Leviticus 1:1

Letters to the Faithful - Leviticus 1:1

Berean Standard Bible

Then the LORD called to Moses and spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying,

King James Bible

And the LORD called unto Moses, and spake unto him out of the tabernacle of the congregation, saying,

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To the beloved saints of God, sanctified in Christ Jesus and called to a holy calling, scattered across cities and nations, yet united by one Spirit, one faith, and one hope of our calling—grace, mercy, and peace be multiplied to you from God our Father and from the Lord Jesus Christ. I write to you concerning a foundational word that comes to us from the opening verse of a sacred and often neglected book: “The Lord called to Moses and spoke to him from the tent of meeting.”

What may seem like a simple opening, easily overlooked, is in fact a divine moment filled with weight and prophetic significance. This verse is not merely the preface to ritual instruction or ancient law; it is the voice of the living God initiating communion, issuing a summons, and drawing near to man from the very place where His glory dwells. The Lord called—not randomly, not distantly, not vaguely—but personally, directly, and with purpose. And He spoke—not in riddles or wrath, but from within the tabernacle, the meeting place He Himself had designed, the space of mercy, of revelation, and of holy encounter.

This call to Moses was not the first time God spoke to His servant, but it was a different kind of speaking. It came after the Exodus, after the covenant had been ratified, after the tabernacle had been erected according to divine pattern. It was the beginning of a new order, a new closeness, a new dimension of instruction that would teach a delivered people how to live with a holy God in their midst. The call came from within the tent of meeting, behind the veil, from above the mercy seat—where blood would be sprinkled, where atonement would be made, and where divine presence rested between the cherubim.

O beloved, what a wonder this is: that the holy God of all creation would stoop to speak to man, that He would establish a tent not to separate but to invite, not to punish but to commune. He is not silent. He is not aloof. He does not leave us to grope in the dark or to wander in ignorance. He calls. He speaks. He reveals His ways. He initiates relationship. And this truth, though ancient in its setting, is ever fresh in its application. For we too are a people delivered from bondage, called out of darkness into His marvelous light, and summoned to live in communion with the Holy One who dwells not now in a tent made by hands, but within His people by His Spirit.

In this one verse is a model for the believer’s walk: the call of God, the response of man, and the meeting place of grace. God calls still—not from Sinai, not from shadows, but through His Son, by His Word, in the secret place, in the fellowship of believers, and in the stillness of the heart that is yielded to Him. And He speaks—not in confusion, but with clarity; not in condemnation, but in covenant; not to crush, but to conform us into the image of His Son. But O how few are listening, how few are responding, how few are making room for the sacred tent of meeting in the midst of their busy lives.

Here lies the pressing application: if God is still calling, are we still listening? If He has made a way for holy encounter, are we drawing near? Or have we filled our lives with such noise, such distraction, such activity—even religious activity—that we no longer hear the voice that once called us by name? The Church today is rich in information but often poor in revelation. We have strategy but lack intimacy. We have forms of godliness but often lack the power that comes from meeting with the God who speaks.

Let every believer take this to heart: God desires to speak with you. Not just to your leaders, not just to prophets or teachers, but to you. His tent of meeting is now within you, if you are in Christ. You are the temple of the Holy Spirit. You are the dwelling place of the Most High. But His voice will not be heard in the whirlwind of worldly noise. It will not be discerned by the heart that is divided or dulled by compromise. We must make room. We must clear the inner court. We must wait by the tent and say as Moses did, “Show me Your glory.”

How do we respond, then? First, by cultivating a life of intentional presence. The tent of meeting was a designated space, not an afterthought. Let us likewise build altars in our lives—spaces and times where God’s voice has our undivided attention. Whether in the early morning watches, in the stillness of night, or in quiet breaks during the day, let us draw near to listen. Let prayer not be monologue, but dialogue. Let our Bible reading not be a ritual, but a pursuit of the One who speaks.

Second, let us respond to the voice with obedience. The words God spoke to Moses were not mere suggestions; they were the sacred laws by which the people were to live. So too must we treat His Word with reverence, not selecting what we prefer but submitting our lives to all He commands. When He calls, we must say, “Here I am.” When He speaks, we must reply, “Speak, Lord, for Your servant is listening.” And when He sends, we must go—whether into a pulpit, a workplace, a household, or a quiet life of intercession. Obedience is the fruit of true hearing.

Third, let us live as a priestly people. The entire book that follows this opening verse is a manual for worship, for offering, for drawing near. It is filled with symbols and shadows that point to the greater reality now fulfilled in Christ. Yet the principle remains: God desires a people who minister to Him first, who carry His presence, who live lives of sacrifice, holiness, and communion. We are not called to live common lives, but consecrated ones. We are not our own; we were bought with a price. Let us therefore glorify God in our bodies and in our spirits, which are His.

