I was worshipping the other night all by myself in my room, and I asked the Holy Spirit to come. As I did, it struck me:
The Holy Spirit I ask to come when I'm worshipping alone, or whom we ask to come when we're worshipping corporately, is the same God who dwelt in the Holy of Holies in the Temple of the Old Testament. The high priest was the only one who could go in there without being killed, and even he could only do so once a year, after all the appropriate sacrifices and rituals had been made, or he would die.
This is the same God whose presence came on Mt. Sinai in such a terrifying way that the people begged God not to speak to them anymore, and who told them that if even an animal touched the mountain, it would die.
This is the God whom I invite into my body and into my presence when I worship.
And it's safe. It's ok. And he comes. Every time.
Because Jesus broke down the veil. Because he paid the price. Because he made a way. And now, by this same Spirit we have access to the Father. His presence. His love. His power. Me, a little blue-jeans-clad girl worshipping by herself in her room, can enjoy this Spirit freely without price and no fear.
I love the New Testament.