How the Gospel of John Echoes the Tabernacle
The tabernacle was no ordinary tent.
It was where heaven stooped low — where the presence of God met His people in the wilderness.
Every item, every curtain, every cubit whispered a greater story to come.
And in the Gospel of John, we watch that story unfold.
“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us…” (John 1:14)
The Greek word for “dwelt” is skēnoō — to pitch a tent, to tabernacle.
John isn’t subtle: Jesus is the true tabernacle, the embodied meeting place between God and humanity.
As John walks us through the life of Christ, we move — almost prophetically— through the architecture of the tabernacle itself.
Let’s take that journey.
The Gate: A Narrow Opening of Welcome
In the wilderness, the tabernacle had only one entrance. A single gate, facing east, stood as the only way in.
A single gate, facing east — the direction of rising light, of new beginnings. In Scripture, the east is where Eden was planted (Genesis 2:8) and from where Adam and Eve were exiled. Cherubim were placed at the east of the garden to guard the way back (Genesis 3:24).
Now, the tabernacle opens eastward, as if to say: the way is being made again. And Christ, the true Gate, stands in the east of our hearts — beckoning us not into ritual, but into restored fellowship.
In John’s Gospel, Jesus says plainly: “I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved.” (John 10:9)
There is no backdoor to God. No alternate route. He is the gate — simultaneously exclusive and inviting.
The first step into the tabernacle was always surrender. The first step into Christ is no different.
The Bronze Altar: Where Mercy Burned Bright
Bronze in Scripture is the metal of judgment and endurance — resilient under fire, unyielding in the face of heat. The Bronze Altar, standing just inside the gate, bore the weight of daily sacrifice. It was where sin met justice — and mercy answered with flame.
John doesn’t wait long to draw the connection. At the Jordan River, John the Baptist declares: “Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29)
But John draws our eyes to another bronze figure, lifted high in the wilderness: “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up…” (John 3:14)
In Numbers 21, the people were healed by looking at a bronze serpent — a symbol of the very curse that afflicted them.
And at the very climax of John’s Gospel, that Lamb is lifted up on a Roman cross.
At the same hour, the Passover lambs were being slaughtered in the temple courts, Jesus breathes His last.
In John, the curse is once again raised — this time in the form of a crucified Savior.
Bronze judged sin; Christ bore it.
What once stood as a symbol of judgment now becomes a fountain of healing.
And all who look upon Him — lifted high, enduring wrath — will live.
The altar isn’t gone — it has moved.
And its fire now burns in the heart of a Savior who gave Himself freely.
The Bronze Laver: Waters That Cleanse and Transform
Before entering the Holy Place, priests washed at the laver — bronze basin filled with water, reflecting their face, and washing their hands.
John immerses us in living water:
- At Cana, water set aside for ritual cleansing is turned into wine — joy over ritual (John 2).
- To Nicodemus: “Unless one is born of water and the Spirit…” (John 3:5)
- At the well: “Whoever drinks of the water that I will give… it will become a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (John 4:14)
- At the table: Jesus kneels to wash His disciples’ feet (John 13).
He is both priest and laver — cleansing not only hands, but hearts.
In Him, the laver becomes alive. He is both priest and basin — pouring Himself out to purify not just bodies, but souls.
And in the Epistles, the imagery deepens:
“He saved us through the washing of regeneration and renewal by the Holy Spirit” (Titus 3:5)
“Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her, to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word” (Ephesians 5:26)
“Let us draw near with a true heart… having our bodies washed with pure water” (Hebrews 10:22)
The water is no longer outside of us. It flows within. The one who believes becomes a vessel for living water, a tabernacle where Christ dwells. Reflection becomes renewal. And ritual becomes resurrection.
The Lampstand: Light in the Holy Place
The golden lampstand burned continually, its flames never extinguished. It stood in the Holy Place — not by a window, not near natural light — but casting its own glow, day and night. It illuminated the table of bread, revealed the incense rising, and pointed the way inward, toward deeper holiness.
