The Desire to Go Up
The temple was never the point. The presence of God was.
Incense & Oil · Part 1 · Psalm 122
It is still dark in the village when the knock comes.
A small house in the hills of Galilee. The fire has burned down to coals. Outside, you can hear the shuffle of feet, a donkey complaining, a child laughing too loudly for the hour. Your neighbor is standing at the door with a lantern and a walking stick, and the whole street behind him is filling up: families, grandparents, bundles of bread and dried figs, little ones riding on shoulders.
"It's time," he says. "Let us go up to the house of the Lord."
And something leaps inside you.
You have been waiting for this all year. The road is long, four or five days on foot, and every mile of it climbs. Jerusalem sits high in the Judean hills, so no matter where you start, you are going up. But you are not going alone. The whole village is going. And at the end of the road is the city where God has placed his name, the house where heaven touches earth.
You grab your cloak. You step out into the street. And as the caravan begins to move, someone starts to sing:
"I rejoiced with those who said to me, 'Let us go to the house of the Lord.'"
The invitation is still open
That knock on the door is not just a scene from three thousand years ago. It is happening right now, to you.
The same God who called Israel up to Jerusalem is calling his people into his presence today. Not to a building on a hill, but to himself. "You have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem" (Hebrews 12:22). The door is open. The scepter is extended. The only question is how you will respond. The psalmist's answer was joy, and then immediate obedience: he heard the invitation, and the next thing we read, his feet are standing in the gates. I want us to respond in the same way. This month, let us go up.
A staircase hidden in the Psalms
Psalm 122 is one of fifteen psalms in a row, Psalms 120 through 134, that each carry the same title: "A Song of Ascents." The Hebrew word means "going up." These were the pilgrim songs of Israel, sung on the road to Jerusalem three times a year for the great feasts of Passover, Pentecost and Tabernacles (Deuteronomy 16:16). Jesus grew up singing them on that road. It's how Mary and Joseph lost track of him at twelve: they assumed he was somewhere in the caravan (Luke 2:41–44).
The songs trace the climb. Psalm 120 begins in distress, far from home. Psalm 121 lifts its eyes to the hills. By Psalm 122 the pilgrims are standing in the gates. And Psalm 134 ends in the house of the Lord at night, hands lifted in praise.
An old tradition preserved in the Mishnah says fifteen steps led up into the inner courts of the temple, and at the Feast of Tabernacles the Levites stood on them with harps and cymbals and sang. The rabbis said whoever had not seen the joy of that celebration had never seen joy in his life.
These songs were also sung by exiles coming home to a ruined city, wondering if God was still angry and if his promises still stood. How do you sing "let us go to the house of the Lord" toward rubble? Because the temple was never the point. The presence of God was.
That is why our series is called Incense & Oil. Worship and prayer rise like incense before God (Psalm 141:2). They please his heart and they change the atmosphere. And as the incense goes up, the oil of his blessing comes down (Psalm 133). That pattern runs all through these songs, and it runs all through Psalm 122.
Psalm 122 gives us the whole journey in nine verses: a joyful invitation, unified praise, prayer with authority, and shalom that flows from our hearts to our homes to our city, all for the sake of the house of the Lord.
1. The joyful invitation
"I rejoiced with those who said to me, 'Let us go to the house of the Lord.' Our feet are standing in your gates, Jerusalem." (vv. 1–2)
Notice where the gladness begins. Not at the gates. At the invitation. Someone said "let us go," and his heart leapt.
This psalm is "of David," the man who vowed he would give no sleep to his eyes until he found a dwelling place for God (Psalm 132:3–5). "One thing have I asked of the Lord... that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life" (Psalm 27:4). The desire to go up was David's desire first. It wasn't polite religion. It was an ache.
And look how fast the psalm moves. One verse he hears the invitation. The next verse he's there. Joy, then immediacy, then obedience. The gates were the entrance into the presence of God, and in the ancient city they were also the place of security, wisdom and protection.
If you are not a Christian, or if your heart has grown cold, hear this: the presence of God is beautiful. You want your feet to stand in those gates. Someone once said "let us go" to you. Maybe it's happening right now. The desire to go up starts with a yes.
2. Unified praise
"Jerusalem is built like a city that is closely compacted together. That is where the tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord, to praise the name of the Lord according to the statute given to Israel." (vv. 3–4)
Jerusalem was set on a ridge and built up tight. People literally lived on top of each other. The shape of the city was a picture of its people: scattered tribes, apart all year, coming together and being bound as one.
