Category: Ezekiel

Her Own Tent, or His Dwelling Place?

Brent Pollard

Why Ezekiel 23 Is Still Relevant Today

Some Scripture, like Ezekiel 23, is similar to opening a furnace door. You are met with scorching heat and flame, not pleasantries. The pictures God paints are fierce and even shocking. God calls Samaria and Jerusalem “two sisters” who are “unfaithful,” revealing the spiritual adultery of Israel and Judah. This chapter is full of judgment, sorrow, betrayal, and holy indignation. We need to fully understand and feel the depth of God’s anger and heartbreak.

God doesn’t give just a symbol. He tells a tragic story about spiritual infidelity. Those whom He loved and nurtured turned their backs on Him to chase after paramours. There is a sobering revelation in the sisters’ names that you cannot ignore: even as Jerusalem played the harlot, her very name served as a reminder that God’s dwelling place was supposed to be within her.

The names of the two sisters are Oholah and Oholibah.

Samaria, the northern kingdom, is called Oholah, or “her own tent.” Jerusalem is Oholibah, meaning “My tent is in her.” The linguistic shift is critical because it exposes the root of their sins: while Samaria operated under self-governed worship, Jerusalem betrayed an actual divine indwelling.

Israel strayed from the path God had chosen, establishing rival shrines at Dan and Bethel to forge a separate religious identity under the rival king, Jeroboam. Oholah chose her own way, yet this separation did not exempt her from wrath. Conversely, Judah stuck with the kingly lineage of the man after God’s own heart, maintained the temple and the ordinances of God’s presence. Thus, Oholibah could rightly claim that the divine Council dwelt directly within her borders, rather than remaining at a distance.

The privilege of hosting God’s presence sharpened the distinction. But for Oholibah, that very honor made her unfaithfulness worse than her sister’s. The contrast is not simply about privilege but about the growing burden of responsibility and guilt.

When Holy Privileges Become Heavy Guilt

Ezekiel 23 demonstrates that proximity to holy things is not the same as true holiness. You can live by a river and die of thirst. Judah had God’s altar and name, but her heart pined for idols. The most dangerous place sometimes is an empty pew with a wandering heart.

You can be devoted to all kinds of things and not be in agreement with God. Everyone puts up a tent, but it matters whose tent it is and who lives in it.

The Temple of God Is Not of Stone

This truth deeply informs the New Testament. In this new covenant, God’s presence is no longer confined to a stone temple in Jerusalem but now dwells within His people. He underlines this by reminding the church, “Don’t you know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?” (1 Corinthians 3:16). He also asserts, “Your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you” (1 Corinthians 6.19).

Think about that for a moment: the God whom even heaven itself cannot contain (1 Kings 8.27) chooses to live in redeemed people. We were made to carry His presence and to rejoice in Him alone, not just to know about God. God still separates the outwardly religious from those in whom He truly dwells.

How Do You Enter God’s Presence? The answer from Acts 2:38.

This difference is not based on emotions, background, sincerity, or spiritual claims. The line is drawn in the New Testament by entrance into Christ. On Pentecost, the convicted asked, “What shall we do?” Peter did not send them off on private religious quests. He said, “Repent and be baptized in the name of Jesus for forgiveness. And you will receive the Holy Spirit” (Acts 2.38). The promise is simple: forgiveness and Spirit.

Baptism is not an empty rite. It’s the transition from the old life to the new life in Christ. Through baptism we are joined with His death, buried with Him, and raised to live anew (Romans 6.3–4). “For all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ” (Galatians 3.27). God’s presence dwells in us only in Christ.

The Holy Spirit: God’s Pledge, Seal, and Guarantee

Paul uses marketplace language for a treasure in heaven. God “sealed us and put the Spirit in our hearts as a pledge” (2 Corinthians 1.22). Jesus’ followers are “marked with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is the pledge of our inheritance” (Ephesians 1:13–14). The Spirit is our guarantee, an indication of what God still has for us. Earnest money guarantees a sale; the Spirit guarantees our inheritance. God has put heaven into us, as His bond, promising to bring us home.

Being a Christian isn’t just choosing a religion like choosing a hobby or neighborhood. Rather, a Christian is one in whom God dwells. There is no greater honor and joy on earth than to be the home of the Almighty.

Living Like the Temple You Were Born

Ezekiel reminds us that we must not make light of this truth. Oholibah kept the house of God, but lived for another. This is a warning to us. God’s presence is not an invitation to complacency, but to holiness. The Spirit comforts us and guarantees our inheritance, but He is also the Holy Spirit who leads us into holy living through Providence and the Word.

We have to face this truth every day. We cannot say “God dwells in me” and make peace with idols at the same time. We cannot take the old tent and re-arrange it to follow Christ. Simply rearranging things is not repentance. Sin cannot be a welcome guest in the temple of God. A temple is only for one thing: to honor the One Who fills it.

Leave Your Own Tent.

The question Ezekiel 23 asks is not just, “Which sister are you?” Its message questions us: Is God really dwelling in you, or are you still clinging to your own tent, the confines of your self-made faith? If you have His Spirit dwelling in you, are you living in all things as the temple of God? This is the ongoing problem and main point of Ezekiel 23.