In John’s Gospel, light is not merely metaphor — it is movement, revelation, and life itself.
John begins with a cosmic proclamation: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5)
Not past tense — shines. It is still shining.
Jesus later declares, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows Me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” (John 8:12)
In John 9, He brings sight to a man born blind — not only opening his eyes, but awakening his soul.
No longer in shadows, the man sees both the world and the One who formed it.
This is no flickering temple flame.
This is the eternal Light that spoke the world into being now walking among men — unbending, unquenched, unstoppable.
And just as the lampstand revealed the bread within the Holy Place, so Christ reveals the true Bread of Life. Just as it lit the way forward, so He leads us from glory to glory.
The lamp was never meant to light itself.
Its oil came from crushed olives — daily, poured in. And Christ, too, was crushed that we might shine.
Now He calls us not only to walk in the light, but to be the light.
A lamp placed on a stand. A city set on a hill.
And the flame burns on.
The Table of Showbread: A Feast of Fellowship
In the Holy Place stood a table with twelve loaves of bread — one for each tribe of Israel. Every Sabbath, the loaves were renewed, a symbol of God’s unceasing provision and covenant faithfulness. The bread was not for display alone — it was communion food, consumed by the priests in the presence of God. This was more than nourishment; it was nearness.
And then we come to John 6.
A hungry crowd. A wilderness setting. Five loaves and two fish offered. Jesus takes, blesses, breaks, and multiplies. Thousands eat and are filled, with baskets left over. But He doesn’t stop at full stomachs. He reveals the deeper hunger:
“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to Me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in Me shall never thirst.” (John 6:35)
The twelve loaves once stood for a people sustained by God. Now the Bread of Heaven offers Himself to every tribe and tongue, broken and given so none may hunger again.
In the tabernacle, the bread was laid out in order, in rows before the Presence. In the Gospel, the Bread walks among us — living, speaking, satisfying. He is not just a provision. He is the Provider.
And when He breaks the bread at the Last Supper, He does not merely feed His disciples — He offers Himself.
Here is bread that never grows stale.
Here is the presence that never leaves the table.
Here is communion, renewed eternally in Christ.
The Altar of Incense: Prayers That Rise Like Smoke
In front of the veil stood a golden altar, where incense burned morning and evening — a fragrant offering that rose with the prayers of the people.
It was unseen by most, but its scent filled the Holy Place. The smoke curled upward, bridging heaven and earth, an emblem of longing and mercy.
In John’s Gospel, Jesus intercedes not with smoke, but with speech: “I am not praying for the world, but for those whom You have given Me…” (John 17:9)
This is the true High Priest — offering not a symbol, but a soul.
In John 17, on the eve of His suffering, Jesus lifts His eyes and begins to pray.
For the disciples at His side.
For all who would one day believe.
For unity. For joy. For glory.
Each word rises like incense, not from an altar of gold, but from a heart poured out. He stands in the gap, bridging what no earthly priest could.
The altar of incense was tended daily, its coals drawn from the brazen altar — fire from sacrifice fueling intercession. And so it is with Christ: His prayers are fueled by His wounds.
The incense rises still. His intercession has not ceased.
Even now, He prays for us.
And the fragrance of His faithfulness fills the heavens.
The Veil: Torn From Top to Bottom
The veil kept the Holy of Holies hidden — guarding the place where God’s glory dwelled. Thick and richly woven, it was a barrier between God and man, entered only once a year by the high priest, and only with blood.
John does not describe the veil tearing — but he shows us its fulfillment.
When Jesus cries out, “It is finished,” (John 19:30), the earth trembles. And from His pierced side flows blood and water — the symbols of atonement and cleansing.
The writer of Hebrews tells us that His flesh is the veil (Hebrews 10:20). When it was torn — through suffering, through death — the way to God opened wide. No longer only for priests, but for all who would draw near.
The curtain that once kept us out now lies in ruins. The barrier is broken. The way is made.
And the Holy of Holies? It isn’t hidden anymore.
It has stepped into the light.
