There’s something profoundly inviting about a table that’s already set. The moment you walk in—before a word is spoken or a meal served—you feel it without needing to hear it: “I’m wanted here.” You weren’t an afterthought. You were expected. When the napkins are folded, the candles lit, and the aroma of dinner fills the room—you know someone’s been preparing. That’s not just hospitality. That’s intentionality. And that’s how God reveals Himself in Scripture.
God is a gracious Host who prepares places before He fills them. In the opening pages of Genesis, this pattern unfolds with poetic clarity. On Days 1 through 3, God forms the environments—light and darkness, sky and sea, land and vegetation. Then on Days 4 through 6, He places the inhabitants into the spaces He already prepared—sun, moon, and stars; birds and fish; animals and, finally, humans (Genesis 1:1–31). He doesn’t fill before He forms. He doesn’t place before He prepares. God always sets the table before He seats the guest.
Even His rest on the seventh day follows this pattern. He didn’t withdraw. He took His seat. The Host wasn’t retreating—He was reigning. Eden was a sanctuary, a garden-temple where the glory of God walked with His image-bearers (Genesis 2:1–3; Psalm 132:7–8). Humanity was made to dwell with Him.
That same rhythm echoes through every chapter of redemption. Before God filled the Tabernacle with His presence, He gave Moses every inch of its blueprint (Exodus 25:8–9). Before the Temple was built, He revealed its design to David (1 Chronicles 28:11–19). Even the Incarnation followed this pattern. Before the Word took on flesh, the Spirit prepared a womb (Luke 1:30–35; John 1:14). In God’s divine hospitality, preparation always precedes presence.
But the human hearts within Eden didn’t abide in what was holy. The very soul God had shaped to host His glory became a space of rebellion. Adam and Eve believed the serpent’s lie—that they could be like God without God. And in that moment, the sanctuary’s light was dimmed. Scripture reveals what humanity, in the line of Adam, would go on to repeat: “They exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images…” (Romans 1:23). “Your iniquities have made a separation between you and your God…” (Isaiah 59:2). The sanctuary didn’t shatter from the outside—it crumbled when human hearts chose independence over communion.
Yet even then, the Host didn’t walk away. He remained faithful when we were faithless (2 Timothy 2:13). Before Creation was ever commanded, its Redeemer had already been waiting. “The Lamb was slain from the foundation of the world” (Revelation 13:8). The Trinity wasn’t caught off guard. The Father was choosing. The Son was offering. The Spirit was hovering. The Host wasn’t improvising grace; He was unveiling a covenant echoing from eternity past (Ephesians 1:4–5).
And then, in God's perfect timing, the mystery was unveiled. Paul says it this way: “To them God chose to make known how great among the Gentiles are the riches of the glory of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory” (Colossians 1:27). Christ in you. Not beside you. Not around you. Not a visitor, but a resident. The Son of God doesn’t show up with a weekend bag. He abides within.
He transforms our heart of flesh into a new creation. This new heart becomes a sanctuary where His Spirit can live. “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you…?” (1 Corinthians 6:19). This is more than literary imagery. “You have been rescued from the domain of darkness, and transferred to the kingdom of His Beloved Son” (Colossians 1:13). You’ve been relocated from ruin to righteousness. Not only with Christ, but in Christ. And Christ in you. “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (2 Corinthians 5:17). You are a place prepared. You were made to house the glory of God’s only Son.
But even after the Spirit moves in, we’re tempted to treat Jesus like a hotel guest. We give Him access to the living room but not the attic. We welcome Him with polite smiles but limit His stay. We schedule a quiet checkout without even realizing it. But Jesus didn’t die to be your guest. He rose to be your Redeemer. “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Galatians 2:20).
Have you handed Him the key, but kept certain doors locked? The ones labeled fear… or shame… or just easier not to open? He’s not asking for a quick tour. He came to take up residence and reign. Because when Christ dwells in you, He doesn’t just forgive what was—He begins transforming what is, so you can walk into what will be. “We all… are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another” (2 Corinthians 3:18)
So let’s step back and see the pattern. From gardens to tents, from womb to tomb, from temple stones to living hearts—the Host has always been preparing a place. And now, that place is you. And the inhabitant? Jesus, the Son of the Living God.
But the story doesn’t end with Christ in you. It pushes forward to the next phrase: “the hope of glory.” Just as God prepared Eden for Adam and the Tabernacle for His presence, Christ is preparing you for your final placement: the New Creation. “I go to prepare a place for you… that where I am, you may be also” (John 14:2–3).
Glory isn’t God rescuing you from the world—it’s God placing you into the world as it was always meant to be. “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man” (Revelation 21:3) That’s not poetic license. That’s your future abode. One day, the table will be fully set and the gates will open wide. And the One who dwells in you now will welcome you into the home He’s been preparing from the beginning.
That’s the hope of glory. Not wishful thinking nor sentiment; but the certainty that the One who began this work in you will finish it. “He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Chris.” (Philippians 1:6).
So if you’re wondering today whether God still wants to be near you, don’t just look to Eden. Look to the cross. Look to the empty tomb. And hear this:
The mystery of Christ in you has become the mission of Christ through you.
He has prepared your heart to be His home.
Now, let every room be His.