The gospel does not call us to set up our own tents and ask God’s blessing. Rather, it calls us out of our own tent, into Christ. In baptism, sins are washed away, the old self dies, new life starts, and the Spirit is given. The Christian life is not a life of self-will, but of becoming a proper vessel for the Lord.

Oholah tells us not to make religion in our image. Oholibah is an example of how enjoying sacred privileges cannot excuse unholy living. Christ calls us higher. To be wholly His. Washed. Sealed. Indwelt. Sanctified. God has not been distant; He has placed His Spirit in us as a guarantee.

Let us not retreat into our tents, but live as those in whom God dwells, carrying His presence with intentionality, showing His holiness in all we do, and showing the world what it means to be truly His. Let our lives be temples, not only honored by His presence but changed by it, boldly announcing: God lives here.

“Son of Man”: Ezekiel, Jesus, and the Pattern of Prophetic Humility

God repeatedly reminds Ezekiel that he is not superhuman. He is a mortal man, chosen to carry the very words of God to a rebellious and hard-hearted people. His identity itself—son of man—becomes a walking testimony to humility.

Brent Pollard

When God called Ezekiel to his prophetic ministry, He chose not to address him by name, but by a title that would echo through the corridors of time: “Son of Man.” Ezekiel heard this title over ninety times from God’s lips throughout the book that bears his name. The Hebrew, ben adam, means “descendant of man” or “human one.” At first glance, it might seem like a poetic flourish. Since the title “son of man” is intentionally repeated and later used by Jesus of Nazareth, we should pause and ask: Why did He choose this title for both figures?

Isaiah may rightly bear the title “Messianic Prophet” for his remarkable prophecies of Christ’s birth, suffering, and coming reign (Isaiah 7.14; 9.6; 53). But Ezekiel’s role as “son of man” unveils something equally profound—it foreshadows the very form the Messiah would take, especially in His humble incarnation and prophetic ministry.

A Title That Humbles and Separates

Adam Clarke observed with penetrating insight that this term serves to humble Ezekiel, preventing him from being exalted in his mind because of the extraordinary revelations granted to him. Here is God’s gentle yet firm reminder of Ezekiel’s frailty and mortality—set against the backdrop of those overwhelming divine visions, particularly that awe-inspiring glimpse of the Almighty’s throne in Ezekiel 1. Matthew Henry echoes this truth, observing that despite the abundance of revelations, Ezekiel remains “a son of man, a mean, weak, mortal creature.”

God repeatedly reminds Ezekiel that he is not superhuman. He is a mortal man, chosen to carry the very words of God to a rebellious and hard-hearted people. His identity itself—son of man—becomes a walking testimony to humility.

John Gill observes deeper significance in this choice, noting that this title connects Ezekiel to the coming Christ. He points out that “this is a name which our Lord frequently took to himself in his state of humiliation” and that “the reason of it is, because he was an eminent type of Christ.” Thus, “son of man” becomes more than humiliation—it points forward to the One who would perfectly embody both human weakness and divine mission.

Prophetic Suffering and True Representation

Beyond its humbling power, the term “son of man” positions Ezekiel as one who truly represents his people. He stands not as an outsider hurling judgment from afar, but as a fellow exile (Ezekiel 1.1-3). God called Ezekiel to speak as one of them—and more, to suffer in symbolic ways that would paint vivid pictures of their coming condition (Ezekiel 4–5).

Burton Coffman observes that Ezekiel’s very actions embodied the message he delivered: lying upon his side for appointed days, shaving his head with a sword, cooking with defiled fuel, refusing to mourn when his beloved wife died—each act a living parable of Israel’s approaching judgment. In this suffering service, Ezekiel points forward to a greater Prophet yet to come, One who would bear not symbolic griefs but actual sorrows, not representative suffering but substitutionary sacrifice.

Daniel’s Vision: The Title Transformed

In Daniel 7.13-14, something remarkable happens. “Son of Man” takes on entirely different colors. Daniel sees in his night visions “one like a son of man” coming with the clouds of heaven, receiving dominion that shall never pass away. What a contrast! Ezekiel’s “son of man” is lowly, suffering, and representative of human weakness. Daniel’s “Son of Man” is exalted, glorious, clothed with eternal authority.

Yet both point toward the same magnificent Person: Jesus Christ. In the Gospels, our Lord refers to Himself as “the Son of Man” more than eighty times—more than any other title He claims. In taking this name, Jesus gathers up both streams—Ezekiel’s humble suffering and Daniel’s eternal glory.

Jesus bears the full weight of human suffering, as Ezekiel did in shadow and type. Yet He also inherits that eternal kingdom promised in Daniel’s soaring vision.

Ezekiel: Pattern of the Incarnate Christ

Here then is the glory of it: if Isaiah introduces us to the person and mission of the coming Messiah, Ezekiel shows us the very form He would take—a suffering servant, fully human, yet burning with divine purpose. The constant repetition of “son of man” in Ezekiel prepares our hearts to recognize the breathtaking paradox of the incarnation itself—God in human flesh, humble yet holy, obedient unto death, acquainted with our griefs (Isaiah 53.3; Philippians 2.5-8).