And why did they go up? To praise. Obedient, faith-filled praise, from every tribe at once. That is what worship is: a family rising before God like incense. "You are no longer strangers and aliens, but fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God" (Ephesians 2:19). "In your presence there is fullness of joy" (Psalm 16:11).
When God's people go up together, praise rises like incense.
3. Prayer with authority and justice
"There stand the thrones for judgment, the thrones of the house of David." (v. 5)
The psalm moves straight from the altar to the throne. When you come into God's presence, you find both, because Jesus is both our High Priest and our King. God promised David that one of his sons would reign forever (2 Samuel 7:16), and Jesus sits on that throne.
Think of Esther. She prepared herself, stepped into the king's court uninvited, and the king held out his golden scepter and granted her request (Esther 5:2). We come before our King the same way, but not with trembling. "Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need" (Hebrews 4:16). His scepter is already extended to us.
That means our gatherings are not just joyful. When we come together in worship and prayer, in small groups or in citywide gatherings, thrones are set for judgment. Justice is released from the place of prayer. There are things that only happen, and only get set right, when we pray.
And if you are carrying a longing for justice that seems slow to come, Jesus promised that God will give justice to those who cry to him day and night (Luke 18:7). The delay is mercy, not absence (2 Peter 3:9).
At the altar we find a throne. Our prayers go up, and his answers come down.
4. Shalom in our hearts, our homes and our city
"Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: 'May those who love you be secure. May there be peace within your walls and security within your citadels.' For the sake of my family and friends, I will say, 'Peace be within you.'" (vv. 6–8)
The word for peace is shalom, and it is far bigger than quiet. It means wholeness: a wall with no gaps, a debt paid in full, a body in health, a relationship restored. Nothing missing, nothing broken. It is built right into the name Jerusalem, the city of peace.
The "citadels" in verse 7 are the city's fortified palaces, the strongholds where the powerful lived. The KJV actually calls them palaces. Think of them as the summits of influence in a city. David is telling his people to pray that the places of defense and influence, spiritual and natural, would be secure and held by people who protect the good of the city. Peace comes to a city through a praying, worshiping people.
When an army surrounded the prophet Elisha's city, his servant panicked. Elisha prayed, "Open his eyes," and the servant saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire (2 Kings 6:17). We release this spiritual protection on our city when we pray. The natural enemies in this story were defeated because a spiritual army of angels was present.
And this shalom moves out in three rings:
Our hearts. "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you" (John 14:27). The Prince of Peace steps into your inner world and settles what is at war in you. Your quieted heart is a rehearsal for a healed world.
Our homes. "For the sake of my family and friends, I will say, 'Peace be within you.'" Speak shalom over the people closest to you, by name.
Our city. God told the exiles in Babylon, "Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare" (Jeremiah 29:7). We pray for the peace of Jerusalem, and we pray for the peace of Atlanta.
We pray for the actual city of Jerusalem too, not for its political success but for the fullness of God's plan to bring Jew and Gentile together. It first appears in Scripture as Salem, where Melchizedek, a king and a priest, blessed Abraham (Genesis 14:18). Jesus is a priest forever in that order (Hebrews 7). There was a king-priest over that city at the beginning, and there will be one at the end. Real peace will come there when the Prince of Peace reigns.
5. For the sake of the house of the Lord
"For the sake of the house of the Lord our God, I will seek your prosperity." (v. 9)
Why can we pray with such confidence? Because we are praying for what God already wants. Daniel prayed, "For your own sake, O Lord... because your city and your people are called by your name" (Daniel 9:19). Isaiah said, "For Zion's sake I will not keep silent" (Isaiah 62:1). Jesus was consumed with zeal for his Father's house (John 2:17).
We don't come as beggars. We come as sons and daughters who know our Father's heart. He desires a dwelling place among his people, the very thing David ached for. So for the sake of his house, we seek the good of our city and our families.
Let us go up
Go back to that village street before dawn. The lanterns are lit. The caravan is moving. Your neighbor is still standing at your door.
"Let us go up to the house of the Lord."
That invitation has come to you. Respond the way the psalmist did: with joy, and without delay. Lift your hands like incense rising. Pray shalom over your heart, over your home, and over Atlanta. We will not cease to let the incense rise, so the oil can come down.
Climb with us this month. We are reading all fifteen Songs of Ascent together over four weeks, one psalm every Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, with a place to share what stands out. And Monday through Thursday mornings we pray through each Sunday's psalm together on Zoom (see the prayer schedule).
Come. Let us go up.