September 23

"So he made two doors of olive wood."—1 Kings 6:32 (R.V.).

THE very doors of the Temple—so beautiful, so rich—showed that the house was the house of God. They far outrivalled all common doors.

It is a lesson to me about what I may call the approaches, the portals, to the palace and temple of my soul. They should reveal the Lord who dwells within. Nothing about the Christian ought to be secular, profane, unconsecrated. His thresholds and gateways no less than his innermost shrines should be holy ground, rare, unearthly, strange.

There are looks on my features, which will tell whether I belong to God. The skin of my face should shine, with gladness, with sweetness, with saintliness, with the joy of that unearthly and peerless communion.

There are words of my lips, which will reveal whether the King has His residence in me. Is it easy, natural, delightful for me to speak of Him? Is my tongue like the pen of a ready writer, when He is my theme?

There are traits in my daily life which will disclose whether my Lord's authority over me is supreme and masterful. My unworldliness, my honour and chivalry, my graciousness and love: these will soon publish the marvellous and joyous fact.

There may be a beauty of holiness in the air of a room, in the serving of a meal, in the tone and material of the very clothes I wear. Horace Bushnell has said, "It is possible to dress in the Spirit." Indeed it is possible to do all things in the Spirit.

Still, as of old, the doors of the sanctuary must be of olive wood, adorned with carvings of cherubim and palm trees and open flowers.