When the Glory Leaves the Building.
Ezekiel 10 — The moment God gets up and walks out of His own Temple
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Ezekiel 10 — The moment God gets up and walks out of His own Temple
8 min read
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This chapter is one of the most devastating scenes in the entire Old Testament — and one of the strangest. is watching a vision of the , and what he sees isn't rescue. It's departure. God's visible, overwhelming presence — the Glory that had filled Temple centuries earlier — is getting up and walking out.
But the way it happens is extraordinary. The creatures carrying God's throne are unlike anything you've ever imagined. The imagery is disorienting on purpose. isn't trying to sound weird — he's a man straining to describe something human language wasn't built for. And at the center of all this strangeness is a simple, devastating reality: God's people pushed Him out, and now He's leaving.
looked up — and above the , above the expanse stretching over their heads, there was something that looked like a sapphire. Not just any sapphire. A throne.
Then above the Cherubim, on the expanse over their heads, there appeared something like a sapphire — and it looked like a throne. And a voice said to the man dressed in linen, "Go in among the whirling wheels underneath the Cherubim. Fill your hands with burning coals from between the Cherubim, and scatter them over the city."
And the man went in, right before Ezekiel's eyes.
Let that image settle for a moment. Burning coals — the same kind of that represented God's and purification throughout — are being scooped up from between the very creatures who carry God's presence. And the command is to scatter them over . This isn't a warm blessing. This is . The city that was supposed to be the center of God's presence on earth is about to be consumed by the Fire that comes from that very presence.
As the man in linen entered, the scene became almost unbearable:
The Cherubim were standing on the south side of the Temple when the man went in. A cloud filled the inner court. The Glory of the Lord rose from above the cherub to the threshold of the house — and the entire Temple was filled with the cloud, while the courtyard blazed with the brightness of the Glory of the Lord.
The sound of the Cherubim's wings could be heard all the way to the outer court — like the voice of God Almighty when He speaks.
Think about what's happening here. The of God — the visible weight of His presence — moved from its position above the to the threshold. The doorway. Like someone standing in the frame of a door, about to leave a house they've lived in for generations. The cloud that once signified God moving in is now covering His exit. And the sound? It wasn't quiet. The whole building shook with it. When God moves, you know.
Now watch how the burning coals were actually transferred. It's strangely personal:
When the command came to the man in linen — "Take Fire from between the whirling wheels, from between the Cherubim" — he went in and stood beside one of the wheels. Then one of the Cherubim reached out its hand into the Fire that burned between them, scooped some of the coals, and placed them into the hands of the man in linen. He took them and went out.
Underneath their wings, the Cherubim had what looked like human hands.
That detail at the end stops you. Human hands. These overwhelming, otherworldly creatures — guardians of God's — had hands that looked like yours. The of passed from a hand to a man's hand. God's holiness isn't abstract. It's tangible enough to hold. And in this case, tangible enough to rain down on a city that had turned its back on the One who lived there.
This is the part that makes people's imaginations run wild — and for good reason. did his best to describe what he saw:
Beside the Cherubim were four wheels — one beside each creature — and they sparkled like beryl. All four looked identical, as if a wheel were set inside another wheel. They could move in any of their four directions instantly, without turning. Wherever the front wheel faced, the others followed — no turning, no hesitation.
And their entire structure — rims, spokes, wings, and wheels — was covered with eyes. Eyes everywhere. All around.
Ezekiel heard them called "the whirling wheels."
This is where you have to resist the urge to explain it away or domesticate it. These wheels move in every direction simultaneously without turning. They're covered in eyes. They spin within each other. It's designed to be overwhelming. The point isn't "what kind of vehicle is this?" The point is: God's movement is beyond anything we can track, predict, or contain. He sees everything — the eyes aren't decoration. He goes everywhere — the wheels aren't for show. And His motion is so far beyond ours that the best a trained can do is say "it was like a wheel within a wheel."
Now looked more carefully at the creatures themselves — and something clicked:
Each one had four faces. The first was the face of a cherub, the second a human face, the third a lion's face, and the fourth an eagle's.
Then the Cherubim rose. And Ezekiel realized — these were the same living creatures he had seen in his first vision by the Chebar canal.
When the Cherubim moved, the wheels moved with them. When they lifted their wings to rise from the ground, the wheels stayed right beside them — never separating. When they stopped, the wheels stopped. When they rose, the wheels rose. Because the spirit of the living creatures was inside the wheels.
Here's what's remarkable. had seen these beings before — back in chapter 1, when he was sitting by a canal in , in , watching the tear open. That first vision was overwhelming and confusing. Now he's seeing them again, in the , doing the same thing — carrying the throne of God. But this time, they're carrying it out. Same creatures. Same God. Same throne. Different direction. The God who showed up to Ezekiel in exile is the same God now departing . He isn't bound to one building. He goes where He chooses.
And then it happened. The moment the whole chapter has been building toward:
The Glory of the Lord moved from the threshold of the Temple and stood over the Cherubim. They lifted their wings, rose from the ground right before Ezekiel's eyes, and moved — with the wheels beside them — to the entrance of the east gate of the house of the Lord. The Glory of the God of Israel hovered over them.
These were the living creatures Ezekiel had seen beneath the God of Israel by the Chebar canal. Now he knew — they were Cherubim. Each had four faces and four wings, with human hands beneath their wings. Their faces were the same ones he had seen before. Each one moved straight forward.
Let this land. The of God — the presence that had filled this with such intensity that couldn't even stand up when it first arrived — was now at the east gate. Pausing. Hovering. Not rushing. Almost as if giving the city one last look before leaving.
And stood there watching it happen.
There's something here that's uncomfortably relevant. We tend to assume God's presence is automatic — that because He was here yesterday, He'll be here tomorrow. That a building, a tradition, a nation, or a life can keep running on spiritual autopilot. assumed the same thing. The Temple had become a talisman — a good-luck charm — while the people inside it lived however they wanted. And God said: I won't stay where I'm not wanted. I won't validate what you've become.
The Glory left the building. And the building was just a building.