Jesus, the true and ultimate Son of Man, fulfilled every aspect of Ezekiel’s prophecy, not only through His words but also through His life. He was the ideal representative of all people, carrying God’s final message as well as everyone’s sins.

Conclusion: The Seed of Eternal Purpose

It was not God’s caprice leading him to employ the phrase “son of man” to reference Ezekiel. The expression was a designation of Ezekiel’s humanity, prophetic duty, and role as the people’s representative. Yet, we understand it also served as a divinely planted seed, preparing hearts and minds to understand the Messiah—not only as conquering King and eternal Savior, but as One who would walk among us in perfect humility and carry all our sorrows.

In this “son of man,” we glimpse the wisdom of our God, who chooses frail vessels for eternal purposes—and who, when the fullness of time had come, became one Himself.

“Son of Man” represents grace beyond measure since the God calling a mortal man by that title would Himself take it for Himself, taking our nature and our place—that we might share in His glory forever.

Off Your Face & On Your Feet (Part 2)

Dale Pollard

Six hundred years before Christ would make His providential appearance, a righteous man finds himself in captivity. While exiled, Ezekiel was able to witness the spirit of God in a very intimate way. Even so, he was still living under the thumb of the Babylonians just like every other Israelite with him. Even while living in these unideal circumstances he is privileged to see awe inspiring visions from God. 

After years spent with no success or response from his people, Ezekiel has become frustrated with the fact that Israel won’t listen to him or Him. He’s lost hope in their ability to change— they’re just too far gone. Chapter nineteen is one long lament as Ezekiel cries over his hard-hearted Israelite brothers. Why won’t they listen to him? Even after Ezekiel performs some radical visual illustrations like eating his bread over dung and laying on his side for an entire year, they won’t respond to the “invitation.” God never abandons His faithful servant but His confused prophet is still left to wonder what God is going to do about the mess which makes up his reality. A familiar feeling for Christians to this day.  

At this low point Ezekiel is then taken even lower. God takes him to the bottom of a valley where piled on its floor is— death. Heaps of dry human bones; not belonging to strangers but of fellow Israelites. He may have wondered why God decided to bring him to such a terrible place. Maybe his view of God was an embittered one and so he wasn’t that surprised. After all, God allowed him to endure misery from the beginning of his prophetic ministry. He faced more hardship than even the godless captives that he was called to preach to. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been too out of character, in Ezekiel’s mind, for God to now bring him into a valley of bones. 

God asks His servant a question, “Can these dry bones live again?” Ezekiel’s response isn’t one of confidence and certainty but rather a safe, “O Lord, only you know.”  

The God of Resurrection doesn’t bring the vast pile of Israelite bones to life in the blink of an eye— though we know He could have. Instead, He allows Ezekiel to hear the bones, flesh, and sinews as they rattled (literally, rumbled) together (37.7).  He wanted the “Son of man” to see and hear His hand at work in a way that was and is— unforgettable. God’s desire was to leave a lasting impression on Ezekiel and to demonstrate the might of the Almighty. Ezekiel didn’t know how God brought the bones to life, but he knew God did it. You may not understand why God has allowed you to enter your valley, but you can be certain that He has the power to see you through it. 

Off Your Face And On Your Feet

Dale Pollard

The God whose presence will bring us to our knees, is also the God who sets us on our feet. 

That stormy wind, felt by the prophet on the banks of the Chebar river, carried with it sights, sounds, feelings, and tastes, allowing us to experience God in a profound way. The text demands our attention like the very voice of the Almighty (v.24), an appropriate name for God that’s found repeatedly in Ezekiel. From the first chapter it becomes clear that if the Spirit hadn’t breathed through the prophet and guided his pen, these preserved glimpses into the spiritual realm would not have been possible. The liberal use of words and phrases such as, appearance, then I saw, then I  looked, it’s likeness, it was likened to, sounded like, then I heard, it felt as if, the taste was like— all these attempt to describe the indescribable so that the earthly reader may vaguely comprehend them.

God first appeared to Ezekiel as a rainbow in the midst of a great storm. The symbolism is one that reminds us that God’s promise will remain even in the midst of peril. At the sight of His glory the prophet would fall on his face. God’s response is a command, “son of man, stand on your feet” (1.28). That term “son of man” is a telling one. It highlights Ezekiel’s humanity and in the presence of the Almighty— the contrast is a sharp one. It’s obvious that he can’t stand on his own so the Spirit enters into him and sets him on his feet (2.2). 

That act of raising up one who otherwise couldn’t is a thematic one; showing up again in the valley of the dry bones. This time, God doesn’t raise a single living man to his feet, He brings up the dead by the thousands. The Author writes, “…the breath came into them, and they lived and stood on their feet, an exceedingly great army.” God demonstrates that He can lift up one, and He can also lift up every one. How long a person has been spiritually dead or how decomposed sin has turned a Christ-less corpse—  doesn’t matter. The God whose presence will bring us to our knees, is also the God who sets us on our feet.