Christ Himself is the dwelling place of glory. And in Him, we are welcomed in.
Related Selah Space Article: Christ: The Great High Priest
The Ark of the Covenant: Mercy and Presence Revealed
Inside the Holy of Holies stood the Ark — God’s throne on earth. It was not empty. Inside were reminders of His covenant: the stone tablets of the law, a jar of manna, and Aaron’s rod that budded. Above it, two cherubim faced one another over the mercy seat, where blood was sprinkled and God’s presence descended.
And then, in John 20:12, Mary peers into the empty tomb.
She sees two angels — one at the head and one at the foot of where Jesus had lain.
It’s the new mercy seat — not of gold, but of stone. Not covered with animal blood, but with the offering of the eternal Son.
God’s presence no longer hovers over a box. He walked in gardens. He spoke Mary’s name. And now, He meets us in our weeping.
John already prepares us for this moment. Back in chapter 1, Jesus tells Nathanael: “You will see heaven opened, and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man.” (John 1:51)
He is Jacob’s ladder — the meeting point of heaven and earth.
What Jacob once saw in a dream — a staircase bridging the dust of the ground with the throne of glory — is now embodied in Christ.
In Christ, mercy is no longer a place. It is a Person.
And that Person has stepped out of the tomb. The lid is off the Ark. The glory has risen.
He calls us by name.
And we know: the Presence is here to stay.
A Journey Fulfilled
The Gospel of John leads us from the bronze altar to the mercy seat, from water jars to torn veils — the architecture of heaven within a single life.
He is the Gate, the Lamb, the Laver, the Light.
The Bread, the Intercessor, the Veil, the Mercy Seat.
The Presence we could never reach — come down to reach us.
Every miracle, every sign, every conversation echoes a deeper invitation:
The tabernacle has taken on flesh.
And He dwells among us still.
The journey does not end at the tomb.
It begins again in the garden.
Just as it did in Genesis.
There, in Eden, God walked with His people in the cool of the day.
Sin drove them eastward, away from His presence.
But now, in another garden — at dawn — He walks again.
Risen. Calling by name. Restoring what was lost.
The Gardener has returned.
The exile is ending.
The veil is torn, the mercy seat is empty, and the gates of Eden are open wide.
And in every heart that hears Him call their name, the tabernacle rises anew.
Reflection
- As you consider the tabernacle’s layout — beginning at the gate and moving inward — where do you find yourself in your walk with God? Are you lingering at the altar, being washed at the laver, or stepping into deeper places of communion?
- The veil has been torn, and access to God is open. Are there places in your heart still guarded, as if the veil remains? What would it look like to step boldly into the Holy of Holies today?
- Each element of the tabernacle reveals an aspect of Christ — sacrifice, cleansing, light, bread, prayer, presence. Which of these do you most need to encounter right now? Which feels distant or unfamiliar?
- Mary met the risen Christ in a garden outside the empty tomb, a space echoing Eden and the Holy of Holies. What might it mean for you to meet God not only in sacred rituals, but in the quiet gardens of your daily life?
- The tabernacle ends in God’s presence resting above the mercy seat. Do you see your life as a dwelling place for His presence? How might you make more room for Him to rest, speak, and be known in your midst?
Side Note
Some scholars suggest that John’s seven signs (miracles) mirror tabernacle progression:
- Water to wine (John 2) — Transformation begins (purification jars).
- Healing official’s son (John 4) — Life begins to flow.
- Healing at Bethesda (John 5) — Jesus is the pool; not just ritual.
- Feeding 5,000 (John 6) — Bread of life revealed.
- Walking on water (John 6) — Sovereignty over chaos.
- Healing the blind man (John 9) — Light given to the blind.
- Raising Lazarus (John 11) — Life over death; doorway to glory.
Then John 13–17 moves into Holy Place territory: Jesus serves, teaches, and prays.
John 18–20 is Holy of Holies: the Passion, the Veil torn, the Ark revealed, and the tomb-turned-throne.
Originally published on Medium. Reposted with the author’s permission. All rights reserved.
