The Road Eternal

Exodus Series: Road Construction Text: Exodus 25:10–22; Exodus 26:31–34; Genesis 3; John 1:14; 1 Peter 2:5; Hebrews 12:22–24

Exodus Series: Road Construction

Text: Exodus 25:10–22; Exodus 26:31–34; Genesis 3; John 1:14; 1 Peter 2:5; Hebrews 12:22–24

Introduction: Roadwork Ahead

When I worked in construction, we had a running joke whenever we finished a job. We’d hand the customer their new keys and say, “Don’t worry—this comes with a warranty. Five miles or five minutes, whichever comes first!” In other words, if we were already down the road or more than five minutes out of the driveway, the guarantee was void. It was our way of ribbing the customer a little, but everybody knew—it wasn’t much of a guarantee.

And isn’t that how most warranties are? Whether it’s tires, appliances, or even a freshly paved road, the fine print always shows there’s an expiration date, a limit, or a catch. Human guarantees don’t last. They’re only good until the product breaks down, and then you find out the warranty doesn’t cover what you need.

That’s not just true with stuff—it’s true of us. God built the road in Genesis in perfect righteousness. But humanity ran it off into the ditch of sin, and we’ve been living with the cracks and potholes ever since. Our best efforts, our own guarantees, can’t fix it. They don’t last.

But here’s the good news: God didn’t leave us stranded. At Sinai He gave His people a covenant, with the Ark of the Covenant and the Tabernacle as signs of His presence among them. Not patch jobs, but real grace — a way forward until the road was made complete in Christ.

I. The Road Built (Genesis and the Presence of God in Eden)

Genesis tells us the road began in Eden. God didn’t just make a world for us to live in — He made a place to walk with us. “The man and his wife heard the sound of the LORD God as He was walking in the garden in the cool of the day” (Gen. 3:8). That’s the original highway of holiness — smooth and direct, no cracks, no detours.

But when sin entered, it was like a sinkhole opened up in the middle of the highway. Instead of walking with God, humanity hid from Him. Instead of cherubim welcoming us forward, cherubim with flaming swords blocked the way (Gen. 3:24). The road was closed.

Irenaeus, one of the early church fathers, said: “The glory of God is man fully alive; and the life of man consists in beholding God.” But sin cut us off from that life. The glory of God was hidden, and humanity found itself stranded, looking for a way back.

Application: Where are you hiding today instead of walking with God? What sinkholes of sin are you avoiding, hoping no one notices? The truth is, the road we build can’t carry us home. Only God can build a new one.

II. The Road Restored (Exodus and the Tabernacle Presence)

Fast forward to Exodus 25. God tells Moses to collect gold, silver, acacia wood, fine linen, and precious stones — not for palaces, but to build Him a sanctuary: the Ark of the Covenant and the Tabernacle.

At first it reads like blueprints. But step back: God is rebuilding Eden in miniature. The lampstand shaped like almond blossoms recalls the Tree of Life. The golden cherubim echo Eden’s guardians. The Most Holy Place is a throne room, the mercy seat His dwelling.

The Hebrew word mishkan means “dwelling place.” The God who is everywhere chose to dwell somewhere — among His people.

That’s grace. The Israelites didn’t live every day with Sinai’s thunder and fire. But in the Tabernacle, they had portable holy ground. God’s presence in a tent, traveling as they traveled, stopping when they stopped.

John Wesley called this a means of grace — ordinary things, like bread, water, wood, and gold, infused with extraordinary presence. The Tabernacle wasn’t the final road, but it was a real road: grace in the wilderness, presence on the journey. And every stitch and stone pointed ahead.

Exodus 26 describes the veil: woven blue, purple, scarlet, with cherubim stitched into it. Beautiful, but also a barrier. It reminded Israel that sin still blocked the way. Only the high priest could pass through, once a year, with blood. It was a giant “Do Not Enter” sign in the house of God.

But when Jesus gave up His last breath, Matthew says the veil was torn from top to bottom (Matt. 27:51). God Himself removed the barrier. Hebrews explains: “We have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain, that is, his body” (Heb. 10:19–20).