Beloved, let this verse be more than a historical moment; let it be a prophetic invitation. The Lord is calling. He is speaking from within the tent—not of animal skins, but of the Spirit; not from behind a veil, but from a heart open to Him. Will you enter? Will you wait? Will you respond?

May the Church in this hour return to the place of the call. May we cease striving long enough to hear again the One who alone gives life. May we tremble not at the systems of the world, but at the Word of our God. And may our lives, like Moses’, be marked not by our own greatness, but by the fact that we met with God, and He spoke to us.

To Him be all glory, power, and praise, both now and forever. Amen.

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O Holy and Majestic God, the One who dwells in unapproachable light, whose throne is established in righteousness and mercy, we come before You with trembling reverence and humbled hearts. You are the God who speaks—not as idols carved by human hands, not in vague echoes of nature, but as the living, covenant-keeping Lord who calls Your people by name. You are not silent, You are not distant, and You are not indifferent to the affairs of Your creation. You are the God who speaks with purpose, who calls with intention, and who desires communion with those You have made and redeemed.

Lord, we thank You that You are the One who initiates. Before we draw near, You call. Before we cry out, You speak. Before we understand, You reveal. In the ancient days, You called out from the tent of meeting, summoning Your servant not to a throne of judgment, but to a place of revelation and instruction. So now, Lord, we ask You to open our ears once again to the voice that speaks from the holy place—not from a tent of animal skins, but from the sanctuary of the Spirit, from the heart of a Father who longs to dwell among His people.

O God, we acknowledge how easily we have become deaf to Your voice. The clamor of this world, the noise of our own thoughts, the entanglement of sin and distraction have dulled our hearing. You have spoken, and we have missed it. You have called, and we have turned to lesser things. But today, we return. We return to the holy place, to the meeting point of heaven and earth, to the tent where Your presence dwells. And we say, speak again, Lord. Call to us. Awaken us from our slumber. Break through the veil of routine and religiosity. Let us hear the voice that still calls from the center of divine holiness.

You who spoke to Moses from the tent of meeting, speak now to Your Church. Call us out of complacency. Call us out of self-centered worship. Call us out of mechanical religion. Draw us back to the place where glory rests and fire falls. Teach us again how to approach You—not in arrogance, not in presumption, but in holy fear and burning love. Let us not bring strange fire to Your altar. Let us not offer what costs us nothing. But let us come with brokenness and contrition, with hearts laid bare before You, ready to be consumed by the fire of Your holiness and shaped by the truth of Your Word.

Lord, we ask for renewed ears to hear. We ask for hearts that tremble at Your voice. We ask for the grace to obey, not partially, not selectively, but fully—without hesitation, without delay, and without excuse. May Your voice be our command. May Your presence be our compass. May Your glory be our pursuit. Let Your call reshape our priorities. Let it reorder our days. Let it redefine what we call success. Let it confront our comfort and strip away every idol that dares to compete with Your majesty.

O God, teach us to recognize the tent of meeting in our own lives—not a structure made with human hands, but the place of encounter, the moment of stillness, the inner chamber where Your Spirit dwells. May we guard those sacred spaces with diligence. May we return to them often, not as obligation, but as privilege. And may we come expecting to hear—not just good feelings or religious thoughts, but the living voice of the God who called the worlds into being and yet still calls us by name.

We ask You to raise up a people in this hour who will answer the call. Not just those with microphones, but those with pierced hearts. Not just those with public platforms, but those with secret places. Raise up a priesthood again—not of robes and rituals, but of consecrated lives, of worshippers who carry Your presence, of intercessors who bear the burden of the people and the fragrance of heaven. Let this generation be marked by the voice they have heard—not the opinions of man, not the trends of culture, but the call that came from the tent of meeting.

Let every pastor, every teacher, every father, every mother, every young person, and every elder hear Your voice and be changed. Let us not rush past the stillness. Let us not silence the stirrings. Let us not explain away the burning within. Instead, let us draw near and respond with trembling joy: “Speak, Lord, for Your servant is listening.”

And when You speak, may we move. May we obey. May we worship with clean hands and pure hearts. May we walk with You outside the camp, bearing Your reproach, yet clinging to Your presence. May our lives become living sacrifices, our days marked by obedience, and our legacy be a generation that knew the voice of their God and followed Him wherever He led.

All glory, honor, and praise be to You, O God who still calls, who still speaks, and who still meets with those who seek Your face. Draw us in. Speak again. And may we never be the same.

In the name of the Holy One who is the Word made flesh, the living voice of God among us—Jesus the Christ—we pray.

Amen.