In my city there’s a brilliant zoo—Taronga Zoo. If you ever get the chance, go see the Sumatran tiger exhibit. At one point, you can sit inside a safari jeep while a tiger lounges on the bonnet or roof. Nearby, there’s nothing but floor-to-ceiling glass between you and 300 kilos of pure muscle and menace.

I remember one visit where a tiger was stretched out against that glass—half-asleep, jaws slightly open, a deceptive picture of lazy danger.

Next to me were a tourist and a zookeeper. The tourist, clearly captivated, asked, “Can we pat it?”

Without missing a beat, the zookeeper casually replied, “No. It’ll rip your arm off.”

The tourist laughed nervously. “Really?”

“It’s a wild animal,” the zookeeper said flatly. “If that glass wasn’t there, it’d kill you.”

Suddenly the tourist and I weren’t admiring the tiger anymore. We were examing the glass.

It is a moment that brilliantly expresses the gospel. Because in a strange and wonderful way, the cross of Christ is like that glass. Jesus’ blood is what allows us to come face-to-face and draw close to a dangerously holy God—and live.

But I also thought about the zookeeper. On one hand, the she was there to explain the tigers. Often enclosures had a keep of some kind to explain the details that you couldn’t see or know about the animal you were looking at to appreciate the experience more. But in this case, I think she was also there for safety to stop us doing something stupid like finding a way to pat an animal that will rip our arms off, or perhaps lean too hard on the glass.

What if that’s the role of the Church? Come with me on a thought experiment on this.

Are we to be the zookeeper. To help people get close enough to see the wonder and terror of God’s holiness—and to point them to the safety of the cross that makes that encounter possible.

If we took that job seriously, what would our churches look like?

First, we’d grasp just how dangerous sin really is in the presence of a dangerously holy God. We’d stop shrugging it off—in ourselves or in others. If you saw someone about to walk into the tiger enclosure, you wouldn’t say, “Well, it’s their life.” You’d yell. You’d warn them. You’d try to stop them. Sure, some people would walk in anyway. But you wouldn’t stand by and watch.

Second, We would be making sure people were in the safe zone being behind the safety glass of Jesus’ blood. We cannot underestimate the importance of constantly reminding people of the danger they could be in and the safety that Jesus provides.

Thirdly, we’d stop trying to be impressive zookeepers—and start showing off the tiger. Our job isn’t to make people think we’re great. It’s to show how astonishing it is that we can draw near to a holy God at all—and to point to Jesus, the one who makes that possible.

We are custodians of awe. Let’s not lose sight of the danger—or the grace.