The veil was the shadow; Christ is the substance. The detour was necessary, but the permanent highway runs straight through the cross.

Application: Where are you tempted to settle for detours — temporary fixes instead of the new and living way Christ has opened?

Transition to Section III

The Tabernacle, with its veil and its sacrifices, was God’s real presence with His people — but it was never meant to be the final word. It was grace for the wilderness, but it wasn’t Eden restored. Every lampstand, every stitch in the curtain, every drop of blood was a signpost pointing forward. It said to Israel: There’s more coming. The road isn’t finished yet.

And then, in the fullness of time, that “more” arrived. The Word became flesh. The eternal God didn’t just dwell in a tent of fabric — He dwelt in a tent of flesh and blood. In Jesus, the detour gave way to the direct route. The shadow gave way to the substance. The lasting road was laid in Him.

III. The Road Lasting (Christ, the Spirit, and the Church as God’s Dwelling)

That “something better” is Jesus. John writes: “The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us” (John 1:14). Literally: “He tabernacled among us.”

Christ is the true Ark — God’s mercy seat embodied. In Him, God’s glory isn’t hidden behind a curtain; it walks among us, touches the sick, eats with sinners, forgives the broken.

Hebrews declares: “You have not come to a mountain that can be touched and that is burning with fire… But you have come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God” (Heb. 12:18, 22). Sinai shook with fear. Zion welcomes with grace. The road of presence is no longer blocked — it runs straight through Christ.

And Peter adds: “You also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house” (1 Pet. 2:5). But notice what makes these stones living. Not our plans, not our ministries, not our own energy — it is the Spirit of the living God. The same Spirit who filled the Tabernacle with glory and fire, who raised Christ from the grave, now fills God’s people. Paul says: “Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?” (1 Cor. 3:16). Without the Spirit we are bricks in a pile. With the Spirit we are living stones, joined together into God’s dwelling place.

This is why Sunday worship matters. It is not just routine or ritual. It is an intentional encounter with the Spirit who calls us into the Holy of Holies. By grace, the veil has been torn, and in worship the Spirit ushers us before the throne of God. What happens there? We are edified — strengthened in faith, encouraged in hope. And we are consecrated — set apart and sent out to bear His presence into the world.

Worship is a glimpse of the eternal road, and the Spirit turns that glimpse into fuel for the journey. The sacred fills the common. The fire that once descended on Sinai, the glory that once filled the Temple, now rests on His people. Pentecost was the dedication service of the new tabernacle — not a building of stone, but a people of Spirit and truth.

Application: When you step into worship, do you come expecting the Spirit to move? And when you step back out, do you live as though the Spirit still goes with you? God’s design is not only that we experience His presence here, but that we become His presence there — in our neighborhoods, workplaces, and homes. The Spirit makes ordinary people holy ground. The Spirit makes the Church the living highway into God’s presence.

Conclusion: The Open Road

You remember that old joke? The five miles or five minutes guarantee. It was good for a laugh, but it wasn’t worth much when something really broke. That’s the best humanity can come up with — short-term promises with plenty of fine print.

But God’s guarantee isn’t like that. In Christ, His covenant presence isn’t limited to five miles or five minutes. It doesn’t run out when we wander, it doesn’t expire when we stumble, and it doesn’t break when life does. His Spirit abides with us forever. His grace carries us farther than we could ever walk. His road doesn’t dead-end — it leads us all the way home.

And here’s the beauty: every Sunday morning, when the Church gathers, we get to step onto that road afresh. Worship isn’t just a service — it’s an encounter. God calls His people together into His presence, and by grace we enter the Holy of Holies. Here, the veil is already torn. Here, heaven brushes earth. Here, we taste the guarantee.

What happens? We are edified — strengthened, filled, encouraged. And we are consecrated — sent out as living stones, living temples, to carry His sacred presence into the common places of our week. Worship is the preview of the eternal road, and our lives become the extension of it.

That’s the Road Eternal: built in righteousness, paved with grace, guaranteed forever by the blood of Jesus Christ. No loopholes. No fine print. No expiration. Just His presence — in worship today, in mission tomorrow, and for all eternity.