charismatics to Calvinists, can all sing together with the Psalmist. Quoting him further: “No good thing does he withhold from those who walk uprightly. O Lord of hosts, blessed is the one who trusts in you!” (Ps. 84:11–12). The Cloudy Spirituality offers you a Jesus who comes and goes, a Savior who is a little less tangible than a cloud, a little less predictable than a dream. But the Advent season, the story of Christmas, the good news of the gospel, invites you to a Jesus whose promise is “I will never leave you or forsake you,” a Jesus who is utterly unchanging and is therefore utterly reliable (Heb. 13:5, 8).
Like the covenant they accompanied, the cloudy elements were passing away when they were written down for our sake. We can see clearly now, in the light of Christ’s coming and resurrection. The day has come, the light has shone upon the dark place, and the mist must remove.
The veil has been torn. The haze is erased; the cloud is dispelled. Pioneering pillars are obsolete in the Promised Land. There is no Tabernacle nor Temple we can be barred from; we are the temple, and God’s presence is with us. We do not have to “get in,” because Immanuel has. What is more, Immanuel is. And because Immanuel is what his name claims, where he dwells is the Most Holy Place. Welcome Christ through faith, and welcome into the everlasting presence of God.
Enjoy The Gift of Christmas
So, let’s be done with the cloudy spirituality. Let’s be done with foggy thinking, looking at the mist and wondering whether God’s presence and peace is staying or going, whether we need to pack up or settle in. This wavering and wondering belongs to a people still wandering. But we will not be double-minded. We have come to an unshakeable city, to an unshakeable confidence. There are no clouds here, only daylight. Where the people once followed a glorious mist, the glorious God now dwells within their midst. Foggy thinking cannot settle on the mind captured by Christ. So, let’s walk and think and decide and worship in his light.
I want to give you a gift this Christmas. I want you to enjoy the gift of Christmas. No good thing does he withhold from those who walk uprightly. We have in Christ all that we need. Spotlights will not make him more visible, and fog machines will not make him more tangible. So let’s put these flesh-ticklers away, along with all other patterns of immaturity. If we have faith in his Son, God is with us. Merry Christmas!
